#my project manager is very cool with me and threw me a little bone on what to ask for based on what she/the other current one makes

[winemom-culture]

Um so???

I found out I’m getting promoted to a project manager lol

I was totally blindsided in a good way, I think this is something I wanted to happen eventually as far as my career path goes but didn’t think the opportunity would come so soon (I mean I haven’t even been here a year yet this month is 8 months?)

My boss-boss had my own project manager let me know as kinda like the middle man so I have to go to big boss today before I leave and talk specifics and I’m so nervous even tho they fully approached me wanting to give me this lol ahhhh

[jefaisducso]

FAQ: (Long post under the cut)

Who are you? My name’s Emily, I’m in my mid-20′s and I’m a student in Viking and Old Norse studies with modern Norwegian. I live in France but go to uni in the UK (bilingual English-French). I have generalised anxiety disorder, hypermobiity and am hard of hearing, on top of suffering the results of several nasty injuries - a twicefractured neck, a broken hand, dislocated shoulder, dislocated ankle and broken pelvis - all of these injuries were riding related except one of the neck fractures, which was due to a bullying attack in high school where three boys in my class threw me down a flight of stairs. I’m an asexual lesbian, potentially non-binary and occasional gamer - all gaming reblogs/talk goes under the tag “Cast Gaymes” for this reason. I compete in amateur dressage and showjumping currently, but want to branch out with some dabbling in eventing, TREC, extreme trail riding and livestock working.

Tell me about your horses:

Hermes - 2007 bay zangersheide gelding (Quadrillo x Chanson de Kabaret)
This is my main guy, the love of my life and also my problem child. He’s a stunningly talented horse with shit for brains. He’s competed up to 130cm classes with my trainer as well as flouncing around smaller stuff with me, but is banned from dressage shows due to his inability to complete a test without throwing a strop. I’ve owned him since May 2011.


Freyja - 2016 chestnut zangersheide mare (Untouchable 27 x Leader M)
Moose, as she’s sometimes called, is the redheaded demon horse I fell in love with last year (2019). She’s got an enormous personality to match her 17.2hh body and is hopefully going to be my next showjumper, dressage horse and possibly take me eventing too.  

Vigo - 1997 black Welsh section D cob gelding (Cathedine Telynor x Ffoslas Caradog Ap Daffyd)
This old man is my darling pony, donkey of the swamps, sir of the wiggles. He has a million nicknames, as you can see. Vigo lives at home year round and rules the roost. I’ve taken him competing in jumping, dressage and TREC as he’s a massively polyvalent little beast. He’s been with me since 2013. Given his age he’s partially retired, but it’s an active retirement as he needs to be worked to keep the weight off him. Recently we’ve been dabbling in western riding, which suits him a lot.

 
Sana - 2001 grey arab gelding (Pegase EF x Neman)
We took Sana on as a companion for Hermes in 2013 as he and Vigo couldn’t live together at that point. His old owner took him to CEI160 endurance competitions, but he had to retire due to DJD in both knees. These days, he spends his time being a grumpy old man and occasionally farts around bridleless or ponies other horses. 


Horsie - 2017 grey anglo-arab gelding (Business x Pastel d’Olympe)
I bought him as a project mid June 2020 with the intention of selling him on eventually due to him needing someone to bring him on in a relaxed manner whilst he continues to grow and mature. He’s got an absolutely wonderful temperament and is generally pleasant to have at home so he’s staying with me for the moment. I plan on casually campaigning him in the ammie YH dressage, showjumping and eventing classes (Hunter too if there are any shows). 

 What other pets do you have? I have 3 barn cats (Monkey, Oliver and Rocket Launcher), and a purebred Maine Coon (Grimnir). Two family dogs - both Newfoundland’s but one purebred (Bear) and one rescue who was abandoned on us in 2018 (Bruno). 1 Dwarf rabbit (Smak) who was born in 2019. 27 chickens - farmyard X-breeds, a group of ex-production layers (the babbling biddies), purebred Brahmas (Magnus, Vulture, Brunhilde and Valkyrie) and a bunch of chicks from my Brahma cockerels (Balti, The Void™️, Soggy, Pingu, Chocolate, Yeller and Marbles). One peacock called Peanut. 7 elderly and partially feral llamas (Amy, Didier, Delia, Dolly, Esther, Ete and Edward) - Ete is the llama I occasionally show jumping things. Two tanks of tropical fish - one 300L community and a 450L with a now-solitary Oscar called Gilbert.

What are your hobbies? I read/write fanfiction and original fiction, occasionally do art, make stained glass windows/display pieces and participate in Vulture Culture (the collection of bones, fur and wet specimens) - my favourite pieces are my horse skull, coyote pelt and legacy human skull (teaching specimen given to me by my grandfather - he got it in the 60’s in Turkey when he was a teacher). As I mentioned above, I also game; my preferences are for long, open-world RPG’s - Skyrim, Red Dead Redemption 2, Assassins Creed Valhalla and Zelda: Breath of the Wild amongst others. 


Who was Rethy? Rethy was my old horse, who unfortunately had to be put to sleep due to sudden posterior paralysis in 2019. He was a 2005 anglo-arab gelding who I’d mainly competed in showjumping. Most notably, he had serious aggression issues due to having been abused in his youth and took a very particular handler to manage. Partly because of his aggression, and partly because of his larger-than-life (if that can even be said for a 17h giraffe of a horse) personality, he took a lot of patience to love but rewarded my efforts greatly. I miss him a lot. 


Who was Cool? Cool was a 2009 zangersheide gelding that I part owned with my trainer back in 2015. He and I weren’t a terribly good match (horses don’t come much lazier than him) but he took me up to amateur showjumping. We sold him in 2016 and from what I hear, is now loving life with a far more suitable young rider in Belgium.

Who was Burrito? Burrito was a rescue donkey I briefly owned in 2020. I’ve long loved donkeys and was very excited to bring one into my herd. Unfortunately, he had something terribly wrong with him. On Halloween he suddenly flipped out as I was feeding him and attempted to kill me; he knocked me to the ground, dragged me around by my boot, bit my leg, trampled my head (luckily I was wearing a hat) and savaged my right arm whilst attempting to go for my throat. I spent 4 days in hospital and had to undergo surgery to fix my injuries. Upon returning home I had him put to sleep, I’ve plenty of experience with aggressive animals but I couldn’t risk another attack like what he did and frankly didn’t want to keep him alive after it either. 

[kaorei-endgame]

hmmm.... if you didn’t know.... the only thing i do now is write about catboys :)

“The restaurant still had cds, dozens and dozens of them in this dusty pile by the register. No aux cable as far as the eye could see.” Nico flinched. “Can you not, with your bare feet?”

Anzu kicked defiantly, digging in against the couch cushions with their back to continue their chilly assault. “So it was cool?” They asked, from around their gameboy screen. “You’re telling me she took you to a cool place.”

Nico's ears drooped. “Mostly it was a bunch of weird zither tunes. And the food was like…”

“Bad?”

“Challenging.” Nico slumped deeper into the couch. “Don’t get me wrong I appreciate when she takes initiative… it’s just… kind of disappointing for our…y’know…”

Anzu’s ears crossed, they perked up. “Go on, say it.”

“Familiar Anniver—”

“Familiarversary!” Anzu chorused, hands waving, arms high.

A throw pillow careened past Anzu’s head. “No.”

Anzu giggled back. “If she’s so bad at feeling your vibe or whatever you can break up you know. It’s not 50 years ago you don’t have to be”—shuffling the gameboy to one hand for scare quotes—“bonded,” or whatever, Grandma.”

“Dude I’m nine months older than you.”

“That’s besides the point.” Anzu wafted the gameboy emphatically with both hands. “I asked Oers’s friend, who is a medium. And she said breaking that stuff up—poof—” Nico winced, tracking the precarious wobble of the gameboy as Anzu’s arms went wide in elaboration. “Simple as…” The gameboy shot up into the air and Anzu threw out a lightning quick pair of finger-guns at the now-paralyzed-by-oncoming-electronic-grief Nico. “Pah-pah! ….Goin’ to the courthouse.“—The gameboy fell!

…with a whumpf, onto the couch cushions between Anzu’s legs.

Anzu grinned. “Anyway, it’s like thirty bucks. You don’t have thirty bucks?”

“I got thirty.” Nico slumped back onto the couch, tabbed around with the remote to try and find the Spacecraft tournament they’d originally intended to watch, though Anzu kept calling it the Spacewars tournament without a hint of irony, which did cause Nico to suspect Anzu’s commitment to the sport. “It’s the lingering twelve hundred from my EOOL violation that’s gonna kill me.”

“Oooh, ghost stuff!”

Nico squinted. “What the hell do you know about Exorcism law?”

“Enough to know somebody’s been”—Anzu’s eyebrows waggled— “Exorcising. Out. Of. License.”

Nico huffed. “Which of those cop shows you like did an episode about ghosts?”

“Oers’s internet has been pretty”—Anzu wiggled a hand in the air and clicked their tongue a few times—“since that flood a while back? So that friend of hers has a whole office with a bunch of law books, that kind of thing, and since I’m always hanging around with nothing to do while they’re—”

Nico’s Anzu-sense pinged. “Anzu….. are you sure this friend…. Isn’t her wife?”

“Huh?” Anzu went blank faced, ears tilting from left to right and back again. Then they burst into a wild chortle, reaching for the half-killed sake bottle beside them on the floor. “Ahaha, nothing like that. Oh!” FWUNK! The plastic cork popped free and skittered across the floor. “They’re co-workers! Like you and Marigold!” Trailing off, Anzu took a long chug. There was so much left because Anzu bought the sweet stuff—i.e.: the cheap stuff—which is what will happen, if you let Anzu buy alcohol. Which gave Nico, comparatively sober, plenty of time to puzzle out….

“If she’s a medium, and you’re calling them co-workers…” Nico assessed the corners of the room for 3rd party observers. “Cripes. You’re dating a demon?”

Anzu’s nose wrinkled up, their eyes went to slits. A dribble of sake spilled over their chin. “Ehe! Cool, yeah?”

Nico paused for a good long time. Words had left them. Biting their lip, they raised their hands.

“Is she….”

Outlining a box in the air.

No…. A larger one.

M-maybe a bit larger.

“…big?”

“Nico!” Anzu, aghast. Eyes gigantic beneath that shaggy fringe of hair. Just long enough to make Nico squirm. Then, they put both hands in front of them in quiet praise, bowed, and began to jitter. “Ffffffucking extremely!!” They cackled.

Nico paused for a sec, to let the mental image really firm up. They slouched on the couch, and smiled. “Damn, a demon. That’s like a super LDR.”

“Not really.” Anzu chugged the last of the sake. “She’s on the same subway line.”

“Yea, but she’s gotta traverse three planes before she can walk to the station…” Nico blinked. “Hey…”

Before Nico could respond, Anzu burst into a sudden motion, ice-cold feet kicked out, seeking vulnerable spots in the Nico-couch symbiote to burrow between for precious warmth.

Nico yelped, instinctually flinching away, but no matter how Nico contorted, the freezing arches of Anzu’s feet were never far behind.

“Give in!” Anzu squealed. “It’s freezing! I’m drunk!”

“Will you be quiet? You’ll wake up Marigold.” With a hand against Anzu’s face for leverage, Nico managed to wrestle them, laughing, to the couch. “I’ll get you a blanket!”

Anzu relented in an instant, slumping dead-limbed across the couch.

The streams of “Thank you, cousin!” and “Love you, miss you!” and various other obnoxiously affectionate bon-mots trailed Nico all the way down the hallway to the office.

A frizzy sensation rifled through Nico’s neck hair as they creaked the office door open, which probably narrowly saved them a (meta?)physical encounter with Marigold’s astral projection, hovering like a glittering blue constellation of her shape, somewhere between the door and the little linen closet in the side wall.

Marigold, the physical one, was slumped over the desk, steepled hat slumped over her face and… maybe (no, definitely) drooling a little, but it didn’t look like over anything important. Just those parody tarot cards Nico had gotten her one year in an unfortunately passive-aggressive plea to tune The Readings down a notch…

Nico skirted around the little celestial nymphs that flitted back and forth to outline Marigold’s form as she chatted emphatically gesturing with her hands towards unseen partners in muted conversations.

It was probably work. Nico hoped it was work. Astral bandwidth was really expensive this time of year and—

The nymphs twisted and flurried around one another as Marigold swayed with laughter.

It was probably work…. Related?

A little “snurrgurrgle” of a snort escaped Marigold, the physical one, as Nico tucked a blanket around her and said goodnight.  

When Nico got back, Anzu was fully asleep fully sprawled out with fully one of the couch cushions on top of them for insulation. So Nico just chucked the blanket on top of the whole thing and hit un-mute on the TV.

Nico watched the TV for a while, til Anzu had to come up for air. Sneaking their head out from under the blanket, red-faced from booze and trapped body heat, and smiling cozily. “So what year is this, for y’all two?”

“A lot.”

“Did she get you a gift?”

A startle-tremor ran through Nico. They scruffed their nails through the back of their hair. “Yeah.”

Anzu’s smeared wingliner accentuated to stiletto points. “Was it a good one?”

Nico reddened. Scratched at her collar bone like worrying up an old secret. “She’s… done worse.”

A satisfied little giggle, from the other side of the couch. “Bet she has.”

The little cartoon space man living and dying in 15 second intervals on the TV screen became very interesting, for a while. Long enough that all the thoughts in Nico’s head began to parse themselves out… one by one…

“So.” Anzu’s spine arched, sliding up the arm of the couch, their hands rooted blindly behind them, coming back with a fistful of red vines, morst of which ended up in their mouth on the first go. “How’s your mom?”

[unleashedart]

I would love to see you do number 34!! I can’t wait to see what you come up with! 😄

TW: Kidnapping/stalking

I might flip around the pronouns on this one given Ryan’s general discomfort with women.

34. “(S)He creeped me out. Not gonna lie.”

————

John usually didn’t worry about people. He didn’t concern himself with their emotions or mental well-being. He cared about sin and the project. And yet. One obnoxiously loud and flirty red head managed to make him question everything.

When Ryan first moved to Hope County, John thought he knew who he was exactly. It was his job to know people’s sin after all and he knew he was good at it. Ryan was just a city boy coming to play hero in a small town. Another prideful sinner. But then he got reports of Ryan helping followers outside of his normal work hours. Even outside of his volunteer hours. His faithful would show up unannounced at his door to be treated and they were always welcomed in. The cult didn’t have a shortage of healthcare workers either, but Ryan still seemed to be a quiet favorite among the faithful. Even the resistance were confused by his actions, some were outraged, but Ryan shrugged it off and told them it was just the job.

Even more perplexing is that Ryan agreed to atone and actually look at the preaching of the project even though he obviously disagreed with all of it. John didn’t understand it. People were either with the project or against it: there was no grey area. No one helped them and also stood against everything they was. Then came Ryan and his stupid goofy grin and John was intrigued.

All that bravo and high energy enthusiasm was gone now. In fact Ryan almost looked empty of everything. He came running into John’s ranch sometime ago and just launched himself into John’s arms which threw him off immediately. Ryan wasn’t overly touchy and he almost always asked permission before touching in any way. 

“Ryan?” John grasped him by his shoulders and pried him away to look at him in the eyes.

“Wha-” John had attempted to ask what had happened, but then he caught a whiff of the bliss and realized.

Since they met, he had always sensed there was more to Ryan than just a simple city kid. Way more than he let on anways. He was guarded about something, but John had decided to not pursue it further. Then he noticed that Ryan acted especially odd whenever he mentioned Faith or the Bliss. Curious, he decided to ask Faith about him and what she knew. Faith only answered cryptically and said that she hadn’t gotten to meet him yet as Ryan seemed to be very cautious in the Henbane, avoiding the Bliss and sometimes the whole region.

An usual spike of guilt flooded him as he realized that by asking Faith about him that he might have piqued her interest him which resulted in him being blissed. The guilt didn’t last long and quickly morphed into possessiveness. Ryan lived in HIS region. Faith shouldn’t have a right to take people from him. John looked Ryan over. He was wearing his normal uniform, but his radio strap was missing. His eyes looked more exhausted than usual and he was slightly sweaty and filthy. He probably ran all the way here from the Henbane.

“Faith probably took your radio strap. I’ll get it back for you, sorry.” He wasn’t even sure Ryan could hear him.

Hesitantly he reached up and gently carded his hand through Ryan’s bright ginger hair, trying to bring it back to some semblance of normal. After a few moments of fiddling he realized what he was doing. He found himself flushing slight despite himself.

During this whole thing Ryan still hadn’t said a word. He barely even flinched when John touched his hair. Everything was so unlike him it was jarring. He figured he wouldn’t say much until he came out of the bliss so John led him over to the living space and sat him down on his couch and went to make some calls.

When John returned an hour later. Ryan was still sitting on the couch staring listlessly at the ground. John was sure the bliss wore off a while go. He shifted awkwardly. He didn’t know how to deal with these types of issues. He was always loud with his problems, if he had an issue then he voiced what he felt. Ryan was silent.

John tapped his foot awkwardly, he felt a bubble of frustration come up. He didn’t know what to do or how to handle this. Why did Ryan come here? He should have known that he didn’t know how to do this.

“Why are you here?” John snapped, breaking the silence.

It came off a little harsher than he intended, but he found himself leaning into his irritation. It was easy and familiar. He was also running out of patience. He just wanted answers and he didn’t want to play games to figure out how get them.

Ryan looked at him with tears in his eyes and a quirky smile. John’s irritation melted away again. He had to remind himself to temper his own sin. Ryan was not the enemy. He should be, but he wasn’t. John sighed and sat down next to him. He fiddled with his fingers before deciding what to say.

“I’m getting your radio strap from Faith. I know you love that thing irrationally.” John muttered.

Ryan’s eyes lit up again for the first time that night as he turned to John. He still didn’t make a sound as he quickly wiped the tears out of his eyes.

“So I guess you met Faith.” John tried instead.

Ryan just laughed, “she creeped me out. Not gonna lie.” Ryan sounded raspy and his voice broke halfway through the sentence.

“That’s an understatement.” John never felt more relief to hear him speak.

John let out a short chuckle and then felt slightly embarrassed at his inability to make a coherent conversation. Words normally came so easily to him.

Ryan’s smile faded slightly, “I guess I owe you a conversation.”

“Why are you here,” John tried again leaning forwards.

“Whoa, I said conversation. Not interrogation.”

John scrunched his face up, “how are you doing?”

“Better. I was stuck in some memories there for a while.” Ryan admitted, leaning back on the couch.

“What happened?” John asked bluntly.

“Well I was called out to the Henbane-”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” John frowned.

“Maybe I don’t know.” Ryan crossed his arms stubbornly.

“I know you know. I wanna know why you burst in here and didn’t respond to me for hours! I know you’re hiding something!” John balled up his hands. “Don’t play stupid.”

He hated when people did this. Ryan knew exactly what he wanted to know. He didn’t need to do conversation gymnastics to know why his evening was interrupted.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Ryan threw his arms up. “That I have some serious unresolved trauma and decided to run away rather than face her? My problem. Not yours.”

John was shocked by the outburst for a moment. Ryan almost never completely lost his cool. He was usually so lighthearted about things. Then it he realized why a city boy came to rural Montana. He wasn’t looking to be the big fish in the small pond. He was running away.

An unknown emotion fuel John, why didn’t he talk about this before? Did he not trust him? It seemed like an important thing to not share. John wouldn’t exactly classify them as friends, but Ryan would often come over to learn about the project and fufill his promise on atonement.

John stood up, “I know you think I’m completely incompetent, but I lived my life as a lawyer and I hear plenty of confessions from our faithful.”

Ryan rubbed his face tiredly, “I know. I just don’t like to talk about it. It makes it real.”

“I think you should talk about it.” John insisted as Ryan pulled at his sleeve to sit again.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Ryan said emotionlessly.

“What happened? Who is the ‘her’ you mentioned?” John started.

“Emily Dunken, 18.” The name felt heavy on his tongue, “I met her when she was 17. She was involved in a bad rollover accident a few years ago. She was lucky to make it out with only a couple broken bones. I was the one who treated her and sat with her in the back of the ambulance. She seemed like just another trouble teen but soon after she just started stalking me.”

“Why you?”

Ryan let out a sharp bitter laugh.

“I ask myself that everyday. What did I do? I must have accidentally gave the impression I wanted her too. Was it my fault?” Ryan closed his eyes.

“It couldn’t have been your fault,” John frowned.

“At first I played along. It was so cute and innocent to have someone with hero worship sending gifts. Everyone called me lucky.” Ryan shook his head. “Then it escalated. Showing up at my house. Calling 10+ times everyday. Things of mine went missing. They didn’t believe me when I said it got worse. No one did. Kept calling me lucky and told me to stop bragging or stop complaining. She was just a teen girl is what they said. Don’t break her heart.”

There was a long pause as Ryan gathered his thoughts. His eyes were brimmed with tears. John tried to wait patiently for the conclusion before asking more questions, but he couldn’t help his anxious hand twitches.

“Then I woke up in a basement tied to a pole and a gash on my nose.” Ryan gently touched his scar. “I was there for about a week.”

John was silent, mulling it over in his head. He started thinking about the people he was accused of kidnapping and wondered if they had the same thoughts. They did deserve it though in his mind. They were sinners and they need to be cleansed. The project did it for the greater good and were not selfish like this stalker who just took Ryan for her own needs.

“I still dream about it. I still think I’m there sometimes. I can’t be near most women anymore. It’s so embarrassing.” Ryan rubbed his face aggressively.

John thought about Faith. She played the innocent girl very well. He could see why Ryan would be nervous around her now. A deceptively innocent young girl and a powerful drug.

“So Faith bringing you into the Bliss...”

“Terrified me.” Ryan admitted. “I don’t trust the bliss and I don’t trust Faith.”

“It feels better to admit it, doesn’t it?” John tilted his head.

“Yeah, I guess.” Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. “I won’t be going to the Henbane any time soon.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll have Faith back off.” John said as nonchalantly as possible.

He knew it was a toss up if Faith actually listened to him or not. It could also make her more curious and result in worse for Ryan, but if that happened then he could always also talk to Joseph. She always listened to him. He wondered how Joseph would react to John getting close with Ryan when he still was technically not a part of the project. That was another conversation he didn’t want to have.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ryan grabbing his arm suddenly, “don’t say shit you don’t mean. Don’t give me that hope. I swear, John. Don’t bullshit me.”

John’s eyes went wide as he met Ryan’s begging blue ones. There was so much pain and desperation. John had never seen him so open and distraught before. Obviously the Henbane and Bliss was a huge point of stress in his life and John coming along to promise to make it go away must have felt too good to be real.

John never seen Ryan like this before. It was like he finally got past all his defenses, but he didn’t really earn it. Ryan had come here while drugged out of his mind. John felt like he was seeing something he didn’t deserve. He also knew now he was gonna make Faith back off using any means necessary.

“You can stay here until we get your radio belt back.” John said suddenly. “One of our Chosen should be bringing it over in the morning.”

Ryan looked at him suspiciously, but didn’t say anything. Then the glint of mischief came back and that vulnerability was replaced with his typical suave smile.

“Oh, stay the night? Why John, you didn’t even buy me dinner yet.”

“It’s a little late for dinner, Erkhart. Go to sleep.” John stood up and tossed a blanket over Ryan’s head.

He promised himself that next time he would earn that trust and openness. Ryan pulled the blanket off from his head with his grin still intact. He watched John walk off towards his bedroom.

“We can always skip straight to dessert!” Ryan called out after him.

He was only met with the slamming of a door. Ryan fell asleep with a smile on his face.

[goldeneyedgirl]

Fic-Mas Day 7: hybrid.

Hello lovelies. Today I bring you a chunk of one of my massive projects. A pet project, in fact. I have written and rewritten the first 7 chapters so many times, I could almost recite it by heart. 

So, onwards!

(AU in which Alice is the daughter of a vampire-human hybrid, who was raised in an abusive home, and ends up in the care of her father and his husband in Forks. Hybrid biology is a little different - or rather, expanded - from canon. This was basically my attempt at expanding the Twilight universe beyond vampires and werewolves and examine the idea that humans are really the worst. At this point in the story, Alice has arrived in Forks, had a less than welcoming experience with the Cullen kids and met Dr Cullen in a professional capacity.) 

You know when something huge happens to you, and you tick yourself off because somehow you managed to miss all the signs that it was going to happen? But when you think back, there were no real clues - everything that happened was completely innocent and ordinary. There was no way you could have known.

Thursday night turned into one of those. There was no way I could have ever seen it coming.

“Alice, honey, could you run to the gas station and grab some milk?” Simon called from the kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans. “We are completely out, and your father is highly unpleasant without his morning latte.”

Cynthia and I were watching TV; Cynthia was tapping away at her phone with a bowl of popcorn between her crossed legs, and I was flipping through my biology textbook boredly trying to summon the energy to do my homework, some sitcom playing on the television.

“Um, sure,” I said, tossing my book onto the couch and standing up. I’d do pretty much anything to avoid Biology.

“Great, there’s some money here. The gas station is four blocks down, then to your left. Don’t forget your phone,” Simon beamed at me, as he took an enormous knife to a fish that I suddenly felt sorry for, whilst gesturing at a small dish that held spare keys, change and a few folded bills.

Plucking a ten from the bowl, I grabbed my bag and my sneakers. I could kind of understand Simon asking me – Dad was in the shower, Cynthia was already in her pajamas, and I was almost eighteen; much safer than a fourteen-year-old walking the dark streets. Plus, I knew how to defend myself. And this was Forks – as far as Simon knew, a perfectly safe place to walk around after dark.

The walk was cold, seeping in through my hoodie, and I was grateful to spot the gas station, cutting through the alley between the buildings.

The gas station was brightly lit, and clean – it was really more of a mini-mart. I found the milk, and detoured down the candy aisle to snag myself some chocolate. The cashier was some college-aged guy, more interested in his car magazine than me, as he slid the change and my bag across the counter.

Sighing, I headed out, cutting back through the alley, stepping around the dumpster.

I didn’t see anyone.

I didn’t see him until it was too late.

Jasper Cullen; he was standing at the end of the alley, in an army green hunting jacket.

I paused next to the dumpster, my hand tightening around the handles of my bag.

He said nothing, but watched me with a strange and unpleasant look on his face. The back of my neck prickled as I continued walking down the alley. Why didn’t I turn around and walk back to the gas station? Why was he here?

Why would a vampire hang out in dark alleys if they were trying to blend in?

The little voice of logic in the back of my mind was rattling through all the reasons I should stop, but I didn’t. I just kept walking, my hoodie obscuring my face enough that I looked like I was looking at the ground when I was really keeping an eye on him. He was unmoving, his hair in his eyes, casually leaning against the brick retaining wall. He could have been any other bored, rebellious teenager.

My problem was my complete stubbornness. I can’t back down from a challenge. I don’t enjoy retreating and regrouping. A one-girl army against the world.  

I just kept walking, not even planning on acknowledging him. I just wanted to get home, back to the warmth of my fathers’ house, the hum of the television. And I would be; in ten minutes, I’d be home, back on the couch with my candy. Simon wouldn’t be happy about me eating chocolate, let alone gas-station candy, before dinner but he wouldn’t stop me this time.

Distracting myself with my daydream of getting home, I didn’t even have time to flinch when Jasper finally moved.

His hand jerked out like a striking snake, clamping around my forearm, dragging me towards him.

I yelped, trying to jerk free, but his grip was like iron. His eyes were completely black, and he was pulling me along, despite my feet scrabbling against the concrete. I was too far away from the gas station now – perhaps I could have gotten the attention of witnesses before, when I was closer to the street, but now we were fully cloistered in the shadows of the alleyway.

He threw me against the brick wall, and pain flared up my back; I choked on my own gasp. The bag containing the milk and candy fell from my grip and the milk burst cold and wet over my sneakers, as I stared up at him, trying to re-orientate myself.

Jasper was staring at me with naked desperation, moving slowly closer to me – his eyes were dark and dull, boring into mine; his jaw set and nostrils flaring slightly. I met his gaze and waited, trying not to show fear. That was important. Fear provokes predators. It gives them power.

It wasn’t easy – I was afraid. Bone-chillingly terrified, to be honest. I kept reminding myself that this wouldn’t be the worst thing I’d lived through. If I survived, of course. And thinking of home, whilst trying not to vomit.

It’s easy for a place to become home, if you think about it. Warm, safe, and with somewhere to sleep and food to eat. That’s all anyone really wants when it comes down to it. But it had taken only a week for me to love that place, the family I’d never known.

He fisted one hand in my hair and twisted my neck harshly to the side. The bones screamed but didn’t break, and I could hear my breathing – shallow and panicked. The even rational voice in my head politely reminded me that I was lucky – lucky he hadn’t snapped my neck or spine, that an ordinary human would be dead  

This, this had been my fear since I had seen them in the cafeteria, and now I was living it.

His teeth pierced my jugular roughly, and I gasped, my hands bracing futilely against his chest. It hurt, but it felt kind of good, too. His mouth felt hot on my throat, and it was only his hands holding me in place that kept me upright. I whimpered as my head swam and then suddenly he tore himself away - it hurt as my skin tore in his mouth, and I dropped to the ground dazed, blood spilling down my throat and shoulder, disgustingly warm.

He was choking and gasping, looking at me with horror before vanishing, and the world around me slowly darkened, until the cold and rough feeling of the pavement under me was all that I was aware of.

And slowly, even that left me.

I don't know how long I was unconscious but suddenly, I felt cold hands on me out of nowhere, only vaguely aware that an undetermined amount of time had passed.

"Mary-Alice? Mary Alice, I’m Esme Cullen," came a gentle voice, “You’ve been hurt, sweetheart.”

I blinked but everything was blurry and I was so tired. Was I sitting up? I didn’t know, and I couldn’t move. A soft, feeble whine of misery came out of my lips, but it didn’t feel like I’d made it. It felt like just breathing was taking up all my energy reserves.

“Holy shit, look at her eyes,” came a male voice.

“We need to get her to Carlisle.”

It felt like I was in a dream, as I was carefully picked up and carried. I could hear and smell the milk and blood dripping from me, feel the roughness of the towel against my torn neck. The coolness of vampire skin seeping through my clothing.

And then I was gone again.

--

A swirl of light, a massive space full of shadows.

My boots clicking on the floor as I walked in, dozens of mirror reflecting my movements.

The sound of my boots changing, and suddenly I was wading through blood. A gasp, and I looked up to see Cynthia in a nightgown, standing at the very edge of the pool of blood, looking scared; Dad and Simon clinging tightly to Cynthia as the blood kept closer to them.

Turning around to see Bella Swan, broken and staring, a mirror shattered all around her.

And the sound of every single mirror shattering into tiny, infinite pieces that sounded like rain as they fell…

--

“Mary-Alice?”

There was light.

It was kind of blue.

“Mary-Alice?”

And highly irritating.

“Mary-Alice?”

I blinked slowly as it shone directly into my eyes.  

“Mary-Alice?” came a pleasant voice.

My vision was blurry, but slowly clearing as I looked around. Dr Cullen was crouched in front of me; I was lying on a couch, with a pillow under my head, and the contents of a first aid kit spread out over a coffee table. The rest of the Cullens were scattered around the room, all with grim expressions of varying degrees.

Nothing like regaining consciousness in a room full of people standing around and staring at you.

At least no one was getting handsy.

I ignored them as I slowly sat up, my head feeling like it was full of sand, but glaring when Dr Cullen moved to assist me. My hand reached up to the bite wound – only to find bandages covering my throat.

“Just a few stitches,” Dr Cullen said, with a pleasant smile. “You lost quite a bit of blood.”

“Mm, I always seem to be misplacing that,” I muttered, testing movement in both my arms and my neck. My back felt like one massive bruise, but I didn’t want to draw attention to that right now. Better than the broken ribs – or paralysis - anyone else would have ended up with. Still, it hurt and would take its sweet time to heal. My neck stung and pulled as I moved, but again, I was alive, and that was all that I ever really hoped for.

Surely I was running out of lives. One of these days, something had to put me down for good.

I looked up at Jasper, standing awkwardly in the corner and scowled. “You know Hale, normally you take a girl out to dinner or something first.” I mentally winced; my voice was slurring and croaky, not exactly the sign of ‘the unstoppable force’ I wanted to portray.

But I was clearly understood, as everyone froze, gaping at me, before Emmett began to laugh. And Rosalie seemed to be intent on murdering me with a glare.

“That answers our next question,” Dr Cullen sighed, gathering up the first aid kit. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” I said grumpily, and trying to work out my next step, to get from couch to no-longer-in-the-Cullen-home.

I had learnt through previous experience that I didn’t have a chance of outrunning a vampire, or fighting one hand-to-hand, but I had a few tricks that would usually allow me to navigate myself to safety. Most of the time. With a bit of luck. And my bag always held an aerosol of deodorant and a cigarette lighter, in case of emergency. You can do a lot of damage with those things.

My head was spinning. I wished I was… basically anywhere but here.

Mrs Cullen suddenly appeared at my elbow, holding out a glass of water, with a strangely worried-hopeful expression on her face.

I took the water with a grimace that was meant to be a small smile of thanks.

What? They might have been bloodsuckers, but that didn’t mean I was going to be a complete asshole. After all, Mrs Cullen had come to rescue me, when she could have left me to bleed out in the alleyway and let a mugger or a wild animal take the blame. That was decent of her, and it couldn’t have been easy, with all that blood.

And I didn’t want to annoy them.

“You had a seizure of some kind, and when Esme and Emmett found you, your eyes and lips had turned blue,” Dr Cullen said. “I have a few questions.”

“Okay,” I said. I spied my bag next to the couch and reached for it, trying my hardest to keep a poker face at the pain that had taken up camp everywhere, rifling through for my phone.

Dad and Simon would be losing it. I had gone out to pick up milk.

“You know about us,” Rosalie said suddenly, her eyes flashing angrily.

“I do,” I said, finding the phone – which was flat. I still hadn’t quite gotten a hold of owning a cellphone, let alone remembering to check it and charge it.

“Start talking,” Rosalie snapped.

“Rose, calm down,” Esme said.

“She’s not human,” Edward said suddenly, his gaze flicking towards Jasper. “Her blood…”

Everyone looked at Jasper. He looked ashamed and tired, and I kind of wanted to hug him, even after his exsanguination attempt. It honestly wasn’t the worst thing that a vampire had tried to do to me. He looked like he needed a lifetime of hugs, actually. Maybe it was the blood loss, but I would have given him that hug if it meant I got to cop a feel; it would just a bonus for being a good Samaritan, really.

God, I was completely loopy. Had I hit my head?

“It wasn’t right,” Jasper said slowly. “It was wonderful at first, and terrible. Not thick enough, not warm enough either. At the end, it was like a bitter burn. Just… wrong. Contaminated.”

Everyone swung back to look at me, whilst I pointedly ignored them and jabbed the buttons on my cell phone experimentally. Nothing.

“What … what are you?” Dr Cullen asked me, his curiosity evident.

“I don’t like that question,” I said shortly. “And you get used to the flavour, I’ve heard.” Those stories, ugh. Mom like to use those as threats every time I had protested about anything – from another pointless ‘test’, to refusing to take a bath. It’s why she never, ever went anywhere near Nevada.

I grabbed my blood-stained hoodie off the end of the couch and struggled to pull it on.

“Jesus, what happened?” Emmett blurted out, and did they really have to stare like that?

I looked down, to see the neckline of my shirt had pulled to the side, to reveal the worst of my scars. It ran from the left side of my throat, across my upper chest and ended at my right clavicle. It was faint, invisible to the human eye, but vampire sight would see the webbing and tearing pattern.

“Boston when I was fifteen,” I said, zipping the hoodie up. “I spent my fifteenth birthday in hospital, handcuffed to the bed, so I couldn’t get away quick enough to heal it better.”

No one really knew how to respond to that.

“You’ve got quite a collection of scars,” Dr Cullen tried again. “And more than a few bite marks.”

“I should call my father, he’s probably worried,” I said flatly. “I went to get milk.”

“You cannot expect us to let you leave without telling us something. You know about us,” Rosalie snapped, stepping in front of me. “You should die for that.”

And I looked at them, really looked at them. In their nice clothes, with their nice house. A human girlfriend, and a human job. They had helped me, instead of leaving me to die. Whatever these people were, they weren’t like the vampires I had known.

“You all need to pretend you never met me,” I said finally, meeting her gaze without flinching. “Or you will die for that.”

And then I stood up, and left.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 54

This chapter is 100% dedicated to my beloved sister, @parisconstantine. While we never really got the chance to actually do this, I always wished we could.

Also, thank @baelpenrose for Arthur Farro and the unceasingly fun to write Alistair Worthington.

Content warnings for basic white girl shenanigans, you have been warned.

“It still tastes like chai,” I groaned as I sipped the drink my sister set in front of me. We were in her office, going over crew files to identify who we had available to start learning the material for the Galactic Core courses.  Eino and Grey were solidly behind the initiative, along with Xiomara – purely for political and defensive reasons, but still – so with neither Pranav nor Huyhn having any objections, we had a tentative green light.

This concoction in my cup, however, did not have any such approval.

“It would probably help if we knew exactly what was supposed to be in it,” Tyche before wrinkling her nose at her own beverage. “At least we both like chai?”

I shrugged and nodded. “Maybe it’s the ratios… Hey, this guy looks promising. He’s already assigned to Eino, apparently was a teacher Before.  Poor thing, he taught high school…”  Tyche erupted in giggles. I scowled at her. “You don’t understand. High school students can be horrible monsters.”

“Agreed,” Alistair added as he breezed into the room. He stopped abruptly, wrinkling his nose. “Why does it smell like a tea shop in here, and why are we discussing the propensity of adolescents to be Eldritch abominations?”

“Latest attempt,” I raised my cup at him. “And we’re going through personnel files for candidates to teach the new curriculum.”

He nodded. “I received the alert that the Council approved. However, one would think Councillor Wiitala would be the one to handle the details.” He gestured at the console. “May I?”

I shrugged and Tyche nodded, so he dialed a cup of my sister’s most recent creation. “Eino will coordinate with the new educators to decide the actual curriculum,” Tyche clarified. “Personnel falls under Soph by way of me, and she’s responsible for logistics.” She made an eloquent gesture at me.

“And Sophia has no other staff to delegate this to?” He arched a brow as he took his first taste of the experiment in his hand. Grimacing, he managed to swallow before putting the rest in a recycling port. “Oh, that’s chai. And not even good chai. How are the two of you drinking that?”

“Grow up drinking coffee that could degrease and engine,” I muttered into my cup. It wasn’t that bad, I decided.  My assistant just pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath through his clenched teeth. “As far as delegating, would you be interested in taking it on?”

“Not possible, I’m afraid. Between my day to day responsibilities as your assistant and those horrid swimming lessons, I have very little free time as it is. Madame Reid, you can stop laughing this instant, it is not funny in the least.”

Tyche exploded into laughter rather than complying with his admonishment. Wiping tears from her eyes, she gasped, “I can’t believe you took that bet!” She dropped her head onto her arms and shook, gasping now and then.

I managed to restrain myself to a smile, but it was a close call. “Anyway, if you are too busy, and Tyche is already handling the personnel files, then no, I can’t delegate this.”

“Surely you – “ Alistair broke off as Tyche’s hysterics escalated.  At first, he looked confused, but dawning comprehension finally broke across his face. “You cannot be serious.”

“Mmm hmm.” I smiled wider, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“You really have no other staff?”

“Nope,” I popped before leaning back in my seat. “I come up with ideas, I vet ideas, but of the entire Council, I have the smallest staff. Two, to be precise.” I swept my arm, gesturing at him and the shaking lump of my sister, still slumped on the table.

“That is…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “How did I never realize this?”

Tyche’s head popped up. “I wish I knew,” she answered shakily, wiping tears from her face. “You have access to the entire staffing plan for the Council.  How did you not see that?” Alistair muttered and turned his face away. “Come again? I didn’t catch that?”

“I thought the information was incorrect, Madame Reid.”

“Mademoiselle,” she corrected. “But Tyche is preferred.  Did you really think that a staffing document that I, personally, manage would be incorrect?”

“Tyche,” I chided. “It is very common for those who manage personnel to leave their own updates for last.  He’s not being rude.”  I turned back to my assistant. “To clarify, that data is completely accurate.  The entirety of my staff is sitting in this room. That doesn’t mean I don’t delegate, mind you.  I just don’t delegate entire projects, that’s all.  Tyche handles anything regarding staffing, whether it’s long term or short term.  That is entirely on her, by the way, even though it falls under my department.  If I need data, Pranav has given me permanent access to some of his people, and I can also reach out to Grey whenever I need.  For something like this, once I figure out the logistics and make sure we have enough educators to do it, I hand it over to Eino, and it’s his problem.”

Alistair looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. “Additionally, I would venture that you have a sort of unofficial staff.”

I shook my head vigorously, immediately understanding what he was getting at. “No, I have a family, Mr. Worthington.  Talking about your day, bouncing ideas off each other, that’s what a family should be.  They are certainly not my staff.”

“I am,” Tyche offered, smirking.

Brat. “That’s different,” I sighed. “You actually report to me, in a professional capacity.”  I picked up my cup to take another sip, frowning to find it empty.  “There is a hole in my coffee cup,” I muttered.

Alistair rolled his eyes and snatched the mug from my hands. “Give me that before you make yourself sick,” he demanded waspishly.

I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to bring myself back to the actual task I was in here for. “Okay, no, I don’t have any other staff, so no, I can’t delegate this. And that fine, this was my idea, and I’m actually very excited to have a hand in bringing it to fruition. So, moving on… Arthur Farro goes on the short list. Who’s next?”

“Don’t kill me,” Tyche immediately responded.

“Not what I expected… why would I kill you?”

“We have one person on this ship with pretty much nothing to do, who has a very unique perspective on this and actually has read most of the material…”

“Tyche…”

“…And he’s not my favorite person either, but – “

“Tyche. Spit it out.”

“Simon,” she blurted, leaving me in stunned silence. “I know, he’s got the social skills of an enthusiastic squirrel, but he is the only human on the ship who already knows the majority of the material.”

I sputtered, stopped, and tried again. “But can he teach it?” I asked, incredulous. “Knowing things doesn’t always mean you can pass the information on effectively.”

“That is your objection, Councillor?” Alistair threw over his shoulder as he continued to do whatever he was doing at the food console.

“Well… yeah?” I confirmed, confused why I would have any other objections. “I am absolutely certain he knows most of the material and would probably learn the rest on his own. He didn’t have much else to do for the year he was on the Ark by himself. And he’s been working on his social skills, it’s just…” I sighed and ran a hand down my face. “Look, I’ve had those teachers, you know?  The ones who know the material like they breathe air, but can’t teach it to save their lives.  It’s an awful experience and always made me hate the subject instead of the teacher. Simon doesn’t need any more hate directed at him, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve already talked to him, and he’s willing,” Tyche offered.  “He’s been studying public speaking and body language, and said he would be willing to take some education courses if it would help.  He really does want to give back.”

“Wait, body language courses?” A feeling of abject horror buried itself deep in the pit of my stomach. “Tyche… Which courses?”

“About that – “

“I swear on my bones if you sent him – “

“He found it himself!”

Hammering my head on the table suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. “Oh my god. This is not happening.”

Alistair interrupted, sliding two mugs on the table before absconding with the cooling remnants of my sister’s not-chai. “You are doing it again.  You are speaking ‘Reid-ish’ and I’m not quite fluent yet, so would the two of you mind speaking in full sentences so the rest of us mere mortals know what you are saying?”

“Oh, you’ll learn,” I threatened drily before sweeping a hand at my sister. “Go ahead. You love telling this story.”

She leveled a glare that would wither lesser people before turning to explain. “Sophia was an interpersonal communications expert in a former life. She wrote a paper, during grad school, on the importance of body language to people in positions of power. Specifically, educators and managers at various levels. It was controversial for a while, mostly because it emphasized the exact opposite of what most studies in that field encouraged.  No ‘power poses’, no ‘assertive language’, nada.”

“And this is the paper Mr. Rodriguez found?”

“Oh, not the paper,” I groaned miserably. “Eventually, people started asking me to come give talks, and then seminars to their employees. It was a disaster.”

“It was an insane success,” Tyche argued.

“But I had to give seminars!” I cried. “You know I hate public speaking!”

You could have heard a pin drop.  Alistair gaped at me, mouth opening and closing a few times in aborted attempts to say something. Finally, “You wrote an entire paper, and gave actual courses, on how to do something you hate?”

“That’s why I wrote the damned paper,” I admitted.  “I hate public speaking because of all the toxic power-posing bullshit attached to it.  It’s like you’re intimidating people to believe you. ‘Project confidence, don’t use filler language, use powerful language, executize’.” I mimicked in a squeaky voice. “It was a bunch of baloney, so I wrote the paper to prove that.  I never expected people to take it that seriously.  Not to mention, I nearly didn’t get my Masters because of that paper.”

“The professor was not impressed,” Tyche stage-whispered.

“The professor was an asshole who entered every room like a bull in a china shop,” I growled. “He blustered and intimidated people, and at least half his students were afraid of him.”

“And you basically wrote an entire paper about why you found him distasteful,” Alistair nodded.  “I am genuinely floored that he disagreed with your findings.”

“Fuck him, I was right,” I ground out. “I managed to get nearly every undergrad in the school to participate in the study, which turned out to be the only way I was able to keep from failing the course – the sample set was so large, he couldn’t exactly argue it.  But he tried, believe me.”  Distracted, I took a sip of the drink he had set in front of me. “Oh my.  Oh god. This… Tyche. Drink. Now.”

She took a sip and threw a predatory look at Alistair. “You did not.”

“I did,” Alistair replied smugly.

I was fighting back tears while simultaneously trying to learn how to live in a cup of coffee.  Tyche just looked constipated. “I’ve been trying for two months.  You just whipped it right up.”

“I will admit, I did not think your… quest… was as serious as it turned out to be, else I would have done it sooner.  If for no other reason than to spare myself your various concoctions.”

“This used to be our thing, every fall,” I explained, sniffing my now-mostly-empty cup. “Before she moved to Paris, I mean.  We would go out and get these, and hang out for a day.” I blinked furiously, refusing to cry over a cup of coffee.

Alistair chuckled. “Could the two of you possibly have a more stereotypical tradition?”

“No,” Tyche growled stubbornly before tilting her chin up. “Nothing says ‘comfortable with myself’ more than two women this white,” she pointed back and forth furiously between us, “Enjoying pumpkin spice coffee in the fall.”

“Being a walking stereotype is its own kind of confidence,” I admitted. “You know everyone is probably judging you for it, but you really just don’t care.”

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[make-it-mavis]

Starlight

WiR fic (ROADBLASTERS NEVER HAPPENED AU) 14,452 words Characters: Make-it Mavis, Turbo, Dr. Mario Minor/Mentioned Characters: Calhoun, Hero’s Duty soldiers, Fix-it Felix, Surge Protector, Zangief Content Warnings: In-depth themes of addiction/drugs, descriptions of wounds, one needle, the word "sex" is used once (you never know)

Premise: The Roadblasters incident may have never happened, and Mavis and Turbo may have grown into well-adjusted, happy, productive members of society, but it was never Roadblasters alone that threatened their lives. It's early 2013, and Mavis has come home from a party that went horribly awry, in horrible pain, and horribly afraid... feeling dangerously young.

________________________________

It took Mavis the entire walk home to realize that there was no time in recent memory that she had been in so much pain. 

The emotional and physical exhaustion were bad enough on their own, and she could feel her heavy bones and grinding joints crying out for a chance to sit as she reached the crimson door to her house. But as tired as she might have been, she knew that the deep, pulsing pain in the left side of her face was bound to keep her awake all night. 

At least she was home. The day was over and done, and she could be with her fiancé. She had been picturing him the whole way home, longing for the relief of cozying up to his warm, sleeping body under the blankets.

When she opened the unlocked door and stepped in, however, she saw light glowing from the kitchen, and heard the TV going in the living room. He was up, and he must have been waiting for her. Her heart sank, both from the regret of robbing him of sleep and from the certainty that he was going to want an explanation. Mavis was not sure she would be up to talking about it just yet, not even with him.

Still, she slipped out of her shoes and crossed over into the kitchen, accepting the inevitable. Much to her relief, she did not see him at first, only a loaf of bread that he forgot to put away and a butterknife still smeared with a bit of mayonnaise. But after setting her bags down on the kitchen island, she wandered over to the shadowy living room and peered over the back of the couch. Sure enough, he was there, but he was lightly sleeping, laid across the cushions with his head resting on a pillow in the corner. Mavis' shoulders relaxed. At least he had ended up dozing off after all. It was a welcome sight to see him so peaceful, too, after her rough evening. Watching as the cool light of the TV danced over his face, she remarked to herself not for the first time how no one would ever believe he could look so soft.

Resisting the urge to touch him, she walked back to the kitchen with the intent to feed and refresh herself. She barely even had the energy to make a sandwich, but since the bread was already out, she threw something together with scavenged scraps from the fridge, and grabbed a well-deserved bottle of root beer. Still craving her fiancé's company, she returned to the couch to sit past his feet, and tried to take a load off. Upon taking a bite of her sandwich and receiving a sharp jolt of pain that forked out from her teeth into her cheek and eye, she decided food could wait. Setting her barely bitten sandwich on the coffee table, she stuck to her root beer, which was, thankfully, relatively painless. She hoped the TV would prove distracting. It was Zangief's book show, however, so it was a toss-up.

The hulking street fighter sat in view, indecently clothed as ever, wearing comically small glasses as he read aloud from a book and a fireplace crackled behind him.

In that thick accent of his, he read, “All these enclosures are bounded by the river on one side and by a house on the other. The man in the waistcoat and wooden shoes of whom we have just spoken lived, about the year 1817, in the smallest of these enclosures and the humblest of these houses. He lived there solitary and alone, in silence and in poverty, with a woman who was neither young nor old, neither beautiful nor ugly, neither peasant nor bourgeois, who waited upon him. The square of earth which he called his garden was celebrated in the town for the beauty of the flowers which he cultivated in it. Flowers were his occupation.”

She could see why Turbo fell asleep.

It did not take Mavis very long to grow lonely and restless. She looked over at the snoozing Turbo and debated with herself. Even if there was a risk of him asking too many questions, she just wanted to talk to him at all. And she wanted him to join her upstairs, when the time came.

So she reached over and poked his butt. He stirred, and she did it again. "Hello," she sang quietly. "You alive?"

Turbo grunted, and his head lifted a bit so that he could peer over at her through harshly squinting yellow eyes. He smiled with a bit of a puff and twisted around in an attempt to stretch his shoulders. Voice straining, he rasped, “Hiya dollface.”

“Hiya Bright Eyes,” she smiled, and barely stifled a wince from the pain in her cheek. Thankfully, Turbo did not notice.

He did sit up, however, to check the wall clock in the dining area that read six-fifteen.

“Woah,” he combed a hand over his mess of hair, still blinking out the sleep. “Did ya just get home?”

“Mmm, like half an hour ago,” she told him. “You weren’t waitin’ up for me, were ya?”

Turbo sniffed. “Nah, nah. I just got real sucked into a project, n’ after I finished, I came out for a bite, n’ then… I guess I figured I’d snooze ‘til y’got back. Had no idea you’d be out so late.”

“Neither did I,” Mavis cocked her head a bit and took a swig of root beer. “Party ran real late. Everyone n’ their grandma wanted to make some kinda speech or get me to play a song for so-n’-so.”

“Well, they must’a been a real chatty bunch,” Turbo said in disbelief. “I hope y’got paid extra.”

“I’ll bug ‘em about it later,” she waved him off. “I’m wiped. I just wanna be done for the night.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’. Y’wanna go to bed, then?”

She did, she really did. But her face hurt so damn much, and she hated imagining a pillow pushed against it. Managing a smirk into her right cheek, she held up her root beer and wobbled it. “Not done my reward yet.”

Turbo snickered. “Ah, o’course.”

Mavis took another swallow, and then the two looked at each other for a little while, Turbo propping his elbow over the back of the couch, his hand clearly the only thing keeping his head up. Mavis had a simple solution, and that was to take a pillow from her side of the couch, place it in her lap, and pat it expectantly. He made a tired, but pleased noise in agreement, and obliged by turning around and laying his head in her lap. The weight on her legs was soothing and grounding, just as she expected it to be.

She looked over his body as she rubbed his chest. He was in the usual House-Turbo garb of a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants, a look she found so strangely endearing. But still, she pulled the old patchy blanket from the back of the couch and covered him up, cute outfit or no. He quivered a bit and squirmed into an even more comfortable position.

A contented little moan escaped him. “Hell yeah,” he purred dreamily.

“Hell yeah,” she agreed with a careful chuckle, stroking his bangs back over his head. He looked at her then, and she recognized the cozy, inviting look in his eyes immediately. He wanted to kiss her. Any other time, that would have been swell. But a sort of panic jittered in the back of her head, saying that the kiss would hurt in some unexpected way, and she would flinch, and he would notice, and her cover would be blown, and then they would have to talk about it. That would be not-so-swell.

So, when he sat up a bit, expecting her to close the gap between their faces, she opted to grab his nose and wiggle it. There was a small honk of surprise as he pulled her hand away. 

“Excuse me,” he grinned in a slightly confused way, “that does not belong to you.”

“Not yet,” she shrugged, trying very hard to keep her smile small. “Once we’re married I’ll own your entire body.”

He smirked and squinted at her sidelong. “Is that how it works?”

“Well, it better be, or I’ll have said yes for nothin’,” she shrugged in feigned indifference.

Turbo scoffed and took up her hand again. “Whatever. Take it,” he kissed her hand and brought it with him as he laid his head back down onto her lap. He squeezed her fingers as he held them to his chest. “You’ll put it to good use, no doubt.”

“Always do,” she agreed, relieved to see her nose-grabbing impulse worked.

Turbo fell peacefully silent after that, and she contentedly twirled her fingers through his wild black hair. She had to reach over him to the coffee table whenever she wanted a sip of root beer, but he had no complaints there, which was unsurprising. Everything started to flow into low key contentment, finally. She was home, she was with Turbo, and she was having a root beer, like any night should have gone. Listening to Zangief continue to read the ancient tome of a book, she started to have hopes that she could fall asleep sitting up and not have to go to bed at all.

Zangief read, “Twice a year, on the first of January and on St. George’s Day, Marius wrote filial letters to his father, which his aunt dictated, and which, one would have said, were copied from some Complete Letter Writer; this was all that M. Gillenormand allowed; and the father answered with very tender letters, which the grandfather thrust into his pocket without reading.”

Then he closed the book with a clap that startled both Mavis and Turbo a bit, and they mutually chuckled over it, and Zangief gave his closing remarks and goodnights as Mavis rubbed Turbo’s soft belly beneath the blanket. Zangief reminded the world about his book club meetings, bid them happy reading, and was gone. The same old round of PSAs began in his show's absence, and sounded like nothing more than some muffled blend of Surge and Sonic’s voices to Mavis. Her eyes had left the screen entirely, content to get caught up in the sight of her fiancé relaxing in her lap, so warm, so happy, so… safe. Exactly where she meant to keep him.

Some horrible, haunting ghost of long-buried burdens had the nerve to make her question whether she could.

Almost on cue, another PSA started, and the music alone made her gut wrench. In a few seconds, she would hear her own voice detailing the dangers of buff use, what to do in the case of an overdose, where to turn for help and advice… as if she was some benevolent model for addicts to aspire to, as if she had it all under control…

No. Not now.

Quick as a snake, her hand snatched up the remote and turned off the TV. The living room fell into shadow, illuminated only by the kitchen a little ways behind them. Turbo’s glowing eyes opened in surprise at her sharp movement, and it occurred to her then that she may not have pulled the smartest move. But she had barely even thought before acting. It was like a knee-jerk reaction, one that she had never had about her own PSA before that night. It was really beginning to sink in, what bad shape she was in.

At first, Turbo just smirked at her, perplexed. “Gee, babe, your acting ain’t that bad…”

Roll with it, she thought. Give some snappy response and play it off. Go to bed. Don’t let it show.

But she recognized that shame, the sort that would force her to hide her pain, sometimes literally. That shame had caused enough suffering in her life before, and she could not welcome it back in. She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

Turbo’s head lifted a bit. “...You okay?”

She let the words fall out, “Someone used buffs at my party.”

“...What? Who?” he asked, seeds of concern in his voice.

“A Hero’s Duty soldier,” she said lowly. “Tonight was that morale-boosting party Calhoun requested.”

“That was tonight?” Turbo sat up, and Mavis opened her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

Mavis huffed a bit through her nose, managing a tiny rueful, unhappy smile. “You should be glad you weren’t there. Trust me.”

Turbo frowned. “No, I kinda wish I had been,” he said quietly. “What happened?”

She found it a bit difficult to look at him as she spoke. “Well… the party was goin’ pretty great -- it was in the courtyard back in Fix-it Felix Jr., so the venue was cozy, and the music was good, and the drinks were good. Everyone was havin’ fun, from what I could tell. But I noticed that one guy was missing. I-- I didn’t really think much about it, but I have seen him overdoin’ it at Tapper’s before, so… I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t passed out in the river, or somethin’.”

“And which soldier was this?”

Mavis grimaced a bit, remembering her etiquette surrounding addicts. “It’s… not really my place to say.”

Turbo paused, but knowing the work she did, he seemed to understand. He nodded a bit. “Okay. So you went lookin’ for him?”

“Yeah, and I-- I tracked him… into the woods, a little bit.”

“Were you alone?”

“...Yeah. I didn’t expect to find…”

A glance at Turbo found him frowning, not in an accusatory way, but in a way that showed clear dislike for what he was hearing. Mavis’ weary heart begged her to drop the subject, but she ignored it and carried on. This did not have to be difficult. He did not need the whole truth.

“I found him totally out of his head. He must’ve been havin’ a real bad trip. I dunno what he was on, but he was on a lot of it. His eyes were practically blinding by that point… but no one noticed because he had been wearing shades, like a few of the other soldiers. He didn’t even bring in a question-mark block. There was some compartment in his armor that he hid the buff in -- at least, that was Calhoun’s guess, when she found out.”

“Really. How’d she take it?”

“Well, she…” she paused. “She didn’t really trust that I knew what I was doin’. I sent Felix to go fetch Surge, and that might’ve been a mistake. Maybe he could’ve vouched for me. She wanted to get in and deal with the situation herself, and I just had to try to keep her and the soldiers back. Really had to break out the hardass voice.”

“Devs help them,” Turbo said with a half-smile as he turned sideways to face her, once again resting his head in his hand over the back of the couch. “Did they run cryin’ back to their game?”

Mavis chuffed. “Nah… that team’s pretty tight-knit, apparently. They refused to leave, even though the party was definitely over. Surge showed up, and we managed to get some blankets on the guy, and then we had to search every other guest for buffs, check all their eyes, the works…” she just grew more and more tired as her story went on, “then we took him to Dr. Mario, and then I had to give an impromptu seminar to Calhoun and the soldiers on how to handle addiction in friends, what sort of accommodations or-- or time off he might need, and how he’d have to come to B.A. and all that. Even still after that, I had to give a report to Surge, and after that, I had to go help clean up after the party, and deal with Felix fussin’ over me, and…”

With a heavy sigh, she leaned forward over her knees, propped up on her elbows. She closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her face that was not in agony. “I’m just so glad to be home,” she muttered weakly.

The cushions shifted as Turbo scooted closer, and she felt his hand on her back. He stroked slowly and deeply, a sensation she found so comforting.

“I’m glad too,” he said gently, but sadly. “You shouldn’t’ve had to deal with all that.”

She exhaled through her nose. “It’s what I do.”

“And y’do it like a champ,” he agreed. “Surge should count himself lucky he’s got your help. Some nights just hit harder than others, I guess.”

Mavis slowly crossed her arms and squeezed her elbows, feeling low and weirdly sick. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw Turbo lean forward to see her face. Tentatively, she looked at him, and her heart ached at his smile, the way it did whenever she was keeping something from him. Always, she wanted him in the loop. But whatever reaction he would have to the whole truth, she did not have the emotional energy for. So, at the very least, she returned a soft, restrained smile.

“Then let’s go to bed,” he suggested. “Then it’s over for real. Yeah?”

Mavis’ heart fizzled. It really was time to face the pillows. She nodded slightly and breathed, “Yeah.”

They both stood, and Turbo took her hand to lead her out of the living room. Her normally springy feet dragged along the floor, profound exhaustion weighing her down like lead in her veins. The pain in her cheek had become so excruciating that it had infected her head, leaving her temples throbbing. And the guilt of hiding it all from Turbo sprinkled hot embers in her belly. It was not something that she should have been hiding from anyone, much less the man she was set to marry. But that was what buffs did to her, even second hand. They made her hide, and they made her lie.

Unconsciously, Mavis had brought her free hand to Turbo's forearm as they slowly walked together, rubbing as she kept herself close to him. This prompted Turbo to stop before they had even passed the bathroom, and turn to give her a reassuring smile.

"Hey," he whispered, curling his arms around her waist and gently pulling her in, "you get your ass in here."

Cautious, but in dire need of a hug, Mavis complied. She draped her arms over his shoulders as if they were dancing, and carefully leaned her right cheek against him. Her anxiety did not melt, but parts began to run a bit. She wished terribly that she could give him a crushing hug with reckless abandon. 

"Yeah… there's my girl. There's my tiger," he sighed lovingly, rubbing her back and swaying a bit by nature. "You had a real crappy night, but you kicked its ass. You're a freakin' superstar, y'know?"

Guilt tainted every response that came into her head, so she just scoffed in feigned bashfulness. 

"It's true. I'd know, being the OG superstar," he insisted, which did make her chuckle a bit. He then said quietly and sincerely, "Y'make me real proud, doin' stuff like that."

Her heart shied away from the praise, but she did give him a firm squeeze. "Thanks, sugar," she muttered drearily.

At that, Turbo pulled back until he was holding onto her elbows and looking her right in the seemingly perfect face. He gave her a sleepy smirk, and he said, "Thank you for gettin' home in one piece, eventually."

The irony of that comment froze Mavis' heart for just a moment, but that was enough time for disaster to strike. She was too distracted to register the sight of his face drawing close, of it setting course for her left cheek, and those glowing eyes going dark as they closed. She only realized that he had kissed her cheek when she felt it burst into searing pain.

Her sharp, sudden yelp startled the absolute bits out of Turbo, who instantly jumped back from her.

"WOAH--!! What ha-- What happened?!" he stammered quickly, moving to steady her as she shrunk towards the wall.

The throbbing pain was lasting far too long. Mavis clenched her eyes shut, biting down dangerously hard on her lip. Gently, her shoulder met the wall, and she leaned her weight against it. Turbo was right on her, holding onto her free shoulder and cupping her right cheek with his other hand, trying to direct her face.

"Mav--" he breathed, "What did I-- Are you okay?"

"M'fine," she rasped unconvincingly. It was then, however, that she looked at Turbo, and saw a harrowing sight. His lips, parted with confusion, were smeared with a touch of blood. Unwittingly, she stared at it, eyes wide.

Turbo squinted at her. "What are you looking at? Wha--" he skirted his tongue over his upper lip, and paused. Registering the taste, he wiped the back of his hand over his lips, and found it stained red. For a moment, he just stared at it. But his eyes turned to Mavis again, wide with alarm under his furrowing brow.

"This isn't my blood, is it," he told more than asked.

Mavis stared at him severely, frozen like a deer in headlights. His eyes certainly were like headlights, shedding harsh light over her shame, and her stupid attempt to hide. She ran through her head just what she could possibly say to him.

"Mavis," Turbo urged impatiently, "what is going on?"

Swallowing, she figured all she could do was give it to him straight.

"He hit me," she said lowly.

Turbo froze. "What?"

"I took his glasses off to see his eyes," she explained slowly, "...and he punched me."

For a moment, there was silence, and nothing but a tense stare. But Turbo spoke up quietly, a calm veil over the fury she could practically smell on him.

"Mav. Ditch the paint job."

She took a deep breath. Bracing herself for what was about to come, she concentrated painfully hard until a flash of blue binary glitched over her face and down her neck, washing away the disguise edits on her pixels and revealing the damage done.

Mavis had not actually gotten a chance to look at her face at all since it happened, but from the look on Turbo's face, she could tell it was not pretty. For a second, shock drowned everything else out. His jaw fell slack and he leaned in close to study the injury, clearly taking a great effort not to touch it. Mavis just avoided his gaze, awful feelings brewing in her belly as she was scrutinized.

"Oh--" Turbo breathed, "oh my Devs, this is-- Mav, why would you--..."

Then his shock cut out, and a grin angrier than she had ever seen on him spread across his face. 

And just like that, he turned around and strode towards the front door.

Mavis was just confused for a moment, but her pounding heart suddenly hit harder. "Wait," she called, "where are you goin’?"

"To the hospital," he called back in a casual tone but dangerous volume. "So I can delete that son of a glitch out of existence."

Perfect. Brilliant. Splendid. Just what she needed to deal with after all she had been through that night. She trotted after him and sighed, “Turbo, you know that’s not gonna help.”

“Helps me plenty,” he dismissed her quickly.

She hopped right into his path. “He���ll still be in quarantine. You won’t even be able to get to him.”

“I’ll find a way,” he tried to push past her, but she braced both hands against his chest.

“Turbo,” she said sharply, “I just want tonight to be over. Let it be over. It’s done.”

“I know you do,” he said without looking at her, “that’s why I’m gonna go end it.”

“No, you’re not,” she growled with strain as he pushed against her. “You’re gonna go make everything worse. Just-- Just don’t!”

Turbo stopped pushing for a moment, standing firm and looking at her pointedly. “I have to, okay?!” he said harshly, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“You can’t protect me! It already happened!”

“I know it did!”

“I don’t need to be protected!”

“I know you don’t!” he raked his fingers through his hair with a loud, growling sigh. “But I just have to, okay, I need this!”

“Why?!” she demanded, throwing her hands up. “‘Cause you’re the man?!”

Turbo sucked in a breath, his whole body quaking for a second, before words burst from his mouth. “Because I love you, okay?!”

There was a moment’s silence as they stared at each other. Mavis could feel herself twisting up inside as she looked at his desperate, terribly distressed face. Before long, he held onto her shoulders and hunched down the short distance it took to be eye-level with her.

“I love you,” he said quietly with a squeeze on her arms, “and I protect the things I love. So, please, get outta the way.”

He tried to move past her again, but she caught him by the elbows and kept him in place. She stared into his eyes with a look that she only hoped he would understand.

“If you really love me,” she told him earnestly, “then you’ll know this wasn’t his fault.”

Turbo grumbled, “Well, it sure wasn’t yours, either.”

“He wasn’t in his right mind, Turbo. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know who I was. He didn’t mean it,” she explained insistently. “You know that. I know you know that, ‘cause he’s no different than I was!”

Turbo gave a low scoff. “You two ain’t even in the same galaxy.”

Mavis could tell Turbo was in his own sort of altered state, just blinded by rage. Normally, he would have at least tried to listen to her, but it was like his ears were walled off. But it was hurting Mavis in ways he should have understood, hearing him talk like that. She was quickly becoming desperate, her need to defend both an innocent addict and herself boiling over. She just had to snap him out of it, or the fight would get a whole hell of a lot worse.

After receiving Mavis' silent, pained glare long enough, Turbo shook his head and went straight for the doorknob. "You don't need to understand," he grumbled.

Before his hand could make contact, Mavis darted and clamped her fingers around the knob, forcing a sharp warning into her stare. Turbo was a bit thrown off at that, and stepped back a bit when he saw her draw her brush. No fear entered his eyes, but he was alert, wise enough to give her space. The buildup of nasty emotions she had been carrying all night seemed to toil furiously over itself, and the friction's heat burst out of her paintbrush, the dollop of paint suddenly alight with bright, angry, popping sparks that cast flickering light over the room as if she were holding a lit firecracker.

"Turbo, if you so much as turn this doorknob, I swear to the Devs," she snarled viciously, "I will hogtie you on the spot and throw you in the hall closet 'til the arcade opens, you hear me?!"

It was an empty threat, and she was pretty sure Turbo knew it (at least, she hoped he did). All the same, his gaze was fixed on her, the sparks from her brush reflecting in his eyes like burning stars. But his furrowed brow loosened. His rigid posture slowly went slack as he backed off from her. And those stars in his eyes somehow seemed to burn a bit cooler. Mavis had managed to snap him out of it, a fact that relieved her so greatly that the sparks leaping from her paint fizzled out. Still, she refused to move until she was certain.

Turbo blinked slowly, taking a long breath through his nose. The corner of his mouth twitched with the idea of a smile. “Hardass voice,” he murmured.

Heaving a sigh, Mavis sheathed her brush and took the threat out of her stance. She softly held Turbo’s gaze, exhaustion leaving her cold and vulnerable. In a beaten-down voice, she quietly told him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that.”

“Part of you probably did,” Turbo replied with the ghost of a laugh, but fell into a sadder note. “But I’m sorry, too. I’ll stay here.”

Another sigh blowing past her lips, Mavis leaned back against the door and rubbed her right cheek. “Okay,” she nodded. 

An extended hand came into her vision, and she looked to find Turbo inviting her out of her miserable bubble without intruding into it, a definitive sign that he had come to his senses. She took his hand, of course, craving close comfort more than anything else in the world. He gave a tug and let her lead herself into a carefully constructed hug, one that would spare her broken face. Closing her eyes, she rested herself against him and tried to let the familiar warm feeling of his code soothe everything. It did help, somewhat.

Turbo held her gently but firmly, sighing his own deep, restless sighs. "I know it wasn't actually his fault," he told her softly. "I just hate that I wasn't even there… I was safe at home and… and I'm just-- I mean, I know you don't need protecting. I know that. But a stranger still attacked my fiancée tonight, and I-- I can't just deal with that. I can't just not want to fight back when someone hurts you. Buffs or not."

Listening carefully, she nodded. "I know… That's fair."

He slowly squeezed her tighter. "I just… I need to do something. What can I do now?"

A small smile carefully crept onto Mavis' face. She adored him so much, even after all that. Her demon with a heart of hot, rumbling gold. Resisting the urge to bury her face under his neck with great difficulty, Mavis settled for slowly rubbing his back to show her love.

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me," she muttered sincerely, "I need you to hold me up after the fact. Just… stay with me. Please, T."

Turbo's chest swelled with a long sigh through his nose, and Mavis felt his hand rise up to pet her hair comfortingly. "Always," he whispered. “Always, I’m here.”

"I love you so much," she told him softly, finding that her own words picked at a raw anxiety deep in her gut. Her words were true, but for the first time in a lifetime, they felt… mournful. Almost frightening.

Not picking up on her unease at all, Turbo simply replied, "I love you, too. Maybe too much for my own health." Then he pulled back from her, his hands sliding to her biceps as he looked over her bloodied face again. It clearly pained him just to look. Once again fighting to keep his hand away, he whispered unsteadily, "You poor cuss. You didn't deserve this. I bet it hurts like a son of a glitch."

Mavis could not lie about it. "It really does. It hurts to even move my face," she muttered. "It really looks that bad, huh?"

Turbo tilted his head and his lip curled in disbelief. "You haven't seen it?"

"I… haven't had that much time to check," she half-lied.

"Okay…" Turbo said, letting her go. "Mav, do me a favor and go look in the mirror."

She blinked at him before her gaze drifted towards the bathroom. Mavis was not afraid to see a little carnage, but now that it had come down to it, she wondered if she had hidden her wounds for her own sake, as well. Most of her wanted to pretend the night’s violence had not happened at all. She did not want to see the truth of what happened and make it all the more real. But she could not continue hiding it from herself while subjecting Turbo to it. That just seemed unfair, almost cruel. 

So, wordlessly, she complied and strode stiffly to the bathroom. She stepped into the dark and looked only at her black silhouette for a moment, steeling herself for what she might see filling that shape. Swallowing, she flipped the switch, winced at the harsh change of light, and felt her heart leap into her throat the moment her eyes adjusted.

It was a brutal sight. It looked every bit as painful as it was. 

Almost the entirety of the left side of her face had been transformed into some morbid sort of painting. Under her inflamed skin, there were spills of sick yellows, sprays of vicious reds, and smears of noxious violet. Blood had been weeping from two deep tears in her cheek, presumably from the soldier’s heavily armored knuckles. Dried blood trailed all the way down her neck, and the wounds themselves were still wet, having stained Turbo’s lips minutes before. Even most of the white in her darkly-ringed eye had been stained an opaque red from burst blood vessels.

She leaned over the sink, exhaling coldly. “...Holy crit.”

Turbo appeared in the doorway behind her, folding his arms. “Yeah,” he sighed. “So, you can see why I wanna kick someone’s ass right now.”

Very carefully, she lifted a hand and tested the swelling. At even a slight brush, throbbing pain pulsed deep into the contours of her face. Even grimacing against the pain made it worse. The damage was proving to be quite severe, a fact that made her stomach quiver. “I… think my cheekbone might be broken,” she thought out loud.

A deep, disapproving groan emanated from Turbo. “Probably. Those guys’ fists are easily the size of your head,” he grumbled, and then quirked his head and squinted at a peculiar thought. “Wait, Felix would’ve been there, right? Why didn’t he heal you?”

Mavis straightened up and braced the heels of her palms against the counter, unable to look away from her own brutalized face. “He… didn’t know,” she sighed, a thick cloud of shame swirling in her head. “I covered up the wound pretty much the second I got it.”

“...Why?”

She shrugged. “It was just… It was already gonna be such a situation, and violence would’ve made a whole thing of it, and…” she sighed. “I needed to focus on handlin' everything, and its hard to do that with everyone fussin’ over ya.”

“Right,” he said slowly, “but you didn’t even go to him after?”

“Didn’t have the emotional energy,” she muttered.

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded begrudgingly. “What about Dr. Mario? You were at the hospital, weren’t you? Why not tell him?”

“All the soldiers were there, too, including Calhoun,” she said. “I didn’t want them to know he hurt me.”

“Mm,” Turbo grunted. “That’s kind of important, though, ain’t it?”

Mavis’ gaze fell a bit. “Doesn’t have to be,” she lied.

“But if he knows he hurt an innocent sprite, that could be a major wake-up call for him, right? Ain’t that the point when a lot of addicts realize they got a problem?”

Turbo was absolutely right, and she knew this very well. Too well, even. But the topic was more tender than it had been in years, and she could not find any response that she could bear to say. The conversation was steering itself towards a corner that Mavis knew she was bound to get stuck in, but the closer it got, the more she could feel her hackles raising in a growing, defensive panic. She hated when she would get this way, but felt utterly weak against it that night. Silently, she hung her head.

Hearing no response, Turbo carried on. “Nevermind,” he mumbled, before moving on to his next harrowing question. “Why didn’t you just go to the hospital after all was said and done? Didn’t Calhoun and her crew go home?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “But I just wanted to go home, too.”

Turbo exhaled sharply, not in anger, but definitely exasperation. She heard him step forward, and felt his hand gently rub the curve of her back. “I don’t blame ya, baby. Really. It’s been a hell of a night,” he said tiredly. “But you gotta get healed up. Let’s go to the hospital, yeah?”

Tensing up, Mavis shook her heavy head. “N-no…”

“It’s okay,” he assured her, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. “I’ll be right there with ya. Y'can just sleep all this off.”

Almost unconsciously, she slowly leaned away from him. “No. I’m not goin',” she said coldly.

“Wh--” Turbo half-chuckled incredulously, “what? Why?”

Her knuckles turned white. “I-- I don’t want to.”

“Well, that’s…” he straightened up, “that’s too bad, but ya have to.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” he said, clearly getting frustrated.

Mavis’ nose crinkled a bit, and she shook his arm off of her shoulders. “You ain’t the boss of me,” she growled.

“I know. ‘Cept for when you’re flat-out refusin’ to take care of yourself, then, yeah, I get to boss you around a bit,” he told her firmly. “I’m not gonna let you wallow in pain for no Dev-damned reason.”

Finally, Mavis straightened up and backed away from him, her face aching deeply with the warning glare she was pointing at her partner. It felt terrible, and she wanted to stop, but it was out of her control. “You don’t get to ‘let’ me do anything,” she hissed, "and I have a very good reason!"

"Okay then," Turbo threw his hands up, "what is it?!"

"I-- I--" she stammered, so much conflict in her brain that she felt she could have started glitching, "I can't."

"What, you can't go or you can't tell me?" he asked impatiently.

Her stomach burned. Her muscles tingled. A jolt of adrenaline whipped up her spine. This was it. This was the corner.

And this was her fear.

"I-- I just CAN'T!" she shouted, squeezing her eyes shut and quite nearly ripping her hair out. "Can you not hear me?! I can't go and I won't go, so just GET OUT!"

Mavis refused to look Turbo in the eye for fear of what effect his expression might have on her heart, but she saw him already shifting tentatively towards the door. He tried to say something, but she cut him off immediately. 

"I said GET OUT!" she did not lay a hand on him, but effectively chased him out of that bathroom. He lingered outside, and Mavis grabbed the doorknob, still keeping her eyes low. "And go clean the motor oil from your ears while you're at it!"

Then, with the sharp slam of a door, she isolated herself. This was something she always told the sprites at Buff Anon not to do, but her deep distress had completely taken the wheel. Seeking all the hiding she could get like a wounded animal, she climbed into the bathtub, yanked the curtains closed with a metallic clang, and sat down. Knees to her chest, she curled her fingers into claws against her skull and fought to keep from crying. Deep inside her code, dried-up patches of self-loathing began to run, muddying the waters of her brain. Somehow, her fear of hurting those she loved always seemed to self-fulfill. No matter what, her ugliest colors would bleed out eventually.

She should have been better. Turbo deserved better. Her heart ached horribly for what she had done. For what she doubted her own strength to not do.

Resting her chin on her hugged knees, she listened for anything in the hallway. There was no yelling, no speaking, no words at all. For a while, all she heard was his feet pacing back and forth outside the door. No doubt an effort to calm down and sort out his thoughts. But after stewing in guilt for what felt like forever, she jumped at a gentle knock on the door.

"Hey doll," Turbo called softly and carefully. "Can I come in, now?"

Mavis took a deep breath. It was time to start acting her age, or at least try to. "Yeah," she called back drearily.

The door opened, and then it closed. Hearing nothing from Turbo for a moment, she said, "I'm over here."

Mavis expected him to pull the curtain back, but she only heard him sit down on the other side of it, next to her. Carefully, she glanced over. The curtain was about as closed as it could go, but it could not tightly hug the wall. From where she sat at the back of the tub, there was a tall, thin gap in her mildewy barrier, and through it, she could see Turbo's back against the wall, and one yellow eye peeking through at her tiredly. He must have seen only her gruesome red eye, a fact that prompted her to look away.

She sighed roughly. "I'm so sorry, baby," she muttered.

"I know you are," he said calmly and reassuringly. "It's okay. That was nothing."

Mavis shook her head. "I just… ain't myself tonight."

"This whole thing really did a number on you, huh?"

Mavis was too busy formulating a plan on what and how she could tell him to answer, so he continued. "Y'know, I really wanna help you, Mav. But I can't if you don't talk to me."

Head swimming with heavy thoughts, Mavis stared at the tub's drain and pictured it sucking up all the messy words that were about to spill from her mouth. It was just comforting enough to finally get her going.

After a long, pregnant pause, she began wearily, "It's just… it was just so personal, T. It was in my game. At my party. In my forest, where I used to live. Buffs haven't been that closely involved in my personal life in… a really long time. I mean, Buff Anon is one thing, but that's more like work. And no one is actually high there. It… it completely blindsided me."

Turbo just listened politely.

"And… and I think the worst of it was," she continued, feeling sick, "being so close to… buff violence again. I hear about it in B.A., I've witnessed it, and I've even intervened, but I've… I've never been on the receiving end. So I know what that feels like now. And that… made me realize… just how it must have felt when I…"

She hugged her knees tighter. "...When I did that to sprites. How confused and scared they must've been. And I did that to strangers… and to sprites I really care about."

After a pause, Turbo piped up gently. "You know it wasn't your fault. It wasn't you."

A silence fell over them, one that lasted just long enough to be uncomfortable. Mavis was preparing to spill the hard truth of why she was so acutely shaken, and found that, like most things, the best thing to do would be to give it to him straight. As hard as it may have been. 

Licking her dry lips, she asked slowly and shakily, "Y'wanna know why I don't wanna go see Dr. Mario?"

"Why?"

"Because… he'd-- he'd put me on healing buffs, and I--" she hit a snag in her sentence and hung her head, struggling against the quiver in her lip. The end of her sentence came fast and forcefully.

"And I'm scared that I'll relapse again!"

Mavis braced, but Turbo was quiet for a moment. She could tell that he was a little stunned, but he soon broke out of it with a small sigh. "Mav, baby," he said gently but insistently, "you're not gonna relapse."

"How do you know that?" she asked miserably, muffled against her knee.

"Well, for one thing, you've been clean for, what, ten years?"

"Thirteen and five months," she corrected him. "It took me ten to relapse the first time. It doesn't go away. It just goes to sleep. I'm so scared of it waking up."

"It won't."

"Why?"

"Because--" he tripped over his words a bit and sighed. "Because things are different now. Especially for you. You moved outta that game makin' you miserable. You live in a real house now, with me, your best-friend-slash-incredibly-sexy-fiancé--"

Mavis gave one chuckle.

"--you've got a huge circle of friends who all care about you, you have several jobs that you're amazing at, and hell, you run Buff Anon. So many sprites have gotten clean 'cause of you. Honey, you've got it made now."

"I know," she said, her voice breaking, "that's why I'm so afraid. I don't wanna let everyone down. I don't wanna lose everything. I don't... I don’t wanna lose you."

"Mavis," he said, pain in his voice, "I ain't goin' nowhere. I got the utmost faith in ya. I've seen you beat buffs a million times. Remember helpin' me get clean? You did that."

"I also remember getting you into buffs," she mumbled.

Turbo groaned almost imperceptibly. "Well," he said quietly, "that was a really long time ago. You can't blame yourself for that forever."

Mavis turned words over in her head for a minute, an awful numbness enveloping her. Slowly, carefully, she explained, "I… feel like my mind is back there… back in ‘a really long time ago’. I'm thinkin' about things I thought I moved past. And I'm reacting just how I used to. I'm bein' nasty. I'm hiding things. I'm hidin' myself. And I… I'm craving buffs to make it all go away. I feel like that guy punched me back in time."

Turbo considered that. "...What sorts of things are you thinkin' about? Is it… is it old Easter Egg stuff?"

Mavis squirmed, pointing her face away from him. "...Sorta," she said anxiously. "It's mostly just… me stuff. Like… thinkin' I'm not cut out for nice things, or-- or-- ...relationships. That I'm bound to screw things up eventually, no matter what. That everything… goes away."

"You know all that's not true."

"Not right now, I don't."

Turbo took a long pause to think, and Mavis was almost afraid of what those gears in his head would produce. "I don't believe you," he said plainly. "You still know everything you need to know. You can still follow your own advice. You're more qualified to help yourself than anybody, even me."

Stubbornly, drearily, Mavis shook her head. "No. I can help others just fine. Helping myself is a different story."

"Okay, well, in that case…" he offered slowly, "help me."

"...What?"

"What advice would you give me if I were in your shoes?"

Mavis half-scoffed uncomfortably, shaking her head. "I-- I dunno if I can…"

She heard his shoulders rub the wall as he shrugged. "Sure you can," he said coolly. "What would you say if, right now, I told you, 'Mav, I've got a problem. I'm havin' a real hard time and I'm missing buffs pretty bad. I miss the way it felt. I know they almost ruined my life, but I miss the good times. I miss takin' Heals with you, the way it'd feel when you touched me, and, ugh, the sex…"

As Mavis listened, she became more and more concerned. He was getting awfully specific, almost like it was not theoretical.

He continued, "...and how unstoppable I felt on Supers… but I'm worried that if I relapse, everyone will leave me. What do I do?'"

After a pause, Mavis asked tentatively, "Is any of that true?"

Turbo grunted. "Not all of it. I'm not actually tempted, but, y'know… I miss it sometimes. Just the feeling. Not enough to act on it, but still."

Mavis swallowed, her gaze low. "Yeah… me too," she muttered. "Usually, it's not a problem. It helps me relate to addicts who are struggling. But… tonight, it's just scary. It's too real."

"Well… call me an addict in crisis," he said, "and help me."

She wavered.

He prodded gently, "What if I believed all that awful stuff about myself…? What would you say?"

Mavis took a deep, steadying breath, squeezing her pant leg. The whole idea felt awkward and trivial, but she had to try, at least to let Turbo help her. She knew he needed to feel useful, so the least she could do was give him a chance. 

"Well…" she began tentatively, "first things first, I'd say… that you reachin' out for help was the first step in the right direction, so… you've already got one leg up on this."

Turbo merely listened, trusting her to guide herself through it.

"And… and I'd say that…" she swallowed, "that you're not bad or weak for missing the good times. Anyone would miss somethin' that made them feel good. But buffs… are like a false friend. They'll seem fun, and they'll promise to be there for you. But then they'll tear you down until you don't love yourself enough to leave. And when you do, they'll show up at your door years later promisin' that things would be different the second time around. But they're lyin'. Never listen to them."

Mavis found herself beginning to quake, so she took a deep, quivering breath to try to maintain her composure. It was then that the shower curtain crinkled and a grey hand extended in, looking for anything to hold. He found her knee, and, shaking, she took his hand in both of hers and worried her thumbs against it. Holding him for support, she unsteadily continued.

"And…  all the sprites who love you are the ones you should be reachin' for. Because they'll tell you the truth… That you deserve all the love in the world… the same as anybody else. You're not broken or unlovable or worthless. And if you can't take my word for it… then come to Buff Anon with me. We'll convince you."

She hit another snag, a much sharper one this time. Her face grew hotter than it already was, and a hefty lump formed in her throat. Awful pain shot through her left eye as the tears escaped, and she crushed her eyes shut against the sting. Turbo's fingers tightened around hers, and she squeezed back as she continued in a broken, teary voice.

"And I'd-- If it were you, I'd say--" she sniffed, "that even if you did end up relapsing… you'd be okay. The arcade is way better equipped to help you now. You wouldn't lose your game, or your jobs, or your friends, because… everyone knows you. They'd know when you're not yourself. And they wouldn't give up on you so easily."

Carefully, she kissed his hand. "And I'd tell you… that I'd carry you through this on my back if you asked me. Because I-- I love you more than anything. No amount of buffs could change that."

Turbo scrubbed his thumb against her hand, waiting for her to continue, but her words were running dry. Judging by how open the floodgates in her eyes were, the exercise had already hit its mark in ways she was not prepared for. She was emotionally raw, but she was done.

"And--" she muttered, sniffing, recalling Buff Anon's motto that stemmed from her own in-game catchphrase, "together, we can make it."

It took only a moment for Turbo to breathe, "Wow. I was just gonna say literally all of that."

A wet laugh broke from behind her teeth, and she carefully wiped away what wetness she could on her sleeve. "Not bad, T, not bad," she sighed, face aching with a smile. "You should lead a B.A. meeting sometime."

"Nah," he said, taking one of her hands and pulling it out of the tub. Warm lips pressed against her knuckle. "Everyone would be too captivated with me, and nothing would get done."

Mavis laughed quietly, and they both fell silent for a moment. Teardrops were still darkening the fabric on her knees, but the way Turbo's strong hands gently massaged her own was almost meditative. She tried to isolate the feeling, to focus on it and calm down.

Eventually, Turbo asked softly, "How ya feelin'?"

She drew a breath through her nose and sighed. "Better," she told him lowly. "I'm… still worried. But I'm not scared."

"I'd call that an improvement," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "See? Didn't I tell ya you'd give the best advice?"

"You did," she smiled. "Which was good advice, too."

"I know," he said casually. "I'm basically a genius."

Mavis chuckled in her throat, and then, ever so slowly, she dared to lean her head back and peer out of her hiding spot. The gap had gotten even bigger with her arm passing through it, so she could see Turbo's entire face. He was looking her way, too, with a look of careful optimism. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and Mavis suddenly felt humbled with guilt over everything she had done since she got home. She knew very well that they had both done worse in the past, but in the present, she was supposed to know better. But she had been frightened and horribly triggered. She could only blame herself so much, and she tried very hard to remind herself of that. It was the same as what she would tell anyone.

Turbo spoke first, when it came to it.

"Hey," he breathed sweetly.

"Hey," Mavis echoed, her voice rough as she still softly cried.

He asked, "Ready to come out yet, tiger?"

She took a deep breath and decided that she was done with the night's bad experience haunting her actions. Talking it out had cleared her head, and it was time to start thinking straight again.

"Yeah," she nodded.

Turbo smiled, and promptly rose to his feet, guiding her upwards as well as he squeezed her hand. She pushed the shower curtain out of the way and stepped out of her hiding place, once again standing face to face with her best friend. Seeing the sincere look he gave her, she became so overwhelmed with love that it hurt, deep in her chest. Like a magnet, she stuck right to his body, hugging desperately tight. He returned the gesture, of course, and she found herself overflowing with tears again.

"I knew very well what I was gettin' into with you," he told her lovingly. "If the idea of you relapsing freaked me out enough to be a dealbreaker, I wouldn't be marryin' you, would I?"

Mavis merely sobbed almost silently, just strongly enough to make her body jump a bit in his arms. No matter how long it took him to get there, he always seemed to find just the right thing to say. It reminded her of the lessons she had learned over the course of her life, about her own worth and what she deserved. Once upon a time, she believed that she was not meant to have anything good. But even after thirty years, she still had him. And he was so good.

Steadily, her mind once again left the past behind her where it belonged. Her life was good. Her life was wonderful. And she deserved it.

For a time, they simply remained there in the bathroom, holding each other tightly and letting the emotional strain of the evening unwind and relax in the warmth they created. Turbo’s shoulder was wet with tears where Mavis had been resting her good cheek, but eventually, her tears ran dry, leaving only fine salty streaks down her skin. Her trembling body had found its stillness again.

Turbo rubbed her back deeply enough for her to feel the aches in her muscles crying to be kneaded out. He turned his head against hers the slightest bit, and whispered, “How we doin’?”

She waited, but nodded once. “Exhausted,” she sighed, “but I’ll be okay.”

“‘Course you will,” he patted her back a couple times, and then pulled back enough to look at her half-maimed face. He thought for a second, and then a lighthearted smile appeared. “Hey. I know somethin’ that might cheer you up.”

“What’s that?”

“Y’wanna see the commission I finished today?”

She perked up a bit, always interested in his machines and inventions. “Yeah, o'course!”

Finally, they both left the bathroom, and Turbo instructed her to go wait in the kitchen. She obeyed while he ducked into the garage for just a minute before coming back into view with a strange object in his hand. He crossed immediately to place it on the dinner table, and she wandered over to inspect it.

Mavis quirked a brow as she looked over the item. It was nothing that he had made before, to her recollection. It looked almost similar to a crystal ball on a base, only the ball was made of some kind of thin metal, maybe tin, with hundreds of chaotic punctures of varying size over its surface. It looked almost like it had been delicately shot with a tiny shotgun dozens of times. It did look well-made, but…

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

Turbo leaned his hand against the table casually. “Just a nightlight.”

Mavis blinked and gave him a bit of a look. Chuckling faintly, she confirmed, “A… nightlight.”

“Yeah,” he scratched under his chin. “Previously homeless sprite just moved into a dark game, but they’d only lived in a bright game before. I wouldn’t have accepted a commission for any ol’ lightbulb, but they told me to get fresh with it. Thought it’d be fun to just mess around.”

“Huh. Well, okay, then,” she reached for the switch on the base. “Let’s see it.”

Immediately, Turbo directed her hand away. “Ah, ah,” he held up a finger, “you go turn off the kitchen light, and I’ll turn it on.”

She scoffed. “Alright, your majesty,” she said with a smile before doing as instructed. She crossed to the wall by the fridge and flipped the switches down, plunging the entire floor in darkness that was disturbed only by thin slices of Turbo Time sunshine that made it around the blackout curtains. Turbo clicked his tongue once in that typical smug way to call her back over, and she returned to where those glowing eyes stood. To her confusion, though, he shook his head. 

“Move back a little bit,” he told her casually.

“What? Is it gonna blow up, or something?” she asked, almost hopefully.

“Nope, just…” he abandoned his sentence in favor of holding her shoulders and relocating her himself. She made only vague sounds of protest at first, but actually felt a twinge of irritation as he was intentionally indecisive over what specific inch she should have stood on.

“Okay, T,” she scolded him slightly, “cut it out and show me the damn thing, will ya?”

He pretended to inspect her position for one more second, before calling it perfect and leaving her to stand in the open space of floor that was not quite the kitchen or living room or dining room. Turbo returned to the table and, in the darkness, she could see him place his finger over the switch, but not press it. He sure was making a big deal out of a nightlight.

“Ready?” he asked playfully.

“Yes, T, I’m ready,” she rolled her eyes a bit. “I was ready when you brought it out, ya weirdo.”

He hummed, and then sang quietly, “Okay!”

The switched clicked, the device lit up, and she gasped.

Stars.

There were stars everywhere. They speckled the walls, the ceiling, the furniture, and her body with soft sprays of golden light. The darkness was not chased away, but it was filled with a safe, inviting warmth that felt like walking on the edge of sleep. Slowly, her eyes roamed along the map of spilled light across the ceiling, her jaw a little slack with awe. It was such a simple thing, but it was so much more beautiful than she had expected.

“Oh… my Devs,” she finally managed to say, laughing incredulously. She looked over at Turbo, who had not moved at all, but was watching her with a grin as smug as ever. “T! What the hell -- this is awesome!”

He gave a hearty chuckle. “Oh, you like that?” he reached for the base again. “Well, check this out.”

Another switch clicked, and just like that, the sea of stars began to slowly swim around the room. It was as simple as the metal ball rotating, but what it did to the light was almost dizzyingly beautiful. The golden, glowing stars drifted at a leisurely, loving pace, finding something wonderful to say about everything they touched. They danced over the trophies lined on the wall, stretching and crowding over the sloping surfaces. Passing over the glass on the cabinets, they refracted into shimmering clusters like tiny fireworks. Mavis turned herself along with them, her hands twitching up towards her mouth. 

Eventually, in her turning, her eyes fell on Turbo again. He was still leaning against the table, his arms folded as he watched her. The smugness in his smile had softened into quiet admiration.

"So, star expert," he said, "what's the verdict?"

"Hah," she breathed, glancing around again. "It's… it's beautiful. Honestly, this might be my favorite thing you've made."

He whistled. "That's some mighty praise for a nightlight."

Mavis smiled and crossed over to the table again. She watched the globe of the wonderful invention turn lazily, blinking when the beams met her eyes. She held out her hand to see its oversized silhouette against the wall, and noticed the way the stars streaked along the band of her engagement ring like tiny shooting stars. When she turned her hand over, the ring's rainbow of gems all came to life as the light danced gleefully through the sparkling facets. 

"Damn," she whispered in awe.

Next to her, Turbo exhaled a single chuckle through his nose.

Mavis looked up at the tightest circle of stars that peppered the ceiling so finely, suddenly finding herself so wistful. For all her life, she had loved stars. She had written at least a dozen songs about them. But her relationship with them was… complicated. Not always happy. It was often that well of conflicting feelings that had made the stars so captivating, so addictive in a softly masochistic way, like how one may have habitually picked their skin or pulled out their hair. 

On a good day, stars filled her mind with inspiration, with beautiful dreams of what life could bring. On a bad day, they were only a reminder of how trapped she was. How trapped everyone was.

But that night, in her home, there was no bad side. There was only beauty.

"I love stars," she sighed quietly.

"I know you do," Turbo muttered.

"They're the one thing that I miss about living in my game. Lying in my den and looking up at the stars."

"Not many stars in sunny Turbo Time," Turbo added. "Y'know, except for me."

Mavis scoffed.

"And you, I guess."

She looked at him, instantly filled with warmth from the way he looked back at her so peacefully, so contentedly. A sassy Turbo was a happy Turbo, and she was relieved to hear him cracking jokes again. The stars ran over the contours of his face, painting his grey skin into a hazy night sky, and waking the deep garnet tones of his well-hidden pupils. Many would not have called him beautiful, but Mavis did. Not just in his looks, either, but from the harmony he brought into her life. Looking at him then, everything seemed right. She was right where she was meant to be.

Suddenly, an epiphany washed over her, and all the worries of that night were swept away. But for the time being, she would keep it to herself, just to let it sink in and enjoy the moment for what it was.

So she merely smiled at him, and once again winced at the pain in her cheek. "You're hilarious, you know that?"

"I do," he shrugged.

Mavis turned around and leaned against the table next to him, which prompted him to wrap an arm around her. Glancing over at him, she added softly, "And you make some pretty amazing things."

He smiled and chuckled with a hint of smugness. "What can I say? I'm the best in the biz. Gotta keep the customers happy."

"Well," she laughed quietly, "no complaints from me, either."

Mavis looked back out across the room to peacefully watch the sea of stars swirl around the room. There was another dark silhouette cut into the drifting light, that of herself and her partner side by side, as they ought to have been. Then the shadows joined into one as she laid her head against his shoulder. Tingles swelled in her chest, and she sighed them out happily.

"So," she said calmly, "how much for you to make me one of these?"

Turbo scoffed. "How much? You wanna pay me?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's your work. It's your time. Don't go givin' me special treatment."

He shook her playfully a bit. "Mav, we're gettin' married next month. You're gettin' some special treatment."

"Oh, pfft," she blew, "matrimony. It's only a ceremony binding our lives together in the eyes of the Devs and the entire arcade forever. Big deal."

Turbo laughed. "You're just dreadin' it, aren't ya?"

Mavis shrugged. "Honestly, I might not even show up."

Chuckling through his teeth, he squeezed her shoulders and kissed her head. "Yeah, I'm excited, too," he nearly whispered.

Sighing dreamily, she snaked an arm behind him and held his soft waist. "Can't wait."

Another happy silence fell between them, broken only by the low, muffled hum of the machine running behind them. But before too long, Turbo drew in a sharp breath.

"Y'know what you could do to pay me back?" he sort of sighed.

"Hm?"

He stepped away from her side to instead stand in front of her. He held both of her hands and looked at her with a face full of sincerity. "Let me take you to Dr. Mario," he insisted gently, "before the arcade opens."

Mavis had hoped it would have been some owed salacious act, but was not surprised at all. However, when she came to consider it, she found that the fear had abated. Plus, she was very ready to not be in pain. She blinked at him and smiled tiredly.

"Okay," she nodded.

A bit of light came into his exhausted face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yes," he sighed. "Finally."

With a tug on her hands, he pulled her into a hug that spun slowly, like a formless dance. She squeezed back, happy to see him so relieved. The poor man deserved a break from all the drama she had brought home with her.

A few moments passed, and Turbo pulled back far enough to see her face. He smiled at her so fondly, and she could not help but return the gesture. But he hesitated, his gaze repeatedly falling to her lips.

"So," he whispered almost sheepishly, "if I kiss you now, is it just gonna hurt again?"

"Ah," she fluttered her lashes and huffed, "yeah, it probably will."

Turbo smiled faintly, and let his eyes follow the lights along the walls. "Yeah," he sighed dramatically, "I figured."

But looking at him standing there, dappled in the light, she could hardly resist anymore. "But…" she breathed, lifting a hand to his cheek and directing his gaze back to her, "...do it anyway."

There was a glimmer of adoration in his eyes as he breathed a short, sighing laugh. "Alright then, tiger."

He had started to lean in, but he stopped when Mavis cleared her throat. Skirting her thumb over his cheek, she whispered a reminder. "Gently."

"Hah," he laughed silently. "I'll try."

Mavis then felt a strong, rough hand snake around behind her neck and cradle the back of her head, and found her heart thumping a bit harder than it normally would. Slowly, carefully, he drew in close, checking her reactions. Then he lingered in range of her breath, apparently making the most of taking his time. Mavis' face was growing hot, which only made her cheek throb harder, but she did not care. There was something about the careful anticipation that sent her heart reeling. It threw her right back to their early days, when they were only just learning how to kiss at all. How new and exciting it had all been.

Most of the vivid memories of the past had departed for the night, but those ones were welcome to stay.

Finally, she closed her eyes, and upon feeling the slightest brush against her lips, she pushed back gingerly. The kiss was barely there, hard enough only to maintain contact, but it squeezed a slow sigh out of her and sent her head swimming. Every moment or so, they would break apart, but softly join again to keep the moment alive, kissing peacefully in the light of the stars he made.

Immediately after their little romantic break, Mavis and Turbo set out for Dr. Mario’s hospital. For the walk there, Mavis reapplied her painted disguise so as to not draw attention, but of course glitched out of it once face-to-face with the mustachioed doctor. When he asked them what happened, Mavis sorrowfully told him the truth, knowing it was the best thing to do for all parties. Hopefully, it would be the push that kickstarted the soldier’s recovery. Dr. Mario offered to tell Calhoun and the crew about it, but she intended to tell them herself. She could not be afraid of any facets of her self-assigned job, or she would not be completely prepared to help those in need of it. 

They were brought immediately into a slightly lower-lit hall with beds and monitors in curtained-off sections. Once assigned to a bed, Mavis sat on it and allowed the doctor to examine her. Judging by her swelling and extreme tenderness, he felt confident to say that there was, indeed, a crack in her cheekbone, but it would not take long to mend. He cleaned off all the dried blood as gently as he could, poured what felt like liquid fire on the wound, and began stitching up the deep gouges in her cheek to make sure they closed properly during the buff treatment. It stung badly enough to bring tears to her eyes, but the needle was so fine and he worked so deftly, it was not the worst to sit through. Devs knew that she had been through worse.

“Thank you for’a keeping still,” Dr. Mario muttered as he held her face steady anyways, “that’s’a more than I can expect from’a most’a my patients.”

“Yea--”

“Don’t’a talk, please.”

Mavis rolled her eyes a bit. He always did this.

“Mavis, I can see when you’a roll your eyes at’a me,” he said flatly as he worked.

“Don’t worry, Mav,” Turbo said from his seat behind the doctor, “he can’t watch us both at once.” He then gave a very exaggerated roll of the eyes. Mavis quivered with the effort to not grin.

“You’re a’funny guy, Turbo,” he said even flatter.

With that, he finished off the stitches, and started preparing the IV drip full of diluted healing buffs. A slight jolt of adrenaline zapped Mavis' heart. What she had been fearing all night was about to begin. Even though she had come to her senses, having buffs in her system always made her at least a little nervous… the events of the night just seemed to irritate that.

But as he went through the preparations, Dr. Mario hummed in thought.

"What's up, Doc?" Mavis asked tentatively.

"Oh, I was just a'thinking that it was'a funny thing to a'compare then and'a now," he explained calmly and nostalgically without looking away from his work. "I used to'a treat you for overdose a'more than any other a'patient. Yet, today you are a'here because you tried to a'save someone else a'from overdose."

Mavis blinked. She had not actually thought of it that way. Back in her worst, most buff-fueled days, she never would have believed that she could have made it so far. But something in his wording pulled her out of her thought bubble.

"'Tried?'" she asked anxiously. "What's that mean? Is he alright?"

"Ah, now, now, now," he took her right hand and began wiping the back of it with a wet, sharp-smelling swab. "He's a'fine. He's a'my responsibility now. Relax -- you should'a be proud."

Mavis' eyes immediately drifted to Turbo, who was crossing his arms and smiling warmly. With a slow blink, he nodded in agreement.

Heat danced around inside her chest. Mostly, she had been doing her job, only doing what she knew would keep everyone safe. But when she thought of it like Dr. Mario said… she really was proud.

"Well," she smiled, "proud to make things better than they were for me."

"So should'a we all," the doctor said, positioning the grotesquely long needle over the back of her hand. She looked to Turbo again hoping for one last vote of support, and she received it in the form of an encouraging eyebrow raise and a thumbs up.

Breathing deeply, she reminded herself why she had nothing to fear.

Then the needle broke her skin, and she winced as it delved deep down the back of her hand. After making sure he had hit the proper vein, Dr. Mario taped down what still stuck out and gathered his things.

"Now, ah, you should a'have four hours or so until you are a'fully healed," he said, checking his charts and jotting something down. He pulled aside a curtain and said over his shoulder, "I'll check in now and a'then. Ring the buzzer if a'you need a'something."

"Alright," she nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

With that, the doctor went about his business elsewhere. Mavis laid herself down on her side carefully, practically hearing her weary body creak and relishing that sweet relief of finally being horizontal. Nestling her good cheek into the cool, hospital-blue pillow, she peered at Turbo. He was watching her tiredly with a faint smile, abnormally silent.

“Hey, you,” she prodded.

“Heya, tiger,” he sighed.

“You’ve been awful quiet.”

“Hah, well. Don’t get too used to it,” he shrugged, his gaze idly wandering.

She paused. Then she said slowly and sincerely, “I know this ain’t your favorite place in the world. I really appreciate you bein' here.”

Turbo shrugged with a fleeting, distant smile. “Nah, s’nothin’. I ain’t scared of a crummy hospital,” he stretched in his chair, and fell slack with a sigh. “It’s just, ah… this was always the toughest part of it, for me. Sittin’ around in here n’ just waitin’ to hear if you’d live through the night. Wonderin’ how many more chances you’d get, always thinkin’ y’were on your last… Y’know. The works.”

“I know,” Mavis agreed gently. The memory was a haunting one, but thankfully, it still felt pretty far away. The guilt of ever putting him through that had been tough to cut down to size, but she had seen very well just what addiction did to sprites’ minds. He suffered because she suffered. She muttered, “I remember how upset you’d get.”

“Yeah, well. Little boys get angry when they feel things they don’t want to feel.”

“Not so different from little girls,” she half-smiled.

Turbo looked at her with a clear honesty that seemed almost humble for him. “The Doc’s right, though,” he told her. “I never thought buffs would land you in the hospital like this. You survived all that, and you’ve come so damn far. You’d better be proud a’ that, ‘cause Devs know I am.”

Tingling warmth fizzled in Mavis’ chest at his words, and she nuzzled her slightly heated cheek deeper into the pillow. Casting a sweet smile with her eyes, she said, “Thanks, Sugar. And trust me, I am.”

“Damn right,” he nodded.

They watched each other for just a minute, but it did not take Mavis long to decide that she would not be robbed of all time allotted to lie with him that night. Even if it was technically morning by then, with the arcade’s opening fast approaching.

“Y’know,” she said coyly, “there’s no rule about touchin' me this time around… and this bed’s pretty damn cold.”

Turbo scoffed, but a real grin appeared on his face. “Well, it sucks to be you, then.”

“It really does.”

He feigned a dramatic sigh as he stood and trudged around to the bedside behind her. Mavis heard a click and a creak as he lowered the guard rail, and felt the skinny bed rattle as he climbed aboard and situated himself. With hardly any other space to go, he squeezed his warm body right up against the back of hers, melting into her shape. A deep breath blew down the back of her neck, and she knew he must have been glad to lie down, too.

“Happy now?” he mock-grumbled.

“Hmm,” she hummed happily. “It’ll do.”

“The things I do for love,” he sighed, squeezing her back against him and planting a kiss on her shoulder. He patted around for a hand, but found her right first, which was occupied by a needle and tube. He grunted a bit as if he had just remembered something. “How's the IV?”

Mavis was just beginning to feel the effects of the healing buffs. The pain in her face was slowly starting to drain out. A sort of fuzziness enveloped her body and her mind, and left her lazily floating ever deeper into a state of bliss. It was the gentlest, most helpful effects of Heals, isolated from the code-scrambling excess.

"It's good," she purred. "Real good."

"Not too good, I take it?" he asked optimistically.

"Nah," she said, "I forgot how easy this stuff is. Besides, I know for sure that I ain't gonna relapse, now."

She felt Turbo perk up a bit. "Do ya, now? What changed your mind?"

Smiling to herself, she found his hand and held it to your chest. She pondered calmly just how to word her reason. But the answer to the question was easy enough.

"The nightlight."

Turbo paused. "Really? How's that?"

Playing with his fingers, she explained steadily, "Well, it's pretty simple. I used to look up at the stars and wish more than anything that I could fly past them and be free of this place. But that was impossible, so… buffs were my escape. Deep down, that was always why I used them. But now, I can look at my life and say…"

She squeezed his hand. "I don't want to escape this anymore. I'm happy right where I am. So why would I ever turn to buffs again?"

"...Huh…" he thoughtfully kissed the back of her neck. "And you got all that outta my swirly lights."

"That's right."

She felt him nod slowly. "I knew it'd work," he said quietly but triumphantly. "Just as I planned."

Looking back over her shoulder, she asked disbelievingly, "Did you really?"

"No," he smiled brightly, a slight chuckle in his voice. "I just knew it'd cheer you up."

She smirked. "Aw."

"Still," he squeezed her, "that's all great news, baby. I'm glad to hear it, for real. But if you'll permit me one question…"

"Shoot."

He squinted at her with a suspicious smile. "Do you mean to say that Make-it Mavis of a Million Dreams, if given the opportunity to see the world outside the arcade, would pass it up?"

"Oh, no, pfft," she answered immediately. "Pfft. As if. You know I'd clear outta here faster than Sonic with a flame on his ass."

Turbo sighed in exaggerated relief. "Phew. I'd have been worried if you said literally anything else."

She hissed a chuckle through her teeth, and began to strain her neck, so she laid her cheek back down on her pillow. "I'd come back, though," she told him softly. "This is where I belong."

No reply came from Turbo at first. He merely waited, and then slowly and tenderly nuzzled his nose through her hair and against her neck. Stroking his thumb against the ring on her finger, he whispered, "Damn right."

She smiled and sighed deeply. The love in her heart was nearly too much to handle. But then another thought occurred to her. A lovely idea.

"Y'know," she said thoughtfully, "when you make my lil' nightlight thing, I think I'll bring it to Buff Anon. I bet it'd get some good discussion going. And I'm sure everyone could use a little starlight."

Turbo took a moment to consider that, and then shifted to lean his body away from hers. "Mav," he said, a warning in his voice, "I'm gonna say somethin' gross."

"Oh, no," she gasped in dread.

"I'm gonna do it."

"Please don't."

"Here it comes."

"Devs, help me."

He scooched in snugly against her again and whispered in her ear, "Don't they get enough starlight with you around?"

A tickling shudder ran up her spine, and she instantly clutched her chest as if she had been stabbed. "No! Oh, yich! Blech!" she spat.

Turbo joined in her protests, dramatically throwing himself around and moaning in disgust. "Augh, nooo! Oh Devs, nasty! Uuugh, what have I done?!"

Mavis bent her knees up and hugged her stomach as Turbo draped his groaning self over her. "Oh, I'm gonna be sick!" she wailed. "He's killed me! Ohh, he's killed me!"

They were both cut short by the sharp clink of curtains being pushed open, and the slight of Dr. Mario's confused and alarmed face. Once he understood the scene, however, his expression fell flat and unimpressed.

"Turbo," he boredly scolded, "please a'don't torment a'my patients. There will be a'plenty of a'time for that after you are a'married. Hoo-hoo." He chuckled at his own joke, looking down at his clipboard.

"Joke's on you, Doc," Turbo countered, "I've been tormentin' her for thirty years!"

"Oh! Speakin' of which," Mavis piped in, "you're comin' to the weddin', right?"

Dr. Mario laughed dryly. "Cute of a'you to assume I ever a'get a night off."

"But it's not at night, not the ceremony, at least," Turbo insisted. "It's on a holiday -- the arcade will be closed."

"Surge let us have all of Game Central for it," Mavis added proudly. "It's gonna be a historic event, Doc, you can't miss it."

He did not look up from his charts. "Oh, I'm a'sure I'll hear all about it from whatever a'victims of a' wedding mishaps end up in a'here."

"I have no idea what you mean," Mavis said, choosing to deny any presence of fireworks.

"Come on, Doc, after all we been through, you don't wanna come watch us get hitched?" Turbo whined.

Mavis joined in, shooting him her best puppy eyes. "Pleeaase, Doc?"

Dr. Mario lifted a finger to silence them, looking at them from under his raised, thick brows. "I will a'try," he allowed, stepping back to pull the curtain shut. "But no a'promises."

Once his footsteps faded down the hall, Mavis looked at Turbo. "He ain't comin', is he?"

"S'pose we just wait n' see," Turbo shrugged. He looked her over, and said, "He's right, though. I oughtta stop buggin' you n' let you get some sleep."

Her eyelids were admittedly getting heavy, thanks in part to the shaded lighting and relaxing buffs. Sleeping off her whole experience sounded all too inviting. Still, she looked at him hopefully.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked. "I know you don't have much time now, but maybe you could take a power nap before you gotta go. Y'look exhausted, babe."

He snickered tiredly. "Nah. I ain't gettin any shut-eye here. 'Sides, I'm runnin' on more sleep than you."

That much was true.

"But I'll stay," he added softly, getting comfortable behind her again. "I won't be here when you wake up, but, y'know… I'll be here when you fall asleep."

She smiled. “I can live with that,” she muttered. “Let’s just take the night off after today, though. Get takeout, eat ice cream, watch TV…”

He yawned wide, baring those sharp golden teeth like a big cat. “Sounds killer. How’s about we do most of that in bed, yeah?”

Twisting her arm around to where he had propped himself up, she cupped his cheek and guided his head down to kiss just beside his mouth. “You got a deal,” she whispered dreamily. She released him and turned away once more, preparing to surrender happily to sleep and bring about a new day. “Love you, T.”

“You ain’t bad, either,” he muttered, and in his unwitting sleepiness, he kissed her healing cheek. Once he realized, she felt him startle a bit. “Oh-- damn it, that was the wrong cheek, wasn’t it?”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s ‘kay, sugar…” It was, in fact, the wrong cheek, but Mavis only noticed that it should have hurt once he pointed it out. The Heals were doing their job quite splendidly. The pain in her battered cheek had drained away completely, along with all the aches in her joints and muscles she barely knew she had been carrying, and the anxious sickness in her belly that had plagued her all evening. With the bad diminished, the good shone through. Being snugly tucked beneath his arm, her whole body tingling gently from his heat on her back that rivaled a cozy fireplace, feeling his slow breathing, and even the rumbling beat of his heart… It all wrapped around her body and sank her slowly down, gently immersing her in sleep. Before she lost consciousness, she managed to finish reassuring Turbo in a voice hazy with sleep.

“...It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

She let go, and felt a final forceful pull that brought her down over her head. The world disappeared, replaced only with warm, calm waters that let her float just beneath the gently rippling surface. In the deeper waters beneath her, she could hear dreams echoing and calling for her to join them. But there were other noises, muffled and distant, keeping her afloat.

There was beeping, like little chirping bugs. Soft clinking and rattling, low bubbling notes that may have been voices once upon a time. A bigger, itchy voice that sounded like shifting sand saying something like, “Attention… open in one hour… would all visitors please…”

Then her hand was wrapped in warmth, and she heard whispers from a voice that she knew even in sleep. “I’ll see ya later,” echoed over the feeling of a kiss pressed to her temple.

“Starlight.”

[fruitful-blogger]

BITES of Spider Life!

Inspired by the BEAUTIFUL Sanders Sides/Spiderverse AU by @ask-spiderverse-virgil and @sugarglider9603!

Summary:

When you're bitten by a genetically-altered and probably radioactive spider, things in life tend to get a little complicated. Follow Virgil Storm, Roman Marigold, Logan Quinn, Patton Foster, and a whole slew of other spider-people and spider-related people as they deal with life, love, and the occasional robot army trying to take over New York.

Just another Tuesday for our teenage Spiderlings.

(Fluff and Slices of Life!)

Chapter 1: Grandma’s Old Friend (Ao3)

           Virgil tumbled out of bed that morning, yawning up a storm as he rubbed his eyes. He had yet to do his make-up even as his favorite P!ATD shirt and black jeans were on his body. His suit sleeves peaked out, and his Spidey hood hung out, but it didn’t really matter because it was just Grandma and him today. His dad had headed to Tallahassee for the weekend for a business conference, so his parents were using it as a bit of a break for the two of them. Grandma Storm had long ago figured out that Virgil was Spidergale, and it was confirmed after he’d passed out post panic attack while in suit. Thomas had brought him home, and that’s when everything had been confirmed.

           Today was Saturday, and, even if Virgil had slept in, he was still tired. He and Patton had been on the patrol schedule last night, and what should have been a normal Friday night of purse snatchers and minor theft, of course the Mysterio had to cause all sorts of chaos. Thomas had been out of town, across the country even for a Youtube thing, so it was all hands on deck for the Spiderlings. After dismantling his army of robot monsters (worthy of the Hollywood big screen) and disarming hallucinatory gas bombs all across the city, they’d finally webbed up Mysterio and handed him over to the police around 2 am. They’d stuck around long enough to get the police there, and then there was a LONG ride home. Of course, webbing had run out and Logan’s legs were damaged, so, all around, they were just done. They took the subway home, and, thankfully, most people were just used to weird things like people in hero costumes late at night on a Friday. Virgil had climbed through his bedroom window around 3 am, taking long enough to toss off his costume and grab a make-up wipe to get rid of the last bits from his face before crashing hard.

           He flung himself into the chair that still held his favorite hoodie from yesterday as Grandma Storm pat his head before handing him a bowl of Pho and a cup of coffee. Virgil’s head floated up at the smell. Grandma didn’t always make Pho, but, when she did, it was to die for. “Waited up a while with the news on last night. Last I checked in, you and the boys were fighting a dinosaur?”

           “Yup. That happened.” Virgil noted as he sipped the coffee first. “We beat it and got Mysterio in the end. Sorry for keeping you up, Grandma.”

           She waved her hand. “No worries, một chút. I was your age at one point, and I had plenty of adventures.” Virgil nodded. Grandma had some crazy stories from her younger years, and Virgil was sure it was only half the story. After all, she had pieced together Virgil and his friends’ alter egos within a few months of them going public. “You’re ok?”

           Virgil shrugged. “A little bruised, but I’m already half-healed. Nothing too bad.”

           “You should get more sleep.” She waved her finger at him. “And eat something. You’re as thin as a grass blade, and you look tired.”

           “Gee, thanks Grandma.” Virgil threw as he rolled his eyes, finally eating his Pho. “I have to meet my project group at the library at one, and, no, it’s not Patton and Roman. Logan and I have a group project with some kids over a history PowerPoint.”

           As if being summoned, there was a knock at the door. Before Virgil could even get up, Grandma was up and walking towards the door. When she opened it, Logan was standing there, looking mostly put together. Mostly, because, if you knew the kid, you could pick out that he was as tired as Virgil. His tie was missing, even as he wore a polo and cardigan, his jeans clean but not neatly pressed as normal. A few hairs fell from their neat comb.

           “Good day, Grandma Storm.” Logan greeted. Logan and Virgil had grown up together, so it was easy for the teen to adopt the other grandma as his own. “Is Virgil ready to go? If we are to make the bus, then we must get going.”

           “No, I think not.” Grandma stated as she guided Logan in. Even as he tried to protest, she was quite strong for age and, of course, stubborn. “I’ll give you money for a cab. You need a break and some food as well.” She chided as she somehow got Logan’s backpack away from him and wiggling him into his seat. “I’ll get you coffee and food. You need it.”

           “Grandma, please…”

           “No, listen to Grandma and eat.” She insisted.

           Logan sighed as he accepted defeat. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes, and, honestly, it was somewhat of a relief as he got to rest his bones and smell the homey food of a loving grandma.

           While the two boys were eating, Grandma moved around the apartment with an ease of a woman half her age, cooking up some sweets and began to brew her special tea. She pulled out a nice blouse as she went to the laundry room, the iron plugged in.

           When Virgil woke up enough, he looked to his grandmother. “Grandma, what are you up to?”

           She looked back at her grandson and smiled. “Oh! I guess in the excitement, I forgot to mention that an old friend of mine managed to make time to come over today. He’s very busy most days, and he owes me some tea and gossip. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him.”

           Virgil nodded. He’d met plenty of Grandma’s friends before. Some were downright odd, but most were cool. They’d share some crazy stories that Virgil was sure were exaggerated, but he would nod at the right points before slipping away to ‘do homework’ or something. Grandma understood that he got anxious around new people.

           Soon enough the two finished eating, and Grandma Storm stuffed a twenty into Virgil’s hands before shooing them off with a few extra sweets to their project time.

           Logan and Virgil had gotten to the library, where they found their group mates of Brittney, Janet, and Robert. Robert was a bit of a douche the whole time, dragging his feet and trying to flirt with Janet. Janet, meanwhile, was getting annoyed with him, wanting to focus on the project. Eventually, Brittney told Robert to shove it, because Janet was too nice to say so, and Logan offered to swap with Janet so that Virgil was between her and Robert. Virgil offered to let her listen to his music, what with the Panic! At the Disco and MCR patches on her backpack.

           Robert THEN tried to start shit with Virgil, but Virgil just reminded him that he was dating Roman, something Robert had completely forgotten.

           It was really ridiculous, and Virgil and Logan were almost happy when the library shook, sirens off outside as a supervillain was attacking their city once more.

           The study session was cut short. Logan had managed to patch his legs, and web fluid was replenished. The Fantastic Four were dealing with Doom once again, so most of the heroes on scene were at street level, helping people out of collapsing buildings and making sure everyone was safe. Arachne and Spidergale kept their sector of the city safe until Doom was foiled.

           After that, the other teens had called it, but Patton, worrying as much as Virgil, had asked if they could meet up after. Since Thomas had taken MJ with him to California, they opted instead to meet at a midway point – Logan and Virgil’s apartment building.

           They met on the roof, hugging the hell out of one another just because, before they threw on some normal clothes. Cutting through the rooftop door that Logan had long picked open for them, they took a few levels down, Roman clutching Virgil’s arm as Logan and Patton’s hands swung between them. When Virgil wiggled his keys into the lock and popped the door open.

           The four took off their shoes as they entered, but Roman noticed something odd. “Wow, I didn’t know I was rubbing off on you. This is so retro.” Roman threw to Virgil as he spotted the leather jacket in the closet. It was old and worn with age and love.

           Virgil blinked as he nudged next to Roman. “Dude, that’s not mine. I’m pretty sure two of me could fit in it.”

           Roman pulled it out, holding it up. Compared to the lithe Virgil, it was very large. “Yeah… Can I have it?” Roman shrugged the jacket on, which was still too big on him (but not as large as it would have been on Virgil). “Think it fits my look?”

           “It’s very nice!” Patton agreed.

           “Didn’t your grandmother mention that she was having guests today?” Logan reminded. “I bet that belongs to her friend.”

           “Her friend has taste.” Roman threw as he put the jacket back on the hook. “Where is my second favorite Storm, anyway?”

           “She’s gotta be around here somewhere.” Virgil noted. He entered the house proper with his friends when the door behind them wiggled. “Oh, maybe she went to check on the…” Virgil began when the door opened.

           In the doorway was a young, fit man, no older than his mid-thirties, but he was built like a god. Blond hair was gently tussled as the blue and red of his plaid shirt was doused with some dust from concrete. His sleeves were rolled, arms chiseled and lightly sheened in sweat. His jeans didn’t leave much to the imagination, curved gluts and strong legs all about. His face was a work of art, and it was a work of art that all of the boys knew.

           “Cap-Captain America?” Patton stuttered. Roman’s mouth was moving, his brain having come to a complete halt as the Gay was too much. Virgil, meanwhile, was clutching his boyfriend’s arm, worried that the hero had somehow pieced together their identities and was there to turn them over to SHIELD or tell them to stop or SOMETHING. Patton was also having some Pan panic at the site of the man, while Logan’s brain was running through different facts and figures and generally having an error noise because two plus two was not equaling four.

           “Ah, glad you could make it back so fast, Stevie.” Grandma Storm rounded the corner with a tray of sweets. “Boys, I want you to meet my old army buddy, Steve Rodgers. Steve, this is my grandson, Virgil, and his little friends, Roman, Patton, and Logan.”

           “Hey kids.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck before offering a hand to shake. “Virgil, right? Your grandmother was just telling me about you.”

           “Uh.” Virgil raised his hand, setting it in the other man’s hand and shaking it. “I hope it was, uh, good?”

           “Holy shit.” Roman shook Virgil as he got his hand back. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that your grandma knew Steve Rodgers. THE STEVE RODGERS! You are the WORST boyfriend EVER!”

           Virgil blinked before swatting at Roman. “I just found out, too, you idiot!”

           “I like your sweater, kid.” Steve complimented to Patton. “Admittedly, I’m more of a dog person.” He noted, the sweater having been cat themed.

           “I LOVE puppies!” Patton cheered. “But I love kitties, too. And all the baby animals! They’re just so CUTE!”

           Logan rolled his eyes. “Never mind that he is ALLERGIC to cats.” Logan offered a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain Rodgers. I am Logan Quinn.”

           Logan shook the man’s hand, and, even though the thought was purely illogical, he momentarily entertained never washing that hand ever again.

           “I’m Patton!” Patton said but, before he could offer a hand, he pulled Steve into a tight hug.

           Steve felt the air nearly knocked out of him at the boy’s strength, but the hug was… actually very pleasant. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he got a really strong, good hug that just made him feel comforted, protected. He was usually the strong one, so he had to reel it in. “Woah.” Steve laughed as he hugged the kid back, being careful not to squish him (though he entertained that it would probably do little damage). “I’m guessing you’re a hugger.”

           “Mm-hm! Oh, sorry!” Patton released the man. “I should have asked, first, but I just got so excited! You’ve saved the day, like, a bunch of times! You’re like my third favorite hero!”

           “Third, hm?” Steve smirked. “Who’s one and two?”

           “Logan and Rainbow Weaver.”

           Logan blushed brightly. “We get it.” Logan clapped, even as his face was beat red. “You’re ad-or-a-ble.”

           Steve laughed, throwing back his head. He turned back to the emo boy and the excitable teen shaking him. “Roman, yes?”

           Roman stopped, staring at the man. “Yes! I am Marigold. Roman! Roman Marigold! Actor extraordinaire, future Broadway star…”

           “Sir Sings-a-lot.”

           “Virgil I love that nickname and I am KEEPING IT!”

           “That sweat pea is my grandson’s boyfriend.” Grandma said as she set the sweets down. “Since you all seem so excitable, I’m guessing that you all are fine from that rumble.”

           “Doctor Doom was at it, Grandma.” Patton nodded. “Do you need any help with the tea or sweets? I have a new recipe that I could whip up in a jiff!”

           Patton made sweets as the four boys ended up listening to the two older folks talk about old stories back from the early 20thcentury, Virgil once again wondering how old EXACTLY his grandma was (she was always so vague). Logan, of course, asked a ton of questions, but none were about super heroics or the like, but instead he was just curious about life back then. Patton offered to make some cookies for Steve to take on the road, and Roman was honestly the biggest Gay disaster the whole time. When Steve, somewhat embarrassed, mentioned his time as a stage performer, Roman snapped out of it and wanted to reenact parts. Roman’s enthusiasm proved to Steve that he wasn’t doing it for shits and giggles but was honestly awed by something Steve thought was so silly. Virgil was mostly an avid listener to the people around him, fully relaxed in the presence of his friends, family, and one of the world’s greatest heroes.

           Of course, once Roman had snapped from his panic, he’d ALSO wanted pictures, which Patton enthusiastically agreed with. Of these pictures, one goofy one in a hand-made frame found itself sent to a certain hero via snail mail, which he hung on his wall and smiled at when he passed. Another wound up on a certain Princey’s Instagram, instantly going gangbuster and gaining him about 100 followers in the span of an hour. Another found its way to the cellphone of a Youtuber about to get on a flight home, which gained, of course, confusion and also some similar gay fawning from the recipient and his boyfriend.

           Grandma Storm had Virgil print them all off so she could put them in a box with all her old war photos, many showing the Howling Commandos at their peak, her and Grandpa amongst their ranks. She’d let slip to Virgil someday about how and why she was there, but, for now, that was a story for another time.

           One thing was for sure, though – Steve was in love with Patton’s cookies and couldn’t wait to visit the Storm household again.

[jemej3m]

To the Good Place We Go (p.2)

part two! (sorry about errors totally didn’t read over this)

credit goes to @gluupor​ for the idea! link to their the good place au here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782301

warning: aftg typical violence

part one here: http://jemejem.tumblr.com/post/182518320202/to-the-good-place-we-go

“I don’t belong here.” His voice shook. He imagined his father was looking up from the Bad Place, grinning like the mad-man he was. Neil was delivering himself into hell, because it was the right thing to do. His morals had been warped and distorted on Earth. If he was going to spend eternity suffering, he might as well make himself feel better by doing it honourably.

Also, he wanted to prove Andrew wrong. But that was besides the point.

Three-hundred and twenty-one residents, an omnipotent ethereal being and a walking Wikipedia stared at him in shock.

“Well.” Wymack clapped his hands together. “Dismissed, everyone!” He crooked a finger at Neil, and he felt his heart clambering to get out of his chest as he shuffled forward. He tried not to flinch as Wymack’s fingers brushed over his shoulder, and in less than a blink, they were standing in his office. Wymack rounded the desk and grabbed a stress ball off the desk and propping his feet up on the oaken edge, throwing it up and catching it repeatedly.

“Well?” Wymack offered him the chair. Neil sat. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t try to get in or hack the system somehow.” Neil murmured. “I’m not a mole. It’s a complete mistake.”

“Ha. A human, hacking into the universe? Very interesting. Very impossible. You humans are so strange.” He caught the ball, took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. “Neil Josten, you’ve been chosen as a candidate for MPP. The Middle Place Project. Nicky!”

“Yes?” Nicky had blooped into existence next to him.

“Strike Neil Josten off the Test One list.” Wymack’s smile was small but warm.

“That was a test?” Neil said testily. Wymack held out his hands.

“Honesty is an integral part of being a good person. You, out of everyone, are the most practised liar. Eight years on the run, twenty-two identities—I’m surprised you aren’t having an identity crisis.”

“Same.” Neil muttered. In all honesty, he was glad to have died as Neil Josten. Neil Abram Josten. Out of everyone he’d been, Neil was his favourite.

“If you can come forward, in front of the entire neighbourhood nonetheless, then I’m sure the rest will follow.” He cleared his throat. “The Middle Place Project is proving that humans are capable of  change, whether it be improving, or failing. There’s a few in the midst of the neighbourhood that we’re watching to see whether or not you can improve from your characteristic behaviours on earth.”

“Will we get into the Good Place if you do?”

“Maybe in five-thousand years.” Wymack promised. “If I can manage to convince my superiors of  your genuine progress.”

“Right.” Neil drawled. “Five-thousand years. No biggie.”

He glared at Neil with intense scrutiny, but somehow, Neil was unafraid of this ethereal being. He was giving Neil a chance, wasn’t he?

“Well?” Wymack grouched. “What are you still doing here?”

“What am I supposed to—“

“Figure it out, Josten. Just don’t tell anyone it’s a test. Got it?”

He pursed his lips. “Cool. Yeah. Got it.”

Wymack watched him, unimpressed, as he shuffled towards the door. Neil shot Wymack a quick grimace as he slipped out.

He blew his bangs out of his face with relief. Andrew stood in the waiting room, arms crossed and eyes barely slits. “So?”

“I’m alive.” He twinkled his fingers. “See?”

“Actually,” Nicky piped up.

“Shut up, Nicky.” They both ground out.

“Test forty-seven!” Wymack clapped his hands. “We’re finally getting into the good stuff. Ethical responsibility!”

Neil threw a troubled glance at Andrew, who, of course, stared impassively back. Ethics?

“What’s sitting in a classroom gonna do about our ethics.” Seth grunted.

Neil had decided he disliked Seth intensely. It was something about the constant fits of anger, irrational judgements and toxic intolerance to everything that wasn’t Allison’s tits or Adderall.

“Well, actually,” Kevin chided. Wymack snapped his fingers, effectively muting Kevin. The young man tried to scream in horror, but slumped in his chair with defeat.

“We’re going to be learning about some of your moral philosophisers and interpret what they had to say about what’s right and wrong. How about some basic questions, hm? Just to gage where each of you at.”

This wasn’t going to go well.

It was fine, wasn’t it? They had, what, five-thousand years?

“These first few should be simple.” Wymack picked a clipboard off his desk. “Let’s see. Neil?”

He looked up at the towering, omnipotent being. “What?”

“Is murder good or bad?”

Neil shrugged. “Depends.”

Wymack looked a little dismayed. “Andrew?”

Andrew jerked his thumb at Neil. “What he said. For example, Seth is a perfect example of why murder isn’t always bad.”

Neil grinned at him, and liked the way a spark of amusement glinted in his eye. Seth was probably clambering out of his chair to haul himself at Andrew in a fit of rage, but Neil wasn’t watching. He simply appreciated the sunlit hair that shone like spun gold, and the perfect understanding shared between them.

Their benevolent guardian simply dragged a hand over his face as his classroom dissolved into chaos.

“Good morning, son.”

Neil opened his eyes slowly. He was sleeping in a double bed, his double bed, in his cottage. In the afterlife. He was in the Middle Place. His name was Neil Josten. He had died at the age of 19. He played striker. His soulmate was Andrew Minyard.

Sitting upright, he saw Andrew standing at the opposite end of his bed. There was a young man standing behind him with a vicious glean to his eye; He had his chin hooked over Andrew’s shoulder.

Andrew was gagged, hands cuffed behind him. His feet were bare: His skin shone with sweat as his muscles convulsed. There were bruises blossoming under his skin: He’d put up a serious fight. How was he bruising? Could you be hurt in the afterlife?

“I said, good morning.”

Slowly, Neil craned his neck around. All six-feet of his father were craned over the edge of his bed, one fist denting the mattress and the other wrapped around Neil’s neck. He was looking at a mirror image, the eyes and the hair and the sadistic smile. Thick fingers tightened around Neil’s windpipe.

“Young Drake Spear was promoted to help me. It’s time to collect our rewards for such excellent work down in the Bad Place.” His grin was that of a wolfs.

“Fitting.” Neil wheezed out. Honestly, he was terrified. The thought of eternity trapped with the unending methods of his father was enough to wish that there was a way for Neil to die and end up in a further layer of the afterlife.

His father only laughed. The last thing he remembered noticing was Andrew closing his eyes. For a moment, it looked as though an angel was praying.

Dan crouched down, back to the wall. In her hand was a magnetic clamp, ready for Bad Nicky. It’d render him useless, and they couldn’t let Nathan Wesninski, Drake Spear or Riko Moriyama have access to him. They were powerful enough as it was.

Kevin was bone-white beside her. It had to have been years since he saw Riko Moriyama. Neil and Andrew weren’t the only ones facing their old demons today.

The man who’d stabbed Dan in the back had been boiling in a pit of acid. The demon in charge of the tank flashed a grin at her. “Want to join him?”

Aaron’s mother had leapt out at him from a shuffling line of prisoners, grabbing for fists of his hair and screaming. She hadn’t been able to tell which twin it was, mixing up the names as she spasmed with hysteria. Aaron had clutched his arms to his stomach and hurried away.

With Dan and Aaron’s close calls, Renee knew it was every possibility that her old gang leader had heard the commotion the group had caused and would want to connect with the girl who ended his life in a knife fight. Renee was clutching her rosary, praying as every demon brushed by her.

God, was Dan exhausted. Matt, Aaron and Seth had all been lured with narcotics. Then Matt got into a fight with a security guard, and Seth backed him up. Then someone insulted Allison as she was trying to flirt her way through a checkpoint, and she’d clawed their eyes out with her nails, but gotten bust up at a result.

So yeah. Not a great time for any of them.

“This is it, kid.” Wymack warned. “We’ve got a window of thirty seconds to get them out of there.”

Dan nodded.

A young man left the room, meaning Bad Nicky was watching over Andrew and Neil. Dan rolled out from her hiding position and bolted at the black-clad man standing in front of her. She whacked the cuffs on, stunning the look of contempt right out of those big brown eyes. He stumbled, turning around to look at her.

“Oh my god,” Allison cackled. “Bad Nicky is a straight, fuck-boy version of Nicky?”

It was true. He was wearing a flat-cap, backwards, and a big grey hoodie underneath a leather jacket. His jeans were torn and he wore stupid, stereotypical boots. He had a tattoo of a girl with her tongue between her fingers on his neck, and a gold-capped tooth.

“Hell.” He slurred. “You got me. Ha-aahh.”

Nicky was staring at himself with horror. “Disgusting.”

“Andrew,” Kevin faltered. “Where’s Neil?”

Andrew was sitting up, both hands chained to the bedposts behind him. He was blindfolded, his clothes in tatters and bloodied. Aaron rushed forward, dragging Nicky with him. The chains were cut and Dan watched Aaron murmur something to Andrew as he tore his blindfold off.

“We have to go.” Andrew said, fierce. Dan had never seen him so angered. “I know where Neil is.”

Matt grabbed bad Nicky and hauled him over his shoulder. The group filed out, lead by Andrew, Aaron surprisingly right on his heels. Despite the obvious abuse, he was legging it down the hallway. With the chaos of the Bad Place, the rag-tag team and their badges had looked like nothing more that a bunch of demons. With a Bad Nicky incapacitated and over Matt’s shoulder, they were running out of time. Andrew somehow had perfectly memorised the route to Neil’s cell.

They were almost there, when Andrew staggered to a holt. The young man they’d seen leaving the room earlier was standing in front of them. Aaron acted too quickly, brandishing a knife and jumping the guy. The knife buried itself into the man’s chest. Dan gasped.

“I won’t let him touch you again.” Aaron promised his twin. “Go.”

Andrew said nothing, instead shoving his way through a metal door on the left just metres past.

The demons present whirled upon their entrance. Dan felt her blood boil as she saw Neil in a chair, head hung. He couldn’t even lift his head to see who’d appeared.

“Wesninski, these humans are mine.” Wymack growled. “Give them back. They’re official property of the Middle Place.”

“Oh, oops.” The man—who did look scarily similar to Neil—grinned at the younger boy. Riko Moriyama. “It’s almost as though demons have to follow rules. Incredible.”

Riko had no eyes for anyone but Kevin. Kevin, who stood with his chin up and broad shoulders as he stared the other boy down.

“I’ll oversee your retirement myself, you rotten sack of sadistic fuckery.” Wymack snarled, stepping forward with Nicky at one side and Andrew at the other. “Back down. Now.”

“Kevin, Kevin, Kevin.” Riko clucked his tongue. “It’s so nice to see you. Such a shame that we’re opposed like this, brother.”

“I’m nothing like you.” Kevin rasped. “I’m going to go to the Good Place.”

“Why bother?” Riko leered. “When you can have so much more power, down here? They recruit the worst, you know. I was just human too. Now look at me.” He lifted his hand, and Neil spasmed, head flung back and mouth open in an aborted scream.

That was the precise moment that everything went to shit — as if everything hadn’t already gone to shit. Wymack launched at Wesninski: Andrew was hurling towards Riko, and the rest were attempting to shut the door on the copious amounts of demonic spawn trying to get a better look.

Dan was desperately trying to get someone’s attention but the only one who listened to her was Renee. That was ultimately futile, because Allison was thrown aside and Renee, obviously lost her shit. Even the faithful had their breaking points.

Kevin was desperately clawing for Neil to break him free: Andrew was brawling with Riko with a desperation that had Riko shaken, Wesninski was waving a knife in Wymack’s general direction, Matt was thrown over a demon’s shoulder and causing a ruckus, Seth was yelling and Allison was wiping furious tears off her face, snatching a knife off Renee.

Wesninski threw the knife. Riko threw himself at Neil. The door was thrown open.

“ENOUGH.” Nicky screamed, standing in the middle of the room.

Everyone froze.

“I’ve been through a lot, today!” Nicky’s voice was so shrill that Dan would have winced if she weren’t completely stiff. “I’ve hauled almost a dozen of you shits through portals, this way and that way. I’ve been running faster than I’ve ever had to run in my life, because I don’t run, I teleport! My husband’s disappeared because he wasn’t compatible with the Bad Place, I’m not meant to be this emotionally distraught because I’m just a machine, and now this?” He gasped. “I. Am. Flabbergasted. It’s my favourite human word, and that’s what I am right now. Not only have you—“ He pointed to Wesninski. “Defied basic laws by having a child with a human, you’ve been recruiting humans! Gracious, do you know the worst part of this entire shit-fuckery?” His voice raised into a scream once more. “I have to live out the rest of my eternal existence knowing that Bad Nicky is a straight fuck-boy!”

“That’s the worst part?” Neil said, weakly, his voice raw with screaming. “Well, gee, Nicky. I missed you too.”

“So,” Nicky continued. “I’m going to unfreeze my friends. Friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S. And we’re going to leave. And am going to report your demonic asses to the new Lord Ichirou of the underworld, and I hope you live in agony for eternity. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He snapped his fingers and Dan almost collapsed, if it weren’t for Matt holding her up. “We’re leaving.”

Andrew hauled Neil to his feet, clutching the taller boy to his side in a fit of possessiveness.

Dan stood by the door as she counted her crew out of Neil’s cell, watching Nicky carve an angry path through the mob of frozen demons. She glanced over her shoulder to see Kevin glaring at Riko.

“Kevin,” Dan started.

The man slapped Riko so hard that Riko’s head shifted, even with Nicky’s freeze power. Or whatever the fuck that was.

“You deserve so much worse than hell.” He said, calmly, before marching out the door. Dan followed him, squeezed his shoulder. His look was not as confident as he’d been momentarily ago, but he offered her a shaky smile.

“Let’s go home.” Wymack said, tiredly slinging an arm around Nicky’s shoulders.

They all smiled faintly, and with a nod, they were on their way home.

“How’d you do in the Trolley exam?”

Andrew glared at the sun. It was still peering over the horizon, the endless rolling hills, trying in vain to grasp a few more minutes of illumination. It turned the sky into a brilliant palette of purples and blues.

He wanted to shove Neil off the roof of this stupid house, but he probably wouldn’t even break a bone. He had been sleeping in Neil’s grossly cramped cottage for a few months, where there was only one room and Andrew had been donated the couch. They’d razed Andrew’s old house to the ground a few weeks back. That had been great fun.

The reason he wanted to shove Neil off was murky, but he knew part of it was because Neil provided him a tether: To stay in the Middle Place, to try and achieve Good Place status with everyone else, to stop himself from marching down and delivering himself into greedy hands. It didn’t matter if Drake and Wesninski and Riko were gone. Hell would still suck.

He hated it.

But he also couldn’t cut the rope.

“I ran you over. It was very satisfying.”

They corner of Neil’s mouth quirked. Andrew hated that too. He hated Neil’s stupid red curls and brilliantly blue eyes. They were sparkling in the sunset, each freckle and scar glossed with a decadent shade of gold. “What was it between?”

“You and nothing. I think I’m a bit behind in class.”

Again, the quirk of the mouth.

Truthfully, the choice had been between Neil and Aaron. Because they were all already dead and this was just a theory, Andrew knew it didn’t matter. But still, he’d found himself torn. Usually apathetic and uninterested, he was placed in the simulation and felt a strange thrumming in his. ear. His heartbeat. Quickening.

Aaron was his brother. He had promised Aaron protection. Aaron had gotten them both killed. Aaron ignored his conditions and went out with Katelyn, and lied about it. Aaron was his brother. Andrew died protecting Aaron from their mother. Aaron had stabbed Drake for him. Aaron was his brother.

But Neil was his other. Neil listened. Neil smiled. Neil was honest with Andrew. Neil was relaxed with Andrew. Neil looked at Andrew in a way that made Andrew felt as though he was coming undone, unravelling at the seams. Neil could see Andrew. Neil understood Andrew.

He’d only had a split second left to decide.

He’d chosen Neil over Aaron.

“Yes or no?”

Neil narrowed his eyes. “To what?”

“A kiss.”

The word sounded so delicate out of Andrew’s mouth. He felt delicate, exposed and raw to Neil’s understanding gaze. All this studying of ethics and morality and those stupid philosophers was getting to Andrew’s head. The question yes or no was balanced on a scale, the decision between forever and never ultimately resting on Neil’s final answer. Andrew fucking hoped it was a yes.

Death made one’s apathetic resolve melt like ice sometimes.

Gosh, he was a miserable forking sap. It was disgusting.

Neil smiled, so hesitant that it was almost unnoticeable. But Andrew saw it. Maybe Andrew understood Neil, too. “Yes.”

Fork the Good Place. Andrew was already there.

once again, credit goes to @gluupor /// link to their the good place au here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782301

hope u enjoyed!

[littlebitoffanfic]

A Marital Bed System

Fandom: Star wars Character: Hux Relationship: Hux/reader Request: I really enjoyed binging on all your hux x readers. Could you write me one where hux keeps leaving in the middle of the night to work. Make it super angsty but happy ending? When you woke up, you immediately knew your bed was empty. You didn’t even need to open your eyes to know. Sitting up, you stretch, allowing the sheet to fall from your body as you moved out of bed to grab a dressing gown and head into the next room of the small apartment. Still no sign of Hux, meaning he must be in his office just down the corridor. It was both an advantage to have his place of work so close but it was also a nightmare since Hux struggled to leave his work at the door when he came back. Knowing there wouldn’t be anyone about anyway, you decided just to go to him in your nightgown and robe. It covered your dignity anyway so even if someone did see you, there wouldn’t be an issue. your bare feet padded along the hallway before you came to the door of his office. You didn’t even knock, just walked straight in. It was a benefit of being the wife of the general. The second you entered, you heard a curse from within. “Damn.” Hux hissed, looking up from desk which had papers scattered across it as well as 3 screens projecting data onto the wall beside him. “Sorry to bother you.” You frowned, annoyed by his reaction to you entering the room. “I hoped you wouldn’t wake.” He shook his head, standing straight and looking at you. “Will you come back to bed any time soon?” You asked, wrapping your arms around yourself, the office a lot cooler than the rest of the ship. “i…”He trails off before looking away from you. “Probably not.” signing, you couldn’t hide your disappointment as your shoulders slouched. You couldn’t look at him anymore. This was the 10th time in 2 weeks you had woken up on your own. While you understood he was in a high position and respected that he had a mighty weight on his shoulders, you missed him. Over the last 2 years especially, he had become so demanded by his work, you barely saw him. He did make time for you, but it really wasn’t enough. You could tell he felt guilty about it and you knew he wanted more time with you, but he couldn’t give it to you. No one could doubt he loved you, and you knew he did all this for you as well as himself. But that didn’t make it any easier. You knew today had been hard for him. The supreme leader had been rather… ‘displeased’ by his work. This had result in him being thrown across the room like a ragdoll. You had been there but couldn’t do anything. Hux had been distance from you all day after that incident. You had just assumed his pride had been hurt. blinking back tears, you walk up to his desk and pick up his data pad. Hux saw your eyes watering. “[y/n], I am truly sorry.” He sounded genuine and you smiled despite your tears as you punched something into his data pad. “I know.” You look up and him and pass him back his data pad, showing an order for coffee and something to eat to his office. “Just make sure you get some sleep, darling.” You turned around and walked out the office, leaving Hux stunned. once you got back to your quarters, you pressed yourself against the wall and cried. Covering your mouth with your hand, you tried to silence the gasps for air and cries but couldn’t. You knew you weren’t going to get back to sleep without crying yourself to sleep and that didn’t sound too appealing right now, then your data pad light up from the table. Walking over, you saw a message from Hux. “do you wish to leave?” frowning, you felt a small rage brew inside you. Was he really trying to start a fight with you over messages? Especially when he was in the room just along the hallway. throwing down your data pad, you stormed out the room, anger now taking over your sadness as you threw open the door to his office. but then you heard a sniff and saw Hux had collapsed in his chair, he held his head in his hands on the table and seemed to be weeping like a broken man. “Im sorry.” He whispered. “I cant. You deserve better than this.” He shook his head, refusing to look at you. All the anger melted away when you saw him like this. He was a hard man to break, and even after 15 years of marriage, you had barley seen him cry. and never like such a broken man. “If you wish to leave, I wont begrudge you. I never deserved you. You should never have married me. You should have found a man who could give you everything.” He shook his head in his hands, growling more to himself than to you. That was when you noticed the drinks cabinet was open. While Hux did handle his alcohol well in a normal situation, when he was stressed and turned to drink it was different. All his deepest fears came out, all his darkest secret, every emotion he tried to conceal left his lips as alcohol entered. “I did.” Was all you said as you walked around the desk and leaned over the back of his chair, wrapping your arms around him. But he pushed back the chair, pushing you away as he stood and moved quickly for the drink. “No, you didn’t. im not a man at all.” He took a deep swig of the drink straight from the bottle. His hands were shaking as he did so. “No man lets his wife sleep alone. Or cry. Because he cant get a damn thing right.” you jumped as he threw the bottle across the room and it smashed on the opposite wall. His hunched over, breathing deeply while shaking and swaying on the spot. “you deserve better.” Hux whispered. You couldn’t take much more of this. Tears were running down your cheek and you wanted nothing more than for this to be over. You hated seeing him in such a desperate and depressed state. You did the only thing you could think of. The only thing that seemed to fix everything so far. Darting around him, you pressed your lips to his before he could protest. Unlike before, he wasn’t able to just pull away from your lips. He never could. His hands grabbed you by the waist and help you against his chest, tightly like he was afraid of loosing you. And he was. He was more than aware that if the supreme leader demanded it, you could be taken from him, shipped away to only see him on occasions. If he didn’t get his act together, it was a very real possibility. He couldn’t imagine his life without you anymore. You were the one constantly good thing. And yet, he didn’t want this sort of life for you. He knew you didn’t like spending every breathing moment on this ship, but you never begrudged him, never complained. You didn’t complain about the crap canteen food you survived on, nor the lack of interactions with your friends and family. You just smiled and said you were grateful he was here with you. One night, that’s all you had wanted from him. One single night to remain in your quarters. And he was unable to give it to you. he could afford anything. He could get you any gadget or jewellery you wanted. Hell, he could even get you your own ship which you could use for traveling in. but you never asked for anything, just his presents. Hux swayed against you, his mind racing. He could get you a little ship, one which you could use to go see your family and friends when needed. He was sure the supreme leader wouldn’t care if he was able to secure it so it could be tracked by the first order and monitored so no one would attack or hack it. And as for his attention, he knew that he could take some time off. Even just a couple of days. You’d enjoy that. You felt Hux relax considerably during the kiss, making you relax in turn. Soon the kiss had turned from desperate to passionate but calm. You pulled away for air, your cheeks a little pink from the kiss. “I think you should come back to bed. Just for a little while.” You smile as you run your fingers of his cheeks before fixing his hair. All hux is able to do is nod as you take his hand in your and lead him out of the office, glad to leave the place that had all his alcohol. You thought about the coffee and food you had ordered, but you knew if he wasn’t in the office, they would leave it on the table. You could deal with that tomorrow and if he went back to work in a few hours, he would have something at lease. Once back in your room, you took off your dressing gown and then moved to him. He had been known to sleep in shirts and trousers before, but you knew he didn’t like when the shirt was buttoned up. Your fingers un did all the buttons before you leaned in and pressed soft kisses along his collar bone and then up his neck. Hux wrapped his arms lazily around you as he did so. The cool and fresh air in the apartment sobering him a little more. “I do love you, you know that right?” He speaks in a low and tired voice as you pull away to look up at him. “I know. And I love you.” You smile, even after 15 years of marriage, a confession of love still meant the world to you. Pulling him to bed, he wrapped himself around you once you were both under the covered. You smiled, lazily draping your arm over his torso to run your fingertip up and down his back. “I think-“ You started, drawing his attention down to you. “-that we should have a system.” “What sort of system?” Hux couldn’t help but chuckle at your suggestion. “well, you’re only allowed to leave here 3 times a week after we go to bed. And if you only leave 2 times, your allotted time can be transferred to the next week. So you can bank time in case you have a busy week.” You look up to him for approvable but saw a soft smile on his lips as he stared lovingly down at you. “and what would this system be called?” he asked, humouring you but liking the idea. He always did work best with restrictions, so something like that might help him manage things better. “the Marital Bed System. Or MBS for short.” You giggle. “my dear, I do not deserve you.” He whispers as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Perhaps not, but you need me.” You quip, making Hux let out a laugh. “Truer words have never been spoke.” Hux yawns as he closes his eyes, falling asleep with you in his arms as it should be.

[writinanon]

Young Love

In this one Rook had a husband, the lovely David, and though they divorced they retain feelings for each other. David is a sweet, gentle loving man. He’s gonna get eaten alive by the Seeds.

  Rook and David had gotten married when they were teenagers, young and believing they knew everything about life. They tried to make it work for several years but found themselves in different places and quietly divorced but agreed to remain friends.

  The Resistance of Hope County and Project Eden’s Gate were at a tentative truce because there were hellish monsters eating people in the night. These monsters weren’t part of Joseph’s Collapse and they were killing indiscriminately making them a problem for everyone. Rook and some of the Whitetails had managed to free a group that was taken by the monsters. Among them was her ex-husband.

 “So, you got taken by monsters? I always thought the Cult got you.” She muttered as she was patching him up at the Station. Faith and Joseph flickered on the fringes, helping the Peggies that had been freed with the others. David laughed.

 “Just my luck, right? There’s a crazy cult and I get nabbed by monsters.” He grabbed her hand and looked at her. “Thanks for saving me. Again.”

 “That’s two you owe me, kid.” She teased, feeling heat rushing into her face. He grinned back at her and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

 “Deputy could you lend a hand? We need to reset the bone in his leg and Jacob isn’t here to help hold him down.” Faith called cheerfully and Rook sighed, gently pulling her hands free.

 “Duty calls.” She sighed and gave him one last smile before settling beside Faith to help poor man that had his leg broken.

  Rook chuckled softly as some of the children gathered around her listening to her retellings of Fairytales and magic.

 “Are you gonna be the Knight that saves Lady Faith, Ms. Deputy?” One of the little girls asked.

 “Uh…”

 “No way she and Lord John are gonna be together ‘member? He said he gots the church all ready for her.”

 “That wasn’t exactly…”

 “No way she should marry Mr. Jacob because he’s big and strong and he can protect Ms. Deputy!”

 “I think the Father and Ms. Deputy should be married ‘cause he loves her and just wants to make her happy. He says so all the time.” They continued to argue over who she should marry when one of them suddenly looked up.

 “Why don’t you just marry them all?”

 “Yeah! We can marry you to Father Joseph and Lord John and Lady Faith and Mr. Jacob! Then you can stay with us forever!”

 “Let’s go ask Father Joseph if we can marry him to Ms. Deputy!” They rushed off while she was still frozen in place.

 “What just happened?”

 “It looks like you just got yourself engaged to a bunch of crazy cult leaders via children.” David muttered and she jumped.

 “Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

 “Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly. “You wanna get outta here for a bit? I found this little pond not too far away and there’s still a whole afternoon’s worth of daylight. Not that I’m scared. I’ll be in the sacred protection of Ms. Deputy.” He pointed at her with finger guns.

 “Ass.” She shoved his shoulder but followed after him. It would be nice to have some breathing room other than Jerome’s church.

  David was used to watching Rook, she really was a sight to behold. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even when covered in blood and arguing about going back into the nest to try to get the other hunters, that had a few months earlier been trying to kill/capture her, and save them. Pratt, Grace, Jacob, and the Sheriff weren’t budging on the matter calling it a suicide mission. This did not put her in a good mood. He knew she’d need time to cool off and almost reached out to stop Faith and John as they tried to follow her but she was quick to snap at them.

 “I don’t feel like being drugged or drowned. Why don’t you fuck off and go pretend you want to save people somewhere else?” She hissed before turning on her heel sharply and storming off.

 “Mark me down as horny and scared.” Sharky muttered.

 “When she’s upset you gotta let her be mad for a while. Or she’ll bite your head off.” David sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Rook stomped into the river, dove under, and screamed. She surfaced, took a gulp of air, and dove back to scream again. She surfaced again and slapped the water around her. Once she’d tired herself out she slunk back to the river bank and settled into the field. She ignored the fact that Joseph had followed her and witnessed this act of childishness. She ignored everything but her frustration over the fact that there were people she couldn’t help, people she couldn’t save. She panted and glared at the horizon.

 “Your anger is justified.” She listened to him shuffle closer and sit next to her. “However, we cannot afford to lose you.”

 “I’m not worth any more then they are.” Her voice was rough, her throat hurt. She half wanted to scream again but didn’t.

 “You are worth very much.” She glanced at him and then flopped backward onto the grass.

 “Why are you so hellbent on saving me?”

 “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” He hummed and started to sing softly. Rook huffed and threw her arm across her eyes and felt her anger slowly loosening its grip. Joseph’s voice was stupidly pleasant to listen to.

  Rook was enjoying a quiet night not out on patrol, she was forced to relax by Jess and Adelaide with Grace dragging her to the Spread Eagle. She wouldn’t actually drink enough to full on impair herself, but she had a pleasant buzz, enough that she let John sit next to her and didn’t antagonize him deliberately. She was a touch worried that the more time she spent in the company of the Seeds the more she started to like them.

 “And with the Power of Yes so many doors open.”

 “Oh my god.” She laughed softly. “John that is like a very sick version of one of David’s marriage proposals please tell me you haven’t been asking for tips? I never actually said yes to any of his proposals; I was the one who asked him when the time came.” He blinked at her and she took a drink of her ale and shook her head.

 “Wait a second David ain’t lyin’? You were really married?” Sharky announced loudly.

 “Say it a little louder Sharky, I don’t think the whole county heard you.” He grinned and sucked in a breath, but Adelaide shoved a moon pie in his mouth while smiling brightly at Rook.

 “Now I know you know better than to ask a lady about her ex’s honey.” She glanced at him frostily. “Shame about it though, you and David are cute together. He seems like the perfect domestic housewife.”

 “David is a good guy.” She looked at the last dregs of her drink and shrugged. “We were better friends at the time.”

 “And now?” John’s voice was very controlled, it put Rook on high alert she looked over at him warily.

 “As of right now I don’t have time for a relationship with anyone. Monsters to fight and a County to Liberate.”

 “When this little rebellion is over then.” He smiled at her, they were nose to nose. “After you get the courage to say yes.”

 “John if I ever say yes it won’t be willingly. I’ll never give you the satisfaction.”

 “We’ll see now won’t we Deputy?”

 “Can you two just fuck already? This weird tension is giving me an awkward boner.” Sharky had eaten himself free. Rook reeled back from John’s space and blamed the heat in her cheeks on the alcohol she’d consumed before getting up.

 “Well I’m leaving before this gets any more uncomfortable.” She announced and speed walked out the door.

  David found Staci with Jacob and Rook. He wondered if he should be concerned that the Deputy was constantly half a step behind Rook or Jacob, he was never without one of them. He wondered how he was going to get him to go see the doctor when he was spotted. Jacob’s piercing blue eyes zeroed in on him and he tried not to shiver. The utter disgust and disapproval in his stare was unnerving and David had to wonder what he did to earn that reaction from the Soldier. Luckily Rook took notice of him and grinned waving from where they were standing. A Judge and Boomer were cuddling on the ground next to their respective masters.

 “Yo.” She called and he waved back.

 “Hey you guys mind if I borrow Staci? Doc says he hasn’t been in for his checkup.” Staci’s eyes widened and he looked nervously from Jacob to Rook and back.

 “Actually I haven’t seen Doc Brown in a while either, mind if I join you?” Staci relaxed a bit but kept his back ramrod straight.

 “Please tell me you’re not going to make references to cheesy ‘80’s movies the whole time?” He teased.

 “Nah only like four fifths of the time.” She smirked. “Mind watching Boomer for me Dave? Don’t want him getting a makeover.” She shot Jacob a look and he grinned at her.

 “You can always teach an old dog new tricks.”

 “I’d rather he not run around with a red cross on his face and without his tail. How else is he supposed to show he enjoys ripping a gun out of a Peggie’s hands and bringing it back to me?” She smirked before turning on her heel and Staci fell into step with her. “Thanks David!”

 “I didn’t agree to this!”

 “You’re the best! Please don’t murder him!” She yelled back and David had a feeling she wasn’t talking to him for half of that. He glanced back at Jacob and was once more having a death glare sent his way. Once Rook and Staci had completely disappeared down the hallway Jacob finally spoke.

 “The Strong don’t mate with the Weak.” He said ominously. “My Deputy doesn’t need any more Weakness than I already allow.” Before David could reply Jacob whistled and headed off with the Judge following him. Boomer stayed beside David but looked sad that his cuddle partner had left them.

 “Rook is in trouble boy.” He confided to the dog, resolving to talk to her about this once she wrapped up with the doctor.

  Rook was leaning back in Jacob’s chair reading something while Staci was being examined by Dr. Brown, who only shared a name with the character since she was a young woman in her forties and not a crazy man in his fifties, actual medical doctor not a half-cracked scientist that was right.

 “Peaches ain’t bit the Doc yet?”

 “I haven’t heard any screams so progress.” She glanced up at Jacob as he stood in the doorway. “From your lack of gore I take it David is still alive. Thanks.” She looked back down at the book in her hands.

 “For now the Weak like him have a purpose.” He stepped into his office and edged around his desk to stand behind her. Her shoulders tensed and she was watching him out of the corner of her eye.

 “Oh yeah? And what is that exactly?”

 “Cannon fodder for the Strong.” He leaned over her and she shallowed her breathing and kept still. “You shouldn’t let Weakness like that distract you Pup.”

 “According to you I am Weak.” She spat his words back at him. “Besides David has me to be strong for him.” She turned and glared at him defiantly.

 “You have Weakness, but you aren’t Weak. There’ll be no need to Cull you once this is over. But if you want to keep playing this game I can show you who is stronger.” They continued to stare at each other until there was a yelp from down the hall. “Sound like Peaches finally snapped.” She sighed and stood but wasn’t able to leave until he allowed her to. She frowned at him and he smirked at her before letting her pass to rescue the doctor.

  David caught up with Rook as she was heading to Faith’s Bunker to check in on the children and make sure that their food levels were still holding steady.

 “Hey can we talk?” He asked, not really having it be a question but knowing better than to try and corner her in confrontation.

 “Sure walk with me.” She motioned him to follow her. “What’s up?”

 “So I think that Jacob Seed is obsessed with you.”

 “I’m aware.”

 “You’re a – seriously? This doesn’t bother you at all?”

 “What am I supposed to do about it? We need all the capable allies we can get right now and afterward I’ll go back to trying to arrest them.”

 “Rook the more you’re around them the more you’re in danger.”

 “What would you have me do David? Stop fighting? Stop trying to free Hope? I can’t walk away from my home.”

 “What the hell is the Sheriff doing? Or that Marshall? Shouldn’t they call for the FBI or the National Guard? Why does it have to be you?”

 “Because no one else was strong enough, no one else managed to escape!” They stopped and were staring at each other. “Look I get it that this is all new to you and it freaks you out up I’m not going to stop fighting for Hope and I’m not going to turn away good help in our time of need, even if it means I have to suck up my pride.”

 “And when Jacob decides you’re too nice, too weak, and turns on you? What then?” David felt tears in his eyes and he knew he shouldn’t get in her space, but he couldn’t help it. Rook was putting her life in danger and he couldn’t stand it. He could never stand to watch her think so little of herself. “I love you. I can’t bare to watch you get killed for the good of others.” Her angry eyes vanished and she stared at him in shock.

 “David?” She whispered softly. They were so close to each other.

 “Deputy!” Faith’s voice rang out and then she was latching herself to Rook’s arm. “When you weren’t on time we were getting worried.” The children that Faith had, the orphans of the county, circled around them and effectively created a barrier between them.

 “Sorry we got caught up in conversation.”

 “Oh? Is it serious? If you’re nervous I could help you walk the Path, David. The Father’s Wisdom reveals all and will help you settle.”

 “No thanks.” Faith smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.

 “Later then? I’m sure Joseph would love to have you among the Flock.” It sounded like a threat. David faintly realized it was a threat. Rook growled softly and glared at Faith.

 “Leave him alone.” Faith giggled and snuggled closer to Rook’s side.

 “When all the Monsters are gone we’ll talk more about Bliss and the Path.” She assured and tugged Rook away. David frowned but followed. He wasn’t going to abandon her and he was more than willing to fight for the woman he loved. Even if it was against two of the Seeds.

[amazingalphys]

Prompt: Alphys and Undyne play Mario Kart. VERY AGGRESSIVELY. 

Thanks for the prompt, @eevees-garbage!  I hope this was something like you were looking for.

Rating: G

Characters: Alphys, Undyne (POV), and a special guest appearance from THE GREAT PAPYRUS

Pairing: Alphys/Undyne

---

Undyne liked to compete.  There was something about the thrill of competition that pushed her to new heights of skill.  Alone, she could carry six, maybe seven children at once.  If she was in a child lifting competition, she could lift fifteen and a half children, all the while shouting taunts at her rivals.  

Alphys was different.  Undyne would say she had been ambitious once, and when Alphys was sure she was right, she would state her point for hours at a time, but those just weren't the same thing.  

No matter how many times Undyne tried to rile her up into an intense air hockey battle, or tried to transform self-esteem jogging with Papyrus into a race, Alphys just cheerfully accepted her own defeat.  Undyne didn't mind hearing how cool she looked when she won, but still.  

She'd thought, once, that she had managed to get Alphys worked up about winning a high stakes  bowling game against their friends, but during the harrowing final few rounds Undyne had glanced back at where Alphys was sitting and found her checking her phone, watching the trailer for the new season of her favorite anime.

Undyne learned to accept it.  Alphys wasn't competitive, but she was passionate.  She was brilliant, she loved her friends, and she was always trying to improve herself in ways that mattered to her.  So what if she sat on the side when Undyne got a team together for beach volleyball? Undyne loved her for being herself.  Wouldn't it be worse for Alphys to pretend to care about winning the annual monster arm wrestling competition, or whatever?  Undyne was pretty proud of herself for being such an understanding girlfriend.  

But she was wrong.

Completely, 100% wrong, from start to finish.  Undyne would have said Alphys didn't have a competitive bone in her body, but she actually had one, just one, and it contained an entire skeleton's worth of condensed competitive energy.

"Oh, sweet!  A racing game?"  Undyne knelt on the floor, digging through a pile of videogames to find one she felt like playing.  They'd recently finished an epic multi-game fantasy dating sim, and its conclusion had left a hole in their schedule that only a new video game could fill.

Alphys leaned over the back of the couch, checking what she held up.  "...oh, right!  I, uh..I really liked that game for a while."

"Who's the mustache gremlin?"

"You d-don't have to play as him, even though he's the one it's named after! There's all sorts of characters!  Princesses, turtle monsters - " Alphys launched into a full description of the character choices while Undyne brought over the game and set things up.

"So don't kick my butt too hard!"  Undyne said, laughing.  "You're an expert, right?"

"Um, I've played...well, I got really into it for a little while, but it was mostly me against the computer which is a completely different experience than playing against a person, obviously, so then I - well, I did find some friends to play with and then...well!  Never mind!  Let's pick characters!"  

"Hell yeah!"

"Maybe you should play against the computer a couple times, to get the hang of the controls?"

"Nah, that's for babies.  Show me what you've got."

Undyne noticed unease flicker across Alphys' features, but passed so quickly Undyne wondered if she had imagined it.

She expected to lose, and she did, handily.  Where did her hands go?  At one point, Undyne almost ripped her controller in half in frustration.  The worst part was she got the impression Alphys was trying to help her. She spotted her start to lean in, and then Alphys leaned back again and suddenly she'd be in second place instead of first.  

But she'd still be the first one across the finish line, every single time.

"Th-thanks, Undyne.  That really took me back," Alphys said.  "Eheh...I used to play too much."

"You won!  I'm proud of you," Undyne said.  

Alphys looked away, just for a second, and then she smiled.  "Yeah!  It was fun!"

Undyne needed to get better.  She only seen the tiniest flicker of the skill Alphys was hiding, and she wanted to see it all.  She wanted to see Alphys struggle to keep up with her.  She wanted to beat her and see her swoon in admiration at a display of skill that she understood and admired.  Screw volleyball!  Screw bowling!  

She was going to get so good at Mario Kart that Alphys was going to fall in love with her all over again.  

She hid her plan from everyone but Papyrus.  He was her training partner.  He thought the game was a silly child's game, at first, but he eventually admired the puzzle-like structure of the racing tracks and looked forward to their friendly competitions.  

"I've been playing that Mario Kart game with Papyrus," Undyne said.  "Just a couple times!  But I think I have a handle on the controls now."

"Oh!  It's really a fun game, right?  More complicated than you think when you start - like there are levels of strategy that - uh, anyway!  Ok!" Alphys took their dinner out of the microwave and brought it into the living room.  Undyne couldn't wait until she showed Alphys how much she'd improved.

Alphys beat her again, immediately.  "You really have a hang of the controls!"

Undyne almost threw her controller through the window.  "Yeah!" she said, through gritted teeth.  "How much did you play this, again?"

"W-well...um." Alphys looked away.  "I don't remember how many hours I logged, but there were a couple months where I probably played....a few hours a day?"

There was absolutely no way Alphys didn't remember the exact number of hours she had played.  That wasn't how Alphys' mind worked.  

"But you're so much better!  Let's play again!"  Was there a light in Alphys' eyes, or was that just the lamp reflecting on her glasses?

-

"I have to beat her," Undyne said, pacing back and forth in Papyrus' kitchen. "I have to run her smug adorable face right off the road!"

"YOU MEAN IN THE GAME."

"No shit! Jeez, Papyrus, what do you take me for?"  She whapped him on the back, laughing, and he fell on the ground.

"YOU CAN GET VERY...COMPETITIVE."

"This is just a friendly girlfriend thing!  I want to kick her ass at this freaking game, and then make her some tea and eat snacks and watch cheesy anime the rest of the night."

"I SEE!  SO THIS IS PART OF SOME ELABORATE DATING RITUAL."

"Uh, yeah, Papyrus.  Step one - complete devastation in Mario Kart.  Step two - we get HITCHED on the BEACH on a MOONLIT NIGHT."

"HOW ROMANTIC! DID YOU BUY A RING?"

"No - ok YES you nerd, but -- ANYWAY, STEP THREE!  I noogie all the huge dorks in the room!"  

"OW, WAIT, BUT WE HAVEN'T REACHED THAT STEP IN THE PROCESS YET."  

-

"W-wow, Undyne, you're really good!"  Alphys said, smiling.  

Alphys had beat her.   Again.  Easily.  

"Alphys, I need you to do something for me," Undyne said.  "I need you to be honest."

"Wh-what? I'm...trying to be honest, all the time!  How could you say that about..."  She trailed off into a long silence, and then she sighed.  "What do you want to know?"

"How much of this game have you played?”

"Oh, god.  Um. Way too much."  She laughed, nervous.  "Do you remember when I was supposed to be working on that project for Mettaton, and I was...sort of.  I, uh, hit a snag and I decided to play a game to try and...loosen up, a bit?  Clear my head.  This was that game.  I got, um, reeeeeally into it.  Partially out of frustration because I still couldn't figure out an answer to his battery issues, but also, I don't know.  It was...fun?"

They had gone on quite a few dates during that time, but Alphys had always seemed tired.  Alphys when she was tired tended to have a frenetic energy, almost a level of desperation underneath everything she did.  Undyne had assumed she was having trouble with her work and was watching a lot of anime.  This wasn't that different.

"It kind of got easy, so I joined a club, and then there was a, uh, tournament, and - "

"Wait!  You were in a competition, and you didn't tell me?"  

"I was supposed to be working!  I felt so guilty!  Every second I wasn't playing, I felt guilty."

"But I would've cheered you on!"

"I...thank you. That would have been nice."  Alphys relaxed.  "I don't know.  Mettaton found out eventually, and he and his cousin and Sans for some reason hosted an intervention, and I haven't played much since then."

All this had happened behind Undyne's back.  "Did you win?"  

"I, uh..." Alphys drew something out of her inventory.  It was a gold statue of the mustache gremlin.

"Holy SHIT, Alphys!"  Undyne hugged her tight.  "I'm so freaking proud of you right now!  That's amazing!  That game is actually really really hard!"  

"You're...p-proud of me?  It's just a...silly game, honestly.  I shouldn't have gotten that into it.  I was just avoiding my problems, again."

"Ok, yeah, but that's still really cool!"

"Is it?"

"I mean, you're a huge nerd!  This is like the ultimate cool thing for huge nerds!"

"Go big or go home, right?"  Alphys giggled.  

"And now that I know I'm going up against a championship winning gamer -"

"It was just a regional - "

"A friggin CHAMPION with a creepy but totally badass statue, I know how much training I have to do to kick your butt!"

"Wh-what?"

"I'm going to win against you so hard you're going to beg me to take your trophy away from you, because you just don't deserve it anymore!"

"What?  Undyne, I earned that!  I spent months - and you think you can just waltz in and play a few games and beat me?"  

There it was.

"YUP!  Maybe you know a bunch of lame strategies, but I have the honed reflexes of a natural warrior!  Once I start to really try -"

"I'll - I'll just beat you again!  You really think you can - are you serious? You have NO idea what you're up against.  I could fall asleep and kick your butt!"

"That's what I want to hear!"  Undyne grabbed her controller.

There was a fire in Alphys eyes.  The desire, no the need to win.  

-

It was a month of regular games before Undyne won her first one.  Alphys had been playing cocky all night, and she finally paid the price for it. Undyne jumped on the couch, ripping the controller right out of its socket and almost throwing the game system onto the floor.  She pumped her arms in the air.

"HELL YEAH! There's a NEW champion in THIS house!"

"Oh, come one, Undyne!  That's one out of, wh-what, a hundred?"  Alphys scrambled to put the system back in order.  "That wasn't skill! That was just luck and I'll prove it to you."

When Alphys won the next one, she clambered up onto the sofa and yelled, "S-suck on th-that!  No one can beat the champion!"

"YEAH!" Undyne jumped up next to her and held her in the air.  Alphys' head almost bumped on the ceiling.  "You're the winner!"  She spun Alphys around until she got queasy.

They put away the controllers for the night.  Undyne made tea and Alphys got some snacks and brought them into the living room.  

"I think I'm going to, um, get sick if I go around the track again tonight," Alphys admitted.

"We were like halfway through that lacrosse anime before we got kind of distracted," Undyne said.

"Oh!  And the team captain was just about to confess something!  I can't believe I forgot."

Undyne grabbed a blanket and tossed it over both of them.  "I just want to know if they're going to win."

"Well, even if they lose, I'm sure it'll be like a moral victory," Alphys said.  

"Screw moral victories," Undyne said.  "I want to see someone get their butt kicked."

Alphys laughed.  She leaned against Undyne's shoulder as the opening theme blared through the living room.  

[shootymcshoot]

slorp

read on ao3

It was a hot, sunny afternoon when Lance finally decided to leave his bedroom and enter the kitchen. Thin material of his tank-top clung to his skin unpleasantly and so were his blue, star printed boxers and his short hair.

He looked around with bleary eyes until his sight reached the fridge. A tiny, weary smile graced his face as he shuffled towards it and opened it.

Cool breeze was indeed refreshing  but it wasn’t enough to fully wake him up.

No. He needed something better than this.

His eyes skimmed through multiple products stored in it until they stopped abruptly, finding what their owner was searching for. He reached for it and smiled giddily.

The carton was blue and deceivingly plain looking, a small, happily smiling cow was printed on the front and the back, right above the bold, sunny yellow letters. Lance opened it and, checking if no one was nearby to scold him for not taking a glass, started chugging with pure delight.

Ah, milk.

Healthy, multifunctional, tasty milk.

Milky milk.

Milkity milk milk.

Milk.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmilk

Yum yum yum-milk

Yumilk

hte molke

The boy could feel his bones growing stronger and his mind working better, heavy fog of sleepiness fading as if by help of a magical wand, each sip was like a kiss from Jesus himself. A kissus. Pure, white, cow energy empowered by calcium was slowly filling his stomach and spreading throughout his body, Metaphysical Milk Haters (MMH) screamed in agony as it drowned them in its creamy goodness. You could almost hear their

“What the fuck”.

Lance stopped, mortified. Not letting go of carton, he looked at the unexpected intruder.

It was Keith. His hair were dishevelled even more than usually and he wore his fanny packs over his red pyjamas. Hot and sweaty as ever.

Lance swallowed and took the carton away from his lips.

“Is there, mmm(ilk), something wrong?” he asked innocently, though his palms begun to sweat and he could hear his heartbeat picking up its pace. He never knew what Keith’s opinion on milk was but he was aware that his ex-rival, current roommate and (hopefully) soon to be boyfriend never came in contact with it during their shared meals.

Keith seemed hesitant.

“Is… Is this milk?” he whispered conspiratorially. Lance blinked once, twice. The other boy kept his gaze on him and so Lance, by sheer force of his personality’s nature, didn’t break the contact. Weird staring contest lasted for next few minutes, stopped by Lance’s slow, careful nod (his eyes god a bit too dry, dammit).

Keith smiled and his eyes shone like two navy rocks, shaped like human eyes and very shiny. It was beautiful and Lance could feel his breath hitch.

“Can I try?” Keith asked hopefully and  Lance looked at him, completely shocked.

“Wait, you’ve never tried milk?!”

Keith shrugged in response. “Shiro told me it was bad for my stomach so everything I ate had to be lactose free” he admitted sheepishly and Lance couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He laid his hand on his arm and smiled tentatively and Keith blushed.

“It’s okay, he’s off on a date with Slav, I won’t tell anyone you drank it” he whispered conspiratorially and winked.

Keith took the carton.

Meanwhile Shiro and his soon-to-be-husband Slav sat in  a quaint, little café, enjoying their hot drinks and a hearty piece of apple pie. After long two weeks of seeing each other only in passing due to the workload they had to deal with, they finally got some free time for each other and Shiro was content to hold his fiancé’s hand while the other chattered excitedly about his latest project. He looked at the other male with a dopey smile and was about to respond something to him when he felt it.The tingling in his left calf.He quickly let go of Slav’s hand, resulting in a sudden stop to his story, and bent down. Slowly, he rolled up his pant leg. Exactly like he thought, the goose bumps made his hair stand straight. He quickly rolled his trousers down and sat up. His fiancé looked at him, worried.“Are your Keith senses tingling again?” he asked, fidgeting with his hands and Shiro smiled sadly and nodded, taking his jacket off of the seat.“Guess we’ll have to put a rain check on our date honey, I’m really sorry” he apologised and peck Slav on the cheek before dashing out of the café.

Something bad was about to happen.

They lied on the floor in the kitchen. Stacks of empty cartons and plastic containers lied around them, a jar half-filled with yoghurt rolled away from Keith’s hand and he whimpered, trying to stretch and reach the thing without changing his position too much. Beside him, Lance was finishing his sixth bowl of milk cereals with extra milk. It was very milky.

“Can you feel the calcium strengthening your bones” he asked, as he threw the bowl to the side. It smashed into little pieces.

Keith barely moved his head to look up at him “hand me mah yohurt” he slurred, making grabby hands at him.

Lance was about to stand up, when the door to the kitchen burst open revealing a very distressed Shiro.

“I HAVE ARRIVED” he yelled, doing the hero pose™. Both boys looked at him in terror. There was a pause during which they all looked at each other in complete silence,  the three of them slowly processing the situation they were all in.

Suddenly Keith seemed to lose any remnants of his previous sluggishness. He jumped into a crouching position and stared at his brother wildly.

“YOU WONT TAKE ME ALIVE, I HAVE THE POWER OF GOD AND ANIME ON MY SIDE” he yelled  and before either Shiro or Lance could do anything he dived for his yoghurt, immediately damping the rest of it into his mouth. He threw away the jar and instantly jumped onto the counter and emptied out the leftover container of sour cream, while Shiro woke up from his stupor and launched at Keith to catch him.  The boy tried to escape but he got caught by his leg right before he managed to leap down.

“LANCE, HELP ME” he screamed desperately as he trashed in his brothers arms. Lance looked at him, his eyes showing how big of a battle he had to fight with himself. Finally, he stood up and looked at Keith.

“You have to promise me, that you won’t treat me differently if I do” he pleaded, keeping his fists close to his body..

“Lance, don’t” Shiro tried to interrupt, his arms tightening around Keith, as the other failed at trying to jab his elbow into his stomach. The boy smiled wobbly and a little laugh escaped his mouth

“Oh Lance, I will love you no matter what” he confessed. Lance looked at him, shocked, then smiled back brightly. Suddenly, he started changing. Shiro dropped Keith to the ground, and the boy ran up to Lance.

“Lance?!  Lance what is happening?!” he asked franticly. He couldn’t stand close to him for long though, his brother tried to catch him again and so he had to dart to the side to avoid his strong, manly arms.

The fight ensued while Lance’s body folded and grew, slowly changing its colour. Legs turned into hooves, a thin tail with a small ball of fur grew out, body got covered in patches of black and white.

“I love you too Keith” the boy managed to say before the transformation ended “now jump on me!”

“NO!” yelled Shiro as Keith launched across the counter and bestrode the majestic cow that now stood where his friend and the love of his life has been before. The animal moved and soon it barrelled through the wall and onto the streets.

Shiro tried running after them but he couldn’t catch up to the couple.

Soon, the cow and it’s young rider disappeared down the road, into the slowly setting sun.

[as-breakable-as-glass]

🕯 for Glass and Gaster

“One, two, three testing, testing is this thing on?”‘Sans.’“What? You know there's not much of a point recording this since I’m the only one speaking. To anyone who listens it’s going to sound like I’m talking to myself. “Who’s this for again anyway, the king?”‘It is for other scientists know of our procedure for reference.’“Right listening to half a conversation is going to be a lot of help to them, got it.”‘...Please begin Sans.’“Heh alright, alright. How much background do I have to give?”‘Start with what it is and how the idea came to us.’ He signed.“Ok so, project ASTQ: Alternate Space Time Quantal Mechanism - built to allow monsters who do not possess the natural magic to see into other timelines to do so- first began as a simple ‘what-if’ idea. It was cooked up by the head royal scientist, Wingdings Gaster Serif, and his trusty lab assistant, Sans Serif while looking through old machinery made during the Great War late one night. Or you know, early morning- whichever way you want to look at it. Ultimately for the sake of shits and giggles it was further discussed how to go about constructing the thing. “The following morning, after a few hours of sleep and several cups of coffee in the head scientist’s case,” (there was an audible huff of irritation from Gaster but Sans didn’t pay it much mind) “the two were able to look back on their idea. Basically the following conversation ensued:“‘Did… we really write this?’, “Wow. We should stay up late more often Dings.”‘Sans.’“Just trying to give our listeners the whole picture. Anyway this is the first formal experiment of Project ASTQ in the CGS series. We’ll be sending simple, inanimate object through the prototype first, then move on to more complex items.” Sans looked at his father to see if that was enough was given a nod in confirmation.“Alright then, today we are in one of the testing rooms over the Core. There's a nice viewing window to monitor its activity directly as well as to see its cool light show in all its flaming glory.”That managed to get a chuckle out of the head scientist and Sans grinned, even though it sounded reluctant.“The prototype has been connected to the Core for power and the energy levels have been adjusted to not send project ASTQ into overdrive. We’ll begin at low energy but increase the input as needed. View file CGS-00726 for reference about that.“Alright, machine’s off. No raw energy spikes or sudden fluctuations… Photon readings inside are negative… you ready to do this Dings?”‘Oh course.’ He signed. ‘Let’s begin.’Sans grinned and set the recording device down on the control panel. “Object number one has been positioned inside the machine; beginning to open the first valve.” From there things ran smoothly. At the energy level they were on, there was no reaction other than the soft wirle of energy as the machine blinked to life before them. That was fine. With such low energy input, they hadn’t expected anything to happen right away.They most certainly hadn’t expected the machine to start drawing in more energy without their interference however. Or for it directly channel the Core’s inner energy.It was like the thing was pulling every scrap of raw power it could from the sea of magic charged plasma below them and nothing would stop it. Code series failed, passwords were unresponsive. It was almost as if the thing had a mind of its own now.The Core was the only thing that was responding and it wasn’t in any way pleasant. Through the window, white hot light poured in, draining everything of its color.At the rate things were going… the Core was going to do more than a creep light show. Sans was typing in codes, trying to find something, anything, the machine would respond to. At this point they were less trying to shut it off and were more just trying to disconnect the machine from the Core. Without it, project ASTQ would eventually power down by itself, or so it should. Sans didn’t trust the thing to do anything it was supposed to do now.While he was still working at the panels, Gaster had started to pace behind him. His quick steps were a backbeat to the super helpful alarms going off in Sans’s face.“Hey Dings when you come with a idea let me know okay?”Gaster gave no acknowledgment that he heard him; one arm was crossed over his chest, holding his other a witch he had covering his mouth. A pair of hands trailed behind him and half signed random words while yet another pair wrung themselves together tightly as he concentrated.Suddenly he stopped mid step and looked up. Sans tried following his gaze, but Gaster was already moving. He strode over to the door to the testing chamber and threw it open much to Sans’s alarm.“Woah what are you doing? Are you crazy Dings? You can’t go in there!”He got up to follow him but Gaster turned on him. And signed quickly. ‘No Sans stay back!’He slammed the door shut behind him and Sans heard the audible click of it being locked from the other side.He stared at the door. “What the hell Dings! Dad!”_____Gaster had no time to waste as he closed the door before his son could follow him; locking it as soon as it was in place. It was too risky to have him in here. Admittedly he shouldn’t be in there either, but with Sans’s poor health it was even more important to keep him away from the violent energies that were at work.Gaster was already trying to think back through the many late nights spent working on the machine. What had they done; where had they gone wrong? No. He didn’t have time to wonder such things, those could be saved for later. Right now, the most important question was how he could stop it, not fix it.Of course Gaster started with the most obvious method. He hurried to the side of ASTQ and severed the cord that connected the machine to the facilityIt wasn’t taking in any more energy, but it wasn’t shutting down either. It still cracked and whined with barely contained energy. Stars above why was it still running?!Gaster wasted precious moments staring at it in utter shock before he let out a breathed string of curses as he rushed to the other side of the machine. He summoned another bone attack and began to pry away a metal panel to get to the wire work beneath it.He had no tools and little protection, but there we no time for him to get any of those things. With that, Gaster did the only thing he could think of which was to shove his bare hands inside the machine. It was hot and scorched his hands, but that wasn’t what made Gaster cry out with his broken voice. The energy that ran through the wiring went past his physical being and seemed to seared his very soul.Through that and the white hot pain in his hands, Gaster noticed that the colors of his lab coat were inverting themselves. They even seemed to glitch much like a static filled screen would… It was the last coherent thought he had before the thin, snaring metal short circuited. The shock was so powerful it knocked the scientist back off his feet. Gaster felt his back smash through something with bone breaking force, and heard the sound of shattering glass before he fell a much further drop than his head told him he should’ve had to to hit the floor. Just as he deliriously began to wonder if he had had lost consciousness, his upper back and skull hit another barrier, but this one didn’t break underneath him. Instead, it swallowed him whole, and it burned. Oddly enough he couldn’t feel his arms at all, but the fact faded to the back of his mind like white noise as the rest of him screamed.Gaster never knew something could be so searingly painful before this moment. He had survived a war, suffered injury after injury during his occupation being a scientist, and surface’s sake, he had even cut holes into his own hands! Nothing could prepare a soul for this.Everything was hot; his bones felt melded together even as he felt himself being ripped down the middle. His vision flashed from black to white and back again. It was hard to put words to a sensation never felt before. It was indescribable.What must have only been moments but felt like a century, there was nothing. Gaster wasn’t sure at what point everything faded, only that it did. There was no white, no heat, no blinding pain. But there was still something. A faint sensation; an empty ringing in his skull. _______(Damn it Gaster just because you have no flesh doesn’t mean you should stick your hand in a bunch of wires.(A bit late sorry. I already had an outline for this so it’s a bit more fun than what the prompt probably asked for. Also i'm not sure what my formating for this is? It was fun to write though. Geh there are still things on this I would definitely like to fix but I wanted to just get it out. Didn't proof read this at all either so it's probably riddled with mistakes.)

[heatherdemetrios-blog]

The Space Between Breaths: Transitions in the Artistic Life

For the past year, I’ve been going through a transition, floating in a space between. It’s been three years since my first book came out. There was the before publication life, when I’d yet to sell a book and was dreaming hard. Then there was the after, where I struggled to learn the ropes of being a published author, yet still managed to write and sell one to two books a year, hustling like a mother. During that time there were aborted projects and disappointments, but I focused laser-like attention on my work and career, with little time for much else. Sometimes that paid off, and sometimes it didn’t. One thing it resulted in was a near-breakdown, spiritual and creative depletion, and an increasing existential dread that followed me around to the point where I felt like Edward Snowden, always looking over my shoulder. 

This was unsustainable. A life of waiting for the other shoe to drop is not a good life. And a writer who doesn’t write, or who writes but finds no joy in it, does not a happy writer make.  It also, incidentally, makes it hard to sell more books. The nervy you feel about a project somehow winds itself through the text, an X factor that makes or breaks a book. My books were breaking. I was breaking. So began my year of transition, which began in July 2016, an awakening of sorts that’s still very much in progress. This wasn’t intentional, not something I planned as a great experiment. It just sort of happened. Out of necessity and desperation and a nameless need. 

This year of transition actually started in Spring 2016, though I had no idea that this was what was happening. I started devouring books like I used to, back when I wasn’t writing three of them at a time. I literally bought and read every single JoJo Moyes book I could find (okay, I’ve saved a couple because it’s too depressing, a life without a JoJo book to look forward to), after discovering Me Before You on a Barnes and Noble table. I was working—I had revisions and copyedits and submissions. But when I sent in the last thing that was due, in mid-June, I unwittingly gave myself a for-real break. It was on accident—I didn’t realize I was taking a break until the month of July passed with me having written only a handful of words, most of them non-fiction. I got ideas, I threw ideas away—I briefly considered learning Russia and moving to Moscow. The bulk of my writing was for a residency application I never sent in, as well as the occasional blog post or lengthy email. I began meditating, reconnected with my spiritual side, read lots of books, treated myself to copies of Vogue, discovered the delights of the French 75 cocktail, and took a poetry class. I basked in sunshine and visited with friends and family. There were still stressful writerly moments: two rewrites gone bad, dismal royalty statements. But for the first time in years, writing was not the most important thing. The most important thing was me. It was as though my soul had given me one of those piercing looks and said, My dear, you are the canvas. 

Eureka. 

I followed my curiosity, each urge a trail of will-o’-the-wisps that led me deeper into my inner landscape, with its turbulent sea, floating glaciers, and craggy mountains set against endless dunes (yes, somehow my innards resemble Morocco, Ireland, and Iceland). In Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert says: I believe that curiosity is the secret. Curiosity is the truth and the way of creative living. She’s absolutely right. I found such joy poking around in New Age stores and going down the Wiki hole of Romanov research and planning a trip to Prague. I delighted in the plethora of self-help books I kept hearing about, got into essential oils, and finally took a Pilates class. I bought strange rings and drank beer and even started liking kale. I got a Reiki treatment and bought my first deck of Tarot cards and I campaigned for Hillary Clinton. I bought a Nasty Woman shirt and protested with thousands of women all over the world, reigniting that little Marxist-Anarchist activist that has been hiding inside me since the Bush years. I made a few big life decisions, some quite seismic, some still in progress. I grieved, felt confusion, wonder, awe, gratitude, love, solidarity, despair. I probably drank more wine after November 8th than in the rest of my life combined. I cooked my first steak. I began living according to these wise words from Elsie De Wolfe: I am going to make everything around me beautiful. That will be my life. Fresh flowers scattered about the house. Crystals lined up on windowsills. A skirt with red roses splashed across the fabric. I see the changes that all this adventuring has wrought everywhere: in my home, my body, my mind, my spirit. And yet, the writing will not budge. 

I am still trekking up a damnably high mountain, hoping to reach a summit and praying there’s a nice little valley on the other side of it, with cool spring water and long, fragrant grass I can lie in when I look at the stars. Alas, creativity is uncharted territory—ever ineffable, a tricksy landscape complete with quicksand, dark forests, and, well, you get the metaphor. I confess, there have been a few occasions in which I actually uttered the phrase, Why am I doing this? Or I don’t want to be a writer anymore. I’m not sure if I meant it or not. I suspect maybe I did. It sounds ever so wonderful to leave work at work, to have boundaries between oneself and what one does for a living, to not be in constant artistic torture. 

The election and its aftermath was a huge blow that I’m still recovering from. I don’t think I realized how much it affected my ability to be creative until quite recently, when I realized I have to rewrite a bogart of a book I’m working on for the third time. I cannot overstate how unlike me this is. I’ve never spent two years after selling a book trying to rewrite it. It’s madness. Maddening. But when I began to connect the dots, I could see that the bulk of the problem began in the beginning of 2016—a coincidence? I think not. As I said in an email to the book’s editor: I’m sorry for being the world’s shittiest writer. I blame Trump. 

I blamed my mental health and my infernal inability to understand how time works. I blamed New York City for being so goddamn expensive and loud and distracting and fabulous. I also blamed myself, for not taking my own good advice that I give to my clients and that I myself know works. I only give advice when I’ve learned something (usually the hard way), when I know that something is tried and true. As a creativity coach, I tell my clients that each book is a different beast, and that’s true. And also that writing is a marathon (not a race), that you will never be a master, that you will always be learning, and that you should trust the process: the not knowing, the frustration—these are just hazards of the job and an essential part of the process. But each time I find myself uncertain creatively, these lessons are hard to remember. A girl has to eat, you know. 

One thing my meditation teachers like to talk about is the space between breaths. In mindfulness meditation, you focus on the inhale and exhale, using it to anchor your mind in the present. Between each round of inhalation and exhalation, there is a pocket of pure being, where your body has a moment to bask in its existence, where nothing is required of it. It can’t last very long because your lungs need air, but for just a sliver of time, you are infinite. Free-floating. This is also a space for transition, much shorter than my year of transition, but equally powerful. You can discover things there, though it may take you years, or even a lifetime to figure out. You might even see what you’re made of. 

This is an essential part of the meditation process. These pockets of no-breath are not simply a bridge between breaths, links on the path to nirvana. They are teaching moments, rich in the kind of knowledge that lives deep in your bones. It’s the same with the transitions in an artist’s life. The space between projects, between ideas, between inspiration and creative wastelands—this is, paradoxically, where the good stuff lives. Transitions are opportunities to grow, to heal, and to change. They give you space (whether you want it to not) to reassess your work, your craft, your goals. These sometimes involve dark nights of the soul, real reckonings that bring who you are and why you do what you do into sharp focus. Sometimes you won’t like what you see. Transitions, from an artistic point of view, are absolutely necessary. Think about the period when Bowie fled to Berlin, intent on getting clean and reconnecting to his art. He called his cocaine years in Los Angeles, where he embodied the Thin White Duke persona, “the darkest days of my life.” Despite being a rock star, he was going broke and Berlin, at the time, was a cheap place to live while he was in recovery. In Europe, he began visiting galleries, working on self-care through literature and classical music education, and, of course, kicking his cocaine habit and exploring Berlin’s music scene. His roommate was Iggy Pop, and I like to imagine them sitting around late at night, trading notes and blowing each other’s minds. What resulted was the Berlin trilogy, a rich artistic period and a turning point in his life. 

Of course, not all transitions need to be so dramatic, and I’m still trying to figure out what this one means for me. When I look back, what will I call this year (or, God forbid, years)? Will I look on it fondly, or shudder, grateful that it’s over? I can’t imagine not being thankful for it. Already, I’m seeing my interests in what I want to write expand in unexpected ways. Adult fiction, young adult nonfiction, historical. I’m not quite sure where I’ll land. I’m getting ideas, but am wary of investing too much in anything. I think I’m still getting my sea legs. Meditation, exercise, and healthy eating habits are helping. As is travel and working with my clients, who inspire me every day. I’m taking lots of notes because I suspect that as much as I’m learning right now about what it means to be an artist in transition, I suspect there’s even more to glean from this time later, when I can see how all the dots connected. 

Being a creative doesn’t suit our modern world, not if you’re an Artist with a capital A. Because art needs quiet, time, space, privacy. All things that are hard to come by these days, especially in Brooklyn. I stopped using my private Facebook account, rarely leave the apartment, and turn a deaf ear to industry chatter. It’s been a long time since I finished a project. Everything I’m working on is in a different stage and often ends up being cast aside or totally reworked. So of course the age old question of how to make a living as an artist rears its ugly head. If you aren’t producing, you aren’t getting paid. So while artistic explorations sound great on paper, in reality, it’s the paper itself you start worrying about. 

It’s becoming increasingly hard for artists to make a living—just take a look at Trump’s budget proposal, with threatens to cut the NEA out of existence. It’s especially difficult for writers because of the plethora of content out there. Jesus, how many blogs and websites and articles can exist? With newspapers and magazines folding left and right, writers are forced to make some pretty tough choices. These concerns are ever present, and they will be for the foreseeable future. Of course, being an artist has always involved financial acrobatics. Chekhov paid the bills through a medical practice, and Tolstoy had to self-publish War and Peace. I’m in good company. I’ve very much begun to appreciate Elizabeth Gilbert’s words in Big Magic about how your job as an artist is to take care of your creativity, not the other way around. It’s been interesting, cobbling together an income that all leads back to writing, but isn’t necessarily writing. Teaching and coaching and editing allows me to talk about what I love—writing, the artistic process, and creative living—and to help my fellow writers on their own journeys. It also gives me the chance to take care of my writing, rather than requiring it to pay all the bills. I’m already seeing the seeds I’m planting blossoming. For the first time in a long time, I’m allowing myself to consider alternative ways of living and alternative approaches to my writing. Maybe I don’t publish a book every year. Maybe I don’t only write in YA. Maybe I play a whole lot more in my creative process. Maybe I take time to take care of myself. 

The journey continues, endless and exciting and horrible and wonderful, an adventure I’m honored to have. I take a breath, exhale, and rest in the transition, looking forward to whatever comes next.

[doomedandstoned]

Stoned Jesus: Live in Vienna

~By Silvi Pearl~

☀

This was my first interview and I was quite excited to meet the legendary band STONED JESUS. Longtime frontman Igor Sidorenko was really nice while answering my questions, a smart guy with a great attitude and an awesome voice. Have fun reading!

☼

Thank you for your time, Igor. It’s a pleasure to meet you in Vienna, Austria. You started your tour with Mothership and Elephant Tree a few weeks ago. How is it going so far?

So far, one-third of the tour is behind us and we are getting along really well. All the guys are experienced and friendly and everything is going so smoothly. Load in’s and load out’s take us only ten minutes. It´s fast and super-professional and the guys deliver their best show every night so far. Actually, we are going to do this little thing on stage which means I am going to jam with Mothership tonight and guys from Elephant Tree will play again with Mothership at the end of the night. I think by the end of the tour all ten of us guys will be together on stage doing one song for two hours.

That sounds awesome! While listening to all three bands in a row on Spotify I hear similarities. In my opinion you guys totally fit to each other.

Well that´s interesting, because I never heard any of the bands before and I didn't want to, because I wanted to check them out live. Live is usually the best heading. It is really nice that we all have some similarities, but we are also pretty different. Elephant Tree have killer vocal harmonies, Mothership is just like balls-to-the wall-heavy-boogie-rock and us with our new album.

We are playing the whole new album every night plus a couple of old songs. The new album is very dark, personal and grungy. Stoned Jesus has another vibe which means three different vibes each night but we are still playing in the same kind of genre which all together suits well.

Have you been to Austria or Vienna before?

Yes, we actually played five years ago at the Viper Room Vienna, so we are familiar with Austria, yes.

Had a chance to do tourist stuff?

Actually, yeah, we played in Graz and my guys did a small tour through the city. I needed some sleep on that day and skipped it because while being on tour you have to set priorities, like resting, snap with your relatives via Skype or answering Interviews. But yes, I had a little walk with my guys in Martigny, Switzerland, and it's a nice and beautiful place. The cool thing about night-lining tour is that you have some free time but of course the downside is that you cannot stay for the night. You have to drive through the night and you are not always able to just party all the night through.

Photo: Volker Fröhmer (rockblogbluesspot.com)

You've mentioned before that touring is also always a question of logistics. Usually you travel with planes now you are on tour by bus.

We are really blessed to have a tour manager with us, Beth from Sound of Liberation. She is doing all the logistics things for us, merch-stuff and everything else. This is something I did on our tours but for now I feel a lot freer. I can be just a musician.

You draw from a number of influences, like Sade, The Police, and Nirvana. Did you ever think about doing an unplugged session with Stoned Jesus?

Well, I have a side project, called Voida, that is meant to be unplugged but with Stoned Jesus I can imagine doing it maybe for once only, but in 10 years when we celebrate our 20th anniversary.

To be honest, when I see bands doing an unplugged tour or a “symphonic orchestra-thing," it looks to me that they're having problems with writing new songs. They take old songs, rearrange them, do a “Best Of…” and try cashing on older material. Maybe I am wrong, I mean great unplugged show already happened in the past, e.g. Nirvana or Alice in Chains and you cannot beat that. That´s just sacred. If you wanna do it then stick to Kurt Cobain´s formula, because on Nirvana's Unplugged Session there were not hits? They did not play “Rape Me” or “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” They played rare songs and it stills sounds great.

Photo: Volker Fröhmer (rockblogbluesspot.com)

I agree with you on that, as I grew up with MTV Unplugged and MTV´s Headbanger´s Ball, too. That ‘90s TV-show featured a lot well known metal, rock, and grunge bands, such as Mother Love Bone, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, and Alice in Chains. So listening to ‘Pilgrims’ makes me travel through time. This album is totality different from all the others you published so far.

I am a huge Nirvana fan and I discovered bands such as Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, and Pearl Jam seven or eight years ago and I think they have a huge influence on our writing. With Pilgrims, I have the feeling we're skipping two albums in between. We could have released a few albums between Pilgrims and The Harvest, but instead of that we just kept the good material, threw away the “not so good material” and that´s why this album sounds so different.

We went through a lot of stuff between them. It´s like having a kid but you see it just once in three years: the first time it's a small kid, second time it goes to school and all of a sudden it´s already in the university. Maybe this might be a problem to some of our fans, because they got use to stuff like “I´m the Mountain“ and then all of a sudden we do this left turn and they have songs like, “Water Me,” which is really experimental, even for us and of course they need some time to get used to it.

Pilgrims by Stoned Jesus

I connect very well to the songs published on ‘Pilgrims.’ Is it for you one of the most personal albums?

This is definitely the most darkest and personal albums that we have -- musically and of course lyrically -- because I lost my father one and a half a year ago. At that time we still had to do our shows and went on tour. I felt alienated because I was going through that personal stuff and also had to take care of my mother but I still had to be on stage.

Being on stage I love it, but I can explain it like this: as an artist you are on stage for one or maybe two hours, which is great, but there are 23 other hours that you have to deal with promoters, with fans, logistic or merch related stuff. Your pedal board goes off all of a sudden. You see, we have to deal with a lot of other things too but at that time, when my father died, I wasn't in the state for dealing with all these things. I was trying to deal with my own “shit.”

All these things are reflected in the lyrics. It's A little bit weird because the album is about exhaustion from touring but now I wanna go on tour. I really want to play these songs and it feels good to me because I could expressed myself. The other weird thing is that I don't feel like this anymore when I sing the songs on stage.

You are now a signed artist on Napalm Records. Congratulations!

Well, thank you! In the past we had different labels who published our material, such as Nasoni Records and Heavy Psych Sounds. Now with Napalm Records, which is a huge label, we get exposure but they are not like, “You have to play this, look like that or do this and that!” They like our sound and that´s the reason why they signed us.

Stoned Jesus at Desertfest Berlin in 2014 - Photo by Sally Townsend

I saw a short video from your recent gig in Graz, Austria on the Stoned Jesus Instagram page.

I am filming almost on every show while being on stage. I just grab my phone and for a few minutes and I am filming the crowd. Yes, I am the guy who is doing the Stoned Jesus Social media stuff. I have been always into this and I think in times like these it´s very important to communicate with your fans digitally. I really enjoy doing it. I always think about new strategies and present them to our label, Napalm Records. I know that I am one a few musicians who really care about it. At least I am doing one post on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram per day.

I might fight for a front row place, but I am not yet sure about it. Is there a chance to catch your shirt if I do?

This is a funny thing with “throwing the shirts.” At first it started as a necessity because we didn't have the chance to do laundry on tour. After two or three shows your shirt gets disgusting and you don't want to carry it around. When the show is good, you sweat a lot on stage, you share a lot of energy and by throwing it into the crowd you show gratitude. It is from us to the people. Actually, I went to some older pictures of our past shows and was thinking, “That was a great shirt. Where is it now?” Maybe I am going to post a social media pic with all that shirts I threw into the crowds just to get to know who is wearing it now.

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