#i haven’t been looking at the tag i need someone to make an insane theory pls

[stjudy]

maggie is INSANE for this girl WHAT IS THIS

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Accidental Feminist Icon

Between my own headcanon Barba becomes a very niche viral celebrity for being a mix of feminist icon giving one liners on the news and handsome/well dressed and the DJ Khaled post, this happened. 

“Counsellor, are you listening?” Olivia asked as Rafael Barba looked at his phone again. It had been months now since he started trying Manhattan SVU’s cases, and she hadn’t seen him this distracted before. 

“I just- why do I have rapid fire Twitter notifications? Over one hundred and fifty?”

“You have Twitter?” He rolled his eyes, not proud of the admission. But he liked to follow politics and music and satire. His colleagues would have discourse on legal proceedings and theory. But when he opened his notifications, the sea of professional headshots making up the icons in his notifications window were replaced by cartoon avatars and selfies. Handles like @Bradley_GreedADA were replaced with @feministkilljxy. 

What was happening?

Why were there GIFs of him now?

“Rafael?” He was snapped back to attention by Olivia’s hand passing over his phone screen, and he shook his head, holding the screen out to her. “What am I looking at?”

“Why have a couple hundred- are these all teenagers?”

“Are they following you? Or tagging you?”

“Both?” He scrolled through the mentions.

“Both.” A questioning look.

“Have I gone viral?” he asked herr, eyes wide and his tone disgusted. Twitter was where he posted law books, nice dinners out, homemade dinners in, and the nicer scotch he drank. Sometimes even pictures of himself; some of his friends enjoyed fashion as well, and their twitters all had a heavy thread of their suspenders and ties. Suddenly, he was having photos he’d posted to flaunt his ability to mix patterns retweeted in appreciation of something more than the color scheme.

“I think you have. What have you said now?”

“The girl whose tweet I keep getting tagged in mentioned Jocelyn Paley and the Adam Caine case.”

“That was seven months ago.”

“I’m very aware. I have to get to the office. I’ll get you that warrant.”

He continued to scroll as he walked, alarmed by the number of followers he was gaining and going to open a direct message from a friend to see a wall of messages from names he didn’t know. Once he was able to find Bradley’s message, he saw it was series of tweets with videos and GIFs of him on the courthouse steps. They were all from the same case, he assumed the Adam Caine case. He clicked the video of he and Rita Calhoun.

All I can say, today's Grand Jury indictment is the first step towards achieving justice for Jocelyn Paley. 

The DA's office is desperately trying to distract from their recent scandal with a high-profile case. 

Don't give me that--whether you're a john in the South Bronx or a $3-million-a-year talk show host, no means no. 

 He could remember the exchange now, and it had apparently been retweeted thousands of times. Cameras always made him determined to distract, determined to drive home a point. And now, he was seeing some group of teenagers had clung on to his words, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about becoming recognized enough by that demographic to warrant this rapidly increasing follower count. 

“Carmen, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mr. Barba. Need coffee?”

“No,” he said plainly, shaking his head and showing her his feed. “Is this normal?”

“They found you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Haven’t you seen the posts?”

“I don’t branch out on Twitter often.”

“I see it mostly, like, on Instagram with captions and people post clips of you on vine.”

“What’s vine?”

“A six second video app. Teenagers and young women post you. Vine is normally comedy. But people are obsessed with you. Niche, but sizable number. I think it’s mostly New York girls who see you on the news. But that means the vines went viral a couple months ago.”

“So now they’re all following me on Twitter?”

“You’re viral for being attractive, dressing well, and prosecuting rapists. Embrace it.”

“I can’t post my clothes anymore.”

“Just continue like usual. Don’t respond to DMs.”

He spent a few weeks terrified of this new following, but after three days, things calmed down. The number of followers he gained was weird and confusing to him, and he decided to listen to Carmen ultimately, keeping the profile the same and pretending nothing had happened. She did stop him one day, showing him that there had been people making fake accounts, yet another thing that was insane to him. She primarily told him because these accounts were attempting to take advantage of the fact young girls were the ones following him. He awkwardly slid the handles to Olivia, and Carmen filled out an application for Twitter verification that left him mortified. Even worse, it was approved. 

He was swept away in a case soon enough. Lindsay was assaulted by a whole fraternity at Hudson. They uncovered a previous victim in a hospital, a fraternity known for being a rape factory, and a dean helping create a culture that buried these attacks. It was becoming higher profile than he expected, and it wasn’t easy to try. He’d had to shut off his notifications on his phone during these cases. When Lindsay committed suicide, he accompanied Rollins when she went to arrest the dean. What he didn’t expect was for two of the women they saw to approach him, asking if they were here about Lindsay and thanking them when he said he couldn’t mention it. Then they asked for a selfie. Rafael was mortified but obliged. 

“We recognize you from Twitter.”

Well, now he knew he needn’t accompany the squad out anymore.

When he got tweets from the kind of scum that supported the fraternity, it took a concerted effort not to respond. That could jeopardized the case. He’d already had to tell the two girls they couldn’t post about him being there. He tweeted a disclaimer for if people saw him out, feeling like an asshole. Twitter was now becoming a liability, but he could balance it and refused to give up the feed. Slowly, the GIFs and stills of him on the news were collected, and he only got embarrassed again when mami’s students had discovered him and realized he was the guy in their principal’s pictures. Now Mami had a Twitter, and she followed people who praised him joyfully, though he’d managed to convince her not to interact in private messages or respond to people insulting him. 

The Jenna Miller case caused another leap in his follower count, and he had developed a little sense of pride instead of embarrassment when his followers jumped from people who mattered in New York to people who mattered elsewhere. A congresswoman from Ohio. Artists. Activists. He’d texted Olivia when Lady Gaga followed him. Plus that woman from True Blood. God, she was beautiful. Plus the hot boybander that had probably made him realize he was bisexual. It was weird, and he was unwilling to publicly acknowledge any of it. Unless they were on twitter, he certainly didn’t tell anyone he knew other than Olivia. Soon enough, someone had made a t-shirt on Etsy of the moment he’d turned on his heel. The media had called after Jenna, the olympian, and he’d told them no questions. Then the had the gall to bring up her sex work. He’d stopped on the steps, turning on his heel and announcing “Except for that one. Paid or not paid, no means no. Consent can be revoked at any time.” And now, Etsy users were profiting on it. This group was niche, but it ran deep. Luckily, he noticed the shop only had a few dozen sales.

Everything was fine until Rafael Barba lost his ability to maintain his composure. Up until now, he’d monitored his name, mentions, and a few hashtags people used with him. It was usually just the GIFs and stills and soundbites. He participated in some banter after the first couple of years, boundaries firm enough he felt he could. But he still didn’t bicker. Carmen said he got a following for being a good guy, and he thought it was gross openly condemning rape seemed to be all it took to be a good guy. But then through his lurking, Rafael Barba saw a tweet about DJ Khaled. He’d had to google who the hell that was, unsure who all of Twitter was piling onto, but he found the tweet objectionable enough to respond.

“Mr. Barba,” Carmen said, eyes sparkling with amusement as she came in to see her boss still scrolling through his phone. “You really decided this is the time to get involved on Twitter? You only ever respond to what people say to your stuff or your friends.”

He should’ve known she’d be on top of it. He’d given her access when notifications went through the roof the second time, and Carmen helped filter through DMs he didn’t want to see. But now, that meant her phone was vibrating like his in response to his first tweet in response to a stranger or someone who wasn’t in a thread under his own post.

“What? I’m supposed to endorse consent but not enjoyment?”

“You’re going to end up in a Buzzfeed article, sir.”

“If this is my legacy, so be it.”

“Your legacy? Taking it seriously now?”

“This is serious.”

Carmen’s phone buzzed in her hand, and she knew he’d sent another tweet. Her own account got notifications so she could monitor him. She sighed heavily, unlocking the phone and looking at it. 

“Mr. Barba, does your mom know you’re bi?”

“No, why?”

“She follows you, idiot.”

“Shit. Well, I suppose it’s time.”

“If you tweet Smash Mouth, I’m quitting. These kids are already thirst tweeting you. They must have tweet notifications on for you.”

“Who’s Smash Mouth?”

“How the hell are you culturally relevant?”

“According to Liv, I’m a feminist icon.”

“Don’t get arrogant sir. I help run this twitter.”

“I’ll change the password. I do all the posting.”

“I won’t tell you if Evan Rachel Wood slides in your DMs.”

“Why would I care?”

“I know why you watched True Blood.”

“Touche.” He paused. “Do you think she will?”

“Give me the phone. I’ll bring it when Liv calls.”

“Why would she call?”

“She made a Twitter, sir. Followed you last week.”

“Shit,” he said, eyes wide. “I posted pictures of my food. She saw me acting like a Twitter guy.”

“You are a Twitter guy.”

He rolled his eyes, ending with a retweet of his new favorite addition to the conversation. 

@mia-liz @chasingeverybreakingwave @thegirlwiththemaleficient-tattoo​ @teachingpanda​

[sparklinpixiedust]

Save

Welcome to yet another post on the famous 'ultimate kevin arc' , the arc most people love to hate. I don't think this theory has been done on why Ben wanted to kill Kevin so quickly, I mean i haven't really come across it but who knows maybe it's been done before.

more below the cut......

Alright, so I thought of this after I read a comment on a post a few weeks ago and finally decided to sit down and write this out.

Ben's a hero yad yada yada we know, and we know he wanted to kill Kevin so he wouldn't hurt people. But for someone who wanted to keep people safe, he sure took his sweet time in deciding whether to kill Kevin or not. Like ultimate Kevin was around for what, weeks? I've said this on another post too but if Ben wanted to he could've gone after Kevin the day after the mutation, he didn't really need to have Gwen tag along and give her opinion on what to do. But he did.

My headcanon is that while yes ben did want to save innocents, the reason he was so serious this time was because he was trying to save Gwen.

There have been so many villains attacking the earth but he never really hunted them down like he did with Kevin.

Someone's [ I genuinely don't remember who so if it's yours let me know] post said it was because other villains had a more calculated approach and Kevin was running around crazy but personally I don't think Kevin ever went insane like that even though its implied in the show. He always had some sort of goal, did it always make sense though? Idk.

Like in the ultimate Kevin arc, he was clearly going after those who wronged him, and when that was done he went after those whom he could take power from. Anyone else who wasn't in these criterias but still got hurt were just collateral. They weren't his goal. Kinda like how other villains show up to kill ben or whatever. Normal people most of the time get hurt in the process.

Unless of course the villain wants to kill everyone, that's another thing.

Even as kids, it was kill ben or steal money or something. Kevin didn't go on a rampage for fun, there was some goal present.

Back to my main point. Ben's probably gotten a lot more protective of Gwen, not just her but his family in general.

He lost her once back in secret of the omnitrix, and then he almost lost his mother to zombozo.

Especially after becoming famous, Ben's started to realise despite everything he does for people, not a lot of them actually care for him. They think he's a menace or threat. Even his "fans" who care for him really don't.

They want pictures and autographs but that's it. I don't remember if the whole stomping on him while he was goop happened before this arc, if it did then I'd count that too as how his admirers don't respect him as person.

What got me thinking of this angle was the whole Jennifer Nocturne thing. She liked Ben, took him to parties and hung out.

But as soon as it was Kevin who saved her in the end, she turned to him and started hitting on him.

Ben was forgotten.

And I think Ben realised at that moment how fleeting and superficial his fame really was.

Fame made him feel more alone. He can never know who is being genuine to him and who's just using him.

He knows how important his family and friends really are now, they are the ones who truly care for him.

Ben didn't want to kill Kevin. He knows Kevin cares about Gwen but it was only a matter if time before he lost control and came after her.

All that seriousness and negativety was to get Gwen to warm up to the idea that Kevin had to be stopped. Because out of everyone, she's the one who going to get hurt the most.

He had Gwen admit that Kevin was going to kill them, and he even said " I know you're going to fail". Ben's never been this pessimistic before, not from what I remember anyway.

He did this as a back up. One thing I noticed, Ben didn't really start looking for Kevin till after his goal was no longer revenge but was now more about absorbing energy.

That's when he actually fought Gwen about it and decided to go off on his own. Kevin was going to come for her, sooner or later and that scared him.

Ben did everything to convince her and probably would've spent more time on it if she wasn't at immediate risk all of a sudden.

He had to decide, it was either his best friend or his cousin.

[julemmaes]

Let Me In - October 2nd

Nesta Archeron x Cassian

Prompt sent by @noorismee (I’m sorry Tumblr kinda sucks and deleted the ask, I hope it’s just a one-time thing cause I could go insane)

“I didn’t get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too. I know you’re sad, so let me in.”

A/N: This was so cute to write and I really really miss my friends right now, cause I’ve just started uni and I don’t understand how many things works so I haven’t seen them in a very long time and writing about them is always kinda emotional. I hope y’all enjoy!

p.s. yesterday I made a mistake, cause I put the acotar general tag list instead of the tog one, so, sorry for the ones who found themselves there eheh

Word count: 2,587

Nesta wanted to cry. She wanted to cry so bad.

She had tried to take this exam four times in the last year. Twice in the winter session and twice in the summer one. Everyone had reassured her that the fifth time would be the good one, that this time she would be able to pass it with full marks.

"I'm sure you'll be the best in the class." Elain had told her only the day before.

So when she had arrived home, today, and had opened the email with the rankings and saw that she had failed again, she had screamed in frustration.

She grunted and dropped her head on the table, banging her forehead hard enough on the wood to make a loud thump. She rubbed her hands over her eyes, yawning and jerking when a flash of lightning lit the room as if it were daytime. She put her hands over her ears, waiting for the thunder and staring at the raindrops racing on the window glass, and when the noise stopped, she started reading one of the billions of theorems she had been studying for months.

She turned the pages until she found the chapter on the Fourier series and started to rewrite everything she needed to assimilate every little connotation of the theory so that she could apply it in practice.

She had been flipping through the book for hours, writing things and doing calculations that she knew by heart now. How was it possible that she knew everything so perfectly when she was at home and when she found herself in front of the test sheet, she forgot the logic behind it?

She picked up the phone to see the time and saw that it was ten forty-nine. She would not go to sleep until she had solved all the problems in the book.

A message appeared on the screen just as she was about to turn it off and she raised an eyebrow seeing who the sender was.

She had immediately informed him when she knew that she had failed the exam again, but then she hadn't waited for an answer and had put her phone aside.

Scrolling through the dozens of notifications - most of them from her best friend - she saw messages from her classmates asking her if she had passed.

When she got to the bottom of the list, she grimaced.

‘Did you eat?’

And a few minutes later, ‘Nesta?’

‘If you don't answer me within an hour and a half, I'm coming to your place.’

And then, exactly ninety minutes later, he had sent another message saying: ‘You asked for it. I'll be at your's in twenty minutes, half an hour max.’ followed by a strangely threatening text, ‘I'm pissed.’

Nesta grinned, muttering to herself, "Joke's on you, I won't open the door." and returned without too much thought to her math book.

Five minutes passed before she heard someone aggressively knocking on the door. She sighed, lifting her eyes from the numbers and pondering whether it was better to let him in or let him die outside in the cold and frost. She was about to get up, tell him that he should leave, when Cassian knocked harder on the door. She frowned.

"Arche! Open the fucking door, I'm freezing out here!" shouted the boy. Nesta laughed, looking at him through the peephole and leaning her hip against the wall.

She spoke loudly enough so that Cassian could hear her through the door, "And don't you think you should have asked my permission before coming here and busting my balls?"

She heard him snort and could imagine him closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, "Nesta, please," he seemed exasperated, "open this door and let me feed you."

Nesta raised an eyebrow, chuckling, "Feed me? What am I? A dog?"

"No, you idiot." he laughed on the other side, then, in a more serious tone he asked, "Have you eaten something?"

Nesta hesitated, "Sure."

"I can hear the bullshit from here." a little pause, "Come on, open up."

She opened the door slightly, watching him step forward and Nesta closed the door ajar, shaking her head, "Cassian I have to study." if she had let him in she wouldn't have been able to do anything.

His hair was damp and his usually dark-grey jacket was now black.

"Cassian," he repeated in a mocking tone and making a disgusted face, "what? Are you mad?"

She shook her head puffing, tapping her foot on the ground repeatedly. He followed the movement with his eyes. Looking back at her face, he said, "Even if you were, you wouldn't have the right to. I'm not the one who ignored his best friend all day." he put one hand on the door and pushed it, holding the pizza with the other.

When Nesta struggled to keep it closed again, Cassian laughed. They both knew very well that if he wanted to force his way into her apartment, he would have no problem doing so.

He took one look at her and made what she called whipped-dog-eyes, "I didn't get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too. I know you're sad, so let me in." She noticed only in that moment the bag hanging from his fingers. She leaned forward to help him hold it. She hated plastic bags so much, they always stretched out to cut off her hands when she had to carry them around.

Then she metabolized his words and opened her eyes wide, "Did you come on foot?"

She opened the door, stepped aside and let him in. Cassian trotted into the apartment, shaking his jacket off and passing the pizza to her, who moved so as not to get wet, "Are you crazy? It's four degrees outside and it's pouring."

He looked so pleased to finally be inside the house that he didn't seem to hear her.

Nesta placed the food and beer on the kitchen table, careful not to wet the books. She hurried to put everything aside and when Cassian came in and saw what she was doing she tightened her jaw. Nesta noticed.

"What?" she asked abruptly, "Everyone has their problems. You are a fool for leaving the house at ten o'clock without an umbrella and walking for half an hour in the middle of a storm and I am trying to make sure I have a future by studying, and if I have to do it in the evening, that's not going to stop me".

Cassian shrugged, "Az stole my umbrella and my mom needed the car."

A twinge of pain tightened her heart.

She shook her head, "Wait here, I'll go get you a dry sweatshirt, I should have one of yours."

He nodded and Nesta saw him as he started cutting the pizza, taking what necessary and setting the table. When he came back he was shirtless and was rattling his hair, squeezing it into the sink.

She froze on the kitchen door, admiring how the muscles on his back tensed with every slightest movement. It was not the first time she saw him without clothes, there had been many occasions, but it was rare for him to undress in front of her in such intimate surroundings. She cleared her voice, drawing Cassian's attention.

He turned towards her, smiling at her and Nesta thought she was going to die. It wasn't the usual cocky smile he usually gave everyone, it was sweet and sincere. She handed him the sweatshirt without saying anything and sat down.

The first bite of pizza - although it was gummy and cold - was an explosion of happiness in her stomach. She closed his eyes, moaning and took another bite out of the slice. Cassian sniggered, watching her as she finished her first slice.

"Geez, it's so good," said Nesta, with her mouth full of food. Cassian had an amused expression on his face. He nodded his head to the cartoon, "Have some more."

Nesta didn't hesitate and threw herself on the pizza, filling her plate. They ate in silence, enjoying each other's company. She thanked him only when she had cleaned the plate with the last crumb. He had belittled the whole thing by waving his hand mid-air, just saying that she didn't need to thank him, that it was his job to make sure she survived through this exam session.

When Cassian leaned forward on the table to grab a bottle of beer, Nesta stood up, grabbed the bottle opener and handed it to him. He was about to open the second one, when Nesta stopped him, "I'm not going to drink Cass, as soon as you leave I'll go back to studying and you know what alcohol does to me."

Cassian laughed and opened it anyway, pushing it towards her, "Come on Arche," she did not move and looked him in the eyes more serious than ever, "if you put it like that," he took back the beer and the smile died on his lips. He moved his gaze toward the window, "But I'm not leaving".

She moaned, "What the fuck, Cass." she put her hand in her hair, raising one leg and putting her foot on the chair, leaning her chin against her knee.

"I'm not leaving and I don't want to hear your lame excuses about why I can't stay" he looked at her and the worry in his features made Nesta stand at attention.

His tone became more gentle, "What happened today?"

She wiggled her head for the millionth time, frowning, "What do you mean? Nothing happened," and before he could answer her, she added, "except that I failed the mathematical analysis exam for the fifth time."

"Nes..." he passed his hand through his hair, unwinding it and dropping little water left and right. His eyes never left her face, looking for any sign that would give away her apparent calm.

"Cass." she repeated with the same tone. How could he be so good at reading through the lines? Lines that she hadn't even written, considering how good she had been at ignoring him all day long. She figured, that was also a clear sign that something was wrong.

Not even Tomas, her boyfriend, could understand that something was wrong and she had explicitly texted him "I don't feel very well, I'd rather be alone for today" to which he replied with a simple "Ok, talk to you tomorrow".

Maybe he didn't even care what was bothering his girlfriend so much. Surely he would have been angry, though, when he found out that Cassian had spent the night on her couch.

Cassian sighed, also putting down his beer, "You know, you need to talk about anything, I'm always here."

Nesta felt a lump forming in her throat, so she nodded weakly, not trusting her voice.

He looked into her eyes for a few more seconds and when she could no longer hold his gaze, she turned to her books, staring at the sheets of paper that came out of the pages.

"So," said Cassian, changing the subject for her sake, "what don't you understand about mathematical analysis?

She turned to him in surprise, "These aren't things you would understand."

She wasn't trying to insult him or make him feel less intelligent than she were, but the subjects that were studied in the third year of a math degree course required a broad knowledge of previous subjects. Subjects that Cassian would never have even approached while studying foreign languages and literatures.

"Oh, I know, I don't have a sufficiently developed brain for those things, but you need to be distracted and since you want to study so much, maybe you could repeat it to me." he smiled at her, getting up and standing in front of her, pointing to the living room with a nod of his chin, "Couch?

Nesta stared at him, wondering how it was possible that Cassian was her friend. She nodded, following him into the living room and sitting in front of him, her legs bent under her.

The second she opened the book, the black letters on the white pages seemed to cross over. They seemed to dance, not allowing her to read. She would have been able to explain it without reading, but fatigue was taking over. She closed the book, staring at the cover.

"Everything okay?" he asked with a hint of concern in his tone.

Nesta closed her eyes, carrying a hand over her eyes. Her breath started to tremble. She did not want to cry.

She felt Cassian move on the couch and then he hugged her, "Sweetheart?" he stroked her hair, while Nesta took the book out from among them and dropped it on the floor. She clutched to his chest and took a deep breath. The warmth of him seemed to relax her little or nothing and Nesta only wanted to stop feeling this icy cold that seemed to have been poured into her bones.

"I miss my mom," she whispered.

She heard Cassian swallowing, "I figured," he said in an equally silent tone, holding her tighter, "It's normal Arche, her anniversary is approaching."

Right. The anniversary of Amanda Archeron's death would be in a couple of weeks.

Nesta was convinced that Tomas couldn't even remember the month of her mother's death.

"She was so good. She graduated on time. She did everything perfectly. And I'm here and I can't pass this stupid exam," she said against his chest. Her mother went to the same university, she attended classes in the same halls. She had graduated with the highest grades.

Cassian moved slightly, placing his hand on one of her cheeks, caressing her just under the eye. He had a determined look in his eyes and when he spoke, Nesta knew she wouldn't be able to talk back.

"You managed to get this far for a reason. You are not stupid and the test you are trying to take is not easy. Your mother was a genius, it's true, and I understand that you think you are expected to do the same, but no one is going to use such a thing against you," he reassured her. "We are all on your side. The only one who doesn't believe in you, it seems, is also the only one who should." he smiled sweetly at her.

Nesta moved, fleeing that touch so familiar, so comforting.

"I'm sorry." she murmured.

Cassian was still hugging her, "For what?"

"For making you worry, I should have called you and told you right away. You wouldn't have had to come all the way here." she looked him in the face and found an amused expression there.

"I would have come anyway, Nes. Only sooner."

She smiled at him and hugged him again.

They watched an action movie until two in the morning, hugging on her couch. They didn't go to class the next day, staying locked in the house, eating all the junk they had managed to buy on their little trip to the mini market down the street.

Cassian had also managed to convince her not to touch the books for the day and it had taken a while for her to accept.

She just needed her person.

Looking to her right, she stretched her feet over his lap and he smiled at her.

She was kinda screwed.

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[scullysexual]

Time Can Heal (9/ )

Season Two | Abduction Arc | Canon Divergence | Angst | Warnings: Sleep paralysis, rape (proceed carefully) | Words: 3117 | 

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | AO3 | 

Mulder realises his request for the truth costs too much.

Tagging: @today-in-fic @bevh78 @mypanicface @weseeusinthefall @impulsive-astrophile @enigmaticxbee

This is probably my favourite character I’ve written so far! 

- - - 

Mulder’s apartment in Minneapolis is a lot bigger than the one in Virginia. Bigger apartments costs less here, he tells her but Dana already guessed that.

“Want something to drink?” Mulder asks as he heads towards the kitchen.

Dana shakes her head, hanging her coat up on the rack.

“Suit yourself,” says Mulder disappearing through the doorway.

Dana surveys the room. In many ways it’s a similar layout to the one back in Hegel Place; couch against the wall, TV opposite it, coffee table in the middle. The only thing missing is the fish tank, the fish given to the Lone Gunmen maybe.

She feels a tug in her chest at the absence of the fish. If they were here, maybe she could believe nothing had changed.

She does manage a smile, however, upon seeing a blanket folded on the back of the couch and the pillow tucked between the wall and the armrest.

Not everything changes.

“Still haven’t got a bed?” she asks when Mulder re-enters the living room carrying a glass of orange juice in one hand and a bag of sunflower seeds in the other.

Mulder shrugs and takes his place on the far side of the couch. Dana stays standing, watching as he places his drink and snack down and pulls out the report.

She plays with the strap of her bag and watches. Mulder thumbs through bits of papers, past autopsy photos and eye-witness accounts. It dawns on her in this moment that apartment visits were rare. Work would be done alone in their respective homes or together in their office. He came to her apartment more times than she ever went to his and in this moment she feels like a stranger, her eyes casting across the TV unit to the VHS’s stacked in a pile, bits of clutter that cover his desk and coffee table, unwashed dishes in the sink. All evidence of a man who lives alone. All evidence of someone who is lonely.

“You can sit down,” Mulder’s voice cuts through her thoughts. Her attention is brought over to him by the sound of it, he’s looking at her smiling. “I don’t bite,” he jokes.

It eases her how comfortable he is around her, even after all these months. It’s like nothing has really changed for him. Time apart, a bumpy start, but she is still his Scully, his partner, ready to crack jokes with any time, ready to infuriate with his theories or look at her with concern when he knows something is bothering her.

She begins to see his leaving her in a different light. It was his quest after all, he must feel some guilt towards everything that happened to her.

The movement is spontaneous, an action before the thought. Mulder would often ease his way into her personal space, touch her arm, touch her hand to get her attention. Dana’s always tried to maintain a sense of professionalism, they were co-workers before they were friends, two agents before they were people. A hand through his hair to check for injury but nothing more.

Now her hand lands on his knee, the feel of it having Mulder’s attention diverted from folder to his knee, to her.

Dana wills herself to keep it there, tells herself that it is nothing more than him in her personal space or touching her arm.

“I don’t blame you,” she tells him. “For the abduction. It wasn’t your fault.”

For extra sincerity she squeezes his knee before bringing it away and reaching into her bag to pull out her laptop.

“I always…” Mulder begins and she turns her head towards him again, halting her action of switching on the computer.

He’s searching for the words.

“I blamed myself for it,” he admits not quite looking at her. “I thought I should’ve done more to protect you. I thought you were really gone.” He looks away completely now, putting the folder down to stare at his hands instead. “My mom always said she didn’t blame me for Samantha but I could see it…in her eyes. And when you were gone…I saw it again in your mother’s.” He chances a glance at her before adverting his eyes away again. “And I always thought I saw it in yours.”

Dana begins furiously shaking her head. She can’t speak on behalf of her mother, on behalf of his, but she can speak on behalf of herself.

She reaches for his forearm, bringing his eyes back to her.

“I’m sorry I made you think that,” she says willing her gaze to make him believe. “It was never true.”

“It was Duane Barry’s fault,” Mulder says, his tone having a hint of scepticism behind it.

“Yes, it was,” Dana confirms, her voice strong. “Nobody else’s.”

It has some affect on him and Mulder begins to nod. He reaches back for the folder and takes out the profile he wrote, handing it her way. She goes to take it but he doesn’t quite give it away.

“Are you sure you’re okay reading it?”

This case still shook her, for reason she didn’t quite want to think about, but she was here to do a purpose and that purpose was to bring justice to the victims- dead or alive.

“I have a job to do,” she answers, taking the report from him.

Mulder nods but he doesn’t quite believe her.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“You amaze me,” Scully says after a while of just staring at him. Mulder takes a swig of his beer as he waits for her to continue.

A while has passed, the awkward murky beginnings long gone. They ordered food, he even convinced her to have a beer. Their reports and file lay on the coffee untouched. Scully sits in the gap between the couch and table, legs crossed and rolling the neck of the bottle back and forth between her fingers. He’s never known her to be so…relaxed.

Scully had been concerning him lately. He was worried for her, it’s not like her to run out of rooms after all.

Of course, the case was a difficult one, nobody should be expected to walk into something like this and not react, especially somebody as green as her but underneath all that Mulder was certain there was something else.

“It’s just…” she continues and shakes her head as if to discourage herself from saying anymore.

“No,” says Mulder with a chuckle. “Tell me. What were you gonna say?”

She moves onto her side, resting her arm on the seat of the couch and her head in her hand, looking at him.

“Okay,” she starts. “For arguments sake, why isn’t it aliens? Why is it not some…hair devouring slug that preys on dead people?”

He leans closer to her with false curiosity and a smirk.

“Do tell me more about this hair devouring slug theory of yours.”

She punches him in his leg and rolls her eyes. Her weak attempt has him falling into fits of laughter which just leads to frustrate her more, her eyes narrowing and a cute little pout forming on her face.

“I will shoot you.”

He doesn’t think she’s joking.

Mulder brings himself to stop laughing and goes back to his upright position. He plays with the label on the bottle as he talks.

“Certain cases have a distinct smell to them.” He shrugs. “This one doesn’t.”

“This one, out of 40 other cases, doesn’t have a distinct smell?”

Mulder chuckles again. “They’re rare but it’s been known to happen.” He glances her way. “What do you think? Do you think it’s a hair devouring slug?”

Scully grows sombre. She places her beer on the coaster on the table and hoists herself up onto the seat next to him.

Without looking at him, she mumbles, loud enough to for him to hear. “I’d like it to.”

“Why is that?” he asks as quietly as she spoke.

Mulder watches as she takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Because it’s easier to believe that monsters and aliens are the only ones capable of these things.” She looks down at her hands, fingers tangling together. “Not other human beings.”

She pulls her hands away to sit beside her, her head pointed towards the ceiling as she lets out a deep sigh.

“Scully, Duane Barry—”

“Duane Barry was insane!” Mulder feels himself physically jump back at the loud tone of her voice.

“You think it wasn’t aliens.” He realises.

“I know it wasn’t aliens.”

He looks at her with amazement.

“Scully, how? How do you know? Your memories…are they returning?”

He watches as her eyes shut almost immediately, her face crunching up as if she’s trying not to see what she’s seeing. When he looks down at her hands, the one closest to him is balled into a tight fist.

He reaches out to hold her hand, to comfort her through whatever it is she’s remembering but the moment he makes the slightest bit of contact, she’s jumping; eyes bursting open, vaulting her hand away.

“Scully—”

But she’s off the couch before he can finish his sentence.

“It wasn’t aliens.” She looks around the room, trying to remember where she is. Her eyes land on her laptop and folder and she rushes to pick them up.

“I need to go,” she says beginning to pack her stuff away.

But no, she can’t go, she’s remembering. Remembering her abduction or remembering something.

“Scully,” Mulder starts, getting up from the couch himself and walking towards her, trying to stop her from packing away her things.

“Stay,” he says. “It’s late, you don’t even have your car.”

She pauses at that, realising, before she shakes her head and resumes her task.

“I’ll book a cab.”

Mulder has nothing more he can say to her. Nothing more that wouldn’t make him sound like a selfish bastard for trying to get her to stay. Instead he nods and heads towards the telephone.

“Let’s get you back to your partner, eh,” he tries to joke but it lands flat. No response from Scully.

They fall to silence. Scully packed away and standing by the door in her coat. Mulder on the phone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks when the call is over and her taxi is booked.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She turns to leave and Mulder busies himself with tidying up.

“Mulder,” she calls and he stops what he’s about to do. Maybe, just maybe…

“You’ll always be my partner,” she says instead.

It’s not what he wanted but it warms his chest up anyway. A slight smile crawling it’s way across his face.

“And you’ll always be mine,” he answers back.

It earns him a smile of his own before she turns and disappears through the front door.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She tosses her bag onto the bed as she enters, unconcerned for the contents inside it. She kicks off her heels, leaving them in a heap at the foot of her bed and heads towards the bedside drawer.

Just as her hand touches the pack of cigarettes and lighter, there’s a knock at her door. Dana rolls her eyes, slamming the rickety drawer shut and marches her way towards the door.

“What do you want?” she asks upon opening.

Davis leans against the doorframe.

“Not a nice way to greet your partner,” he says. He barges his way into the room and Dana is not in the mood to deal with this right now.

“We’re not partners,” she retorts, closing the door. There’s a thought to keep it open but no, her gun is at her side. She’ll use it if she has to. There’s no reason for the door to stay open.

Davis sits on the edge of the bed and studies her.

“Where have you been?”

“Excuse me?”

“First time I’ve heard the door go all night. Where have you been?”

“What’s it to you?” She crosses her arms in front of her.

“I’m your partner,” Davis answers. “Do I not get to know where you’ve been?”

She’s too exhausted and angry to deal with this. She wants him out.

“Please go.”

But Davis is up quicker than she thought he would be. He moves towards her and she flinches, moving herself, her lower back colliding with the edge of the desk and sending a brief bout of shooting pain rippling through her nerves.

She let’s out a surprise breath.

“Alcohol,” Davis observes. He backs out of her personal space and Dana feels her heart beating loudly against her chest. “Drinking during a case is grounds for suspension,” he tells her as if he’s a follower of the book.

“I wasn’t drinking,” she argues. “It was one beer.”

“With Spooky?”

Her face gives her away.

Davis smirks. “So now you’ve come back all pissed off. What happened? Spooky got you all hot and horny then left you out to dry?”

The unexpected crudeness of his words shocks her, a small gasp falling out of her mouth before she regains herself. Her eyes turning to steel, she asks:

“Is there something you wanted, Davis?”

He does nothing to hide the leering look he gives it. A cold chill runs down Dana’s body, her stomach and throat tightening. She tries her hardest not to let these reactions show to Davis.

“Nothing you could give me,” he says. “I’ll show myself out,” he calls backs as he walks to the door and Dana feels the urge to throw the nearest thing to her at the back of his head.

Once he’s gone, she runs over to the door and locks it. With no adjoining door and Davis’ room one down from hers she feels safer knowing there’s no real way he could enter.

With her unwanted visitor gone, Dana resumes her task. She grabs the cigarettes and lighter and stalks over to the window, yanking it up and hurrying to light the cigarette.

Her anger slowly drifts away with the smoke. What wound her up, she’s unsure. Maybe Mulder’s pushing? Her outburst was sudden but she knew what he was going to say about Duane Barry.

Aliens didn’t take him, Mulder. I think, deep down, you know that.

Her memory had been just as sudden as her outburst. They’ve never came to her conscious before. There was a light and men were talking. It was briefer than her dreams- or felt briefer- less paralysing.

Aliens didn’t take me, either.

She flicks the cig away, watching it falls down towards the street below and debates having another one.

Instead, she brings her head back inside, shuts the window, and decides sleep would be the better course of action, the time already approaching midnight.

She drops her bag onto the floor, strips herself of her clothes, leaving them in a heap at her feet. She takes the t-shirt she packed, her usual silk pyjamas at home needing to be washed (a task Dana hadn’t had much energy for anymore) and climbs into the bed, foregoing anything else, telling herself she’ll deal with it tomorrow.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She knows it’s happening before it’s happening.

A weight on her chest. Her body frozen.

It’s dark, at first, much like it is when she wakes up in the night and her eyes have yet to adjust.

Then there’s a burst of bright, white light coming to life. Her eyes shut tight in response to it before they slowly open again.

She tries to move, to sit up, but when moves her eyes, wire is binding her wrists, pinning her down. Panic begins to grip her, her heart beating wildly against her chest. Instinct tells her to clench her fist but the best her finger can do is tap frantically against her palm.

There’s the sudden sound of movement near her feet and Dana chances a look down with her eyes.

She’s spread-eagled on the table, the way they had her during the experiments.

She tries to fight against her restraints but she can’t move, the binds too tight it begins to cut into her skin of her wrist. The gasps at the deep red blood against the pale white of her skin as it begins its descent downwards, pooling below.

There’s heavy breathing, not coming from herself, and when she moves her eyes to the other side a yelp is released from her mouth, her body growing cold as a devil stands over her, his skin as red as her blood.

He leers at her body, eyes moving south before he begins to follow. Dana follows him, her eyes trained on him as she fights to control her breath, fights to even breath. She swallows and gulps when his red arm slowly begins reaching towards her ankle. His finger is cold when it touches her skin, sending shiver up and down her body and gooseflesh forming.

She tries to fight it off but just as like her wrists, are ankles are restrained, too. Unable to run, unable to fight, she shuts her eyes as the devil man’s finger begins tracing up her leg, a hand joining when he reaches her knee.

He moves to the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh and fear grips her, her eyes shooting open, darting towards him.

“Please…” she just about manages yet the devil’s hand still makes his way towards that place.

He looks at her, sadness or pity in his eyes and, with his other hands, reaches out to brush a tear away from her face with a finger. With the other, he strokes her outer lips.

Her body reacts, begins to respond and Dana wants to cry and scream and run. She begins fighting against the restrains again, not caring for the pain as they cut deeper into her wrists. Maybe it will snag a vein and she will die, ending all of this.

She stiffens and stops at the feeling of a finger entering her. The devil man is looking away from her now, focused on his task and there is nothing Dana can do to stop him.

She stills, facing her fate, facing the fact that this is about to happen, that they’re about to take something else from her, as well. Her eyes loll to the side, vision blurring as all sensations but the sensation of the weight upon her all fall away.

In her clouded vision, a figure approaches, the smell of cigarettes, and a voice.

“What are you doing?”

Mulder…

Dana blinks a few times, forcing her eyes to remain open but her vision is still blurry.

“She is mine,” Mulder says.

“Mul…Mul…der…”

Mulder’s face approaches hers, his hand in her hair stroking.

“Shh…” Mulder says. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

[silver-wield]

Can you do an analysis on Cloud and Tifa’s body language during that scene when they’re in Cloud’s room and he’s slyly referring to his promise to Tifa? There was crazy sexual tension in that scene and it honestly looked like Cloud was subtly being flirty with her 😭

No probs, Nonny! I actually already touched on their body language in a reply to a gif set of this bit, so we'll just expand on that ^=^

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven't played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it's gonna be a VERY long one so prepare to scroll.

Also, this is one person's interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that's cool and we'll agree to disagree.

You're also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I'm grabbing them from Youtube and it's frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone's interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis) 

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog) 

Tifa character analysis 

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis/theory – I should probably update this since I've had other ideas since then) 

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti) 

Clotiscrew tunnel analysis 

Cloti reunion analysis 

The Promise Analysis 

Andrea's approval (Cloti ask response) 

Leslie analysis (not mine, but a good read) 

Cloti action touching 

Aerti friendship analysis 

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

Keep reading

Recap time! Yall know the drill by now if you've read my other ramblings.

Chapter 3, where we get a room (lol), do some jobs and have a chat with Tifa. It's pretty basic stuff until the cut scene after Marle gives Cloud a talking to. She's the overprotective grandmother figure that Tifa needs in her life and she wants to make sure Cloud isn't messing with her. Now, why would she think that? Well, maybe she picked up some hints when Tifa mentioned Cloud to her about wanting a place to stay? Marle's pretty sharp, after all, and if she got the impression Tifa is carrying a torch, she'd definitely make sure Cloud's not about to blow it out. She tells him to pay attention to her, to listen. This is the very first instance of Cloud taking in that kind of info and it changes how he treats others for the rest of the game.

After the chapter 4 mission where Cloud reflects on his promise to Tifa, it's back to the slums for some rest. Then Tifa knocks on his door and enters. She mentions Cloud was gone for a while, and he answers he was walking so that he keeps Jessie's secret – because he's that kind of guy.

Small talking Tifa is cute, but lol, Cloud seems to have purposely forgotten Johnny since he's yet another admirer of Tifa. For a guy who doesn't forget info like morons who could cause them trouble in the long run, it's pretty telling how quickly he is to dismiss Johnny.

Onto something more interesting in this pic, though. Cloud is sitting on the bed. Now, if he wasn't comfortable around Tifa he'd have got up. His eyeline is lower than hers so he has to look up at her. This puts her in a position of dominance over him – also not surprising since his mentality is that of a 16yr old around her and she's the adult in the relationship. Tifa for her part has her body turned to the side in a non-confrontational pose.

Tifa has her hands clasped in front of herself (couple of seconds before this screen) which indicates she's trying to protect herself as she asks the question if Cloud is leaving Midgar. Not surprising since she's afraid of losing people she cares about and even just someone heading off somewhere else would upset her, though she'd try not to show it.

Cloud, for his part, looks away, appearing as though he's thinking it over, but we're already aware he's decided to stay and help Tifa out, so this is a fake out on his part. He's half-teasing, half trying to get a positive response from her (remember the water tower? Yeah, this is that Cloud. The dork. The one who is useless at talking to girls).

I'm sorry, but Cloud is such a cheeky bastard I just can't with him! This is giving me all the throwbacks to his behaviour at the water tower and I love that it mirrors that moment, but with more success on his part this time. He's looking all around trying not to give himself away before it's needed. He's smiling and looks relaxed. He might be sitting but he definitely believes he has the upper hand between them at this point. Remember, I've said before that eye contact is important. Well, in this case, Cloud's deliberate refusal to make eye contact shows he's teasing. This is such a cute moment between them!

Oh ho! But here's where his teasing ends. Cloud is being completely serious and obviously took the promise between them as being special. Ducking his head out of sight completely prevents us from seeing his expression and allows him to act in a casual way about something that's such an important part of who he became. But, he's not quite pulling it off because he's also looking quite defensive in this pose. His hands are clasped in front of him and he's leaning forward, looking at the floor. This is something very meaningful for him to talk about and he's hoping Tifa doesn't brush it off, so if he doesn't look at her he won't have to see her reaction.

Tifa's obviously got her own interpretation of how that promise went. We can guess she did it because she just wanted a guarantee she'd see Cloud again some day from how she acted during the water tower cut scene. Here, she's leaning back on her hands which leaves her body language open, but also conceals something. She's looking down, the same way Cloud did. She's also hiding her true feelings towards Cloud the same way he's hiding from her, but she's being as honest as she can be as the same time. I've seen people call Tifa a liar because of how she doesn't address Cloud's memory problems in OG, but when you really take a close look at her, lying just isn't her. This is a complex moment between them. They've not long met again and they're having this heavy conversation. The feelings between them are still there, but there's all this other stuff that's more important. But, they know they're friends, and that's a good place to start getting to know each other again, and Cloud choosing to stay is that first step, with the quick follow up of him reminding her of their shared history.

Cloud, you smooth bastard I love you for this! This is definitely flirting! He's looking directly at her, then dips his head to the side in an inviting gesture. His eyes soften and he gets this tiny smile on his face. His body language has changed, too. He's sitting up and back slightly with both arms by his sides. There's no more defensiveness about him. He wants to listen to her. Cloud is choosing to ask for Tifa's confidence. He's letting her know she can rely on him. That he's interested.

For her part, Tifa's pleased, but surprised. She's not long got back in touch with Cloud and, while he's been a decent guy, she's had the overall impression he isn't the same as the soft boi she knew, so this is a revelation for her. The Cloud she knew is still within this Cloud – which anyone who knows the real!Cloud SOLDIER!Cloud storyline is exactly the point of this moment. Tifa knows his true self. The true self that comes out only when he's with her.

Cloud, bro, I'm gonna combust from all these flirty gestures! Fully open body language, a smile, teasing tone. Goddamnit, just say you love her already! Yes, please, invite Tifa to check you out. Remember, he's still sitting. He's so relaxed and natural around her. Even if all you saw was two friends and no ship, you'd be insane to think he isn't a different person in this scene. He's not SOLDIER Cloud here.

Tifa, for her part, isn't flirting here. She likes Cloud, that's clear, and her body language is reaching towards him, which suggests she has feelings towards him, but her tone is more playful and her expression is pleased. She's happy to see her friend isn't too different from the one she knows. Most of the flirting in this scene is on Cloud's side, which makes sense when you think of the torch he's been carrying for her. He's trying to get her attention, same way he did when they were kids. Tifa's oblivious but receptive because she likes him back, but she won't show it as much because she thinks he's not interested. Someone knock their heads together please lol

OMG FUCKING HELL CLOUD JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER! Leaning back on the bed, totally vulnerable body language, drawing attention to the bod in an attempt to spark her interest – since he's clearly interpreted this line from Tifa as a rejection – this boi is trying so hard! He even looks a little disappointed she's not more impressed with SOLDIER Cloud, but we knew she preferred the dork anyway lol

Now, I know everyone talks about the physical and emotional distance between them here, which is obvious, but what I'm gonna point out is after feeling like SOLDER Cloud has been rejected by Tifa – thanks to her preference for the real deal – Cloud looks away from her. She's brushed him off and he's hiding his upset by not meeting her eyes.

Tifa is still oblivious to this, but Cloud definitely has a look of disappointment on his face.

Now, after that last bit you'd think Cloud would assume he's got no chance, but then Tifa says how glad she is to have him back and that cheers him up. He's still in that mindset of a 16yr old with a crush, whereas Tifa's moved on. She's had 5 years apart from him (she thinks it's 7, I know, but he saw her in Nibelheim and how she'd matured a little). She's not thinking of him in an openly romantic sense, whereas Cloud is definitely still deep in his feelings for her. Hearing she's happy to see him hints to him that he might still have a chance with her if they spend more time together. His soft af goodnight is the last indicator of his strong feelings for her. His body language is open once more, he's staring after her with a longing look and a smile and doesn't look away until the door closes.

Conclusion

JUST GET FUCKING MARRIED ALREADY IT'S BEEN 23 YEARS!

Lol seriously though, Cloud is definitely still deep in the throes of his childhood crush. Tifa could resurrect hers with time because it's clear she does still harbour feelings for him, but she's not the type to be pushy or insistent. She'll let Cloud take the lead and offer subtle hints how she feels, hoping he feels the same. She doesn't pick up on Cloud's subtle flirting compared to those more in your face things he tried earlier. Through all of those interactions with her he's definitely trying to say that he likes her and he'd like her to accept his feelings, but the bigger gestures get the brush off, although she blushes and looks shy, and the smaller ones go over her head.

Unfortunately, these two are oblivious af and it's gonna take everyone's help to get them together.

[spaceskam]

our fainted thrill carries on (11/13)

warning: mentions of anxiety, kidnapping, child abuse, etc

ao3

Regardless of their ambiguous relationship status, Alex had promised to let Michael know when he got to the motel safely.

Midnight passed.

1 A.M. passed.

3 A.M.

5 A.M.

7 A.M.

“You just forgot, right? You got back and went to sleep, right?” Michael asked, leaving his 5th voicemail of the night. He’d called 30 times and texted even more, spending the whole night curled up on the couch and biting his nails until they hurt. “You’re gonna call me when you wake up and you’re gonna be so pissed that I blew up your phone. I checked four times, you brought your charger, so if you’re ignoring me on purpose, then… Please be okay. I need you to be okay. I love you, bye.”

When Alex had gotten up the morning after their talk and just started packing a bag to still head out to meet the active Camerons, Michael had been stressed beyond belief. No matter how much he said it was a bad idea, Alex deemed it necessary. Then when Michael tried to invite himself along, Alex told him no.

“I swear to God, I am going to kill you when you get home. You can’t just not return my calls, that’s a real dick move,” Michael spat, taking a shaky breath, “I miss you, come home.”

He’d bothered him for the rest of the week, trying his damnedest to either get Alex to stay or get him to let him tag along. It would’ve been fun, he’d said, a road trip with all of them. Alex had banished him to yard work after too many minutes of failed, teenage-esque coercion.

“I’m worried,” Michael sniffled at 8 A.M. Alex should’ve taken his medication by now. Had he done his morning PT? “Please call me. I won’t be mad, I just need you. I need to know you’re okay.”

They’d been slowly trying to build trust again and now he wasn’t answering. Was he hurt? Was he avoiding him? Was he just having so much fun he forgot? Did someone take him?

“Alex,” Michael said, stress crying into his palms at this point as his whole body shook with a new, unknown level of anxiety, “I need… Just one response, okay? Just one. So I know you’re alright. I love you. Please take your medicine and eat something if you haven’t. I love you.”

For years, Michael had gotten accustomed to never being able to talk to Alex when he wanted to. He was overseas playing G.I. Joe and Michael avoided even trying. But now, now after months of Alex picking up when he needed him, months of spending so much time together, months of needing him to breathe… Now it felt like his entire world was crumbling and suddenly he was considering filing a missing person’s report.

“But that’d be stupid, right? You’re on a secret mission, I’m a… redacted… so I just gotta wait. Just gotta… Please be okay. I love you more than anything and I meant what I said. So, you know, if someone took you and is listening... Tell them I’ll fucking kill them. I won’t hesitate. Don’t worry.”

Michael pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to will himself to feel better. His hand seized up and his body hurt. He just needed Alex to be okay and alive and home. He needed him to come home.

“The person you are trying to reach is not available. Mailbox full. Goodbye.”

He dropped the phone onto the couch, raking his hands through his hair and pulling hard as he tried to calm himself. This wasn’t just anyone, this was Alex. If Michael trusted anyone to get themselves out of a sticky situation, it was Alex Manes. He was strong and smart and ungodly talented. He should be okay.

So then why wasn’t he answering his fucking phone?

“Whoa, what’s going on here?”

Michael looked up at the sound of Rosa’s voice. She was staring at him in concern which was new, but he couldn’t even take time to register it. He was shaking and felt like he was suffocating, his whole mind blurry and thinking of the worst-case scenario.

“Alex won’t answer and he’s not home and I can’t get in touch with him and it’s been hours and, and he said he would call or text or, or, or, or‒”

“Hey, it’s Alex, I’m sure he’s fine,” Rosa insisted. Michael shook his head, pulling on his hair a little harder.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head, “No, he said‒”

“Did you try Kyle or Jenna? See if they’d pick up? Maybe Alex lost his phone,” she tried, coming closer. The couch shifted as she sat beside him and he tried to take a grounding breath just like Alex showed him. Identify the trigger and breathe. Except he knew the fucking trigger and he couldn’t breathe because it was an actual problem.

“No, I didn’t call them,” he said, staring at his phone. His messages were still unread and it brought a whole new wave of panic. He’d never felt so fucking helpless in his life. He just wanted Alex.

“Give me your phone,” Rosa instructed, taking it before he could actually hand it over. Which was valid because he felt like his skin was being turned inside out. He should’ve followed him or put a tracker on him or put a fucking handprint on him or something. Anything.

Anything would be better than this.

“Okay, let me try Jenna,” she said after Kyle’s went to voicemail. Michael groaned pathetically, shrinking in on himself again.

A few more minutes, a few more calls unanswered, and all it did was make Michael’s anxiety grow to insane levels. What happened? What the fuck could’ve taken them out? Sure, Kyle he could understand, but Cam and Alex? What kind of manpower did these people have?

“Oh my God, he’s dead,” Michael breathed‒or, tried to breathe, “He’s dead. He’s dead and the last thing he remembers is me being a total dick. He’s dead.”

“Hey, don’t say shit like that, he’s not dead,” Rosa insisted, swatting his leg. Michael just choked his tears, rocking slightly. Horrible, intrusive images of Alex’s dead body flooded through his mind. Bloody, beaten, shot, destroyed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “It’s Alex, he’s not dead, stop.”

 “Then where is he, huh?! If he’s not dead, where is he?!” Michael demanded. Rosa glared at him.

“Acting like this will get us nowhere,” Rosa said, standing to her feet and gesturing for him to do the same. He was pretty sure his feet wouldn’t work if he tried. She rolled her eyes when he didn’t move. “Listen, I want you to really think about what’s going on right now. If something is wrong, your most useful people are out of commission. You have to actually put in the effort.”

“I don’t know where to begin,” Michael argued. 

“You sure about that?” Rosa prodded.

She stared him down for a moment and he carefully took a few grounding breaths. He had to be logical at least a little bit. If he was going to get Alex back, he had to at least have a starting place. So he closed his eyes, focusing on changing that anxiety and sadness into anger. It wasn’t hard. It felt like a reflex.

He took a few more breaths before he opened his eyes.

“I know where to go.”

-

Michael Guerin let himself into the Manes’ residence for the second time in one week.

Jesse Manes was sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and not even bothering to stand in fear like last time. Instead, he just looked up at Michael. His fingers itched, eager to just throw him into the wall. But he waited.

“Tell me where Alex is.”

Jesse paused, looking at him over the top of his mug. He looked genuinely confused, but Michael didn’t buy that for a second. 

“Did you warn them that Alex was thinking about going out there? Did you tell them about him?” Michael demanded. Jesse slowly lowered his cup.

“Now, son, I thought we were getting along last t‒”

“Answer me!” Michael demanded, throwing the mug across the room and slamming it into the wall. It was a perfect demonstration of what he’d do to Jesse if he didn’t get an answer.

Jesse sighed, looking longingly at the shattered mug for a moment before turning his attention back to Michael. He was too calm. There was nothing calm about this situation. Nothing at all. Alex was missing. So were Kyle and Cam.

“I didn’t warn them, but they already know who Alex is. He’s got Manes features and every active member knows of every family member of the other factions for safety purposes. If they took Alex, it was because of you,” Jesse said simply. Michael’s heart dropped into his stomach and his breathing threatened to choke him all over again.

“Bullshit,” Michael spat. Jesse sighed and gestured to the chair across from him. Michael was hesitant to do so. Last time they sat and spoke cordially, Alex went missing over the very thing they spoke about.

But, then again, Jesse had warned him.

Michael reluctantly took a seat.

“They have a theory that says any human who gets involved with an alien is just as dangerous and corrupt,” Jesse said. Michael scoffed.

“You think that too.”

“I don’t think that,” he said, still oh so calm, “I think it shows weakness and is a symptom of being overly empathetic to creatures that aren’t worth it, but I don’t think it’s something one can’t come back from. Alex has… other compromising issues. He’s disabled, he’s got PTSD, CPTSD‒we’re just scratching the surface. I understand why you’re worried.”

There was a level of coldness to him that Michael couldn’t comprehend. It was like there was a legit disconnect and he didn’t see Alex as his son. He viewed Alex, not as the man he was, but as the idea of what he was. A disabled, queer veteran. End sentence.

“He’s your son,” Michael said, eyebrows drawn together and shaking his head, “He’s your son, why don’t you care? Why aren’t you worried? I-I’ve seen so many shitty parents in my day, but most of the time they at least pretend. You can’t even give him that.”

“Alex made it clear he doesn’t want me pretending,” Jesse said simply, “And I learned a long time ago there’s no reason in being worried for him. Worry doesn’t change what that boy does. If anything, it makes him run towards the fire. He’s made his bed.”

Michael shook his head, leaning back in his seat and looking up towards the ceiling as he tried to collect himself.

“Alex is… He is the strongest person I know. And I have no idea how the fuck he became that with you as a father,” Michael scoffed, “No matter what bullshit is thrown at him, he can be kind. He can still love so much. He doesn’t trust you, but he still loves you. He doesn’t trust me, but he still loves me. Do you not understand how fucking incredible that is?”

Michael looked at Jesse, seeing that he was basically unphased. It didn’t make sense. How many years had this man put effort into becoming something that he forgot how to be human? How had Michael spent years trying to avoid falling into the cold arms of humanity and failed, but Jesse Manes had successfully evaded it completely?

“I’ve encountered a lot of monsters,” Michael said, leaning a bit closer and making sure he held eye contact, “I’ve encountered so many and, despite the fact that I’ve also met my fair share of loving people, I still became one. I’m still this. But Alex? Alex has been wronged by every goddamn person he’s ever met and he’s still good. He is unapologetically good. And you know what? He deserves to see that there’s a point to it.”

“How exactly do you expect to do that?”

With a simple thought, Michael bound Jesse Manes’ wrists with an invisible string. Jesse managed to hide any type of alarm.

“We’re goin’ on a road trip.”

-

Alex’s head hurt ungodly bad.

“Alex, hey, welcome back to life.”

He squinted and saw Kyle looking down at him, shirtless for some reason. He tried to move, but it just hurt worse so he stayed put.

“What’s going on?”

“We may or may not be trapped in a cellar,” Kyle said softly, lifting something. It was then that Alex realized Kyle’s missing shirt was being pressed to his head. “But it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Me? What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Kyle asked. Alex closed his eyes and thought really hard. He felt disoriented and achy and probably had everything to do with that head wound he couldn’t really feel.

“Um, getting to the club?” Alex said, trying to remember what happened after, but it was blurry, “Did I get any information?”

“Well, I don’t know, you don’t remember,” Kyle sighed, “I’m sure it’ll come back to you. Right now, just stay put.”

“What’s going on?”

“A couple of guy’s cornered me. I don’t know how they knew I was with you, but they cornered me and threw me in the back of a van. Same with you, but you were already unconscious by then. Not sure what happened, but you’ve got a pretty nasty head wound.”

“That’s it?” Alex wondered, “Where’s Cam?”

“Shh,” Kyle hushed, looking around and stroking Alex’s cheek as if that would cover up what he said. Maybe it would. He leaned down and put his lips right by Alex’s ear. “Don’t talk about that or we’re never gonna escape. They can’t know she’s involved with us, okay? Just play along.”

Alex gave a microscopic nod as Kyle sat back up.

“I think you’ll be okay. It stopped bleeding,” Kyle told him.

“Good, I need to kick someone’s ass,” Ale said, groaning as he tried to shift again. His body still felt too heavy. “What the fuck, I’ve had a head wound before. They don’t usually feel so… They… I…”

Carefully, Kyle hand traveled from his cheek down to his arm. He carefully put a little pressure over a spot just below the inside of his elbow. Alex jumped, his body reacting to the spike of pain. Kyle whispered his apology, but it was clearly something had happened to his arm. Kyle reached down more, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. When he sat up straight, it brought Alex’s arm right into his line of view.

Branded into his arm was that familiar three men Neptune symbol, tiny and yet so, so obvious. In the first head, the one meaning Manes, was a little red dot, the product of an injection. His eyes went up to meet Kyle’s. His face was schooled, but his eyes showed his worry.

“And you?” Alex asked. He shook his head, saying they hadn’t done it to him.

Alex took a deep breath and nodded. 

This is why he hated going in blind.

[themoonstarwarrior]

PLAYLIST SHUFFLE TAG!

Okay, so @viterbofangirl tagged me in this and I need to start learning to post my own shit, so what the hell, why not?

Rules: you can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to! put your favorite playlist on shuffle and list the first 10 15 songs, then tag 10 people. no skipping!

(I couldn’t stop at 10 so I added 5 more, sue me)

I have very random music taste and I listen to my music on shuffle alot, so I made a playlist of the ones I like the most (that way I don’t hafta skip 150 songs to get to the one I feel like) so I’m gonna use that one.

1) History of Violence - Theory of a Deadman

Hoo boy starting off light huh?.... Yeah so, I was in the drive thru at Sonic when I first heard this on the radio and was immediately like “holy shit”. Instead of like metaphors and poetic subtlety, it’s just straight up like “here’s a poor abused woman who resorted to murdering her shitty boyfriend/husband cuz she couldn’t take it dum dum dum”. Even though the actual situation is not the same, this song is perfect for getting across the internal issues and turmoil of my character Mikey. Its so perfect I’m even planning to animate something for it...... if I ever get around to learning animation that is.....     

2) The Vengeful One - Disturbed

Two songs in and I look kinda emo.... But hey this song is soooooo cathartic! I love me a good heavy rock song, and the drums and electric guitar are perfect for my ears to absorb. This song gives off a feeling of overwhelming power mixed with a coldness and disdain for the bad in the world. Obviously, thats not my usual temperment, but its an interesting one to explore! Especially when I’m trying to get into the head of characters that exude that like my OCs Spark or Ryu. Plus its fun to sing in the car X)

3) Enter Sandman - Metallica

Okay this one is just a classic! Same thing with the drums and guitar they both slap SOOOOO GOOD. I don’t really associate this song with any of my characters or fandom favorites, but it DOES give me a super strong urge to learn the drums. EXXXXXXXXIT LIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT! OFF TO NEVER NEVERLAND!!

4) We Are Giants - Lindsey Stirling ft. Dia Frampton

I don’t really to listen to music by band or artist, but I LOVE Lindsey Stirling!!! She’s probably my favorite musician! This is such a good song, especially for someone like me. Its a positive song that talks about feeling alone in a crowd and unimportant to the world, but how you really do matter and shouldn’t be afraid to dream big and shoot for the stars. It really speaks to me and the vocalization is so good (especially for singing), not to mention the official music video is animated and AMAZING!

5) Cetus - Lensko NCS

I dunno if anyone knows this song, but damn its good. Its one of those Royalty-Free songs that people look up for their channels, which is how I found it in the first place, but I loved it immediately. Its a peppy 8-bit electronic bop that turns a little Irish jig at the end and honestly I think if I ever start an animation channel I’m totally gonna use it! (Also go support Lensko he make good beats!)

6) Sanctuary - Utada Hikaru

I did not grow up with Kingdom Hearts, and only played KH2 within the past year n’ a half. But good God, the moment that Cinematic Opening came on and this song started playing I swear I astral projected into a daze of feelings without names. I know that “Simple and Clean” is the quintessential Kingdom Heart song that gives everyone feelings, but IMHO Sanctuary blows it out of the water. As beautiful as the animation was, or how curious the occasional backwards lyrics are, or how weird it is having high-res Goofy and Donald in what is essentially an anime opening, I really can’t be distracted from this song when I play.

7) Chemical Plant Zone (Rock Remix) - Zerobadniks

Chemical Plant Song is like, one of the TOP Sonic songs by popular vote (and we know how awesome the Sonic series is musically so thats saying something!), but I could never quite vibe with the normal 8-bit version. I think I first heard this as someone’s ringtone and was immediately like “THATS PERFECT THATS EXACTLY HOW I NEED IT!”. The rock makes the song soooo much better and honestly gives the song the perfect vibe. Unfortunately, it took FOREVER to find cuz none of the Rock Covers of this song were the right one. In fact, tbh, I’m not even sure whether Zerobadniks is the correct artist..... that’s just who everybody was crediting when I found it. 

(imma include the link i found since its a little hard to find: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqJiZEM6aPI )

8) The Wolf - SIAMES

YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT ANIMATED MUSIC VIDEOS???? THIS IS A GOD-TIER ANIMATED MUSIC VIDEO. I found the video first, and seriously, if you haven’t seen it YOU NEED TO!!! The beat works perfectly with the images on screen and the story being portrayed is really intriguing, with the lyrics adding to atmosphere without necessarily describing the visuals shown. Even without the animation, the song itself is a banger. It bring to mind the feeling of intense motion forward, but unable to decide whether its movement TOWARD something or AWAY from something. I love listening to this on a nighttime drive.

9) Burn the House Down - AJR

If you ask me, the best way to make a pop song better is to add either violins or trumpets. For this song, it was definitely the trumpets that first caught my attention, and the rest of the song kept me listening. I don’t really know how to describe the vibe of this song, and I don’t have a specific character or story in mind when I listen to it, so its a little hard for me to talk about it. I think the best way I can describe this song and what draws me to it is a feeling of nonchalant go-with-the-flow attitude to shenaniganry. Almost an undertone of “We’re hooligans in a situation that we probably should get out of, but hey we’ve got life and each other so why worry?” At least that’s the closest I can get to a verbal description heh...

10) Slim Pickens Does the Right Thing and Rides the Bomb to Hell - The Offspring 

DANCE, FUCKER, DANCE, LET THE MOTHERFUCKER BURN!!!

So this also has a KICKASS animated music video, but its technically combined with the song “Dividing by Zero”. Now the video works SO well with both, and the shifting artstyles reflect the differing tones of the songs PERFECTLY. However, I have a preference for both the animation and the song on the Slim Pickens half. Its fun to listen to and sing at the top of your lungs and its SO CATHARTIC. Again I cant really describe what my head does when I hear it, but I think you can probably feel a similar vibe if you watch the music video. 

11) No Heaven - DJ Champion

The first time I finished the original Borderlands, I had been playing for days on end, had just finished a long battle with the Destroyer, and sitting back relieved to have beaten it and reflecting on how much I had enjoyed the adventure. Then this song started playing. For what I believe was forty minutes this song looped on my TV while the credits rolled. By the time the credits finished I was pulling up the song to listen to again! What an absolutely PERFECT cherry to add to this experience. This song perfectly encapsulated the chaotic, trigger-happy, morally ambiguous craziness that I had enjoyed and absorbed in this game. Every time I hear it now, I imagine myself in the wastelands of Pandora, driving haphazardly across the sandy dunes as my companions and I shoot and blow up everything in sight. You know, living the dream.......     

12) Hit & Run (Wolfgang Lohr Remix) -  The Electric Swing Circus

I fucking LOVE electro-swing! The electronic beats and rhythm blend so well with the wild and energetic freedom of swing. A lot of electro-swing gives me a vibe of wild movement, reckless abandon, and freedom from constraint. I think this song melds all of these feelings the best! As the last song might have indicated, despite my general nice and sweet temperament, there is a part of me deep down that is an absolute gremlin secretly enamored with chaos, insanity, and a general disdain for law and authority X). But whereas anything Borderlands related has a more “morality is an illusion blowing shit up is real” air about it, this song is far more peppy. More of a “good-hearted but insane” type of chaos, like an 100mph car chase where you end up sailing over the train tracks JUST as the train passes.

.... I may have gotten a bit off track lol 

13) Kickstart my Heart - Motley Crue

I love this song, but I have to be VERY careful when and where I listen to this. I love songs that make me feel like I’m going a million miles per hour, like I’m gotdam Sonic the Hedgehog. Unfortunately, I may or may not have had multiple instances of listening to this song in the car and abruptly realizing that I’m going like 15mph above the speed limit...... So yeah, regardless of absolutely perfect it feels to play this song while speeding down a nearly empty highway, please be careful and drive responsibly!!!

14) I’m Born to Run - American Authors

Imma just up and say it. This song is a Sonic song; like not like actually from the series but a song for the character. This song encapsulates Sonic as a character better than some of his ACTUAL THEMES (and remember Sonic music are bangers!). Its a song about freedom, living life as it comes, and not letting anything slow you down. Frankly I’m surprised they didn’t make this song FOR the Sonic series, or even the movie! Speaking of which, ironically I heard this song right after watching the Sonic movie in theaters, so yeah there’s no way I can associate it with anything else. 

15) Opa Opa - Antique

Oh, what a PERFECT way to end this list! This may be one of my absolute favorite songs of all time! I don’t remember exactly how I found this song... I think I had just relistened to Dalar Mehndi’s “Tunak Tunak Tun” and was looking for other catchy non-english songs and BOY HOWDY I found one! I know nothing about the band or what the song’s about (its in greek and i dont speak it), but this song is just a masterpiece of retro, pop, and dance sounds. This song feels like the musical and lyrical manifestation of dance and movement. I really REALLY wish I could dance JUST so I can express how happy and free this song makes me feel! This is the BEST song for me to end this list with!

***********************************************************************************

JESUS, this got long..... Sorry about that XD. It was fun though, and hopefully somebody was vaguely interested in my ramblings.

Guess I need to tag people now? How about @tharkflark1, @rockmilkshake, @neonbuck, @drawingsdrawingseverywhere, @birthgiverofbirds, @puccafangirl, @kalcat, @biblestudybussybopsbabey, @monstrous-milktea, and @memecage! I think there are a couple of people here I haven’t talked to though soooooo..... hi, I hope you don’t mind the tag X)

 Anyway hope you enjoyed and/or want to do this too! This took for-fucking-EVER to type, so imma go fuck off and watch youtube or something now...

[pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc]

Powers - Kyle Spencer

pairing: kyle spencer x reader

warnings: none, just cute and fluffy, soft pre-death kyle :)

———————————————————————

For as long as I could remember, I've had powers. Very basic ones, but powers nonetheless.

The first one I discovered was my telekinetic ability. You see, when I was a child, I would use my power for simple tasks because it made normal, everyday life a bit more exciting for me. So occasionally, a door might shut on its own, a cup of juice would float to my bedroom, or a television would turn on by itself.

Obviously, my mother discovered my talents sooner than later. She wasn't one to believe in ghosts, so she ruled out that possibility, and she knew it wasn't the breeze doing these things, so logically, she suspected it was me.

She questioned me, asking what exactly I thought I was doing. She didn't believe in ghosts, but she sure as hell believed in witchcraft. My mother insisted that I was some demonic spawn from hell rather than her daughter, so she had me sent away.

That's how I ended up at Mrs. Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, a Coven for young witches where we could learn to better control our abilities. For as long as I've been here, I haven't really felt that I belonged.

However, that was where I discovered my second talent. All I had to do was focus on someone, and my body would morph into who they found attractive. Quite vain, yes, I know. Still, it helped the Coven figure out who to target to get our enemies attention.

I refused to use it on my close friends, it would be a complete invasion of privacy. But maybe, once or twice, I'd used it on the girls in the Coven without telling them. Nan likes Luke, Zoe and Madison have their own boy toys, and Queenie, as far as I can tell, doesn't like anyone.

But there is one person I've refused to use my ability on: Kyle Spencer. He's been my best friend since I got here, and boy did I need one. He was always there for me when even the girls in the coven weren't. I feel like using them on him would be unfair, even though he's told me explicitly that he wouldn't care if I did.

  "I know you're a witch, Y/N. You don't have to hide your abilities from me, they don't define you. I don't hang out with you just because you can make a beer float from the fridge into my hand. I hang out with you because you're you." Kyle said, leaning back on the pillows on my bed.

  "You have your own personality, your own features that separate you and the witch. As much as this school makes you believe it, being a witch is not your only defining characteristic. You're kind, funny, insanely smart, and beautiful." I looked up at him with my bleary eyes, smiling tearfully. I practically launched myself into him, my tears of frustration turning into tears of happiness. I heard him grunt from the impact, but he wrapped his arms around me, laughing lightly.

  "Thank you, Kyle." I mumbled, my words muffled against his chest. "What did I do to deserve you? You're so sweet."

Of course, there've been several points in time where I've wanted to use my powers on Kyle, but I refrained. I knew the guilt would eat away at me, so I didn't.

  "Y/N, I need your advice," Kyle whispered to me, reclining on the library's sofa and laying his head on my thigh. A gesture that could be misconstrued as romantic, but between us, it was purely platonic. "There's this really gorgeous girl I wanna ask out, but I have no idea how."

  "What?" I exclaimed, a little too loud for the students studying nearby who shushed me.

  "Yeah, she really means a lot to me, but I'm not sure how to tell her I like her. I mean, should I go all out and make a sign or some shit? Or would she like flowers or a love note?" He gestures with his hands as he speaks.

  "Well, you're asking the wrong person. I've never actually had the courage to ask someone out myself, but I have been asked out, so I could tell you what girls like." I winced, looking down at him on my lap.

  "I'm all ears." He said, raising his eyebrows as he looked up to me.

“Just looking at what you said, I wouldn’t go for a sign. Signs are more homecoming or prom, not really girlfriend material,” I zoned out on a bookshelf, missing Kyle’s loving gaze. “Flowers and a note is a cute idea, they’re always romantic. But speaking from experience, girls love it when guys don’t overthink things.

“Just go for it, ask her out. She’ll definitely say yes if it’s you, Kyle.” I smiled down at him, my hand resting on his bicep.

“Duly noted. Thanks, Y/N.” He said, sitting up and returning to his textbook. Something wasn’t sitting right with me; I had a strange feeling in my chest and I needed to get rid of it. The only way I could figure to do it was to break my rule: I’d have to use my powers on Kyle.

I stared him down, looking him up and down as I tried to maintain focus. Normally, all I had to do was concentrate just a bit on someone and it worked, but it didn’t seem to be working now. I even touched my fingers to my temples, something I didn’t do very often because of how stupid it looked. I used all the energy I could, looking from him back to me and seeing no change in my appearance.

I had nearly exhausted myself when it hit me: I wasn’t changing.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, catching Kyle’s attention. “You like me.”

I watched as his cheeks immediately enflamed, his mouth hanging open in just the slightest.

“N-no, no, I don’t. Why would you think that?” He stammered, running a hand through his hair.

“I know I told you I would never do this, but I used my powers on you.” I said sheepishly. “At least I tried to, but I didn’t look any different even when all my attention was on you.”

“All your attention was on me?” Kyle said, smirking. Now it was my turn for my cheeks to burn red, fighting the smile on my lips.

“No, well, you know, for my powers.” I stuttered, cursing myself for sounding so stupid.

“Right, your powers.” He smiled, making my heart melt. “So, theoretically of course, if I had those powers, would I look any different if I focused on you?”

“Nope.” I said, smiling at him sheepishly.

“Oh really? Care to test that theory?” He grinned, slowly leaning closer to me.

I nodded quickly, closing the gap between our lips. The kiss was slow and gentle at first, but it quickly became heated and picked up speed. I pulled myself onto his lap, carding my fingers through his blond locks as I moaned softly into his mouth.

It wasn’t until he pulled away that I realized not one, not two, but every person in the library was staring at us. Chants of, “Get a room, Spencer!” and “Get it, girl!” made me bury my flushing cheeks against his chest, hearing the soft vibrations of his laughter.

“Coming on a little hot and heavy, now, are we?” Kyle teased, playing with a few strands of my hair.

“You know it, Spencer.” I replied, fighting off the blush across my face. I sobered up quickly when I saw his face fall serious.

“Y/N, you really like me? This wasn’t a one time thing, right?” He looked to me with sad eyes. I could never use him like that after what his mother did to him, that would be criminal.

“Of course not, Kyle.” I shook my head. “I really like you, kind of a lot.” I said with a smile.

“Well I really like you kind of a lot, too. I’m glad the feeling’s mutual.” He said with a goofy grin, pulling me against him.

“You’re such a dork!” I giggled, pushing his arm playfully.

“But you love me.”

“I don’t know how I do when you’re that cheesy, but I do.”

———————————————————————

SORRY FOR THAT ENDING Y I K E S

let me know if you want to be included in a tag list, but I’ll include some followers and rebloggers for now: @fuckmedobrik @polarluxray @cobainlover @magicaljellydonut @totally-true @exvanpeters

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (12)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 38.7k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"You really don't know how to use chopsticks at all, huh?"

Phil ignores Dan's quiet, amused voice to keep attempting capture of the elusive sashimi. Eventually, he gives up and picks it up with his fingers. He pops it in his mouth and looks at Dan, despite all his common sense telling him it's a bad idea.

It's definitely a bad idea. The lighting is lower than in the coffee shop, tinged warm by the candles around the place - thankfully, none of them are on the table where Phil might accidentally elbow one and set the place ablaze - and Dan is sitting right across from him with shiny, smiling lips and dark, sparkling eyes. Phil reminds himself that this is not a date, that he wouldn't ask Dan on a date. Because Phil dates guys.

Well, not so much of the dating anyone at all thing as of late, but the point stands. Phil likes men and he likes everything that's classically attached to men, and he's not really interested in examining his sexuality in further detail at this point in his life. Still. Here Dan is, giggling at his attempts to wrangle sushi and asking about the footage corruption like it genuinely matters to them. Their feet keep knocking into Phil's own, because the table is small and both of them have Slenderman leg proportions. It also keeps happening because Dan seems to have a very hard time sitting still.

Their foot taps along to a beat that doesn't match the soft music over the speakers and their hands gesticulate with every question they ask, every story they tell. It's like they have a day's worth of energy that they've been building up while sitting in a lecture and making Phil a bunch of hot drinks.

"My family aren't big on going out to eat," Phil says, wondering how many times Dan's foot needs to bump his own before he can make a joke about playing footsie. "You're lucky I know how to use a fork and knife."

Dan giggles again. Phil loves the sound of that so much more than he thinks he should be allowed to.

"Lucky me," Dan teases, reaching for Phil's ginger with their own deft chopsticks. Phil considers batting them away, maybe engaging in a chopstick swordfight, but then he remembers that they're in public. "I guess my family didn't go out to eat much either, but that was more about the lack of money than anything else."

For a moment, Phil doesn't know how to respond to that. He's never quite known how to react when people drop things like that in casual conversation. Dan doesn't seem to notice his hesitation, because they're too busy stealing some of Phil's edamame.

"My mum just thought nobody could cook as well as she did," Phil jokes, pulling his edamame closer to him protectively. "At least, that's what she told us. I think she just couldn't be bothered wrangling us."

"You've got siblings?" Dan asks. They sound genuinely interested in the answer.

It's not a date, Phil reminds himself. They're friends, and Dan just wants to get to know him better.

"I've got an older brother," says Phil. "So it was just the two of us, but I've often been told we were frustrating enough for ten."

Dan laughs. "I can imagine. I mean, I don't know your brother, but I bet you started poking your head where it didn't belong a long time before you started getting paid for it." Their foot nudges Phil's again, but this time it seems like it's on purpose. "Bet you were a handful - I know I was. My brother was easy, I think. I was there for most of it, I guess, and he never caused nearly as much trouble as I did, but I think we were head to head in the annoying race."

"I have been informed that I could be a bit of a handful."

"Shocker."

Phil gives in to the urge of doing something silly and tosses an edamame bean at Dan's face. There's no staff looking at them that he can see, and it makes a lovely peal of laughter burst from Dan, so he considers it a win all around.

"Does your family live around here?" Phil asks. Dan's accent clearly isn't local, but their family could have moved at any point.

Something twists in Dan's expression, too quickly for Phil to name it. They settle their chin in one of their open palms, resting both elbows on the table in a way that would have Phil's mum batting at them. "No," they say, strangely slow about it. They seem to be deciding how much they want to say, because they end up shrugging and gesturing around vaguely with their free hand. "Adrian's with our uncle in Austria. No idea where exactly either of my parents are right now, but thank almighty fuck they're not somewhere together."

"Oh," Phil says. He doesn't really know what else to say. This is way out of his depth, not something he's had a lot of practice with talking about. It doesn't seem like it's particularly bothering Dan to talk about it, it's just that Phil has no idea how he's supposed to carry on a conversation with something like 'I'm glad my parents aren't together and I don't know where they live'.

Dan smiles rather kindly, like they know exactly what Phil is thinking and they don't blame him for it. Of course, Phil could be projecting wildly.

"It's okay," they say. Phil doesn't know them well enough to be able to tell when they're lying for sure, but they seem sincere enough. "I've been living on my own for a few years and don't keep up with them much. I go south to see my nana sometimes."

"That's good," Phil says blankly, chasing another piece of sashimi for something else to focus on. The last thing he wants to do is say the wrong thing and make Dan feel uncomfortable being around him.

"Do you get to see your family a lot?" Dan asks.

The question is a normal one, and his family is a topic that Phil usually jumps to discuss, but things are rocky enough emotionally for him right now that he can't even muster up the regular amount of enthusiasm. He shrugs. "I talk to them a couple times a week and see them every few months or so? Martyn lives in London, so I get to see him more often, but he's also like... much busier than I am. Mostly I just stay home with Peej and Sophie and Chris."

"I really like them," Dan informs him. It's more of an announcement than a casual observation, like they think it's important for Phil to know what they think of his friends.

It is. That's very important to Phil.

If this were a date - which it isn't - then Phil would probably crack some jokes about how much less fun they are when he's trying to have a lie-in or make a point of reminding Dan that Chris is flirtatious but harmless.

"I like them, too," he says instead. "They're all so weirdly nice to me that I think they're plotting my death, sometimes."

"I mean, that would get a lot of views," says Dan.

Phil laughs. "I can imagine it now. The mysterious life and death of Philip M. Lester... except my life isn't exactly mysterious, and PJ would not be good at lying to the police."

"You're a little mysterious," Dan says, pouring them both some more tea. They smile when Phil thanks them, their dimple in stark contrast in the lighting. "Not like you're skulking around in the night or whatever - but, listen, you do also do that. I just mean that it's... hard to tell what you're thinking."

"Good," Phil says lightly.

Luckily, Dan laughs like it's a joke. They don't need to be introduced to the exact height of Phil's emotional walls so early in the friendship.

"For example," Dan continues like they haven't been interrupted, "I've noticed that you keep staring at my mug, and I can't tell if it's because you're an insanely jealous Pokémon nerd or if you're trying to figure out what weird animals they are."

Talking about Pokémon is way easier than talking about family or friends or his own shortcomings as a human, so Phil jumps on the topic like he's been handed a life jacket. Dan has a surprisingly deep well of opinions about the games, and Phil starts to really enjoy himself while needling Dan with his own thoughts. Sometimes he pretends like he disagrees completely just to see the way Dan gets passionate, gesturing and getting louder and Googling facts to back their arguments up.

They've got a lot of other media in common, too, and Phil keeps waiting for Dan to not have an opinion on something. It hasn't happened yet. Even with things they haven't watched or read yet, they chatter on about reviews they've seen or theories they've been hearing. The singular time that Phil asks about a film they've never even heard of, Dan grins wide and asks him to tell them about it.

By the time their dinner and dessert and tea are all gone and the staff are starting to give them looks, Phil feels like he's never connected this quickly and easily with someone in his whole life. That's a dangerous thought, but it's also a nice one.

This isn't a date, because this can't be a date, because Dan isn't a guy and Phil only dates guys. Even so, when Phil pays the bill and follows Dan out to the pavement, he feels the bubbling nervousness that he associates with the endings of first dates. Dan walks him to his bus stop, rambling about how Phil must be watching The Walking Dead wrong if he really thinks it's boring. Their cheeks are rosy with the chilly air and the tips of their ears are bright pink. They are ridiculously, unbelievably cute. Phil wishes he could stop noticing details like that, things that are going to make it even harder for him to put that platonic distance between them.

Dan sways into his space a bit when they stop at the empty bus stop, but Phil can't tell if it's on purpose or if Dan is just wiggling around like they usually are.

"This was fun," they say, wrapping up their rant with zero segue.

"I think so," Phil agrees with a little smile. He checks the bus schedule on his phone for probably the fourteenth time today, anxious about missing it or getting on the wrong one or something and having to call his parents with a favour to ask. "And, hey, I'm in town again tomorrow if you want me haunting your place of work again."

Dan grins wide, the streetlights' warmth catching in their eyes and teeth in a mesmerizing sort of way. "I'm not working tomorrow," they say. "But I'd be happy to hang out after my lecture. What are you doing in town?"

"Oh," Phil says, then pauses. He remembers the fierceness in Dan's voice when they told him not to go back to the house by himself. Still, it's not like there's anything they can do to make him stay out of there. "I'm going back to the Wilkins place with my dad's old video camera. It's old, still uses tape, so I'm thinking corruption might not work on it."

"You're going back there by yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm going back," says Phil. He raises his eyebrows, daring Dan to keep arguing.

Dan is good at arguing, but once Phil has made his mind up about something, it's going to take a lot more than a persuasive pretty person telling him what to do to make him change it. Normally it would be annoying for someone to even try, but as confident as Phil is in his own ability to out-stubborn anyone on the topic of his own work, there's a part of him that thinks it's kind of sweet for Dan to worry so much. Ugh. He's got it bad.

It seems like some of his resolve is obvious in his expression or the set of his shoulders or whatever, because Dan just sighs loudly.

"Fine," they say. "I've got a Polaroid, I'll bring that too."

That hadn't been a tactic that Phil was anticipating. He's wrong-footed for a long moment or two as he waits for Dan to say they're kidding. "Uh," he says slowly. "You're not coming."

"Like fuck I'm not." Dan's stubborn face looks a lot like a frustrated, pouting toddler, but Phil still feels some of the effect. "You aren't going back there alone, I told you. I'm not letting you. And, sure, I don't know all the tricks of the trade or what the fuck ever, but you need someone to watch your back and make sure you don't stumble into more trouble. I'm your guy."

"You're not a guy," Phil says, because he doesn't really know what else to say.

That breaks Dan's seriousness, and they giggle into their large hand. Phil is already trying to apologise, but Dan waves him off like he's being ridiculous. "First of all," they say, "it's a figure of speech. And second of all, I'm not not a guy."

Phil can't think about that right now. His bus is visible a couple streets away and the last thing he needs is more confusion about Dan's identity on his plate.

"Sorry," Phil says again, just in case.

Dan rolls their eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow. I'm free after noon."

"Well, we won't go over there until after it gets dark," says Phil. "But I'll text you. We can - I dunno. Get something that's not sushi. Or just get sushi again, honestly, because I'm obsessed with it."

"Same," says Dan, dimples in full force. "We'll figure something out, anyway."

Before Phil can say anything else, Dan sways back into his space and gives him a tight, fleeting hug. "Tomorrow," they repeat before pulling away.

"Tomorrow," Phil agrees. His stomach is in knots and his bus is approaching, so all he can manage is a dorky wave before he has to start digging for change and preparing to make small talk with the bus driver. Dan waits until he's on the bus and gives him a two-finger salute before heading back down the way they'd come.

That detail, the fact that Dan had gone completely out of their way to walk Phil somewhere that he'd been vaguely anxious about, is almost enough to undo all of Phil's careful explanations of their actions towards him.

It wasn't a date. Phil hadn't asked them on a date.

But he's certain now, in a way that he's never been before, that he hadn't been the only one half-wishing it was.

--

Phil can't move.

He's not in the comfortable dullness of his childhood bedroom, where he'd fallen asleep. He's got rough wood under his back and dusty rafters above his head. He can hear the insistent sound of rain hitting the roof, but aside from that the attic is quiet.

He is alone in the Wilkins place and he can't move. For a very, very long time, nothing happens.

Then he feels pressure on his chest that hadn't been there before. He still can't see anything, but it's getting harder and harder to take breaths.

Just when he thinks he's going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, Phil wakes up.

--

"I've had nightmares about places we've investigated before," he says into the phone, hiding out in the kitchen while his parents watch some early morning news broadcast. He's got his clothes in the wash with some of his dad's stuff, so he's taken up roost at the breakfast bar with some cereal and he's been zoning out while looking at the spin cycle. "But they've never felt like... that."

"Like how?" Martyn asks. He's yawning a bit, and Phil almost feels bad about waking him so early.

"Like, real," says Phil. "I don't know how else to describe it, Mar. It felt like I was really there, like something was really sitting on my chest. I could smell the dust and hear the rain and - it felt real."

"Maybe it's not such a good idea to go back, then."

Phil huffs. "Are you kidding me? This just means I'm onto something."

"No, it means you're making reckless decisions because you want to be right so badly that you're willing to ignore warning signs," Martyn says flatly. "And, sure, maybe that's because there's actually something to investigate there, but is that a risk you're willing to take?"

The Wilkins place has never exactly been welcoming; Phil felt like there was someone watching him from the beginning, like they weren't alone in the old walls. And maybe it's stupid of him to keep going back when things had escalated last time into something he had no control over at all, but he knows he's right about this. That makes it hard for him to let go of it, to admit defeat and go back to Brighton with his tail between his legs.

This is his town. It doesn't matter that he's left or that his parents are leaving, too. These are the hills and the streets and the graveyards and the hospitals that he'd followed Martyn through until he was old enough to brave it on his own. He doesn't like the idea that something so relatively new could run him out of town with a nightmare and some flickering lights.

Maybe he does have something to prove. He doesn't plan on doing anything stupid, but he can at least recognise that the simple act of returning at night is stupid enough for the people who care about him to worry.

"I'll have Dan with me," says Phil.

"Oh, okay," Martyn says like he's found a corner piece in a jigsaw puzzle. "So there's a bloke involved."

Phil wants to say that Dan isn't a bloke, but he's got Dan's voice in his head semi-permanently now. He's pretty sure that Dan wouldn't object to the classification, and might even say that they're not not a bloke. Instead, he just sighs loudly. "It's not about Dan, knobhead. But they're, uh, kind of jumpy. So I won't spend more time in the Wilkins place than I strictly need to, okay? For their sake if nothing else."

"Promise?"

"Sure," Phil says, with far more irritation than he actually feels. If he acts prickly, then Martyn won't push. "Did you find out anything else about this place?"

"Not really," Martyn says through another yawn. "I guess Frankie said that some kids were fucking around with spells or something earlier this year? His sister and her friends got in shit for breaking and entering."

"Spells, okay." Phil pulls his phone away from his ear to make a note of that. "I think that was all the sigils we found upstairs, but I'll look closer at the other rooms."

"Be careful."

"Aren't I always?"

Phil hangs up before his brother can start pulling out any receipts.

[sandplague]

hi! idk if this is a blog where i can ask for advice abt the game so if not, ignore this ask but, what would you say to someone who is absolutely enamored by the game and it's world, would love to dig deep into it, but struggles with its language...? poor choice on my part to w play a game with metaphors and intricate english when my grasp on the language (also the only language i know) isn't very great, but im not backin out on this game.

hello, sure you can ask me advice here. if you mean that you are having trouble understanding what to do in a quest because of how the characters speak to one another I would recommend just using a guide when you feel lost. I think that one translated by theLxR should still work, it just has some of the old names (apiary, ospina, laska, etc). I just checked and there is still a pdf online if you search for it. If you are talking about pathologic 2 there is a spoiler-light walkthrough on steam by @phantasphagist. I don’t know if it’s gauche to suggest this but I don’t think you’re breaking immersion or whatever if you need to double check what to do sometimes in order to make progress.

If you mean that you are having trouble understanding the way characters speak and/or the structure of the game, you could try studying some Russian literature, look up Brecht’s theater/theories (or just papers/videos that can give an overview in easier to understand terms), also I think reading about Shklovsky’s concept of defamiliarization/остранения would help (brecht has his own adaptation of this called the distancing effect/verfremdungseffekt), I have only engaged with that in regards to film and installation art but I think you can apply it to pathologic as well. if you can find info on temporal defamiliarization it’s also pretty interesting, I think there is a paper online about that in regards to Tarkovsky’s film Stalker.  Also in general I think reading (or even just reading some passages from) “the weird and the eerie” by mark fisher is good for understanding what makes pathologic haunting/frightening without the game having to rely on jump scares, plus it’s less dense and verbose than some of the other work I have mentioned. If you are interested in the more minute aspects of characters I have for instance some information about the connection between Andrei and the artist Cellini in Andrei’s tag on this blog, and I would recommend reading Cellini’s autobiography (which is totally wild, there’s a whole section where he does a ritual with a necromancer, he has people try to poison him multiple times, his insane jailbreaks, etc) and the book Benvenuto Cellini: Sexuality, Masculinity, and Artistic Identity in Renaissance Italy for more context.

  I’m sure most of these things have been suggested before in regards to understanding pathologic, I haven’t watched those popular youtube videos on it so I’m just going by what I personally know and would suggest. I’m sure there’s a lot more, I’m not going into detail on each or anything here since I’m just putting out some suggestions.. I’m happy you are sticking with the game, I think it’s important for a full understanding to play all of them (all 3 characters of pathologic & pathologic 2 & the marble nest) yourself. I hope I could help at least a little with this and I hope these suggestions aren’t too ridiculous      

[feathersandpaintbrushes]

Entye

ENTYE, “Debt”

— Chapter 2: Sparks

 Chapter 1 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4, 

Summary: The Mandalorian and Kas land on a desert planet in search of a new ship, but find trouble waiting for them.

Warnings: blood, injuries, language

Characters: the Mandalorian (Din Djarin), the child, original character

A/N: If you want tagged, just let me know:) Find me on AO3! Heading art belongs to me (Feathersandpaintbrushes and night-feather-designs)

-------------

It was too fucking hot.

Three frostbitten years on Hoth had forced her body to acclimate to icy winds, and the dry heat of this new planet sucked the moisture from her eyes and mouth and dried the sweat as it beaded on her forehead.

She was miserable.

She shot a baleful glare at the back of the Mandalorian’s helmet.  Getting her out of Hoth and onto a new planet – one with an actual town and spaceports – had been their only deal.  She regretted not specifying which planet; it seemed he’d taken her from one extreme to the other.

A gust of hot wind blew sand in her face and she screwed her eyes shut, an explosive sneeze slipping out before she could help it.

The Mandalorian – curse him – glanced back at her and she could swear she heard a chuckle behind his mask. 

“How much further to the town?” She gasped out, hating that she sounded like an impatient child, wishing her voice sounded like steel, but she was thirsty, and she’d already drained her canteen after a measly fifteen minutes of walking.

The Mandalorian stopped and she caught up to him, forcing her breathing to sound even despite the stuttering of her heart.  He stared quietly for a moment as she swallowed, doing her best to keep her face blank.  She wished she could be wearing her mask too, but she needed her mouth free to catch every baking mouthful of air this planet had to offer.

“Not long,” he replied eventually, and with only the faintest of sighs, handed her his own full canteen.  Pride warred with thirst, and she clenched her fists, willing herself not to grab for it.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, pushing the canteen at her chest. “You aren’t used to the heat, I am.  Just take it.”

She did, hands shaking slightly as she uncapped it and took a sip of the still cool water.

“Thank you,” she reminded herself to murmur, looking at the horizon to avoid looking at his mask.

He began walking again after she’d taken a second sparing sip of water, and she did her best to keep up with his long stride.

When they finally got to the town, she was torn between the sheer relief of being in something that passed as civilization again and a sudden panic at the noise and press of bodies around her.  Clenching her fists at her own cowardice, she slipped into the Mandalorian’s shadow, letting him clear a way for her while she acclimated herself to what living in a society entailed.

There were humans.  Lots of them.  And dozens of different species she didn’t have names for.  There was laughter and the smell of cooking and a child ran past her chasing some small lizard creature.  She stopped and stared at a stall filled with spices, her mouth suddenly watering as she remembered all the flavors she’d missed out on when trapped on Hoth.

Someone large bumped into her, making her fingers fly to her blaster. 

“Watch it,” they snarled in a deep, garbled Basic.  Gripping her blaster tightly, she spun to catch sight of the Mandalorian only to hit a different alien, who’s damp skin stuck unpleasantly to her arm.  They hissed at her in a language she didn’t recognize.  A hand grabbed her arm and she nearly jumped out of her skin, shoving her blaster against the chest of the Mandalorian who had appeared from thin air.

“Come on,” he said roughly, yanking on her arm and dragging her behind him into a dimly lit building.  The darkness and the sound of loud music threatened to overwhelm her still further until the bitter tank of spirits hit her nose.

A cantina.  She took a deep breath, letting the familiar stenches wash over her and ground her.  It had been years since she’d been in a joint like this.  Years since she’d had anything stronger than the watery meat soup she made in the cave at Hoth.  But one cantina is much like another, and the sights and smells here were more familiar than anything she’d seen so far on this sun baked planet.

“Stay.”

The Mandalorian pushed his gloved hand down hard on her shoulder, forcing her to sit at one of the sticky booths while he disappeared into the crowd around the bar.

She took a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing on the familiar beat of her heart.  A metallic clang made her open her eyes to see the Mandalorian set a cup of something in front of her.  She raised her eyes to him and smiled tightly.  “Thanks,” she said, taking a gulp of the bitter alcohol.  “It’s just –“  “Been a while.  I figured.” The smile she gave him at these gruff words was more genuine.    

“I haven’t had a decent drink in three years,” she added, taking another gulp.  “Okay,” she said coughing, as the Mandalorian tilted his head to the side in what she imagined to be his equivalent to a raised eyebrow, “I haven’t had any drink in three years.  So maybe I’m a little biased.”  He definitely snorted this time, and she hid a smirk in another deep gulp.  She still felt jerky and droid-like with her expressions.  Three years was a long time with only Tuantuans and herself for company.  She’d talked, of course, to keep herself from going insane.  But smiling – well she’d gone without a genuine smile for nearly as long as she’d gone without a drink.

“So,” she said, setting the empty glass down with a decisive clank. “Where can I go to find a ship of my own?”

-----

It was a hunk of junk.  Its hull was badly scarred, and the inside smelled like the rotten insides of a dead tuantuan.  The pilot’s seat was vaguely sticky, and she was afraid to look in the bathroom.  But it was cheap.  Cheap enough that she could buy it with the few credits she had left over from before Hoth.  And it could, in theory, fly her far enough to get her to a nice mild weathered planet where she could start work doing who knows what.  It didn’t matter.  Anything to keep her fed and clothed. 

“I’ll take it,” she said firmly. She could feel the Mandalorian’s eyes boring into her back, even through his helmet.  She ignored his judgement and set her jaw.  Not everyone could have a ship with an actual bedroom in it thank you.  Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she was grateful to find something that she could fly away on today.  She couldn’t stand another moment of the heat.  Her nose was already red, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever get the sand out of her hair.

“Are you sure?”

Kas turned and blinked up at the Mandalorian’s helmeted face as he appeared suddenly by her side.  “It can fly me off this desert.  That’s good enough for me,” she pointed out.

“There’s got to be something less,” he gestured with a gloved hand, annoyance coming off him in waves. 

“Less what?” she demanded, stepping closer to hiss under her breath so the seller couldn’t hear.  “Less cheap? Less available?”

“Less trashy.” The Mandalorian snapped, even his modulator failing to keep the contempt out of his voice.  “The guy’s ripping you off.  He should be paying you to take it off his hands.”

This was undeniably true; the seller’s eyes had gleamed when she’d offered her meager credits.  Still, she wanted to be free again.  It left a foul taste in her mouth to be in debt to anyone, especially a Mandalorian. 

“Well what do you suggest I do?” she snapped, unable to resist curling her hands into fists.

To her surprise the Mandalorian’s voice was calm again when he answered. 

“Wait a day.  Maybe two.  Either he’ll come down in price or someone else will have something for sale.”

his carefully controlled tone did nothing to convince her; if anything, it set Kas’s teeth on edge and strengthened her resolve.  She took a step back and frowned up at the Mandalorian.

“I’m taking it. Thank you for getting me here,” she added.  “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Turning decisively, she walked up the seller and pressed her credits into his hand with a murmur, aware the whole time of the heavy gaze of the Mandalorian piercing into her back.

------

Night had fallen by the time she’d finished stocking her new ship, and weariness dragged at her eyelids.  One more night here wouldn’t hurt her; she’d gotten her ship, and while it didn’t have a bedroom, she’d scrubbed the pilot’s seat into a semblance of cleanliness, and it was comfortable enough with her heavy coat draped over it. 

She was just drifting off to sleep when she saw flashing lights through her eyelids.  Biting back a curse she opened her eyes to see blaster fires lighting up the desert night.  Curious, she grabbed a pair of binoculars and aimed them at the flashing lights.  For a moment the night was dark, then another red flash illuminated a ship in the distance.  Zooming in, she felt her stomach drop when the light flashed again, revealing the Mandalorian’s ship.

“Fuck.”

She put down the binoculars and rubbed her forehead.  She did not owe him anything.  She saved his life from the sapphire worm, he got her to this planet.  They were even.  More than even. 

But.

But her hand still lifted the binoculars to her face again and her heart still pounded when she saw the silhouettes of stormtroopers illuminated in the red of blaster fire.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong is how she got dumped on Hoth with no ship and no radio.  Sticking her nose out where it didn’t belong had earned her scar after scar.  She owed this guy nothing.  He was a Mandalorian.  A bounty hunter.  The second someone who knew her put a reward on her head, it would be someone like him who brought her in.

But.

But there was that child with him.  That weird, tiny little green thing that had curled in the Mandalorian’s cloak while he’d been passed out in front of her fire. 

Before she could think about it any longer, she turned, grabbed her weapons, and ran out the door to the Mandalorian’s ship.

--

The desert night was not much cooler, even without the heat of the sun.  Dry air pushed Kas’s hair off her face as she ran towards the Mandalorian’s ship.

As she neared, the battle slowly came into sight.  Troopers were standing on the ramp leading into the ship, weapons firing at the Mandalorian as he tried to get inside.  Kas slowed and hid behind a small rocky outcropping, some ten meters from the fight.  Settling onto her stomach she pulled her a long, rifle like object off her back.  She’d modified a normal flame thrower to project balls of flames that she found went further than the normal stream of fire from a normal flamethrower.  It was one of her most prized weapons, and the modification had helped her against many sapphire worms on Hoth.

Taking a breath she leveled the weapon, aiming for the troopers closer to her.  It admittedly wasn’t the most accurate weapon.  It didn’t always fire, and couldn’t send out more than a dozen bursts in one fight.  But, it was a decent distraction.

She fired, a fierce surge of joy flashing through her as the fireball ripped through the air, hitting a stormtrooper in the chest.  She had maybe one more shot before she became too obvious of a target. 

The second shot went left, hitting the feet of one trooper but skimming the Mandalorian’s cape, which promptly caught fire.

Cursing, she shoved the flame thrower back onto the holster on her back and grabbed her staff off her back.  It was her own version of an electrostaff that had been used by the empire.  Hers was much smaller, built for close combat and easy storage.  It folded in the middle when not in use.  Between the flamethrower that strapped to her back, the blaster hanging from her right hip, and the small dagger she kept sheathed on her belt, she didn’t have room for a long swinging pole.  While not as strong, the electrified end hurt like hell, and the other end sported a blade, strong enough to pierce most armor if she gave it a solid thrust.  

Kas ran quickly towards the fight and pressed the electrified end of her staff against the side of the trooper who was approaching the Mandalorian, who was busy beating the flames off his cape.

“Sorry about that,” she gasped to him as she spun to block a blow from a different trooper.  The Mandalorian recovered quickly, shooting a grappling hook out from his bracer and tripping a trooper before shooting it unceremoniously in the head.

“I had it covered,” he shouted as she grappled with a trooper, grunting as their fist punched into her stomach.

“Duck,” a familiar voice growled next to her ear, and she dropped quickly, watching as the Mandalorian’s arm lunged above her and buried a knife into the trooper’s neck.

The fight was a blur.  There had to be at least a dozen troopers, but there were two of them at least.  And the Mandalorian was a good fighter.

So was she.

She reveled in it, a savage grin stretching her lips as she parried a blow from a trooper and then followed through with a stab of the bladed side of her staff.

They were both quick in their movements, and they slid past each other and watched each others backs like they'd been at this deadly dance together for years.

Pain sliced through Kas’s arm and she snarled, throwing herself at the trooper whose blaster fire had carved a shallow groove into her flesh.

The only problem, she thought grimly as she pushed the electric staff against the troopers neck, was that she didn’t have armor, while the Mandalorian did.  He could take hits and even some blaster fire, protected by the shiny beskar that covered his body.  Her only protection lay with how fast she could move.

A flash of movement flickered in the corner of her eye, and Kas turned to see the Mandalorian, flinching slightly as his gloved hand grabbed her injured arm.

“The child,” he gasped before turning, distracted as a trooper fired at him from a distance.

Kas felt a lurch deep within her stomach as she turned, catching a glimpse of a trooper through the front window of the ship.

She turned and ran up the ramp, hearing shots and realizing the Mandalorian was covering her with fire.

Inside the ship was dark, and she holstered her staff, grabbing the blaster off her hip instead.

“Stop right there.”

Kas froze and turned around with her blaster raised to see a trooper step out of the shadows, a bundle in their arms.

“Drop your weapon.”

The blaster fell to the ground with a metallic clang that echoed in the dark ship.

The bundle in the trooper’s arms moved, a small hand pushing its way out of the cloth.  The sight of it, so small and fragile, filled Kas’s heart with a black rage.  She didn’t know what the troopers wanted with it.  Didn’t know why the Mandalorian was fighting with them.  But she knew deep within her that they should not have the child.

The anger was hot within her, flames twisting in her stomach and up her throat, choking her with the desire to kill whoever stood against the child.  Her hand grasped the dagger sheathed in her belt.

She was fast.  The blade left her hand in the space between heart beats and landed in the troopers neck.  The trooper fell, the child with them, and Kas lunged forward to grab it, heart beating too loud to hear the blaster shot, fire inside too hot to feel the burn of the hole that sizzled in her flesh above her heart.

But the sound of heavy boots walking up the ramp had her moving, gripping the precious bundle to her chest as she snarled, blaster she’d snatched from the ground pointing out at the Mandalorian as he approached her.

 Her ears were buzzing, and she stared blankly at him for a long moment.

“…over, we need to go….. to me”

She blinked and swayed slightly, not lowering her blaster as the Mandalorian kneeled beside her, taking the child from her unresisting hands.

“It’s over,” he repeated gently. “We need to go.”

---

She looked horrible.

Din had helped the girl up to the cockpit, brows furrowing with concern behind his mask as she slumped in the copilot’s seat.  She was bleeding heavily from her shoulder and was pale in the dim light, but he wouldn’t be able to offer her help until they got into hyperspace.

The ship came to life with a soft whir as he began moving switches and pulling levers one handed – he was still too keyed up from the fighting to put the child down.

Once safely in the air he pulled the med pack down from where it was stored and walked slowly over to Kas.  She stirred as if waking from a slumber, and when she met his eyes he was startled by the sadness there.

“So much for getting my own ship, huh?” She said with a weak smile.

Guilt settled into the bottom of his stomach, and Din kneeled beside her, placing the child on her lap.

“Thank you for helping back there,” he murmured, and the smile settled more firmly on her lips.

“I couldn’t let them hurt this little guy,” she explained, uninjured hand lightly touching the tip of the child’s ear.

“We need to stop the bleeding.  Is it okay if I help?”

Her eyes were hazel, he noticed, and looked wary as she nodded her permission.

The blaster shot had hit the fleshy spot of her shoulder, below the collar bone.  Another shot has carved a shallow groove into her bicep.  He did his best to be gentle as he cleaned the wounds, but she went even paler and hissed loudly when the antiseptic touched her skin.  The cauterizing pen was even worse; both of them were sweating by the time he’d finished sealing the deeper wound, and Kas’s nails had left grooves in the leather of the seat, a low growl sliding between her clenched teeth all the while.

The difference between the pale, pained woman in front of him and the ferocious fighter from an hour ago was startling to Din.  Before her eyes had snapped and gleamed; he’d even caught sight of her smiling savagely as she killed the troopers attacking them.  Now she was just… human.  Weariness showed in the purple shadows under her eyes and the tightness of her lips.  She smelled like blood and sweat and blaster smoke.  Yet under it all he still saw the woman who had been hunched in the shadows, cradling the child in her arms like the most precious jewel in the world even as blood dripped down her arm.

He didn’t trust her.  He couldn’t trust her.

But she’d fought with him, fought for the child.

She could have left them; she had her own ship, her freedom.  But she’d turned back to help them.

He couldn’t trust her.

But he did respect her.  And she was a fucking good fighter.

He could use a good fighter.

“We can find a way to get you back to your ship,” Din offered, standing.

“Or?”

Kas turned her head, keeping her eyes on him as he put the med pack away and sat back at the captain’s seat.

“Or,” he said evenly, feeling as his her eyes were locked directly on him, despite the helmet separating them.

“Or you could come with us.  You’re good in a fight.  And the kid likes you.  I can’t offer you anything, and I can’t promise that it’d be safe.  But I can offer my help when there’s trouble, and a place to stay.”

Kas’s face was still pale and clammy, but a look of peace washed over her features.  Her eyes were blazing as they met his, and he was startled by the hope he saw in them.

“Where to next, partner?”

tags: @knockbeforeyouspeak​ 

[rendezvousrenjun]

ring ring rejection | three

img // au masterlist // prev // next // ✰ pairing :  highschool!renjun x reader (+ dreamies + best friend!mark) ✰ genre : fluff + barely any angst ✰  word count : 2.7k Sometimes when the right people meet at the right time things between them escalate naturally. Renjun was scared, no, terrified, that you two clicked right away. It’s never this easy. Usually it takes time to develop relationships, but he felt comfortable. There was nothing he could pinpoint about you that outshined, if there was, maybe Renjun would have been the one to approach you sooner. He regretted it, really-- being somewhat rude and falling for his own false assumptions towards you. 

So, maybe you are special. A special kind of friend. Chemistry? A spiritual connection? It doesn’t matter what it was. Because Renjun never thought that you needed to change one bit; subconsciously he had already integrated you into his life. 

It was the day after you two had met in the little cafe near the school. Oddly enough, for no reason in particular, he asked Jaemin to go to class earlier with him. Was he excited to see you again? He didn’t know. He didn’t know until you walked through the door.

“Y/n!!!” He didn’t know why he was so keen on greeting you now. But seeing you smile at him again like you did yesterday reassured him.  To say Jaemin and Mark were taken aback by the way you two started to act would be an understatement. How could people who looked like they were completely incompatible yesterday, look like they knew what cereal the other preferred today?

“That’s what I’m saying it’s weird how you say you both rejected each other and nOw all of a sUDden it looks like I’m being replaced” After school ended Jaemin had asked Renjun to walk him home to figure things out for himself. “Like how did that even happen? Make it make sense junnie.”  “What’s there to make sense? Can’t I have friends other than the two of you?” “Ya!” Jeno’s eyes enlarge while he raises his wrist to suggest playfully hitting Renjun. He decided to tag along too when he saw the two of them walking out from the gate. He retracts his arm as his eyes crease into a smile. “Renjun don’t forget you still owe me-- Jaemin you should’ve seen how Renjun planned an entire escape route; he even asked me to wait in the cafe and pull him out if something bad happened but he completely forgot about me.” “As expected from our junnie--” Jaemin was able to make out after throwing his head back in laughter and disbelief, earning an eye roll from Renjun. “Yea yea whatever.” 

“From now on just ring me up whenever you want, I’m glad you’re in my life now.”  Although Renjun was the one who told you to ring him up, he ended up being the first one to call.  [7:00PM, Wednesday; 36 days after rejecting each other]

The twigs of the trees outside were scratching against the kitchen window. Renjun sat in the middle of his dining room table, eating the cut up apple he made for himself as a light snack. His parents were gone due to a complicated business trip and he has the whole house for himself. Initially he was extremely ecstatic at the idea of having alone time; to shower as long as he wanted, eat two packs of ramen without being scolded, everything would be calm and peaceful. But this being the first night of being alone, his skin began to crawl with a different found anxiety. 

He gets up to turn on every single light in the house, not even the bathroom is left alone. Does it ease him up? Barely.

Knock Knock Knock.

Renjun looks over at the living room window to see a man looking right at him. He immediately rushes to the kitchen again. The area he lives in was known for business men and scammers trying to contact residents. He just didn’t know how to act rationally and simply shoo them away now.

“Oh my god I’m going to die” 

He grabs a knife from the drawer and holds it to his chest, with his small plate of apple slices and his phone in the other hand. It didn’t help that the man kept knocking at the window, with loud “hellos” following up, knowing Renjun was home. The next thing he knew, the kitchen lightbulb was flickering and it went out with a pop.

“aaaAA what the fucccc-” Renjun is running upstairs to his room and locking his door in a hot second. He fumbles with his phone to dial the first number that pops up in his head because honestly he just needs to facetime someone as soon as possible, and it just so happened to be you who texted him last about a math assignment.

Thankfully, you pick up right away.

“Renjun! Hello-” “Shhhh!!” Renjun whispers into the phone. The look on your face showing concern and perplexed amusement.  “What happened? Are you okay?” Your tone is softer now, abiding by Renjun’s instruction. “Don’t laugh at me okay?” His voice is a bit shaky and you nod your head at the camera, making your way to your room as well to remove all other distractions around you. “B-but there’s a scary man outside my house and I’m alone and I’m really scared and I think he’s an alien.” “Renjun you should call 119 what are you doing?!” Your voice is hushed but still strict and pushing.  “I might just be overreacting and I’m just really scared-- I even brought this knife with me I don’t even know…” He flips the camera screen to show you his kitchen knife that seemed too big for his little hands. “Hey hey it’s okay don’t worry, if anything happens to you I’ll be able to see it okay? You’re going to be fine Renjun.” “Sorry for calling you out of the blue, I don’t want to bother you--if you need to go somewhere I understand-” “Injunnie.” Renjun stops speaking to turn his attention to how you sweetly called him by his nickname. He can see your face in the warmly lit lighting of your bedroom, he finds it comforting. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry about me worry about yourself first. Did you finish the homework?” “Uhh.. yea I did actually” “Well good for you then” “Do you still need help?” “Yea just a little-- wait I just realized did you call the man outside an alien? You believe in aliens?” “Yea? So what about it? You think it’s childish or something?” “No, actually I feel like they’re closer to us than we think. Think about it; there are so many other universes than ours they’re bound to exist right?” “Oh my gosh I was thinking the same thing! So let me tell you about how….”

Just like that Renjun was able to ease up. You two talked about conspiracy theories as he made his way on top of his bed, hugging the knife with a firm grasp and looking at you through the phone camera. Just like the cafe, time seemed to accelerate in Renjun’s company. You hadn’t notice what time it was until you asked Renjun what he thought the color of happiness would be and he didn’t respond right away. Looking at your phone screen, after leaving it on the side of your bed for awhile, you’re heart trembles in adoration for the boy who had fallen asleep while talking to you. His phone resting slightly in his hand, the camera pointed up from his chin. You could see how long his eyelashes were from this angle, or the way his mouth slightly opened while he slept. 

“Sleep well Renjun.”

 This time, you ended the call. 

As a thank you for staying with him over call for almost seven hours, Renjun decided he wanted to give you a gift. Well, maybe he just wanted to make friendship bracelets in general. It ended up taking longer than he anticipated because he wasn’t able to give you his thank you gift for a couple of weeks.  Long story short, he forgot to bring it to school often and he wanted to remake the bracelets so they were a prettier shade of yellow. 

Unfortunately for him, the day he actually brought it was the only day in the entire year you were absent. “Mark” he pats Mark’s shoulder in class, startling the older boy who was listening to music on full blast. Taking off one of the earbuds, Mark looks over at Renjun who’s biting his lip, eyes bright with anticipation. “What’s wrong Renjun?” “Renjun is curious about something!” cuts in Jaemin from the other desk, sliding next into your empty seat.  “Do you know where y/n is? Is she okay?” “OhhHHHhHhHhhhhhh, oh yea she didn’t make it today huh?” “What do you mean didn’t make it?” “She’s been trying to fight like a fever for the past few days, haven’t you guys like noticed? I guess she really needed to rest though, no need to worry.” “Ohh… okay tell her I said get better soon.” Renjun reverts back to his seat. “Tell her I’ll give her all the hugs she needs to keep her warm when she gets back.” Jaemin pouts in concern. “But wait- why don’t I just text her myself haha- WAIT junnie why don’t YOU just text her yourself???” “Actually guys, better yet- let’s visit her after school” Mark tries to calm down his shit-eating grin because he knows the best medicine for you now is to see lover-boy Renjun inside your own house. “Like, as a surprise?”  “Yea! She’ll totally love it! Trust me, I know how she is.” “Oh man sorry guys I can’t go. Jeno asked me to help during soccer practice today.” “It’s okay Jaemin, I’ll like tell y/n you said hi.” “ACtUally you should get RenjUn to tell her I said hi-” Renjun cuts him off by putting him in a headlock. “How mAny times did I say it’s not like that-” “Deny it all you want Renjun but the heart wants what it-”

Everything is drowned out by Mark’s laughter and the teacher giving the three of them a warning for being insanely loud in class, but what’s new?

Renjun had only seen the outside of your home from that one time he dropped you off. Entering it now, he feels as if you and your home have an uncanny resemblance. It was a different type of welcoming warmth he had grown accustomed to after befriending you. He understood how Mark grew so comfortable around you. It was right here. In the rug placed slightly off center of the living room. In the pretty off-white shade of the walls that had various writings and marks from the past. In the soft buzzing of a humidifier. Even the smell reminded Renjun of you. It was you.  “AuntieeEEEEeeee” Mark yelled after taking off his shoes and slipping on the slippers to make his way to the kitchen where your mom sat peeling garlic, leaving Renjun to follow suit.  “Mark! My favorite child!” Your mom straight up roasts you while you are still asleep, embracing Mark in a tight hug.   Renjun couldn’t help but think that even her voice sounded like you.  “I brought another friend of ours, this is Renjun.” Mark breaks away from the hug to reveal Renjun peaking from the entrance of the kitchen, going up to your mom and greeting her with his prince-like smile, which automatically charms her. “Wow I didn’t know y/n had such a handsome friend.”  Renjun becomes incredibly polite and bashful under your mom’s words, as Mark’s shit-eating grin returns. You know you’ll never hear the end of him claiming he’s the best wingman after all this.  “Allow me to finish cooking here, Mrs. y/l/n!” Renjun beams at your mom, persuading her to go and relax.  “I can help!” Mark attempts to walk to the stove to put a pot atop of it but your mom stops him and asks him to help her rearrange some old CDs and vinyls in the garage instead.  Your nose wakes up before the rest of your body because a pungent and aromatic soup flavor begins to fill your nostrils. Wrapping yourself entirely in your blanket, making space only for your face to poke out, you waddle out of your room, realizing you haven’t eaten the entire day.  What you see next has you rubbing your eyes a couple of times to make sure you weren’t dreaming.  There at the edge of your stove stood Huang Renjun with your mother’s apron, humming something incomprehensible, stirring the pot with a hand on his hip. The light of golden hour shining through one of the windows and onto him like a spotlight given from the heavens.  “Is this real” your groggy voice comes out deep and brash, causing Renjun to shriek and jump a little, turning to look at you with the soup spoon in his hand. Seeing you cocooned in your enormous blanket, a perplexed expression on your face, he can’t help but laugh at your state.  “OH MY GOD THIS IS REAL” you cover your face with your hand and dash into your room to clean up your appearance, despite the fact that the image of you as a cocoon has already been imprinted in Renjun’s mind. You could still hear his giggles after you shut the door and feel your heart combust. By the time you reenter the kitchen, Mark and Renjun are already eating the soup Renjun made. “Rise and shine dummyhead” Mark greets you and pats the seat next to him repeatedly for you to sit. You remain eye contact with Renjun as you sit down, him sitting across from you reminds you of the cafe meeting and a smile makes its way to your lips.  “You made me soup?” Your grin is still apparent in your voice as you eagerly try the soup for the first time. “Food always makes me feel better, Thank you Renjun.” “Awwwww how swEEt” Mark adds, but before you and Renjun could even process his words or react to him Mark cuts himself off, “Yo y/n do you remember Lucas??” “Oh my gosh, Yukhei??? Of course! I miss his dumbass!” “Whose Lucas?” Renjun interjects, looking at both of your faces silently asking for the two of you to include him too.  “He’s our friend from grade school, but he doesn’t go to our school now so we haven’t seen him in awhileeeee.” You disclose to Renjun, whose features soften. “Guess what? He like got a girlfriend!!”  “No wayyyyyyy I wanna meet her!” “Apparently she goes to our school, small world huh?” “OH! That reminds me…” Renjun catches both of your attention immediately, “the school is funding an art show this year, and guess who's the host?! Me! They were looking at my portfolio and the administrators asked me to help them host the entire thing!” “Renjun! I am so happy for you!” He smiles back at you, seeing the proud expression on both of your faces. “Dude is that what Jeno was talking about the other day? The guitar thing and like you right?” Mark takes another sip of soup from your bowl and raises his eyebrows for Renjun to continue talking about the show.  “Yea that’s right... Actually I asked Jeno to help me prepare something special for the end of the event for Yoojung.” Yoojung. You don’t think you’ll ever stop hearing her name bringing pulled up in conversation. Even in your own house. “cool cool cool” Mark awkwardly adds, “speaking of Yoojung, how’s tutoring her little brother?” “Oh you mean Jisung?” You almost spit out your soup at the sound of the name. “Park Jisung is Yoojung’s brother?????” “You know Jisung??” “Dude I used to tutor him back in the day what a coincidence how is he?? I would’ve never guessed Yoojung and him were related, they look nothing alike.” “He’s pretty chill I guess… I try to ask him questions about Yoojung lowkey but he literally does not know anything about his sister it’s funny.”  “AHahahaha--” You start actually choking on your soup mid-laugh, reaching over for your glass of water. Renjun attempts to move it to you and reach over to pat your back, but he stops himself after seeing Mark already doing so. Mark rubs and hits in between your shoulder blades, head tilting to check your red face, asking if you’re alright.

Renjun doesn’t understand why seeing Mark care for you like this makes him feel out of place. He doesn’t understand why it may have made him a little bit upset. 

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Rock You Like a Hurricane (The Eighties Blasts Collection, Part 12.)

Description: Jim Hopper died as a hero. But with that, one certain problem rises up - who will now lead the cops of Hawkins? Hopper thought of that - he decided to write a letter, naming his niece, nineteen-year-old student of Indianapolis police academy, Y/N Hopper as a sheriff deputy in a letter. But anybody in the town doesn’t have a clue that being a cop in Hawkins is way more dangerous than it might seem.

Part Summary: The whole party has finally assembled and there's only one more thing that needs to be done - Hopper needs to test if the monster is really connected to her like the first Demogorgon was to Eleven.

A/N: Song is a shoutout to Billy Hargrove - he might be not the best guy, but he did some pretty nice things in the end.

Word Count: 3 K

Tagging: @charmed-asylum​ @nemodoren​

Master list: The Eighties Blast Collection

It took two other days until everyone was able to meet up - it was a pretty Saturday night and everyone decided to meet up at the old car graveyard. Kids were calling it Junkyard, but the old car graveyard was a better name in your opinion. 

You and Steve were there two hours before the sunset, waiting on everybody else to show up. You sat on the top of an old school bus and watched the sun slowly disappearing behind the trees. It was truly beautiful, but it still was a bit cold. It was almost December after all - you just hugged yourself tighter and pushed the big, winter, lumberjack coat which you found in Hoppers cabin tighter on your body.

“How are you feeling?” - Steve asked suddenly. There were many things you could talk about and yet, you decided to keep your mouth shut. For example, you could ask him about him and Nance. You could talk about the last years you haven't seen each other. You could start asking questions, and a lot of them, but you were mostly just joking around.

Mostly, you were thinking about the vision the Shapeshifter showed you. If you had to be honest, you were everything but brave even if you tried to act like a tough cookie. Seriously, you were terrified out of your mind. What if the visions showed to be false? What if the Shapeshifter tried to play mind games with you? But what if they were real? There were at least dozen of Demogorgons somewhere in the world, kept at one place and there were probably even more which you couldn't see with your own eyes, and that was... Surreal. You have seen and heard what one Demogorgon can do. What could dozens of them do?

And there, of course, there was Jim. Was he alive or dead? Was he somewhere out there and was he waiting for your help? Or was he a lie as well? You needed to speak to somebody so bad, but the only person you would tell all of this was dead, currently MIA.

“Yeah, thanks for asking. Do I look bad or something?” - You joked, not sure if you're funny. Steve had an answer on his tongue, but he just swallowed it down. You thought that he doesn't see how many times you wake up in the night, panting and mumbling something, being completely disoriented for a few seconds until you realized where you were. You were quiet enough not to wake anyone, but Steve wasn't able to fall asleep most of both nights - you were in his room and there was a Shapeshifter roaming around in the woods.

“I just think it can be all a bit too much to handle singlehandedly, that's all.” - Steve mumbled to you before turning back to the sunset. 

“But I'm not alone in this one, Steve. There's five kids, two childhood friends, and Robin who are helping me handle this. Otherwise, I would simply go insane.” - You answered honestly, thinking that your whole talk is over. It wasn't.

“I don't have this situation on my mind. I mean the situation in your head.” - Steve slowly dropped the knees down from the top to swing them around as a small boy. - “Listen, Hoper, I know how does it feel like to be alone. For a time, I had no-one. My girlfriend left me, I realized that my best friends are just jerks and the only person I relied on, my dad, told me that I am his biggest disappointment since I didn't make it to college. If you need to talk to someone, a heart to heart talk, just remember that I'm here.” - Steve gave you a small smile, and you just looked at him without having anything to say. - “I just don't think it's fair that you were left alone, without Hopper. And I don't think it's fair that the Shapeshifter gave as much hope as it did.”

Alone. To feel alone. Such a strange feeling. To feel like no-one understands you, that you don't belong anywhere and to anyone. When you felt alone, it felt like you were floating, like an airship without an anchor. 

“I really hope that he's somewhere out there.” - You told Steve quietly, playing with the hem of the lumberjack coat with your thumb. - “I just really miss him. He really was like a dad to me, you know?” 

“I know, Hopper, I know. I remember the time you were living at his place in New York and came back for the holidays. We were together most of the time and we always went for a swim to Nancy's. We were six or something.” - Steve said with a smile, watching his old Converse shoes swinging in the air. 

That was a dark time in your life - or so you were told. Hopper made it the best year and a half of your life. You hadn't got a single bad memory on the time you've been living at his house in New York while he took you back here to have holidays in Hawkins. Sara took you as a sister, Hopper definitely took you as his little present, as he always called you. After that, it all crumbled down - your life, Hopper's life, Sara's life. But you didn't want to focus on that story. - “You never looked happier than here, when Hopper was taking care of you. We will do our best to find him, for you and Eleven. It's the least he deserves from us as payback for everything he's done to keep our asses safe.” - Steve promised and rose his pinkie for you to hold it. He could see the tears in your eyes and even though, you still rose yours to hug his. You tried to act so toughly, but Steve knew that it's just a mask you're wearing.

There was a whole story to be told, yours and Hopper's, but at the time, you didn't want to focus on any of it. Also, you heard the first bikes arriving at the old car graveyard, so it was finally the time to stop being so serious. It was Dustin with Lucas and Max, each of them holding a bucket of leftovers from the butcher's. Sometime after that, Mike with Nancy and Robin came out of the woods - Robin surely took them in her car. 

You started to prepare the playground - you made sure that the bus will be a totally safe space for the kids, you also made sure that the flashlights are lighting every small corner of the old car graveyard. Steve with Dustin prepared way made out of meat from the butcher's, telling everyone that they've done it already. The rest was securing the small meadow inside the junkyard - Max made herself one watchtower away from everyone where she was sitting with radio and with a sling by her side. 

Lucas made himself a bird's nest on the of the old school bust you and Steve were sitting at previously. Nancy had a revolver by her side just as you did, Steve came back with a baseball bat that had nails hammered in. Max and Lucas had slingshots and Robin found herself an old, rusty pipe. Dustin and Mike were the second radio tower on the bus, sitting alongside Lucas. Nancy was supposed to have a watch on the stairs of the bus meanwhile Robin and Steve were with you outside, protecting your right side and your back.

“Whatever happens, we're in this together.” - Mike told everyone just a quarter to ten o'clock remaining. You were standing next to a huge pile of meat that was supposed to be the main catch for the Shapeshifter. - “We won't leave anyone behind. If anyone dies, we're dying with them.” - Wheeler said as if that was for sure, which, of course, terrified you. 

“Nobodys going to die, dingus. We secured the junkyard, we are equipped, Lucas and Max have the best firecrackers around.” - Steve chuckled and each one of you put your palm into the middle of a circle, you bent forwards and yelled Hey ho, let's go! just like in The Ramones song.

You trusted each one of them and took a knife out of your pocket, opening it up. Your hands were trembling as you tried to catch your breath. Everyone was getting on their positions and those who already got there, watched your silhouette standing in all the lights coming from the flashlights. Nancy could exactly name the feeling you had - an endless fear from whatever was about to happen. You lingered the tip over your hand and when you wanted to cut the skin, you couldn't bring yourself to. That was when Steve appeared next to you.

"Need a little help with this?" - He asked, visibly as nervous as you were. You looked him in the eyes and handed him the knife. Steve exhaled, a cloud of mist coming out of his mouth. What if you were wrong? What if the Shapeshifter isn't connected to you in any way? What if it doesn't come and you just cut your palm for nothing?

Before you could tell any of your thoughts to Steve, you felt the knife opening up the skin on your palm as Steve gently pushed it in. His palm was supporting yours so it didn't move a bit even if it was visibly trembling. You looked at the blood rushing out of your body, instantly making your whole forearm and palm sticky, red and weirdly hot and cold at the same time.

"Thanks." - You mumbled and positioned the palm so the blood was dripping down on the meat beside you. Now, you only needed to wait and test out the theory. If it comes, it can sense you by the smell of your blood. You were pretty afraid of that. Steve just nodded and went back to position himself to protect your back.

You stood there until the blood stopped dripping, which took at least fifteen minutes. Steve was really precise with the cut, to say the least. It almost looked like that even the Shapeshifter will let you all alone with a cut on your hand, but then the lights started flickering. Mist covered the most of the small meadow you created and everyone was set in action - you saw Nancy stand up and Mike with Dustin were calling Max like crazy just to get some information. Robin and Steve got nervous and you looked around, searching for it.

You didn't know what form will it have or if more will come to get you - that was maybe why it's appearance shocked you so much. You were looking at Barb Holland coming directly from the place where Max was sitting. She had her ginger hair perfectly fixed, her glasses were neatly clean; Nancy could even say she had the exact same outfit she had the day she had disappeared. Anyone could tell a single word. You weren't able to. She was smiling and walking to you, her honest eyes were aimed at you. She looked just like you remembered her, not a single hair on her hair changed.

"Shoot it! Come on! I don't know who it is, but the monster is just fucking with you!" - Max yelled at you, ruining the moment completely. Until that second it looked like Barb, Shapeshifter of whatever the fuck it was, was coming in peace.

That was the moment when Shapeshifter came out of Barb, becoming a weird mix of her facial features and the Shapeshifter's body, now crawling on all-four, jumping directly at you as it mouths opened up. Not a second after that, Steve swung his bat to hit the target precisely, but even the small contact of you and the Shapeshifter was enough for you to roll your eyes backward. It was happening again - the time was slowed down and you were looking at Steve, who was yelling something at someone while you were falling on your hip. Whatever it was showing you previously, it had more story to tell.

The Mind Flayer has taken control over you once again and this time, you could actually see how it dragged you all over the planet since you didn't keep your eyes closed. You weren't even joking, you were just traveling through various places - you've seen the Eiffel tower in Paris, the Colosseum in Rome, the Prague castle in Czechoslovakia. And it dragged you further and further away from there - to a land covered in snow, where you were freezing to death. You stood knee-deep in the snow again, looking into woods. There were high trees around you and completely white snow.

“Can you hear me?” - You asked the misty ball, this time its tentacle was hugging your shoulders - it didn't respond back. Not a move, not a sound, not a signal. Your voice sounded somehow muted down as if you were trying to speak underwater. What were supposed to see? It was just a random forest. Until you were turned around harshly to face a huge rail track leading as far as you could see. A rail track? For what? 

You bit your lip, coming closer to the track, the ball on your shoulders still remaining on your shoulders. This couldn't be a normal rail track - it seemed to be new, barely used. It was placed in the heart of the wilderness, so the ones building it were trying to keep it away from people. Could it have something in common with the Demogorgons? 

“What on earth are you trying to show me?” - You asked before the misty ball dragged you off to somewhere again. It didn't step away from the snowy rail track, dragging along the construction. The length of it was... Insane. It was hundreds and hundreds of miles long. You stopped nearby a group of workers. There were men in long, warm coats, but it still seemed that they are not working on the rail track because they would love it so much. When you counted it down, you counted two guards looking after one person - ones were standing in watchtowers, presumably snipers, guards with dogs and ones holding AK-47.

Wait a minute. AK-47? Of course, you knew the machine guns, they told you about this type of machine guns at school. You wouldn't find a soldier with this gun in America - because this family of guns started and was distributed by soviets in...

Russia. You were in Russia. These people were Russians. You still couldn't understand a shit they said, but you noticed the small red stars on their apparel, the furry coats, atypical types of work equipment. If these were Russians and the Mind Flayer took you there, that meant that the pack of Demogorgons was in Russia.

You got even close since you were sure that these jackasses can't see you and looked at the men building the rail track. They were dirty, surely freezing. Each one of them looked almost extremely underweighted and tired - these men weren't workers, no. These ones were imprisoned, slaves to say the least.

“What is all of this?” - You asked the ball and suddenly, one of the men turned at you with disbelief in their face. This time, you got enough time to look at him - but you had trouble with saying that's Hopper for sure. These blue eyes were the only thing that made you sure - his skin was basically transparent, he was dirty with huge bags under his eyes, he didn't have any hair or beard. But in the short second you watched each other, the Mind Flayer showed you that it is truly Hopper. 

You suddenly had way more questions than answers - why was Hopper in Russia and how did he survive the explosion? What were the Russians doing with Demogorgons? What was the rail track for? And on whose side Shapeshifter was? You took a breath to say something to Hopper, at least a word, but you suddenly fell onto the ground, seeing and hearing Harrington yell something. 

Blood was dripping from your nose again, but this time, you knew you won't pass out. You heard shrieking, growling and shouting, some gunshots, yelling and hits with the baseball bat and rusty pipe, but you just watched the Shapeshifter running off. 

“Hopper, Jesus Christ!” - Dustin's face appeared just inches from yours, so you naturally jumped a bit. That boy was destined to be your death one day. - “What did you see? The end of the world? Explosions? People yelling?” 

“Dude, calm down.” - Steve dragged him away and you felt Nancy and Robin helping you with standing up. They held you on your feet until your head stopped spinning and the blood stopped dripping. - “You okay? You seem to be... I don't know, confused?” - Which was weird since the Demogorgon almost bit your whole head off.

“It isn't trying to kill me.” - You whispered quietly and looked at Mike. You didn't know why or how, but your gaze just gravitated towards him - so you just stared him down while you were lost in your own thoughts. 

“As far as I am concerned, this looked like attempted murder, Hopper.” - Lucas spoke from somewhere behind your back, but your head just shook on its own. 

“Why would it show me that the Demogorgons are in Russia, then? And that hopper is there too?” - You asked back and everyone suddenly shut up. 

[tenaciousyouthnacho]

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Why study infinite series? Not all mathematical problems can be solved exactly or have a solution that can be expressed in terms of a known function. In such cases, it is common practice to use an infinite series expansion to approximate or represent a solution. This informal introduction for undergraduate students explores the numerous uses of infinite series and sequences in engineering and the physical sciences. The material has been carefully selected to help the reader develop the techniques needed to confidently utilize infinite series. The book begins with infinite series and sequences before moving onto power series, complex infinite series and finally onto Fourier, Legendre, and Fourier-Bessel series. With a focus on practical applications, the book demonstrates that infinite series are more than an academic exercise and helps students to conceptualize the theory with real world examples and to build their skill set in this area.

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Let's be real: 2020 has been a nightmare. Between the political unrest and novel coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic, it's difficult to look back on the year and find something, anything, that was a potential bright spot in an otherwise turbulent trip around the sun. Luckily, there were a few bright spots: namely, some of the excellent works of military history and analysis, fiction and non-fiction, novels and graphic novels that we've absorbed over the last year. 

Here's a brief list of some of the best books we read here at Task & Purpose in the last year. Have a recommendation of your own? Send an email to jared@taskandpurpose.Com and we'll include it in a future story.

Missionaries by Phil Klay

I loved Phil Klay’s first book, Redeployment (which won the National Book Award), so Missionaries was high on my list of must-reads when it came out in October. It took Klay six years to research and write the book, which follows four characters in Colombia who come together in the shadow of our post-9/11 wars. As Klay’s prophetic novel shows, the machinery of technology, drones, and targeted killings that was built on the Middle East battlefield will continue to grow in far-flung lands that rarely garner headlines. [Buy]

 - Paul Szoldra, editor-in-chief

Battle Born: Lapis Lazuli by Max Uriarte

Written by 'Terminal Lance' creator Maximilian Uriarte, this full-length graphic novel follows a Marine infantry squad on a bloody odyssey through the mountain reaches of northern Afghanistan. The full-color comic is basically 'Conan the Barbarian' in MARPAT. [Buy]

 - James Clark, senior reporter

The Liberator by Alex Kershaw

Now a gritty and grim animated World War II miniseries from Netflix, The Liberator follows the 157th Infantry Battalion of the 45th Division from the beaches of Sicily to the mountains of Italy and the Battle of Anzio, then on to France and later still to Bavaria for some of the bloodiest urban battles of the conflict before culminating in the liberation of the Dachau concentration camp. It's a harrowing tale, but one worth reading before enjoying the acclaimed Netflix series. [Buy]

 - Jared Keller, deputy editor

The Only Plane in the Sky: An Oral History of 9/11 by Garrett Graff

If you haven’t gotten this must-read account of the September 11th attacks, you need to put The Only Plane In the Sky at the top of your Christmas list. Graff expertly explains the timeline of that day through the re-telling of those who lived it, including the loved ones of those who were lost, the persistently brave first responders who were on the ground in New York, and the service members working in the Pentagon. My only suggestion is to not read it in public — if you’re anything like me, you’ll be consistently left in tears. [Buy]

- Haley Britzky, Army reporter

The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World by Elaine Scarry

Why do we even fight wars? Wouldn’t a massive tennis tournament be a nicer way for nations to settle their differences? This is one of the many questions Harvard professor Elaine Scarry attempts to answer, along with why nuclear war is akin to torture, why the language surrounding war is sterilized in public discourse, and why both war and torture unmake human worlds by destroying access to language. It’s a big lift of a read, but even if you just read chapter two (like I did), you’ll come away thinking about war in new and refreshing ways. [Buy]

 - David Roza, Air Force reporter

Stalingrad: The Fateful Siege: 1942-1943 by Antony Beevor

Stalingrad takes readers all the way from the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union to the collapse of the 6th Army at Stalingrad in February 1943. It gives you the perspective of German and Soviet soldiers during the most apocalyptic battle of the 20th century. [Buy]

- Jeff Schogol, Pentagon correspondent 

America's War for the Greater Middle East by Andrew J. Bacevich

I picked up America's War for the Greater Middle East earlier this year and couldn’t put it down. Published in 2016 by Andrew Bacevich, a historian and retired Army officer who served in Vietnam, the book unravels the long and winding history of how America got so entangled in the Middle East and shows that we’ve been fighting one long war since the 1980s — with errors in judgment from political leaders on both sides of the aisle to blame. “From the end of World War II until 1980, virtually no American soldiers were killed in action while serving in the Greater Middle East. Since 1990, virtually no American soldiers have been killed in action anywhere else. What caused this shift?” the book jacket asks. As Bacevich details in this definitive history, the mission creep of our Vietnam experience has been played out again and again over the past 30 years, with disastrous results. [Buy]

 - Paul Szoldra, editor-in-chief

Burn In: A Novel of the Real Robotic Revolution by P.W. Singer and August Cole

In Burn In, Singer and Cole take readers on a journey at an unknown date in the future, in which an FBI agent searches for a high-tech terrorist in Washington, D.C. Set after what the authors called the "real robotic revolution," Agent Lara Keegan is teamed up with a robot that is less Terminator and far more of a useful, and highly intelligent, law enforcement tool. Perhaps the most interesting part: Just about everything that happens in the story can be traced back to technologies that are being researched today. You can read Task & Purpose's interview with the authors here. [Buy]

 - James Clark, senior reporter

SAS: Rogue Heroes by Ben MacIntyre

Like WWII? Like a band of eccentric daredevils wreaking havoc on fascists? Then you'll love SAS: Rogue Heroes, which re-tells some truly insane heists performed by one of the first modern special forces units. Best of all, Ben MacIntyre grounds his history in a compassionate, balanced tone that displays both the best and worst of the SAS men, who are, like anyone else, only human after all. [Buy]

 - David Roza, Air Force reporter

The Alice Network by Kate Quinn

The Alice Network is a gripping novel which follows two courageous women through different time periods — one living in the aftermath of World War II, determined to find out what has happened to someone she loves, and the other working in a secret network of spies behind enemy lines during World War I. This gripping historical fiction is based on the true story of a network that infiltrated German lines in France during The Great War and weaves a tale so packed full of drama, suspense, and tragedy that you won’t be able to put it down. [Buy]

Katherine Rondina, Anchor Books

“Because I published a new book this year, I've been answering questions about my inspirations. This means I've been thinking about and so thankful for The Girl in the Flammable Skirt by Aimee Bender. I can't credit it with making me want to be a writer — that desire was already there — but it inspired me to write stories where the fantastical complicates the ordinary, and the impossible becomes possible. A girl in a nice dress with no one to appreciate it. An unremarkable boy with a remarkable knack for finding things. The stories in this book taught me that the everydayness of my world could become magical and strange, and in that strangeness I could find a new kind of truth.”

Diane Cook is the author of the novel The New Wilderness, which was long-listed for the 2020 Booker Prize, and the story collection Man V. Nature, which was a finalist for the Guardian First Book Award, the Believer Book Award, the PEN/Hemingway Award, and the Los Angeles Times Award for First Fiction. Read an excerpt from The New Wilderness.

Bill Johnston, University of California Press

“I’ve revisited a lot of old favorites in this grim year of fear and isolation, and have been most thankful of all for The Collected Poems of Frank O’Hara. Witty, reflexive, intimate, queer, disarmingly occasional and monumentally serious all at once, they’ve been a constant balm and inspiration. ‘The only thing to do is simply continue,’ he wrote, in 'Adieu to Norman, Bon Jour to Joan and Jean-Paul'; ‘is that simple/yes, it is simple because it is the only thing to do/can you do it/yes, you can because it is the only thing to do.’”

Helen Macdonald is a nature essayist with a semiregular column in the New York Times Magazine. Her latest novel, Vesper Flights, is a collection of her best-loved essays, and her debut book, H Is for Hawk, won the Samuel Johnson Prize for Nonfiction and the Costa Book Award, and was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award and the Kirkus Prize for Nonfiction.

Andrea Scher, Scholastic Press

“This year, I’m so grateful for You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson. Reading — like everything else — has been a struggle for me in 2020. It’s been tough to let go of all of my anxieties about the state of the world and our country and get swept away by a story. But You Should See Me in a Crown pulled me in right away; for the blissful time that I was reading it, it made me think about a world outside of 2020 and it made me smile from ear to ear. Joy has been hard to come by this year, and I’m so thankful for this book for the joy it brought me.”

Jasmine Guillory is the New York Times bestselling author of five romance novels, including this year’s Party of Two. Her work has appeared in O, The Oprah Magazine, Cosmopolitan, Real Simple, and Time.

Nelson Fitch, Random House

“Last year, stuck in a prolonged reading rut that left me wondering if I even liked books anymore, I stumbled across Tenth of December by George Saunders, a collection of stories Saunders wrote between 1995 and 2012 that are at turns funny, moving, startling, weird, profound, and often all of those things at the same time. As a writer, what I crave most from books is to find one so excellent it makes me feel like I'd be better off quitting — and so wonderful that it reminds me what it is to be purely a reader again, encountering new worlds and revelations every time I turn a page. Tenth of December is that, and I'm so grateful that it fell off a high shelf and into my life.”

Veronica Roth is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Divergent series and the Carve the Mark duology. Her latest novel, Chosen Ones, is her first novel for adults. Read an excerpt from Chosen Ones.

Ian Byers-Gamber, Blazevox Books

“Waking up today to the prospect of some hours spent reading away part of another day of this disastrous, delirious pandemic year, I’m most grateful for the book in my hands, one itself full of gratitude for a life spent reading: Gloria Frym’s How Proust Ruined My Life. Frym’s essays — on Marcel Proust, yes, and Walt Whitman, and Lucia Berlin, but also peppermint-stick candy and Allen Ginsburg’s knees, among other Proustian memory-prompts — restore me to my sense of my eerie luck at a life spent rushing to the next book, the next page, the next word.”

Jonathan Lethem is the author of a number of critically acclaimed novels, including The Fortress of Solitude and the National Book Critics Circle Award winner Motherless Brooklyn. His latest novel, The Arrest, is a postapocalyptic tale about two siblings, the man that came between them, and a nuclear-powered super car.

David Heska Wanbli Weiden, Riverhead

“I’m incredibly grateful for the magnificent The Heartbeat of Wounded Knee by David Treuer. This book — a mélange of history, memoir, and reportage — is the reconceptualization of Native life that’s been urgently needed since the last great indigenous history, Dee Brown’s Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. It’s at once a counternarrative and a replacement for Brown’s book, and it rejects the standard tale of Native victimization, conquest, and defeat. Even though I teach Native American studies to college students, I found new insights and revelations in almost every chapter. Not only a great read, the book is a tremendous contribution to Native American — and American — intellectual and cultural history.”

David Heska Wanbli Weiden, an enrolled member of the Sicangu Lakota Nation, is author of the novel Winter Counts, which is BuzzFeed Book Club’s November pick. He is also the author of the children’s book Spotted Tail, which won the 2020 Spur Award from the Western Writers of America. Read an excerpt from Winter Counts.

Valerie Mosley, Tordotcom

“In 2020, I've been lucky to finish a single book within 30 days, but I burned through this 507-page brick in the span of a weekend. Harrow the Ninth reminded me that even when absolutely everything is terrible, it's still possible to feel deep, gratifying, brain-buzzing admiration for brilliant art. Thank you, Harrow, for being one of the brightest spots in a dark year and for keeping the home fires burning.”

Casey McQuiston is the New York Times bestselling author of Red, White & Royal Blue, and her next book, One Last Stop, comes out in 2021.

"I'm grateful for V.S. Naipaul's troubling masterpiece, A Bend in the River — which not only made me see the world anew, but made me see what literature could do. It's a book that's lucid enough to reveal the brutality of the forces shaping our world and its politics; yet soulful enough to penetrate the most recondite secrets of human interiority. A book of great beauty without a moment of mercy. A marriage of opposites that continues to shape my own deeper sense of just how much a writer can actually accomplish."

Ayad Akhtar is a novelist and playwright, and his latest novel, Homeland Elegies, is about an American son and his immigrant father searching for belonging in a post-9/11 country. He is the winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Drama and an Award in Literature from the American Academy of Arts and Letters.

Vanessa German, Feminist Press

“I'm most thankful for Daddy Was a Number Runner by Louise Meriwether. It's a YA book set in 1930s Harlem, and it was the first Black-girl-coming-of-age book I ever read, the first time I ever saw myself in a book. I appreciate how it expanded my world and my understanding that books can speak to you right where you are and take you on a journey, at the same time.”

Deesha Philyaw’s debut short story collection, The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, was a finalist for the 2020 National Book Award for Fiction. She is also the co-author of Co-Parenting 101: Helping Your Kids Thrive in Two Households After Divorce, written in collaboration with her ex-husband. Philyaw’s writing on race, parenting, gender, and culture has appeared in the New York Times, the Washington Post, McSweeney’s, the Rumpus, and elsewhere. Read a story from The Secret Lives of Church Ladies.

Philippa Gedge, W. W. Norton & Company

“As both a writer and a reader I am hugely grateful for Patricia Highsmith’s plotting and writing suspense fiction. As a writer I’m thankful for Highsmith’s generosity with her wisdom and experience: She talks us through how to tease out the narrative strands and develop character, how to know when things are going awry, even how to decide to give things up as a bad job. She’s unabashed about sharing her own ‘failures,’ and in my experience, there’s nothing more encouraging for a writer than learning that our literary gods are mortal! As a reader, it provides a fascinating insight into the genesis of one of my favorite novels of all time — The Talented Mr. Ripley, as well as the rest of her brilliant oeuvre. And because it’s Highsmith, it’s so much more than just a how-to guide: It’s hugely engaging and, while accessible, also provides a glimpse into the mind of a genius. I’ve read it twice — while working on each of my thrillers, The Hunting Party and The Guest List — and I know I’ll be returning to the well-thumbed copy on my shelf again soon!”

Lucy Foley is the New York Times bestselling author of the thrillers The Guest List and The Hunting Party. She has also written two historical fiction novels and previously worked in the publishing industry as a fiction editor.

“The books I'm most thankful for this year are a three-book series titled Tales from the Gas Station by Jack Townsend. Walking a fine line between comedy and horror (which is much harder than people think), the books follow Jack, an employee at a gas station in a nameless town where all manner of horrifyingly fantastical things happen. And while the monsters are scary and more than a little ridiculous, it's Jack's bone-dry narration, along with his best friend/emotional support human, Jerry, that elevates the books into something that are as lovely as they are absurd.”

T.J. Klune is a Lambda Literary Award–winning author and an ex-claims examiner for an insurance company. His novels include The House in the Cerulean Sea and The Extraordinaries.

Sylvernus Darku (Team Black Image Studio), Ayebia Clarke Publishing

"Nervous Conditions is a book that I have read several times over the years, including this year. The novel covers the themes of gender and race and has at its heart Tambu, a young girl in 1960s Rhodesia determined to get an education and to create a better life for herself. Dangarembga’s prose is evocative and witty, and the story is thought-provoking. I’ve been inspired anew by Tambu each time I’ve read this book."

Peace Adzo Medie is Senior Lecturer in Gender and International Politics at the University of Bristol. She is the author of Global Norms and Local Action: The Campaigns to End Violence against Women in Africa (Oxford University Press, 2020). His Only Wife is her debut novel.

Jenna Maurice, HarperCollins

“The book I'm most thankful for? Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. My mother and father would read me poems from it before bed — I'm convinced it infused me not only with a sense of poetic cadence, but also a wry sense of humor.”

Victoria “V.E.” Schwab is the bestselling author of more than a dozen books, including Vicious, the Shades of Magic series, and This Savage Song. Her latest novel, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, is BuzzFeed Book Club’s December pick. Read an excerpt from The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue.

Meg Vázquez, Square Fish

“My childhood best friend gave me Troubling a Star by Madeleine L'Engle for Hanukkah when I was 11 years old, and it's still my favorite book of all time. I love the way it defies genre (it's a political thriller/YA romance that includes a lot of scientific research and also poetry??), and the way it values smartness, gutsiness, vulnerability, kindness, and a sense of adventure. The book follows 16-year-old Vicky Austin's life-altering trip to Antarctica; her trip changed my life, too. In a year when safe travel is almost impossible, I'm so grateful to be able to return to her story again and again.”

Kate Stayman-London's debut novel, One to Watch, is about a plus-size blogger who’s been asked to star on a Bachelorette-like reality show. Stayman-London served as lead digital writer for Hillary Rodham Clinton’s 2016 presidential campaign and has written for notable figures, from former president Obama and Malala Yousafzai to Anna Wintour and Cher.

Katharine McGee is grateful for the Redwall series by Brian Jacques. Chris Bailey Photography, Firebird

“I’m thankful for the Redwall books by Brian Jacques. I discovered the series in elementary school, and it sparked a love of big, epic stories that has never left me. (If you read my books, you know I can’t resist a broad cast of characters!) I used to read the books aloud to my younger sister, using funny voices for all the narrators. Now that I have a little boy of my own, I can’t wait to someday share Redwall with him.”

Katharine McGee is the New York Times bestselling author of American Royals and its sequel, Majesty. She is also the author of the Thousandth Floor trilogy.

Beth Gwinn, Time-Life Books

"I am thankful most for books that carry me out of the world and back again, and while I find it painful to choose among them, here's one early and one late: Zen Cho's Black Water Sister, which comes out in 2021 but I devoured just two days ago, and the long out-of-print Wizards and Witches volume of the Time-Life Enchanted World series, which is where I first read about the legend of the Scholomance."

Naomi Novik is the New York Times bestselling author of the Nebula Award–winning novel Uprooted, Spinning Silver, and the nine-volume Temeraire series. Her latest novel, A Deadly Education, is the first of the Scholomance trilogy.

Christina Lauren are grateful for the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer. Christina Lauren, Little, Brown and Company

"We are thankful for the Twilight series for about a million reasons, not the least of which it's what brought the two of us together. Writing fanfic in a space where we could be silly and messy together taught us that we don't have to be perfect, but there's no harm in trying to get better with every attempt. It also cemented for us that the best relationships are the ones in which you can be your real, authentic self, even when you're struggling to do things you never thought you'd be brave enough to attempt. Twilight brought millions of readers back into the fold and inspired hundreds of romance authors. We really do thank Stephenie Meyer every day for the gift of Twilight and the fandom it created."

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - 2 Kings 1:6

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael. Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N:  my keyboard sort of died halfway through the chapter, so I've been typing directly on the screen of my tablet. Haaaaate. If you notice any misspellings in this chapter, now you know why.

***

In the end, finding Gabriel had been a simple matter of looking for reports of sudden, unusual lighting. And as far as such phenomena go, ball lighting is among the rarest of them all; for it to be reported right above Soho Square the previous night, along with a curious hole in the ground… well, it was quite the red flag. A red flag that let out the most distinctive fishy smell. 

And if there was something Sandalphon was good at following, it was fishy smells. In this one specific case, he didn’t think he’d have to follow it very far. He knew exactly who he’d find only a couple of streets away, close enough even for a weakened Gabriel to stagger to.

“... You think he might have turned to Aziraphale?” Michael had asked, seemingly unconvinced. Uriel, on the other hand, had been quicker to agree with his theory.

“Assuming that is the spot where he fell, Aziraphale is the closest angel he could hope to find.”

“If he is indeed still an angel, given that Hellfire did not harm him.”

“He has God’s protection,” Uriel had muttered, her voice bitter. “We have to assume he is.”

“And Gabriel was hurt. We were not allowed to heal him before he was sent down. He might have thought he could do that,” Sandalphon had added, despite not really knowing whether or not Gabriel had been able to think at all. When they let him go after taking his wings from him, to be cast out, he was barely coherent - barely conscious, falling limply from their grip. 

“And why would he think Aziraphale of all angels would help him?” Michael had asked, only to gain herself a long look from Uriel. 

“Who else could he turn to? He has nothing and no one on Earth.”

He still has us up here, Sandalphon had thought, but it had remained unspoken. “He used to be friendly enough with this human tailor,” he’d said. “He made him good clothes. Gabriel always had a taste for human clothing.”

“... And when was that?”

“Well, that was in the middle of the Regency, so-- ah. Right. Humans and their life spans.”

In the end, he’d volunteered to go check himself; despite having no desire to see Aziraphale up close ever again, just in case he shot Hellfire towards him again somehow, he was the one with the best knowledge of London. 

And it hadn’t taken long for him to know his intuition had been correct: he’d been just across the street - it looked like someone had smashed their car into a pole - when the door had opened. And out they had walked, all three of them: the demon, Aziraphale... and Gabriel, somehow unsteady on his feet but unharmed.

He’d almost lost them several times in the few minutes that followed, because the driving of whoever was behind the wheel positively insane. The cab driver he’d flagged down - and who’d reacted to his request to follow that car with a frankly puzzling “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this all my life!” - could barely manage to follow, and would have probably been left in the dust if they hadn’t stopped only a few streets away. 

Gabriel had looked… just a little green in the face when he’d left the car, and had paused to speak to Aziraphale, who from his part didn't seem in the slightest bit antagonizing. It was a relief, really, considering that Gabriel would be powerless to defend himself should he decide to take revenge. Or the demon, certainly the demon would want to harm him; if he hadn't, Sandalphon could only assume Aziraphale had him on a tight leash. Even from across the street - entirely unaware of the fly sitting on the roof of the Bentley - he could smell sulphur and evil.

In the end, both Aziraphale and the demon had left, and Gabriel had gone inside the hotel. Sandalphon had decided to wait a short while before going in as well, in case those two came back for whatever reason. So he walked in a bar across the street - if he’d known humans only marginally better, he would have also known that ‘an angel walks in a bar’ would be an excellent start for a joke - and ordered a mug of the bitter beverage humans enjoy. 

“... Coffee?” a waiter asked, only slightly perplexed; soon enough, waitressing would destroy what was left of his will to live and he would no longer feel surprised at anything anymore. 

“Yes, that,” Sandalphon agreed - he would know, he reasoned, it was his job - and sat there, sipping the bitter liquid that was brought to him, before he pulled out the phone Michael had given him. A special sort of phone, with a reception and data plan that was, quite simply, not of that world. 

Michael answered in the middle of the very first ring. “Well…?”

“I found him.”

A long sigh of relief. “How is he?”

“Haven’t spoken to him yet, but he seems… reasonably well, all things considered. He did turn to Aziraphale. The demon was there, too.”

“And they didn’t harm him?”

“Not that I could see. They left him in a hotel. I’ll go in as soon as I have finished this…” Sandalphon paused. “Hey, uh… servant?” He wasn’t entirely certain what they were called nowadays, but that was the gist of it, he supposed. “What is this beverage again?”

As another small part of his soul withered and died, the waiter - a young student who was wondering if a history degree was truly worth nine thousand pounds a year, considering that those who study history are doomed to watch those who don’t repeat it anyway - forced himself to smile. “Coffee, sir.”

“Coffee. Not bad, perks you up. Maybe Gabriel would like some.”

“... Do ask him. But first and foremost, make sure he knows that we’re here to help him.”

“Of course,” Sandalphon said, and ended the call with the absolute, idiotic certainty that Gabriel would be overjoyed to see him. 

***

“Ugh.”

The book sailed through the air in an elegant arc to land somewhere in the vicinity of the wastebasket. Sitting on the bed, face contorted in disgust, Gabriel faintly wished he could will it to catch fire. What he’d just read about human bodily functions was… ugh. Ugh.

‘Disgust’ wasn’t something he had often felt towards humanity - usually there was a vague interest at times and polite disinterest most others - but now it certainly was his strongest feeling. His current condition suddenly seemed even more of a punishment; all the showers he could possibly take wouldn’t help make it better. He was never going to feel clean again.

Never going to feel whole again, either.

On his back, over his shoulder blades, the ragged scars where his wings had been ached. Not the physical sort of ache he’d had a quite literal crash course in over the past twenty-four hours, but something deeper, throbbing worse than any infection - worse than the hunger he was desperately trying to ignore, the contents of the small fridge in his room untouched on the desk. Gabriel’s voice rang through the empty room as a raspy whisper. “I’m sorry.” 

Could God hear him? Or rather, would God lend an ear to what he had to say - a disgraced angel cast out of Heaven, away from Their glory? He didn’t know. All he had was hope and he would cling to that. After all, however much he felt like it, he was not in Hell. So maybe… maybe there was hope for him yet. Gabriel looked up, and sank on his knees beside the bed.

“I meant well. I thought I was upholding the greater good. I never meant to take Your judgment upon myself. If I did-- I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please, let me come home. I won’t fail you again.”

There was the faintest echo of his own voice, and then… silence. Outside someone in the road shouted an insult that might have been meant for someone’s mother or their cat, it was hard to tell. A door somewhere in the hallway was opened and shut again. Nothing else happened.

Of course not. I need a Circle to speak with God, or at least to his Voice.

Only that of course, he had no idea how to make one, because he never needed to try contacting God - or rather, Metatron; no one had spoken directly to God in eons - all the way from Earth. Even if he could, would God take his call at all?

Why would They? Who do you think you are, that God would give you audience?

The Archangel Gabriel.

Not anymore.

I thought I was someone important.

You never were.

I thought…

Prideful fool.

Gabriel’s missing wings ached, his stomach cramped, and he went from kneeling to curling up on the floor, eyes shut. A memory tried to resurface, that of being held on the ground by two pairs of hands, of a weigh on him as his wings were torn away, and he shut his eyes tighter.

“At least tell me why,” he choked out. “Why me? Why only me?”

Silence. Something bubbled into the pit of despair in him, something hot and bitter that was not, as Sandalphon would have gleefully suggested, coffee. It was burning anger, against his predicament and, even more dangerously, against God.

Am I hearing you say God got it wrong? That you know better than the Almighty?

A crime born of pride.

Or you admit that God got it right, and you deserve this? You can't have it both ways, Gabe.

“They assisted me! Worked with me, made decisions with me-- we were equals in everything!” 

And they truly had been, him and Michael especially, utterly loyal since even before the first war. God’s warrior, and God’s messenger. How could it be that, for the same crime, one was condemned and the other carried out the sentence? How could it be fair, how could it be just?

I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God.

Not anymore. I am no one, and I am alone.

“I always did my best - I… I deserve an explanation!” Gabriel choked out, beyond caring how blasphemous the notion was, that God owed him anything. “A word! A sign! Anything!”

“Ah, give up. Either God has the worst reception, or they really don’t care to speak to any of us,” a voice rang out suddenly, and it caused Gabriel freeze - both because it was unexpected, and because it was a voice he knew; one that couldn’t possibly be further away from God’s.

Sitting on the bed like it was a throne, towering over his huddled form on the floor and surrounded by a cloud of sulphur, was the Prince of Hell.

***

Beelzebub quite enjoyed towering over others. They enjoyed lording over others as well, being a Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, which generally came easier. ‘Towering’ is honestly the hard part, when your usual form is fairly diminutive in size. Therefore, they quite appreciated Gabriel’s choice to lower himself on the floor; it was a promising start for their new work relationship. 

Of course it wasn’t them he had lowered himself for, but it mattered not. He would, in time. Sooner or later. Possibly sooner.

Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, was not known for their patience.

“What-- you? What are you doing here?”

That was… no appropriate way to greet one’s new superior either; Beelzebub supposed they could excuse it, if anything because Gabriel had a lot to process at the moment and, last they had met, they had worked on opposite sides essentially as equals. It was a big change, something  angels did not do well with.

Yes, they could excuse him. They just chose not too. As Gabriel scrambled to sit up, Beelzebub gave him an unimpressed look.

“That is no way to greet your superior. I believe ‘your Lordship’ or ‘sir’ would serve better.”

That gained them a rather stupid look as Gabriel sat up, still on the ground. “But… you’re not.”

All right, so maybe he either wasn’t as clever as he made himself seem, or was still quite deep in denial. Beelzebub rolled their eyes and stood, coming to tower - ah how they loved that word - directly above Gabriel. “You are Fallen,” they said, in the slow voice you’d use for a very slow child. Or at least, so Beelzebub assumed. It wasn’t often they spoke with very slow children or any children at all, with the exception of the not-Antichrist. Although dealing with especially slow demons probably came close enough. “Therefore, you now belong in Hell. I am here to claim you. You will work under my supervision and--”

“What-- no!” Gabriel protested, and moved to stand; a look from Beelzebub was enough for him to reconsider, but he did glare up at them. "That voice in my head, telling me all the worst-- it was you!"

"Uh, no. You're just going crazy."

“Ah." Gabriel had the good grace to look embarrassed before speaking again. "I-- I am not Fallen.”

“No? You seem to have landed quite heavily.”

If the remark stung, Gabriel did not let it show. “On Earth, not in Hell,” he argued. “You have no claim on me!”

Beelzebub snorted. “You still fell, and I expect you to tell me the reason why. Am I supposed to care for the fine print?”

“You-- always cared about the fine print!” Gabriel protested, and truth be told, it was one thing they had in common… with one important distinction. 

“I care about the fine print when it benefits me.”

The notion seemed to downright offend him. “You can’t do that! And… and if I were meant for Hell, I would not have landed on Earth! It must mean something."

Ah, look at him, clinging to details because it was all he could hold onto in his desperate certainty he was still special, one of God’s golden archangels. With another roll of their eyes, Beelzebub held out a hand. To a casual observer, it might have looked like a nice gesture to help him up; Gabriel, knowing better, stared at that hand like one would stare at a claw about to tear the soul out of their body.  

“You bore me. Now, come. No reason to make it more difficult for yourself. We prepared a nice spot for you in Hell.” As nice as a spot in Hell got, anyway. Which wasn’t very nice, or else it wouldn’t be Hell, but Gabriel could probably guess.

Somehow, the former Archangel Gabriel - who at the moment looked like garbage, however much Beelzebub tended to appreciate garbage - found the audacity to sneer. “You cannot claim me and you know it. Mortals are beyond your grasp unless they offer up their soul, or get to the end of their life doomed to Hell.”

Taking a mental note to leave leave him to Dagon for a bit once they got back - they didn’t call her Master of Torments for nothing - Beelzebub sneered right back.

“That is not a long wait,” they pointed out. The reminder of how pathetically short human lives were knocked that smirk off his face, at least. “And I could make it even shorter with a snap of my fingers.”

“I--” fear twisted Gabriel’s features for a moment, then he forced himself to scowl. A valiant attempt, Beelzebub had to concede. “But you won’t.”

“Oh?”

“There is no telling whether my soul would be claimed by Heaven or Hell if you destroy this vessel now,” Gabriel retorted and, for Satan’s sake, of course he was right. Trying to claim his soul now against his will could very well backfire, giving him a ticket straight back to Heaven and leaving them empty-handed. Still…

“... You’re not certain yourself, are you?” Beelzebub tilted their head on one side. “Or else you would have already ended it.”

“I…” Gabriel scowled, cheeks reddening like the Prince of Hell had just unveiled a shameful secret, a shameful weakness. “E-either way, you won’t take the risk.”

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes. “So, you won’t make this easy. Very well.” They sneered, leaning forward and causing that infuriating, pompous idiot to shrink, trying to scoot back on his hands and backside across the floor, away from them and towards the door. “I’ll claim your soul the old-fashioned way. I’ll be your shadow from now on. I’ll whisper temptations in your ear every day of your sad, little, short human lifespan - until it runs out and you’ll be ours.”

Truth be told, as a high-ranking demon mostly based in Hell, Beelzebub was severely out of practice when it came to tempting humans to their side… but that was a detail Gabriel needed not know. And besides, how hard could it be? They would brush up their skills in no time, the Lord of the Flies was sure of it.

“Y-you-- I--” Gabriel, who had paled a little more with each word Beelzebub uttered, had to swallow before his spoke. When he did, his voice was probably shakier than he would have liked. “It won’t work. I won’t let you tempt me. If this is God’s test for me--”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. God doesn’t care about you all that much, and besides I am not their delivery boy. I am here for Hell’s sake. And once I do claim you, you will regret making me wait.”

Gabriel swallowed, then - showing a good deal of idiocy - scowled again. He looked about as threatening as a panda, but at least there was an attempt. “Your plan will not work. I won’t allow you to tempt me. You can’t have me.”

“Yes, yes. Many have said the same. And they have failed.”

“I will not!” Gabriel snapped, and began to stand up. “I am the Archangel Gabriel, and there is no force of Hell or Earth that will ever get me on your side. Begone, foul bea--”

“Hello? Gabriel? Anybody in?”

After the voice rang out, something interesting happened: Gabriel shrieked, and ended all attempts at getting up as though every muscle in his body had turned to cooked asparagus. He fell back on his backside to stare at the door, which was now open, with wide eyes. 

Beelzebub followed his gaze to see a familiar enough face; Sandalphon may look unassuming in that form, but they knew he could be a force to be reckoned with. The few times they had met, Sandalphon had been firmly by Gabriel's side… but right now, the former archangel looked far from pleased to see him.  He looked terrified, actually, in a way Beelzebub had failed to make him, which was rather annoying and more than slightly insulting.

What happened upstairs, anyway? Why was he cast out?

"Gabriel! Oh, here you are - we were worried. It's, er, good to see you?"

Beelzebub blinked, gaze shifting between Gabriel - who was scrambling again to get up, but mostly scooting away on the floor - and Sandalphon, who seemed to be doing his best to come across as harmless, hands raised and a nervous smile on his face. Of course, all pretense of harmlesses was gone the second his eyes fell on Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies and so forth. 

“What-- you! What are you doing here!”

Ah, the arrogance of angels - acting like the Prince of Hell owed him an explanation for being on Earth, as though they had just showed up uninvited in Heaven itself after getting on the wrong elevator. Which had only happened once or twice in millennia, really; Beelzebub considered it a pretty good going.

“Did you buy the hotel? Got carried away with your game of Monopoly?” they asked drily. The invention of Monopoly - or rather, the twisting of its intended purpose and the violence it prompted at the tables of the most respectable households - was one of Hell’s proudest achievements. Not quite up there with the absolute, brilliant chaos a game of Uno could wreak, or the utter ruin of compulsive gambling, but close enough.

Sandalphon bared his teeth in a gesture that made him look fairly threatening, Beelzebub had to concede, although Dagon certainly pulled it off better. “If you so much lift a hand on him--” he began, only to trail off when Gabriel managed to find his knees and scrambled to hide… behind Beelzebub.

Well. Now that only added to their confusion, and the hands grasping at the lapel of their jacket added to their annoyance. Beelzebub turned to look down at Gabriel, who stared up at them - still on his knees, a nice change - with wide, terrified eyes. Which was… also a change, but not necessarily a nice one. Beelzebub would have enjoyed it a lot more if they had the slightest inkling as to what the Heaven was going on.

“I’m sorry,” they said, tilting their head on one side. “Do you want to lose those hands?”

“Beelzebub! Don’t you dare touch him!” Sandalphon barked. 

Oh, for Satan’s sake, had those two decided to share one single brain cell that day? 

“He is the one touching me!” Beelzebub snapped, and glared down. That gaze had made demons burst crying and, upon occasion, burst in flames. “What did I do or say that made you think you’re allowed to touch me?”

No flames, and no tears. While Gabriel looked paler, and the grip on the lapels of their jacket only tightened. “Don’t let him get me.” 

Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, opened their mouth. Then, failing to think of anything at all he could retort to that, they closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again. 

What. In. The. World. Is. Going. On. 

Still near the door, Sandalphon sputtered. “Gabriel what-- I’m not going to-- that was God’s order, I couldn’t-- didn’t want to--”

Well well well. The more they talked, the more interesting the picture became. Confused, but still interesting. Something had happened, and the more Beelzebub knew, the more they could use to make their case and convince Gabriel to take his rightful place in Hell. “What did you do to him?”

“I-- it wasn’t me, Michael--” Sandaphon began, then trailed off when his brain caught up with his tongue. His lost expression turned into anger again. “I have nothing to explain to you, demon.”

Beelzebub sneered. “It is Prince of Hell to you,” they said. “So-- Michael. What did Michael do to him? What did God order you to do?”

“I owe no explanation--”

Beelzebub looked away from him, down at the… former archangel still holding on the lapels of their jacket. He was looking at Sandalphon, too, hiding behind them like a scared mortal child, but looked up when Beelzebub spoke. “What did they do to you?”

Gabriel swallowed, and his voice was barely audible when he spoke. “My wings.”

Gone, of course. Mortals have no wings. They took them.

Now that was… callous. Heaven wasn’t tender with those it deemed unworthy of being there anymore, but even them - even Satan - got to keep their wings. As a whole, making him mortal was callous; more powerless than any demon. And of course, of course God would get other angels, his friends, to do the dirty work for them; they rarely struck anyone personally nowadays. 

There was a degree of sadism in that way of handling things that, Beelzebub suspected, even Satan himself could not hope to match. Not that they would go saying as much aloud; Satan would most certainly take offense.

“Did you at least try to argue? Or did you just turn on him like vultures on a carcass?”

“Argue with God?” Sandalphon looked horrified at the mere thought. “Of course not, we-- you-- ah, you’d do that, wouldn’t you? You did, and look where it got you!”

“And so you threw him down rather than leap yourselves,” Beelzebub muttered, and scoffed. “Of course you would. No surprise there.” 

Not that Hell would precisely flock at the defense of a demon condemned by Satan himself, but that was entirely beside the point. The point there was making Heaven look bad - and it wasn't like they got many chances to do that. The guys upstairs had infuriatingly good PR and fan clubs across the world, some of which would put most demons to shame. An amazing percentage of them did, in fact, turn up in Hell once their life was done. They were rarely happy about their placement, but who ever was?

The angel’s features twisted in fury. “We had no choice, and you know it!”

A scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course you did. You could have chosen to refuse and take the fall with him.”

“I...” Sandalphon hesitated, and looked down at Gabriel, once again looking very lost. Beelzebub felt the grip on the lapels of their jacket tightening, heard a sharp intake of breath. “Gabriel, we--”

“You dropped him the moment God told you to,” Beelzebub sneered. “God forsook him and so did you.”

“We didn’t want--”

“But you did. And now you think you can come uninvited and force your presence on him?”

“He’s not yours, Beelzebub!”

“Neither he’s yours. And you don’t want him back.”

“You know nothing! We do want--”

“Oh? And what are you going to do? Argue with God to allow him back? Please. You won’t do it and you know it.”

No answer; Sandalphon had enough sense, at least, not to deny that. He stilled, face pale, and looked back down at Gabriel - silent, helpless. Beelzebub held back a sneer, and glanced down as well. 

“Want me to get him to leave?”

For a few moments, there was no reply; Gabriel stayed on his knees, gaze low, saying nothing. Then, slowly, he let go of Beelzebub’s jacket, reached up to wipe his face - ah, yes, humans leaked that way - and stood. Sowly, still behind them, but he stood and drew in a long breath. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse,  but with a degree of coldness to it that hadn’t been there before. 

“... If you please,” he said.

Sandalphon’s eyes turned wide as saucers. "What? No, Gabriel, you can't-- listen to me--"

"I begged you to stop."

"Gabriel--"

"You didn't listen."

"It was God's will, you know we couldn't-"

All right, that was enough. A gesture of Beelzebub's hand, and a swarm of flies materialized right outside the open window. They barged in, buzzing furiously, and surrounded Sandalphon, who could only cry out and stumble back through the door. Another gesture, and the door slammed shut - a curtain of Hellfire covering it, to keep any angel from coming in again. 

"That ought to keep them out for a good while," they muttered. There was no answer; behind them there was only a long sigh, the creak of a mattress' springs.

They turned to see Gabriel sitting back on the bed, burrowing his face into shaky hands. He drew in a deep breath before uttering something that was… rare for the Prince of Hell to hear.

"... Thank you."

Well, look at that. Maybe, entirely by accident, they were on to something. The long-held belief that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar was quite frankly a load of crap - especially in the case of fruit flies who are attracted by vinegar like nothing else - but perhaps, when it came to catching a former archangel, a different approach may be needed.

And Beelzebub might have just found the right angle.

"... All right," they said calmly, and sat down at well, chin resting on their fist. "Tell me what happened."

***

"And they said to him, a man came up to us and told us to go back to the king and give him this message. ‘This is what the Lord says: Is there no God in Israel? Why are you sending men to Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron, to ask whether you will recover? Therefore, because you have done this, you will never leave the bed you are lying on; you will surely die.’" 2 Kings 1:6

***

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