#that's not my biggest problem regarding dreams but it's getting under my skin

[sensitivegoblin]

I'm having a bad day cus I slept all day and no one's on a schedule here so autistically speaking I'm fucked up

Vent below

[adoredontour]

all the fics i read and loved this month, in order from longest to shortest!

For As Long As I Can Remember (It’s Been December) by green_feelings @greenfeelings 128k

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove 124k

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore 113k

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

nothing worsens, nothing grows by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 102k

and he sits there quietly with harry’s headphones in his ears while his eyes begin to close, totally unaware that he’s listening to the soundtrack of harry falling in love with him.

or, another roadtrip au featuring harry as the misunderstood hipster, louis as the bitter psych major, liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

& more under the cut!

Follow Your Arrow by bitter_leaf @bitter-leaf 78k

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one.

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

somethin’ bout you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 59k

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

The Recklessness in Water by LarryOn @larryonsimon 50k

Louis Tomlinson is miserable. He's stuck on a family vacation at a lake cabin in New Hampshire when all he wants to do is bemoan his sorry existence and wallow in his sweatpants. As if the humidity and mosquitos weren't bad enough, he becomes the singular target of an obnoxious lifeguard named Harry.

Missed Connection by littlelouishiccups @littlelouishiccups 39k

Soulmate AU where your soulmate’s first words to you are tattooed on your skin.

With a boring and generic soul mark like Hi, Harry is pessimistic he’ll ever find his soulmate or that he’ll realize it when he meets them. But he could always have it worse, like his new friend Louis who had a drunken one night stand with his soulmate a few years ago and woke up the next morning alone.

before we knew by falsegoodnight @risthebrave 39k

“C’mon Lou,” says Zayn after a moment, He sounds even more exasperated than before. Louis sort of has a knack for exasperating people, especially people like Zayn who aren’t usually bothered by his brattiness. “Can’t you give this guy a chance? Harry Styles? Aren’t you curious about him at all?”

Despite his best efforts, Louis still flinches at the name. He really shouldn’t be so affected after all these years. He’s seen the name printed down the curve of his waist in obnoxiously and uncommonly large loopy letters every single day since his sixteenth birthday eight years ago. He’s very familiar with the name Harry Styles.

It sounds pretentious and Louis hates it.

He hates everything about his supposed soulmate.

He hates his large handwriting that stands out like a claim on his skin whenever he’s walking around shirtless. He hates his pretentious name. And now he hates his supposed curls and green eyes and dimples.

-

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

what’s mine is yours to make your own by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 39k

sometimes, the closest harry ever feels to home is louis. it's their shared hotel rooms on tour, their shoes toed off in the doorway next to each other, jackets hung on the same post.

it's everything he doesn't notice until it's been taken away from him.

And Touch Me Like You Never by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 35k

“Lets move back a bit yeah?” Harry clutches at his waist with a free hand and tugs him to move through the crowd until they are almost at the back of the group and settles them both beside the far wall. “There. That better?”

Louis looks up at him, as if he’s a tad dazed. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Can’t really see much from back here either though.”

Harry lifts a shoulder and grins at him, placing a hand on the wall behind Louis to pen him in. “We’ll just have to create our own fireworks then, won’t we?” He says it jokingly with a wink, and Louis laughs but he seems nervous. He must know that Harry is harmlessly flirting. Harry flirts with everyone after all, including Louis.

“Do you think this is a good idea Haz?” Louis asks quietly, almost too quietly in the clamour of the room, his head bowed as he scuffs his shoe on the carpet.

“Stop over thinking it Lou, it’s one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Or

The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

last blues for bloody knuckles by creamcoffeelou @2ofusmp4

Styles was a name everyone knew. It had evolved into something of a fairy tale, a far away problem that normal people didn’t have to deal with. Louis never thought he’d find himself falling in love with him. When he finds himself pregnant with Harry’s child, he knows he has to leave the life, and Harry, behind. For her sake.

He never expected Harry to show back up on his doorstep five years later.

A mob au.

like it’s a game by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 32k

there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

and louis.

gathered on wings by Brooklyn_Babylon @twopoppies 32k

As Harry lay by Louis’ side, covered in sweat and come, he knew he should feel ugly, messy, ruined, like the life he’d left behind. But something about the way Louis looked at him, the way his eyes stared at him with want and awe, made Harry wonder if he’d ever feel this beautiful again.

Harry rolled his eyes at himself for his momentary romantic dreaminess. As good as this was, he knew it was nothing more than sex. He literally couldn’t afford to fall for just anyone, no matter how fit they were.

-----

What Harry Styles wanted was to be taken seriously as an artist. What he needed was a new sugar daddy to pave the way. Louis Tomlinson is an artist who isn’t what Harry is looking for. Somehow he still manages to turn Harry's world upside down.

let’s make a thing of cream and stars by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

It doesn't explain why he's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of him.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. Also the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Louis' wet dreams since he was about eighteen.

(Or: Louis is a Radio 1 DJ and Harry is a pop-star he interviews.)

Strong Enough by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom 21k

The biggest obstacle is still in place, firmly ensconced as a roadblock, cemented in their path and preventing them from moving forward. The thing is, it’s not actually Harry that’s the problem. Harry, for all his faults, for whatever decisions he’s made to lead to him to where he is in his life right now, would move heaven and earth and all that’s in between to help Liam, to support him. No. It’s Louis. He’s the one that has to reach out. He’s the one that has to let go and get the fuck over himself. It’s been five years for Christ's sake. It’s time to move on and suck it up.

“So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad that it’s Liam that drags the subject out from the shadows and into the world. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”

Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity @aliensingucci 18k

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

The Orchards of Jessop by jaerie @jaerie 15k

At age 40, there isn’t much excitement in widower Louis Tomlinson’s life, but wasn’t that the reason he’d moved to Jessop Island in the first place? Back then he hadn’t thought retiring before he reached 30 and moving to the countryside would mean that he’d be doing it alone. Now, just to fill the space, he welcomes lodgers into his home that pass through working as temporary labourers at the orchards just up the road. They’ve all been young adults eager to start lives of their own after one last summer of freedom.

All of them have been much the same, coming and going from Louis’ house with just enough social interaction to keep the house from feeling so empty. But when a global pandemic shuts down the world, being quarantined with a quiet twenty year old who keeps to himself might turn out to be an awkward arrangement. By the time the restrictions have been lifted, their relationship has developed into something Louis isn’t quite ready to give up. With their twenty year age difference, Louis has to be prepared for the inevitable outcome when the reality shatters the private world they’ve been living in. He’s not sure he’ll be able to let it go.

if i had the chance, the things i would do to you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 14k

Niall sighs. He leans forward, pushing his mug of tea carefully to the side, before bracing his elbows on the table, chin in his hands. It makes him look like some sort of bottle-blonde cherub. "You have quite the fanbase, Harry. I'm not denying that. And you've done a good job of popping out every once in a while in the past two years, just to make sure you're still talked about. But that's all you've done, and I'm not satisfied. I want more." He blinks at Harry. "Don't you want more?"

(Or: AU where Harry and Louis compete in the Lip Sync Battle)

One Way Road To Something Better by femstyles @femstyles 12k

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

baby look what you’ve done to me by ballsdeepinjesus 9k

The next day kind of turns everything upside down, though. Louis gets another lingerie catalogue addressed to Harry. He’s about to toss it when he sees a personalized note stuck to the front; it thanks Harry for his previous purchases and offers him a complimentary six-month subscription to their magazine free of charge. It’s a unisex lingerie catalogue. Lingerie specifically designed to allow for the existence of penises, apparently, judging from the bulging cocks covered in lace that he sees as he flips through the pages. His breath catches in his throat at the thought of a faceless Harry -- mysterious, odd Harry -- dressed up in his purchases, whatever they may be.

He thinks he needs a lie down, to be honest.

[louis moves into harry's old flat. harry gets a lot of mail.]

golden hearts (light their way back down) by fairytalelights @lookslikefairytale 4k

“..So, top or bottom?” Louis asks when Harry tunes back in. And... what? Harry knew he should have been paying more attention but he has no idea how in the hell Louis explaining camp rules to him could have led to discussing sexual preferences this quickly. He must have smiled and nodded at the wrong place one too many times.

or, the one where Harry’s first day as a summer camp counsellor doesn’t go quite as planned.

Still, Somehow, You’re Perfect Now  by FallingLikeThis @fallinglikethis 3k

Harry Styles is Captain of the footie team and all-around popular dude-bro-pal to the entire senior class. He’s kind to everyone from what Louis Tomlinson can tell, and kinder still when he thinks no one is looking. Of course, Louis has been looking. Ever since he transferred schools at the beginning of the year and noticed Harry for the first time, it’s been hard to look away.

All My Friends Are Here by abrighteryellow 

He is about to decline, though. If he has to sit through forced merriment, the least he can do is avoid participation at all costs. He is about to, but then the guy with the microphone is looking out into the crowd. He’s saying things, too — about rules and prizes and team names. At least, Louis assumes so. He can’t really hear him over the ringing in his ears.

“Alright, mate. I’ll play.”

A pub quiz has invaded Louis’s favorite dive. Fortunately, it comes with a charming host.

Front porch and one more kiss by Femstyles @femstyles <1k

A goodnight kiss on a front porch

BONUS: (rereads)

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry @isthatyoularry 136k

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Close to Nowhere by angelichl @angelichl 34k

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any helpful right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

[regrettablewritings]

hey id like to request dewey finn for the character ship meme? preferably 3, 7, and 29? thanks!!

🤘 🤘 We love a short king 🤘 🤘 Stuff’s under the cut!

3. Who is the most romantic?: You are, at least in the more traditional sense. You know of the ins and outs of bouquets and traditionally romantic candle-lit dinners and all that jazz. Dewey is, too, but he’s far less capable of actually pulling it off. The times he does, there’s always a hint of Dewey in them -- for better for for worse.

He runs a bath for you? Adds a little too much bubble mix and then there’s a whole thing about cleaning it up. He cooks dinner? It comes out a bit burnt. Add candles into that mix and the fire department has to have a talk with y’all about fire safety. Really, his safest bets were to stick to buying bouquets, chocolates, and stuffed animals. But after a point, you started to run out of vases and pots to put the flowers in, resorting to using old Burger King cups; and the bed was just barely big enough to hold both you and Dewey at once, never mind the assortment of plush puppies, teddy bears, and the cheaply-stuffed jumbo snake he’d miraculously won at Coney Island a while back.

The good news is, you’d honestly much prefer Dewey’s idea of romance because it’s more personal to you.

For Dewey, it’s romantic to teach you how to play an instrument. Not in the cheesy, “Come sit on my lap because I can guide you a lot easier that way” kind of way, mind you. Don’t take it the wrong way, he could also do just that if you insisted such. But he does so as though you were truly his student -- and you absolutely are. And that’s what makes it sweet: He’s sharing with you his biggest passion in life, and he takes it seriously enough to get really into it and want to sincerely pass it on to you. Dewey is an excitable man, it’s difficult to catch him in a moment where he’s particularly still; even rarer when he’s doing so and in an actually good mood.

And when he’s teaching you one of the very few things in life he knows absolutely best, he’s definitely in a good mood. Even if his expression may not directly suggest so, with his eyes completely focused on your positioning and occasional correction of your finger placement. But the moment you pull off a successful set of chords, that adorable smile of his comes shining through and beaming with absolute pride! It is, for lack of better word, a bonding experience. And that’s what makes it romantic in your humble opinion.

That, and at least Dewey’s idea of romantic can mean a nice night in where you can relax and just flop on the couch to watch crap TV instead of putting on “stiff fancy clothes” and having to leave the apartment. In your minds, very little can beat a comfy evening full of marathoning Let’s Plays in your makeshift pajamas and scarfing down food bought from the bodega two blocks down, especially after a rough week. And especially when one or the other plays with each other’s hair . . .

7. What do they get up to on a night out?: That being said, you’re still dating Dewey Finn: Eventually, you do need to go out and “taste fresh air” as Dewey dramatically puts it.

You two are gluttons for entertainment. You tried the whole gig of just going out for dinner at a fine dining establishment, followed by a bit of a walk (but not too long, this is still New York after dark after all). You both tried to enjoy it, too, but it honestly just wasn’t your scene. Besides, the portions were way too small for something costing upwards of $25 per plate.

The good news about having a boyfriend like Dewey is that he always has his fingers on the pulse of the city. If we’re going with my headcanon that everyone lives on Staten Island, then there’s no shortage of venues or events to explore! The limits are only set by the limits of your wallets! . . . Suffice to say, it’s not just a personal choice that you two usually just go to bar and grills that hold band nights.

But once every blue moon, after saving up, you both go crazy and head over to Manhattan to catch a show. You’re admittedly more into musicals than Dewey is (especially ones written and composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber), but there has been the occasional show that Dewey didn’t mind watching, and even found himself mutter-singing the lyrics to. Granted, because a night like this can be pretty pricey (especially on an extracurricular teacher’s salary mixed with your own), these sorts of nights don’t tend to happen too often.

And sometimes the urge to go out is accompanied by that grossly exhausted feeling where it’s like all your meats are essentially weighing down on your bones. But you haven’t done anything fun all week, you just gotta get out the house and get Out There! . . . To the 24hr pizzeria next door, because that’s about as far as the two of you can get.

Apparently at some point after you turn 21, just going out after 8pm can make you feel like a hell-raiser. And that’s good enough for y’all.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?: You bring out what the other wants and needs.

When you were growing up, you were quite quiet. Being looked at by a bunch of people always made you anxious, you were constantly afraid to make sudden moves, lest there may be some backlash. You’ve gotten better since then, but even still, you struggle with being as open and forthcoming as you would like to be.

And that’s where Dewey comes in: With Dewey, you always feel like you can stand a little taller, be a little louder. There’s something about him that encourages people to break out of their shell (at the very least peek out of it) and make them want to just seize the day. As his significant other, you are absolutely no exception. Watching him confidently approach nearly every task with a can-do attitude makes you consider that maybe you can do the same thing. If you want to civilly but firmly tell somebody off, Dewey’s there to support you. If you need to ask for help with something but are too afraid to, Dewey’s got your back.

Of course, he sometimes oversteps and just does it for you himself, with him seeing any slight against you as a complete injustice that he needs to defend your honor over. In which case, you’re usually thankful, but gently tell him that you need to do this on your own. And he will respect this because it makes him remember that this is your journey towards gaining more confidence in yourself. You’re so very special to him, and far be it from him to keep you from accepting that more and more. So when he invigorates you and makes you want to be and do better, you can’t help but want to always be with him: That way, you can be better for him, yourself, and also your future together.

As for Dewey, it’s whenever you ground him and help him grow as a person and listen to him. Dewey’s never been that popular -- and he knows it. Sure, he may seem completely invincible, but the truth actually is that deep down he’s got some insecurities about himself. His brashness got him kicked out of his own band, his immaturity nearly lost him a friend and got him into legal trouble, girls have never been particularly drawn to him, and it’s quite easy to assume that he’s an imbecile because of his one-track mind with regards to music.

As a result, he’s used his dream of becoming a rock god as a means to promote himself and that swagger he gives off so much. Which then creates a cycle of him making more mistakes after overestimating his competency. The problem is that even though people may tell him to stop, they haven’t always offered him help with how to do exactly that. The truth of the matter is, yelling at somebody doesn’t exactly help the situation; maybe it brings a person to realizations over what needs to be done, but rarely does it actually offer the tools necessary to get beyond that.

The irony here is that for as chaotic as Dewey can be, he’s a surprisingly good listener to those whom he sees insecurities in, especially kids. After discovering he has a knack for it, he’s become more than willing to sit somebody down and try to help them realize their potential, even if it isn’t always intentional on his part. And that’s where you come in.

You’re more patient than he is, so your impulsivity or lack thereof is a great counter to his, making sure that he remembers that sometimes things need to be planned out. Steps need to be taken in order to follow through with certain projects or goals, we can’t always just jump to it. With you, Dewey’s become more orderly with things. Not extremely, mind you, as that would destroy the man’s personality as we know and love it. But just enough to where he’s not as risky as he used to be.

In addition to this, you’re willing to listen to him and his thoughts on things, from his obsession with music to the anxieties he usually tries to keep tucked away deep down. It doesn’t necessarily borderline being therapy, but it’s enough to where airing things out help him feel more stable. Besides, not everyone is as taken to music as he is: It’s nice to be heard, even when it’s just over one’s special interest. Finally, like you with him, Dewey likes to observe you. It’s not always obvious, given that his hyperactivity sometimes distracts him or just appears to. After all, it’s hard to imagine the guy who dances when he’s excited actually paying attention to you when you’re just sitting on the couch, sketching.

But he is. Because watching you being able to keep still and let yourself breathe makes him want to do the same. He’s spent so much of his life thinking he needs to live fast that he never considered maybe slowing down a bit might be good. But now he has. And he wants to. He wants to slow down and grow up for you -- no, with you. And ever since he realized that this was something he wanted, he couldn’t help but love you a little more every time he found that familiar, warm feeling in his chest, making goosebumps rise to his skin.

Thanks for asking and for being patient!!

[quarterfromcanon]

No One’s Really Got It Figured Out Just Yet

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 13 - Tease [3,289 words]

The bridal shower was for everyone but the bachelorette party was just for the Gurl Group. Against her better judgment, Valencia made arrangements at a karaoke bar. Even though the bride-to-be was notoriously off-key, she knew that singing pop hits with her “#squad” was the activity the guest of honor would enjoy most. She, Heather, and Paula could grin and bear it for one night in order to give their girl the special memories she deserved. All good intentions aside, though, the elated screech that tore out of Rebecca when she learned where they were going was enough to leave them all wincing and rubbing their ears.

The four of them opted to share a car for the hour drive to their destination. Rebecca led Paula into the backseat to begin planning song choices. Heather rode in the passenger seat beside Valencia to read directions off the app.

Rebecca skimmed through Googled suggestions and mumbled to herself. She lifted her finger away from the scrollbar, turned sideways, and grabbed Paula’s wrist. “Oh my gosh, wait. ‘Mickey’ would be really cute, right? But it could be like my own little spin on it: ‘Hey, Joshy!’”

Paula’s face went slack with horror. “Good Lord.”

Valencia and Heather rushed to her aid.

“Dude, no.”

“Uh-uh. Unanimous veto.”

Rebecca held up her hands. “All right, I get it. Consider it scrapped. That would alienate the rest of the audience anyway. Plus, Josh won’t even be there to sing it to, so like, what would be the point?”

Everybody relaxed. Paula tilted Rebecca’s phone so they could both see the results. “Here, let Mama take a look at what else you’ve got.”

Rebecca eagerly scooted over and indicated a few additional options she thought might suit the purpose. Crisis averted, Valencia and Heather returned their focus to the road.

“It was really cool of you to put everything together for her,” Heather said in an undertone. “You totally saved her ass stepping up like that.” Her eyes fell on where Rebecca’s face was reflected in the rear-view mirror, wreathed in the pale white glow from her screen. “Also, you can already tell it lifted a big weight off her shoulders. This is, like, the happiest she’s looked in weeks.”

Valencia’s face flushed but she managed a casual shrug. “She’d have done the same for me.”

Heather smiled. “Yeah, but I feel like the result would’ve been some kind of huge, chaotic production.”

“She does love her grand gestures,” Valencia concurred. “There’d have been skywriting or a billboard or something.” 

“Right, and matching outfits.”

“Of course. Custom-made.”

They both chuckled and shook their heads. 

As they reached the next stoplight, Valencia stole a lingering glance at Heather. This was the longest they’d spent in each other’s company since their afternoon of day drinking, and she had yet to suss out her stance regarding the moment that passed between them. Valencia honestly remained uncertain if there had been such a moment at all. Maybe she still needed to get laid after the disastrous attempt at Home Base. Maybe it was the aftereffects of the dream during the Santa Ana winds. All Valencia knew was that what started out as fairly innocent fun ended with fingers and legs tangled together and Heather’s face mere inches from her own. Under the unique circumstances of the day, there was just enough plausible deniability that it could all be in her head, but that was the problem. The breathless pause was stuck in her mind, playing on loop until she could hardly stand it. Every time her thoughts were free to wander, all she could see were Heather’s lips -- parted, pink, perfect; all she could feel was the warmth of Heather’s torso locked between her thighs.

Valencia gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles paled from the pressure. She gulped and stared intently forward, determined not to turn to the side again. It had to stop now. Whatever confused muddle of feelings prompted this uninvited ardor, there had to be some way to drive it back into nonexistence. Yes, she had appreciated Heather’s kindness and care more than usual lately, and yes, her friend had shown her respect and consideration when others did not. Still, that was not reason enough to be thinking of her in any other context than the relationship they already shared.

“You get off here.”

Valencia jumped and blinked rapidly. “Hmm?”

“Our exit is straight ahead.” Heather held out her arm and pointed through the windshield. Her soft skin brushed the back of Valencia’s wrist, making her tremble involuntarily. 

“Oh. Right.” Valencia flicked on her signal. “Thanks.”

When they approached the bar, it appeared as though there may not be a lot of parking spaces left available. Fortunately, there was one near the back of the building, a few strides away from the sidewalk. Valencia pulled into the vacant spot and everyone exited into the night air. A quick push of a button opened the trunk, and Valencia reached inside to withdraw a pale pink sash and a veil attached to a plastic crown.

Rebecca squeaked. “Do I get to wear those?” She covered the bottom of her face with her hands and bounced on her heels. “Put ’em on me, put ’em on me, put ’em on!”

“Okay, okay, hold still.” Valencia’s arms rose and fell with Rebecca’s celebratory hopping until her friend finally contained all that energy. She divided the task of accessorizing by passing the crown off to Paula and then looped the sash over Rebecca’s shoulder.

While Paula secured the veil, Rebecca lovingly traced her fingers over the letters running down the material. “Aww, look, it says BRIDE TO BE with a little heart on it, and it’s so sparkly! I’m gonna cry. You guys are the best.”

Rebecca threw her arms wide and they all closed in for a group hug. 

Heather’s palm rested between Valencia’s shoulder blades. “All right,” Valencia declared as her back went rigid. “Let’s get inside and sign up before all the slots are taken.”

___

First, it was Paula’s turn. She downed half a beer and took the stage. The Gurl Group whooped their support, which turned into a shout of delighted surprise when the opening of It’s Raining Men began to play. What Paula may have lacked in vocal confidence, she more than compensated for with sheer attitude. Rebecca’s response was something akin to a proud relative and she believed it necessary to tell every passing patron that it was her best friend currently commanding the floor.

Paula returned to their table five minutes later to uproarious applause from her three biggest fans. If anything, Rebecca’s enthusiasm only heightened from that point, which worked out just right since she was next after someone from a booth on the other side of the room.

The girls all tensed. Paula had done her level best to steer Rebecca away from catastrophe, but none of them knew for certain what track was ultimately chosen. They found out soon enough.

“Natalie Cole,” Heather acknowledged with a slow nod. “This is gonna get real interesting real quick.”

“At least her claps are synchronized,” Valencia noted optimistically.

Rebecca leaned close to the microphone. “Hey, everyone. How’re you doing?” Her nose scrunched and she beamed. “This is dedicated to the man of my dreams, Joshua Felix Chan, my own everlasting love, without whom I wouldn’t have any of the amazing women in my life who are sitting right over there.” She gestured into the darkness. Paula, Valencia, and Heather gave the crowd uncomfortable waves and nods. “We’ve pried into each other’s secrets, tried to sabotage each other, slept with some of the same men, but come out the other side stronger than ever.” Even through the gloom, Rebecca detected the mortified reactions at her table. She checked the faces of the surrounding strangers. “Too much? Eh, it’s fine. It’s my bachelorette party; I’ll overshare if I want to.”

Mercifully, the long musical intro ended and Rebecca dove into the lyrics. Her performance was almost more like talking than singing, but it was comparatively tolerable to everyone’s ears, considering the options that were turned down on the ride there. 

Paula waited until Rebecca looked their way once more and gave an encouraging thumbs up and nod. “Yay, Cookie!”

Heather gamely swayed in her seat and tapped the heel of her boot against the chair leg. Her shoulder bumped Valencia’s and she smiled. Valencia felt herself mirroring both the expression and the movement. They let their arms make contact with a little more force each time, giggling when the collision nearly threw them both off balance. The crowd copied Rebecca’s clapping and seemed charmed by her sincerity, at the very least. 

“Get ready, ladies, here it comes,” Valencia mumbled as Rebecca approached the last minute of the song.

“Oof.” Paula adjusted her grimace into a cheerful mask. “That was an ambitious key change.”

“That’s a word for it.” Heather’s eyebrows nearly touched her hairline.

Her hand found Valencia’s under the table and squeezed. Valencia’s stomach somersaulted, but she clasped just as hard in return, and they both tried very hard to keep their grins from faltering while Rebecca closed out the number.

Rebecca came back to her chair with visible joy shining from every pore. “That might have literally been one of the greatest experiences of my life.” She picked up a napkin and dabbed it across her glistening forehead. “What a rush! And I wasn’t nervous at all.”

“You really have a presence,” Paula complimented with careful word choice.

“They won’t forget you,” Valencia added.

Rebecca’s lower lip protruded. “That is so sweet.” She took a drink and then tapped her palms against her kneecaps. “Who’s next? Heather? What’re you gonna do? No, wai-wai-wait. Don’t tell them. Just tell me. It’ll be fun. Our little secret.”

She leaned to the left with one ear angled expectantly. Heather hesitated but obeyed the nonverbal command. She cupped her hands against the side of Rebecca’s face and spoke quietly. Rebecca’s eyes lit up and she clapped. “Do you need someone to do air harmonica?”

“I don’t really think that’s a thing...”

“Watch this. I’ve got it.” Rebecca plucked up one of their appetizer mozzarella sticks and feigned playing the instrument in question. “It’s good, right?”

“Super convincing.” Heather’s features were neutral but her eyes were amused. “Is this maybe because you wanna get back in front of an audience as soon as possible?”

Rebecca’s shoulders touched her earlobes. She tried to accentuate her freckles with the lifting of her cheekbones. “Maybeee?”

“Uh-huh. Okay, you can come with me, goofball.”

So she did. Heather stopped below the rise and coaxed the microphone down to her. She smoothed the back of her skirt and and sat on the edge of the stage. Rebecca followed suit, breaded snack in hand, and waited through the initial notes with closed eyes and a soulful expression. Heather observed the theatricality with arched eyebrows but did nothing to curb it. Rebecca peeked out, caught hold of Heather’s fingers, and tucked them under the fringe of the skirt in lieu of a pocket. Heather laughed but played along just as the words appeared on the screen behind them.

“Alanis Morissette,” Paula identified in a nostalgic voice. “The early years, still aimless and grungy. My sister’s oldest was really into the album this came from. It was back when cassettes were a thing. God, that feels like forever ago. You were old enough to remember that era, weren’t you?”

Valencia nodded vaguely. Her attention was attuned to one person only. By the time Heather reached the first “baby,” Valencia’s heart throbbed with such intensity in her chest that it left a physical pang in its wake. Goosebumps rose along her arms and she leaned forward until the table pushed into her abdomen.

Heather completed the first chorus and accepted Rebecca’s offered high five. A genuine smile stretched across her face and stayed there. Valencia’s lips curved up to match, albeit in a distracted way while the thudding behind her ribs began to feel like it might somehow choke her.

Rebecca’s promised harmonica solo arrived, and she played the faux mouth organ with spectacular gusto. Heather guffawed and applauded. Her gaze drifted across the room and locked on Valencia. She winked. Valencia coughed as her own saliva hit the back of her throat. She snatched up her cocktail and drank. 

“...maybe later you two could do it.”

Valencia spat the alcohol back into the glass. “What?”

Paula’s brow furrowed. “I said I saw the sign-ups and there are still a couple of openings near the end of the night. If we’re all still going strong, maybe we could divvy them up. Rebecca and I could take one and you and Heather could duet.” She reached over and patted Valencia’s spine. “Are you okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” Valencia rasped and forced the muscles in her face to relax. “Just went down the wrong way.” Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Of all the times to use that phrase...

Heather gestured for Rebecca to take it away one last time on the cheese stick harmonica and then they both rose to their feet. They were met with approving exclamations and claps from more tables than just their own, and Rebecca skipped back to where the others sat waiting. 

It was a difficult act to follow, and Valencia’s palms were damp. She polished off the last of her drink while a few public hamming enthusiasts walked onstage. When at last it was her scheduled time, the remaining three women tapped their empty glasses against the table and called out bolstering comments. 

Valencia’s knees knocked as she ascended the stairs. She fixed her ponytail and cleared her throat before approaching the microphone. Her fingers curled around the stand while the music began to play.

“Three little birds sat on my window, and they told me I don’t need to worry...”

She looked at her table of friends with obvious affection. Rebecca’s hand flew to her heart. Paula jokingly murmured, “Tweet, tweet.”

Valencia ducked her head and continued. Heather was nearly motionless. The only sign of agitation was the idle fiddling of her fingertips along the stylized edges of her skirt. She gave away no particular emotions, and yet Valencia found it nearly impossible to stop searching her eyes. On impulse, she opted to decrease the distance between them.

She walked back down the steps and passed through the crowd. Rebecca was thrilled and shouted something about their queen knowing how to work the room. Valencia perched on her recently vacated chair and leaned an elbow against the table’s edge. She hooked a finger around the elastic tie at the back of her head and slid it free, allowing her hair to tumble loose. Rebecca and Paula, more-than-willing to stand in as avid groupies, imitated fangirls and reached to touch Valencia. Her growing confidence was evident in a brief smirk. She brushed their outstretched palms with her own and suppressed a laugh when they both pretended to swoon. 

Heather was still watching with crossed legs and an unreadable stare. Valencia longed to push a little more, anything to unearth some clarity of intention, but there was a fine line between playful sexiness and blatant flirting -- a delicate boundary she was resolute not to cross. For the time being, she settled for grazing her nails across Heather’s shoulder in passing and sashaying back to the stage.

“She’s really good!” Rebecca projected her voice over the audio.

Heather rubbed her tingling shoulder. “Yeah, she is.”

___

More than an hour passed before their next number, a group opportunity they tipped the D.J. extra to provide. Rebecca was practically buzzing with anticipation. She’d spent the majority of the past sixty minutes talking them into and through a Spice Girls chart-topper. Despite Paula’s protestations that the English stars didn’t hold the same sentimental value for her as the other three, she found herself their designated Ginger. Rebecca had laid claim to Scary, namely because she wanted the chance to sing the nonsense syllables Mel B. used to express her relationship desires. Heather was appointed Sporty Spice, for reasons Rebecca asserted were obvious, aesthetically speaking. Since Posh was vocally present mainly in the chorus, Valencia was named Baby for the purpose of the act, although she adamantly refused to let Rebecca put her hair in pigtails. 

Only two microphones were available for use, so they had to employ a buddy system. Paula and Rebecca shared one while Heather and Valencia were handed the other. Valencia’s lungs tightened at the prospect of singing eye-to-eye with the woman who had been distracting her all night. Then Heather moved to stand behind her instead and Valencia instantly broke into a cold sweat. The speakers came to life before she could say anything, and suddenly it was too late to change it. When Heather needed to perform her part of the first verse, she urged Valencia closer by the waist and leaned over Valencia’s shoulder to access the mic. Valencia’s line immediately followed, and she could feel Heather’s breath ghosting across her neck while she sang.

When the vocals went back to Rebecca and Paula, Heather began to move her hips in time with the beat, a dance of which Valencia was painfully aware given their nearness and the firm press of fingers over her hemline. She tried to mimic the motion with a shimmy of her own. They achieved synchronicity and Valencia’s pulse rumbled deep in her eardrums. Their second shared verse crackled with tension. Heather’s other hand was now fanned against the bottom of Valencia’s rib cage. It would have been so easy to make eye contact over the microphone, but Valencia merely angled her gaze in Heather’s direction. Such risky vulnerability required more courage than she could muster, and her nerves were already on edge.  

The song came to an end. Heather relinquished her grip on Valencia’s body as they took their bows and went back to their seats. 

“I think that was officially our showstopper of the evening.” Rebecca reached for her refilled glass. “To the power of friendship!”

They all participated in the toast and downed several mouthfuls of their respective drinks. 

“Great job on the choreography too, by the way.” Rebecca patted the space between Heather and Valencia. “You leaned into the subtle homoeroticism from their music videos, but made it feel authentic rather than performative. Bravo.”

Valencia became very interested in a circle of condensation on the table. Heather was studying her in profile, she could feel it, and yet she could not open herself up to that scrutiny. 

Paula looked back and forth between them. “You two really committed up there, huh?”

Heather nodded and twirled a martini pick around her fingers. “Sometimes, when you’re singing a song, it just really grabs hold of you. It also helps if you and the music go way back. Right, V?”

Valencia’s cheeks burned with another blush and she shifted forward so her hair would cover them. “Yeah, it makes a difference when there’s a personal connection.”

“Exactly.”

Valencia was not certain that her interpretation of Heather’s replies existed free from bias. It strained the confines of coincidence to think none of the recent sparks were apparent to the other half of the equation; however, the possibility that they were perceived and reciprocated was a notion too fateful and frightening to confront.

She turned and lifted her eyes to meet Heather’s. So much of what lived behind those watchful irises remained a mystery, but the unspoken words in them now were as clear as if Heather had whispered in Valencia’s ear:

Your move.

[argorpg-blog]

CONGRATULATIONS and welcome to the crew of the Argo II, SOPHIE! The Gods have spoken: welcome aboard AMBITIO, known as LAUREL ZHOU, with a faceclaim of JESSICA HENWICK. Please take a look at our checklist, and send in your account in the next 24 hours. 

ADMIN NOTE: Below the cut, you will find the first of our two sample apps. Hopefully this will be helpful in answering any questions you have about our application, as well as show you how acceptances will be formatted when we accept on October 26th. This is where an admin note regarding the application will be on acceptance day. 

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME/ALIAS: Sophie

AGE, TIMEZONE, PRONOUNS: 21, aest, she/her.

ACTIVITY & EXTRAS: I do have class and work, but I consider myself good at time-managing and can generally make it on for a few hours a day, particularly as I'm also an admin. That being said, I do have a break soon so hopefully my activity should be pretty good all around! Solid 8/10.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED SKELETON: Ambitio

CHARACTER NAME: Laurel Mei Zhou

( LAUREL ) - Wreath worn on the head as a symbol of victory, dating back to Ancient Greece and Rome. Close family and friends may refer to Laurel as El or Ellie.

( MEI ) - Beautiful in Chinese, named after her mother Chia-mei Zhou.

( ZHOU ) - Family surname of Chinese origin, originating from the Zhou Dynasty, passed down on the maternal side.

AGE & GENDER: 26, cisfemale (she/her pronouns)

FACECLAIM: Jessica Henwick, Chloe Bennet, Katie Findlay

BIOGRAPHY:

FIVE YEARS OLD.

She cries a lot. She's small for her age and the slightest upset sends her running home in tears, pushing others in the playground. Her mother always looks vaguely confused, and her favourite phrases to tell Laurel are being a warrior is in your blood, and you'll grow out of it. Laurel is always doubtful of this, but her uncle isn’t. He's always concerned, in the way that makes her feel loved, taking her out for overpriced ice cream at the bodega down the street, always buying the bandaids with the cartoons on it. Laurel grows up always begging to go to her uncle's house, and when he dies, all she wants to do is crawl into bed and eat their favourite ice cream (mint chocolate chip).

Mama has other ideas - she wants to channel grief into productivity. She signs Laurel up for Brownies, judo class, swimming sports at the local events center. Before long Laurel becomes so busy that she can't even remember her uncle's face anymore. Just that feeling of love, and peppermint ice cream bursting on her tongue.

TWELVE YEARS OLD.

She's crying less now. She's too busy to cry, too grown up to cry. Her mother looks at her with pride and keeps photos in her wallet to show her friends. Laurel pretends to be embarrassed but privately she loves the attention her mother divides to her. Sometimes she still cries - once a year at Uncle's grave, under the covers after a nightmare, sometimes when she catches sight of something frightening out of the corner of her eye. Other adults always say Monsters aren't real, Laurel, but Mama never does, only, Don't be afraid, Ellie.

There are trophies lining her tiny little room in their even tinier New York flat, medals from kickboxing, certificates from Girl Scouts.There is never a dull day in the Zhou household, and one day her mother brings home a man and they turn from two into a compact little family of three. Laurel is a flower girl at their wedding, and she alternates between feeling pleased at all the attention and wondering why her real parents never got married, why Mama never mentions her father.

FOURTEEN YEARS OLD.

A monster launches at Laurel right after swim practice. She escapes by the skin of her teeth, thanks to all those years of self defense lessons, and when she runs into the house covered in cuts and monster dust, all her mother says is Get in the car, Ellie. She doesn't say a thing for the whole ride and it drives Laurel up the walls, but suddenly all she can think of is all the practices she's missing, all this time wasted that she could be practicing.

Her mother drives her to the Wolf House and doesn't say I love you, or Goodbye, or Be safe. She says, Make us proud, and by the time Laurel's figured out whether it's a choice or not, she's standing in the dust left behind from the car. She is fourteen when she trains with Lupa, and she gives up everything she has to prove herself - and then gives a little more after that. It isn't easy (nothing is ever easy) but when Lupa finally gives her a nod of approval, Laurel feels like she is flying miles high, grasping for the light of success among all the loneliness, and she doesn't ever want to let go. Make us proud, her mother said, so Laurel fights all the way to Camp Jupiter, and some more after that, because she learns to love it.

Laurel meets her father at the gates of Camp Jupiter. He is not smiling, but there is something amiss in the glint of his eye, and when he says Well done, she knows he means it. He claims her right after, and kneeling at his feet as his symbol glows above her, she pledges her life away forever. (Only she didn't know it then.)

SIXTEEN YEARS OLD.

The Cohorts leave to defend Mount Othrys, and despite everything, despite the way she trains and goes to bed sweaty, wakes up at the crack of dawn to get ready, Laurel is put in a defensive line. Mars hasn't visited since she was fourteen, and mother always said if you want something, earn it, so the choice is easy. Break out of rank, new battle formations, she plays every trick in the book - and she isn't revolutionary, but it's enough. When she lies bleeding out in the infirmary days later, Mars appears to her in a dream, and she knows that she's done good, that the knife she'd taken is a small price for that piece of recognition, that she’d do it over and over again just to hear him say I’m proud of you.

EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD.

She is shaping up to be one of the Legion's biggest and brightest. People fear her, nickname her hardass, talk about how she can't take a joke (or a break), but none of it ever seems to matter. She hasn't talked to her mother in a year, she has not so much friends but competition. She leads her first successful mission under Mars’ guidance, and comes home with six new scars and a fair bit of trauma. When asked about her success, she says it is the best year of her life.

TWENTY YEARS OLD.

Laurel votes for peace over war, and it is the first time she has seen Mars truly angry. When she goes home, it takes hours of tossing and turning before she can finally get to sleep. When she wakes up in the morning, her pillow is wet from tears, and the sensation is so foreign, like the last time she talked to her mom. (Don't cry, Ellie Mei.) She can't quite decide whether her mother would be disappointed or proud of her. She'd always encouraged Laurel to speak her own mind - but she also always thinks war is the right path, and suddenly Laurel can't bear to pick get on a bus back home and find out. When she steps outside the door, the third Cohort are all angry, and she knows it is a side effect from her father. One of the praetors comes calling later that afternoon, saying things in a condescending tone like we can't afford to have the god of war against us and you need to fix this, Laurel. She's not sure when it became her problem to solve, her burden to bear, and she tells herself she doesn't care, that her father's life and thoughts don't define her.

But the next morning, Laurel gets up early and goes to change her vote. War, it seems, always wins.

TWENTY THREE.

When Laurel is twenty three she tries her hand at dating. It's good for a while (it's better than good, but she would never say it), but it always seems to end the same way. You never make time for me. You're always busy training. I'll never live up to your expectations. Once, she is told that you're always going to put your other commitments first. It hurts - but it's not exactly untrue. Laurel stops looking for serious relationships after that.

TWENTY SIX.

When Laurel is picked for the quest, nobody is surprised, least of all her. There isn't a choice, not really, not for someone who's been raised to be the best at everything. Her life has been a series of accomplishments and sacrificing every piece of herself for victory - yet, looking in the eyes of her father, she knows if she fails this, no other accomplishment could ever matter. Now, boarding the Argo, she’s not sure whats more important: saving the world, or saving her pride.

FATAL FLAW/DEFINING CHARACTERISTIC:

AMBITION. Ambition has always been Laurel's downfall - she suspects as much, too, yet that doesn't make it any less dangerous. She would give up the world in a heartbeat if it meant she could keep her place as War's Daughter, if it meant it would make her father proud. In the past, her ambition has driven her to the brink of self-exhaustion, lack of communication, it has isolated her from the beautiful things in life. She is always thinking about the bigger picture, never about the small details that make it possible. She has jumped in front of a knife many times to satisfy her ambition... and she wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Even at the fate of the world. Even at the fate of herself.

EXTRAS

Pinterest

Playlist

[nouies-moved]

BEST FICS OF 2017 picked by notchopsuey manips | other recs | rec page

#1. Runaway Land. 103k. Louis is sure he’s stumbled upon a secret, underground nightclub, though that is far from the truth. He’s also pretty sure he’s stumbled upon Apollo, which… isn’t very far from the truth, actually. Modern Greek mythology AU. #2. You Might Want to Marry My Husband. 24k. When Harry’s husband dies, he asks one thing of him; to find love and happiness again without him. It’s a request that Harry is happy to disregard, until he meets the one person who is impossible to ignore. #3. Love's Truest Language. 48k. The first part was meant as a joke. He didn't really expect Harry to buy anything. It was just Louis’ way of softening the ‘get the fuck out’ blow. “Where's your order forms, then?” “I don't want your flowers.” Louis chided before directing all of his attention to the arrangement in front of him. Harry laughed under his breath as he stood to his full height, “Who said anything about them being for you, love?”

#4. got the sunshine on my shoulders. 124k. five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone. now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him. (or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

#5. Be with me so happily. 42k. Harry Styles may have had his doubts at first, but by the time the gates to the elephant sanctuary came into view he was one hundred percent positive. Louis Tomlinson hated his guts. Like hated, hated. Like loathed-him-on-sight hated. From what Harry could tell, he hadn’t even done anything close to insulting enough to warrant the disdain that was Louis Tomlinson’s default expression whenever he looked at Harry. It really wasn’t fair. Especially since he’d been lusting after the man from the second he’d laid eyes on that pretty, pretty face with those pretty, pretty eyes. Or ... the one where Harry Styles has a bad reputation and a heart of gold, and Louis Tomlinson wishes he wasn't so enchanted by boys who looked like Disney characters and wore shirts with bumble bees on them. [aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn't want to babysit his funder's spoiled lay-about son for two months] #6. rivers 'til i reach you. 29k. Louis can’t begin to understand how he’s always this close and still can’t manage to make Harry his. He stands up and gets another beer. AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is). #7. Fall At My Door. 29k. A-list actor Harry Styles and award-winning musician Louis Tomlinson have an acquaintances-with-benefits relationship, so whenever their busy professional lives happen to land them in the same city, they meet up. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. And that’s all it is. Until it isn’t. #8. When We Were Younger. 76k. About a week after Harry started visiting this particular chat room, he was watching some kid argue with the whole room about football, personally disinterested as he tipped a bag of crisps into his mouth. He happily chomped on the crumbs, taking a swig from a glass of Ribena to wash them down, glancing at the screen and very nearly spat the squash back out again. His heart was pounding wildly. The display icon of the argumentative newcomer had caught his eye, and not in a good way. He gulped as he clicked the picture, and when it popped up in full resolution, his heart nearly fell right out of his arse. - Sixteen year old Harry Styles’ world turns upside down when he logs on to gay teen chat to discover somebody has stolen his photos and used them as their own. #9. the wonderlands. 150k. "Somewhere between chaos and control — these are the wonderlands." Harry's daughter, Andy, is signed to Louis' girl band. Her path to success is marked by competition, chaos, and for Harry, a love affair. #10. Paint Me In A Million Dreams. 110k. Harry's one of Hollywood's biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There's just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry's in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood's biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity? In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food. #11. Divide (series). 45k. Four AUs inspired by Ed Sheeran’s album “Divide”. #12. Brooklyn Saw Me. 28k. In the cold and unforgiving city of New York, Louis doesn't have a home and Harry wants to give him one. But as their heartstrings become increasingly intertwined, and the snow continues to fall, home is getting harder and harder to find. #13. Walk That Mile. 141k. Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.” “Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.” “Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes. - A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan. #14. Never Let Me Go. 55k. “Harry! I’ll tell you what,” Louis exclaims, clapping his hands together. There’s a big grin on his face. “If both of us are still single by your thirtieth birthday, we’ll marry each other.” Harry’s head snaps up, eyes widening. “What?” Harry and Louis have been friends forever, but they couldn't be more different. One night, with a little too much alcohol, they make a pact to marry in ten years if they're both still single. Now, one month before the deadline, Louis is willing to do whatever it takes to avoid ending up with his best friend. But is he, really? | Loosely inspired by The 10 Year Plan #15. Do Not Go Gentle. 70k. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it? Well, it’s not for me. This is a real life or death situation,” Louis says, spitting the words at him. “And I just don’t think you’re cut out for it.” For a moment, they stare at each other in complete silence. Harry can feel his blood thrumming between his ears, can see Louis glaring at him, feels red-hot anger. And then all he feels, oppressively and desperately, is lust. Suddenly Louis is surging up to him to press his lips against Harry’s. Harry walks the two of them backwards, pressing Louis back against the door. Louis oomphs in surprise and brings his hands under Harry’s scrub top, scratching at his lower back. “Lock — oh — lock the… fucking door,” Louis mutters. When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern. A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they? #16. Staring Across the Room. 26k. Harry Styles has a great life. He’s a children’s librarian at the New York Public Library, he’s got wonderful friends, and he loves cooking, green tea, yoga, and his collection of bow ties. He doesn’t mind that his life seems a little structured, maybe even a little boring. But when Louis Tomlinson joins the library staff as the new Installation Coordinator, things become a lot less predictable. Louis gets under his skin right from the start, bossing Harry around, making noise during story time, and eating the last cupcake in the staff lounge. Louis may be almost offensively attractive, but Harry will not be succumbing to Louis Tomlinson’s charms, even if the rest of the library staff have. #17. Take Me Back to Where We Started. 27k. Harry and Louis haven't spoken since they broke up four years ago. As boarding school sweethearts they once spent every waking moment together, but now they can hardly stand to be in the same room. When their five year class reunion comes around, both boys decide against their better judgement to return and (hopefully) have a good time. The only problem is, they're both still hopelessly in love. Starring Harry as the petty ex, Louis as the new James Bond, Niall as a boy genius and fake boyfriend extraordinaire, and Liam and Zayn as two friends just trying to make it out of this weekend alive. #18. Safe and Sound (You'll Always Be). 58k. When a failed case and a guilty conscience leaves Harry more than a little lost, his boss presents him with a new, less taxing assignment to help him cope. An escape from all the madness is just what Harry needs to get his life back on track. It's just too bad his new client has a grin like the devil, a pair of electric eyes that Harry simply can't get over, and no intention whatsoever of letting him catch a break. #19. never mind the odds (i'm gonna try my luck). 59k. Louis Tomlinson is going to be the journalistic voice of his generation. He’s just waiting for his editor to realize it. For now, he’s stuck writing fluff pieces for the Life and Style section of London Now Newspaper. His latest assignment is more of the same rubbish: a profile of Harry Styles, plastic surgeon and one of London’s most eligible bachelors. Louis is intent on writing something smart and biting and unexpected; if it makes Harry look like an idiot, that’s just the price of good journalism. That is, until Louis gets to know Harry and realizes he might be kind of perfect. Featuring Louis as a writer/workaholic, Harry as a plastic surgeon with a heart of gold, Zayn and Niall as Louis’ colleagues and long-suffering best mates, and Liam as everyone’s favorite pediatric surgeon and Harry’s right-hand man. #20. Then We Talk Slow. 20k. The picture showed Harry smiling widely (with a fucking dimple) at the camera, his glossy brown curls situated artfully around his shoulders. Louis couldn’t see his whole outfit, but it seemed to consist of a pink, floral button-up with most of the buttons undone. Louis could also detect the dark outlines of tattoos on his chest, although he couldn’t quite make out what they were underneath the shirt. What he could make out was that his own heartrate seemed to have picked up significantly. Shit. This was so not good. Not only had Louis drunkenly sent messages in a deliberate attempt to interact with this man, he was now insanely attracted to him without ever having met him in person. Maybe Liam was right – drunk tweeting really was a horrible, rotten idea. A famous/non-famous AU in which Louis banters back and forth with his new record company on Twitter, only to find out that Harry is the man behind the tweets.

[sankta-arya]

The Seasons of My Love (4)

Written for day 1 (soulmates) and day 5 (seasons) of @jonsa-week

Rated mature

My laptop was acting up, so it took me a little longer to post the final chapter here.

I Dream of You Amid the Flowers

Chapter title from 'Daydream in Blue' by I Monster

After a short fling with a Dornish girl, Ned Stark meets his soulmate Catelyn.

They decide to get married and are happy to welcome their daughter Sansa into the world soon after.

Over a decade later he finds a boy on his doorstep with nothing but a suitcase and a letter identifying him as his son and no home to return to.

Little does Ned know that his daughter started seeing the world in colours the moment she laid eyes on her half-brother.

Jon is twelve.

His mother grabs him by the arm, pulling him out of the car. She looks nervous, lip twitching and hands shaking, the circles under her eyes darker than he's used to seeing them and her skin more sallow over her sharp cheekbones.

They've been driving for a couple of days, all the way up North. "I can't do this anymore," she muttered several times over the course of their trip. Jon was too frightened to ask what she meant.

At first he was excited that his mother was taking him with her. Before, she'd always disappeared for a couple of days without even telling him, coming home reeking of things Jon couldn't name, still wearing the same clothes she left in.

Mother can be sweet when she feels like it, but every time Jon thinks he's figured out what to do to make her cook for him or give him lunch money or help him with his homework, just when he allows himself to believe she's going to stay, she leaves him again.

When he was little, he didn't want the other kids to know that he cried himself to sleep at night because he couldn't make his mommy love him, but he's a teenager now and men don't cry.

She startles him from his thoughts by shoving an envelope into his hands. "Give this to your father. Tell him you're his responsibility now."

He frowns at her in confusion. She's always told him he doesn't have a father. He glances at the suitcase she's put down next to him and then back at his mother, who's already back in the driver's seat of the car.

"Trust me, kid, you're better off without me," Ashara tells him before taking off without even looking back.

Jon stands there for a moment, staring at his shoes and then turns around to study the house behind him. It's the biggest house he's ever seen, with a nice front yard and a porch swing. Hesitantly he walks to the front door, reaching up to press the doorbell.

His eyes drop to his feet again, studying his frayed shoelaces. The door swings open and he looks up at the person standing in the doorway. It's a girl in a frilly dress, two pigtails hanging over her shoulders. He risks a glance at her face. She must be younger than he is, but she's taller than him.

Her lips are parted in surprise. "Can I help you?" she asks and something in her voice gives him the courage to look up.

He meets her eyes and suddenly the world becomes a brighter place, filled with colours he doesn't know how to name. She clasps a hand over her mouth, as she regards him with eyes large as saucers. For a while they keep staring at each other until she cries out:  "Daddy!"

I loved a maid as green as spring

with flowers in her hair

Jon wasn't sure why he'd decided to come home for spring break. His main motivation for moving away to go to college was to get away from her.

It had all started three years after the Starks had decided to take him. At thirteen, Sansa had become too well-developed for her own good. She'd always been a pretty girl, but instead of going through the awkward phases of puberty like most people, she'd gone straight to drop-dead-gorgeous.

At fifteen, hormones raging through his body, it had been enough to drive Jon out of his mind. Sansa'd had a habit of prancing around the house in miniscule shorts and skin-tight shirts. And as if that wasn't bad enough, she'd always seemed eager to hug him, pressing her braless breasts into his back or chest, or curling herself into his lap.

At sixteen he'd met Ygritte, who was twenty and drove a motorcycle and he'd jumped right into a relationship with the wild thing, trying to distract himself from his inappropriate attraction to his half-sister. He'd even lost his virginity to Ygritte, but it just wasn't meant to last.

At seventeen he'd counted the months until his graduation, so he could finally be free from the spell that was Sansa.

Literally distancing himself from her had given him some semblance of a normal life, but he still missed her, feeling her abscence like a constant ache or hunger.

It didn't matter how many times he let his dormmate Satin suck his cock, he still dreamed of her every night. It was not just sex though. He wanted her. Gods, how he wanted her, but she meant so much more to him.

He missed her voice and her smile and the way she'd glance up at him with those bright blue eyes. He missed her optimism and her unwavering faith in humanity. She never failed to find a solution to any problem, simply because she believed.

It made her strong and vulnerable at the same time. It made him want to hold her close, protecting her from the cruel world, protecting him from his own cynical heart.

Sansa believed they could be together, but Jon knew she was too smart and her future too bright for her to throw it all away for her half-brother.

After sitting in his car across the street from the Stark residence for fifteen minutes, he killed the engine and stepped out. His feet had hardly hit the ground, when the door swung open.

He quickly jogged to the other side of the road and found her standing in the doorway. Before he had a chance to look at her properly, she'd bounded over to him and jumped into his arms.

Relief and warmth washed over him, all tension leaving his body. It was as if he could breathe again for the first time in months. He held her close, breathing her in, relishing the feel of her in his arms.

She pulled back to nudge her nose against his, arms locked around his neck. She gazed into his eyes and he stared back, unable to look away.

He only regained his composure when he heard Bran and Rickon shouting his name. He let the boys lead him inside as they started talking his ear off. When they pulled him over the threshold, he couldn't help but turn one last time to let his eyes feast on the vision of Sansa in a grey sweater and black leggings.

***

Jon had decided to retreat to the tree house for the day. He and Ned had built it during his first summer here. It had taken a while for Jon to get used to being part of a family and the tree house had become his safe space.

He was lost in thought and the book he was reading, when he heard someone climbing up the ladder. He needn't look up to know that it was Sansa.

She tiptoed over to him and folded herself onto the floor, burrowing under his arm and nuzzling her face into his neck. "I've missed you," she murmured against his skin.

He closed his book and exhaled heavily through his nose. He put the book aside, still avoiding her face, only betrayed by the hand that had started stroking her arm as soon as she'd snuggled into his side.

He looked down to find her studying his face. The fingers of her left hand started playing with the hair that peeked out from under the neckline of his shirt as she gazed up at him with big innocent eyes. She'd tucked cherry blossoms into her fiery braid which hung bright against her bottle green dress.

"I've missed you, too," he whispered roughly.

A radiant smile spread over her face and she let her head rest against his shoulder. "I've made a terrible mistake, Jon," she muttered.

His heart almost stopped. He gulped. "What happened, sweetling? Tell me."

"I tried to follow your advice," she began. "Go out, meet other people. And I- I found myself a boyfriend."

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the monster that roared inside him as he imagined Sansa with another man.

She buried her face in his neck, fisting her hand into the fabric of his shirt. "Harry seemed so nice and I was angry with you for leaving me. I let him.... take my virginity and-" her voice broke down into a sob.

His free hand came up to stroke her hair as his stomach churned at the idea alone. Gently he lifted her chin until he could meet her teary eyes. "Did- did he hurt you? I swear I'll kill him if he did," he murmured fiercely.

She shook her head. "No, not like that. He dumped me the day after," she whispered.

Jon clenched his jaw, his blood boiling with rage. "Fucking douchebag!"

She averted her eyes. "I'm such an idiot."

"Don't say that!" he objected, stroking her cheek.

"I am," she whimpered. "It should have been you, Jon!"

He released her, turning away. "Sansa," he warned her. "Please, don't."

His rejection only seemed to make her more determined. She braced her hands on his shoulders to swing one leg over his so she could straddle his lap.

He looked down to avoid her eyes, nails digging into the wooden floor at the sight of her skirt riding up her milky thighs where they were spread open over his.

"Look at me and tell me you don't want me, Jon," she whispered.

Foolishly he glanced up at her face and gulped. "I can't," he rasped, even with the voices inside his head calling him a sick bastard.

She beamed at him, hands carding through the curls at the nape of his neck and started leaning in.

She slanted her mouth over his and lightly brushed her lips over his again and again, undeterred by his lack of his response.

His lips parted with a small gasp when she lightly nipped at them and she didn't waste the opportunity to slide her tongue into his mouth.

His hands flew to her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back hungrily. He groaned into her eager mouth. She tasted of candy shoe strings, which he'd normally find too sweet, but discovered he simply loved on Sansa's tongue.

When they parted, she let out a breathless giggle which shot straight to his already suffering cock.

This wasn't the first time they'd kissed, but he knew it needed to be the last.

"I'll be eighteen in a couple of months. We could run away together to a place where nobody's ever heard of Jon Dayne or Sansa Stark," she panted into his ear.

"Sansa, we can't," he sighed, struggling to keep his voice devoid of emotion. "I can't give you the future you deserve."

She pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I don't care. As long as I have you."

"What about our family, Sansa?"

She considered his question for a minute. "I'll miss them, too. But we could leave them a letter, to explain. Mom and Dad know what it's like. They'd understand."

Jon didn't want to imagine the looks on Ned and Cat's faces if they ever found out the truth. He owed everything to them. "No, San, we couldn't do that to them."

She pushed herself off him, turning her back to him. She threw him a scowl before she started descending the ladder. "You're just a coward, Jon!"

***

When Jon woke up in the middle of the night, he found her lying next to him, snuggled into his side under the covers.

Mind still drunk with sleep, he pulled her closer and she draped a leg over his hips, pressing her hot core against his groin.

It shouldn't surprise him that Sansa mewling his name after he'd kissed her into oblivion was enough to finally push him over the edge.

She swallowed his objections that he didn't have a condom with a kiss and a comment that she was on the pill. "And I trust you, Jon," she murmured against his lips.

When he finally slid inside her, he shouldn't be as overwhelmed as he was that she felt like heaven and home all wrapped up into one.

After, when she was lying in his arms, back pressed flush against his chest, after they'd entrusted the truth and depth of their love to each other's lips and hearts and skin with and without words alike, he couldn't help but wonder: If this is wrong, then why does it feel so right?

[clarenecessities]

spooky butterflies

Word Count: 1240 Rating: PG

Summary: fuck broccoli Chapter Warnings:  food tw, existentialism

last hurrah before the content blackout so enjoy this mediocre offering, it’s gotta last you two weeks

[First] [Previous] [Next]

Plagg swallowed the last of his bite with an audible gulp. “I can’t just be visiting an old friend?”

“Twenty minutes after the children’s school was attacked? Somehow I doubt it.”

“Alright, fine, I heard about the attack. Forgive me for taking an interest in my investments,” said Plagg, turning his nose haughtily in the air.

“Your ‘investments,’ apparently did very well for themselves,” said Sabine, pride and disapproval warring in her tone. “They managed to stop the attack before word had even reached us here.”

“Well, it’s no surprise,” purred Plagg. “I’m a very good investor.”

“Are we included in that category, or is it just Lady Luck and Jiji Junior over here?” asked Alya.

“Who’s Jiji?” asked Adrien. “Are they a dashing young—”

“It’s a cartoon cat, dude,” Nino broke in with a sympathetic grimace.

“Oh.”

“My categories are for me to know and you to never find out,” said Plagg. “That’s why they’re called categories, and not foxegories.”

“Wow, rude?” said Alya, very obviously not offended in the least as she steepled a hand over her heart. “I just wanna be included, Catdad.”

“I would like to stress once again that Plagg is not my dad,” said Adrien, pouting.

“And he’s not your uncle or anything? Not a distant cousin?” asked Alya, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Plagg was a close friend of his mother’s, dear,” said Sabine from behind her.

“How close?” asked Alya, turning her attention on Plagg. “Familiar close?”

“As if,” snorted Plagg.

“She had another familiar,” Adrien supplied, smiling down at his guardian. “I don’t know if he’s still around, though—I’ve sure never met him.”

“Honestly you lucked out there, kid,” said Plagg, “Every minute I spent with him was agony.”

“You say the same thing when you’re waiting for your dinner, Plagg.”

“Well maybe if some people would accept that cheese is a reasonable entrée, we wouldn’t have that problem!”

“You need vegetables to live!” growled Adrien, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork and jabbing it in a hissing Plagg’s face.

“I don’t need shit to live, I’m immortal!” he yowled, struggling against Adrien’s grip on his torso. “I’m a god on Earth, you little—”

Sabine plucked the fork, broccoli and all, from Adrien’s grasp, and the two instantly fell silent, looking up at her.

“That,” she said primly, “will do. What’s the word on your side of things, Plagg?”

“As best we can tell, it was whoever killed Nooroo,” he answered, sullen. “They absorbed so much of his power that it’s tainted any identifiers. We can’t even tell if it’s one of the aos sídhe.”

“Was it a booned item, though?” asked Adrien.

“Sort of. It was… incomplete. I wouldn’t even call it an enchantment, it was like… everything they took from Nooroo, they put into that umbrella. It was practically its own entity, but its will was all ‘Piseóg’. Like it was a living thing with only one purpose.”

“It seemed like it was taking over Aurore,” Marinette said quietly. Adrien blinked. He hadn’t thought about Stormy Weather having… a person, under there.

“Less possession and more ‘influence,’ I’d think,” said Plagg, tilting his head to one side. “Nooroo was a member of the Fairy Court. There’s no way a mortal, even a magical one, could handle that proximity without being overwhelmed.”

“So how is Piseóg doing it?” asked Alya from Marinette’s side.

“Well, either they’re immortal themselves, or—and this is more likely based on what we saw today—they have some kind of vessel,” said Plagg.

“What makes you say that?” asked Adrien, looking down at him.

“Putting the magic into an item like that, rather than just trying to take control of the girl outright—this is somebody who knows what they’re dealing with, and they’re doing what they can to keep it at arm’s length.”

“So if they had possessed Aurore outright, then…?” asked Marinette.

“Then she’d be dead,” said Plagg, with a grim finality that unnerved Adrien. “She’s an elemental, right? She would have just… she would have been amplified into the biggest storm this world has ever seen—and then she would have petered out, and there would be nothing left.”

“Does that mean Piseóg like, doesn’t want to kill people?” asked Nino uncertainly. “I mean I know they like, attacked us, but—if they just wanted to annihilate as many people as possible, Mega-Storm sounds like a pretty good way to go.”

“It’s difficult to say, unfortunately,” said Plagg, frowning. “Things got sort of tangled up with what the girl wanted. It’s possible that Piseóg just isn’t used to wielding this kind of power, and things will be made clearer—but as it stands, we have no idea why they chose her. It might even be that she herself is Piseóg, and things just got away from her. It’s impossible to tell who was influencing whom.”

“A man dreamt he was a butterfly,” said Sabine, drawing everyone’s attention, “flying from flower to flower. It was rich and convincing, lifelike in the most intimate detail. When he woke, he could never again tell whether he was a man, or a butterfly having a dream.”

“Loving the ominous anecdotes, Mme. Cheng,” said Alya, shooting her a thumbs up, “can we get the cliff notes on the moral?”

“Nooroo’s power was fundamentally about change,” Sabine explained with a patient smile. “Emotion and transformation. Whether or not Piseóg has their own motive, I think it’s safe to say that the reason Aurore was selected was because of her emotional response.”

“What, so if we have feelings they’re gonna get us?” asked Nino, paling beside Adrien. Noodles slid off of his fork with a dull splat.

“Not necessarily,” said Sabine. “If we’re right and this is the same individual who killed Nooroo, then they don’t know what they’re doing yet. They were probably feeling the same emotions as Aurore and sympathized with her cause.”

“What was she feeling?” asked Adrien, looking to Marinette.

“Angry,” she said immediately. “Cheated and jealous, but mostly angry. She felt she deserved something that was given to someone else.”

“So you think that’s how Piseóg is feeling?” Plagg asked Sabine, locking eyes with her. The two regarded one another for a long moment, before finally Sabine nodded.

“I do. Why, I can only speculate,” she said. “Though I’m hoping we’ll learn more before there’s another incident.”

“Do you think they’ll attack the school again?” asked Nino.

“There’s no way of knowing,” said Plagg, looking up at him. “Although if they strike anywhere, the best place to be is probably in that school. Lots of magic users around… apparently some pretty good students.”

“School has been cancelled for the rest of the day while the teachers sort things out,” Sabine reported. “They sent a message. You’re all perfectly welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you Madame, but I need to get home,” said Alya with a wry smile. “My mother is going to skin me and wear me as a stole when she finds out what happened.”

“I’m good,” said Nino, his own smile a polite grimace. “I think my room got a little exploded, so I’m gonna let the teachers sort that one out before I head back.”

“Plagg?” asked Adrien, looking down at his guardian with wide, pleading eyes.

“We can stay,” said Plagg, “but you’d better keep the vegetables away from me, boy.”

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Noble Vagabond

Arc of the Noble Vagabond

Absalom landed at the edge of the Verde Sea and wearily stripped off the albatross skin. He returned Tobi to his dog form and set about making camp. He couldn’t travel as the albatross any longer; a week of flight in the sky was wearing on him. One of the problems of wearing animal skins was that if one wore the skin too long they began to become like the animal they wore. Tobi was still acting a bit like a magpie, sleeping with his head tucked under one paw like a magpie with its wings.

It was going to take him weeks on foot to get around the rest of the Verde Sea and into Alda. He could take on a different form and travel as a deer, but Absalom wasn’t sure what effect that would have on his spirit. Given how it had been changed by his travels through the lines he doubted it would have too much affect, but he couldn’t risk the possibility of becoming trapped in a skin. He had heard old tales from when the Phay had still walked the earth of less experienced witches becoming trapped in the animal forms they had worn.

Absalom sighed and looked out over the Verde Sea. He had made camp in the lee of a large boulder, the light of his fire sheltered by the rocks. The Grinning One reflected off the surface of the sea in a silver path that rippled over the small waves of the inner sea. The Verde Sea was actually a lake, miss named because of its size. Smaller lakes dotted this area, but the Verde was the largest. In day light it could be seen how it got its name, the waters were a deep emerald green but no one knew why.

Absalom only sighed again looking out over the waters and turned back to get some sleep. Of course as soon as he drifted off, his spirit wandered and Absalom dreamed.

He knew the familiar paths of the aether and so took them quickly, wary of the Crippled One that hunted him. He could just turn back to his body and sleep, but Absalom had learned in all his years that when the spirit wandered it was for a reason. He didn’t go all the way to Tir Aesclinn, as he came across another wandering spirit on the lines.

Absalom immediately recognized one of the Elder Phay by the stir in the aether. The Elder Phay had taken the form of a hawk, and when he spotted Absalom he banked and swooped down. In a swirl of aether the hawk changed form into a man shape. It was the first time Absalom had come so close to one of the Elder Phay. He took the form of a fit man in his middling years, perfect and beautiful in feature, but for the slight foreign cast that made him seemed almost alien he would have been gorgeous. His nose joined the line of his forehead in an unbroken line, a common trait of the Phay. His eyes were wild, yellow and slit like a cat’s.  

His dark curly hair had twigs and leaves caught in it, his tan skin was spotted like a leopard’s, and his feet were grass stained. His ears were long and pointed and in the curls of his hair Absalom saw four goat like horns peeking out. He wore only a kilt of animal skins and a beaded necklace which rattled as he moved.

“He Who Runs in the Wild,” Absalom said softly as he bowed to the Elder Phay. “Ghillie Dhu.”

“And who are you?” Ghillie Dhu asked his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“My name is Absalom of the Deep Woods, I am a wayfaring spirit.”

“It is not wise for a spirit to wander the paths, not with the dark spirit that hunts here.”

“I have heard of the Crippled One and he and I have crossed paths,” Absalom said. “Do you know what it is?”

“A soul eater,” Ghillie Dhu answered. “But as to where it came from or its true name that I do not know. He is not what I seek however. I seek the Color Weaver.”

“Arke,” Absalom said. “She has crossed the Crippled One and he hunts her. That is all I know about her.”

“Why then do you bear one of her threads?” Ghillie Dhu asked pointing. Absalom looked down then and saw there was indeed a thread like an umbilical coming out of his spirit and disappearing into the aether. He did not have that the last time he had wandered the lines, meaning Arke had tied it to him sometime when he had returned. He thought before he had been feeling a touch of another’s power trying to work his luck, he had ignored it but here seemed to be the source. Severing such a tie though could be painful for both of them, so he was stuck with Arke’s influence until he got her to remove it.

“May I?” Ghillie Dhu asked. Absalom nodded and Ghillie Dhu took the thread in his hands. Absalom noted that the palms of his hands were unusually thick, more like the pads of paws than the soft skin of hands. He felt a slight tug as Ghillie Dhu took the thread in his hands and let his power trace the line. Ghillie Dhu looked out into the aether and Absalom knew he had just used the thread to trace it to its source.

“I thank you young one,” Ghillie Dhu said about to leave when Absalom stopped him.

“Why do you seek the Color Weaver?” Absalom asked.

“Enfys asked me to seek her out so that she will not become lost when we march,” Ghillie Dhu answered as if answering the question of a child. “Go back now; your purpose has been met.”

Before he could argue or ask any more questions Ghillie Dhu reached out and pushed him. Absalom fell back and woke in his body, the fire having burned out. Absalom sat up feeling frustrated. His first chance to talk to one of the Elder Phay and get some answers about the song or the March and he had been dismissed like a child. Granted though Absalom was over six hundred years old this was pennies compared to the centuries that Ghillie Dhu had lived. The Phay had seen stars born and die, seen worlds form out of the very dust and aether of the universe, they had walked Miread before the beasts had even come here.

Absalom rekindled his fire and sat staring at the flames, marveling still at his encounter with Ghillie Dhu. It made him wonder what it would be like to have the Phay return. They were inexplicable creatures, the Elder Phay were more forces of nature than they were thinking creatures like humans. Having such forces back in the world would change Miread greatly. No, Absalom had to remind himself, it would return Miread to what it once was. Their withdrawal into Tir Aesclinn may have been centuries ago, but centuries meant nothing to them. In the long life of the world those centuries were like a summer holiday for the Phay.

Absalom had never truly comprehended the age and power of the Phay until that moment he had looked Ghillie Dhu in the eyes.

Dawn rose and with the touch of morning light Absalom recalled his need to travel. He ate a small breakfast of trail bread before waking Tobi to begin walking. He was sadly sober now, having lost his wine bottle in his flight from Shin-Ra. He walked along the shores of the Verde Sea for five days, having to scavenge occasionally for food. He fished for dinner most of the time, able to convince a few undines to catch some fish for him.

It was about a week after he had reached the Verde Sea when Absalom reached a village. The village was a small fishing settlement; there were more boats than the ramshackle huts. Absalom approached the village hesitantly; it was not an Aldan settlement. As he walked into the village he saw it was one of those many border villages inhabited by Elmerians. There was no Sect here, but Absalom didn’t see signs of the Legion either, like fear or rotting corpses anywhere.  

The villagers were bringing in the catch for the day making the village bustle with life as children ran around with dogs. Tobi almost joined them when Absalom whistled him back. The women and children noticed him, but did not approach so Absalom waited for one of the men to come forward. Elmerians tended to do this, wait for an authority figure to take care of anything new that wandered into their mists.

The man that approached him was the biggest man there, beefy and tall. He was probably in charge because he was so big, and telling by the glint in his eye he had bullied his way there. However he bowed to Absalom when he reached him, looking at him with utter respect.

“Greetings Elder,” the man said. “We are honored by your visit.”

Absalom knew the Elmerians held the Aldan in high regard. Since Absalom looked old it was a sign he was near the end of his life, and that gained him more respect from these people.

“Greetings to you my good man,” Absalom said. “My name is Absalom, I have been away from my homeland for a long time and now seek to return at the end of my days. Do you think I could ask one of you to ferry me to Alda’s borders?”

“Of course Elder,” the man said pleased. “My name is Lars, I have the biggest boat here and would be honored to take you to Alda.”

“Thank you,” Absalom said.

“You are most welcome Elder,” Lars said. “We’ll leave tomorrow, it is late now. Come my wife will prepare a proper meal for one of your standing.”

“Again thank you,” Absalom said as he followed Lars to his little home. It was a modest cottage, the nicest one in the village but still little better than a shanty hut. Lars’ wife and children were typical Elmerians, on the plain side rather than ugly like some. Supper was of course fish, poached with lemon and rice. The meal was bland and the beer Lars plied to him was just as much so but Absalom ate to be polite.

After supper Lars gave Absalom the use of a bed displacing one of the children to sleep by the fireplace that night. He slept without dreams and the dawn rose gray and blistering cold. The Color One’s reign didn’t end until the last day of the Frosty Moon, but often He Who Bites nipped at the Colored One’s heels and let his presence known. Lun’s Day marked the change in a feast, though that was still a few weeks away.

Absalom followed Lars out to his boat, a sturdy skiff with one mast and a triangle sail. His two sons, Greg and Grant, went about the boat getting it ready to set sail.

“It will take us a week to reach Alda Elder,” Lars said as he and his sons prepared the boat. “If the weather holds. We can only take you to the border however, after the wars Alda has been closed to the likes of us.”

Absalom looked to Lars for signs of bitterness over this but he showed no signs. Probably he still got fare trade from Alda even if he wasn’t allowed into the borders. The Regarians called the Aldan arrogant for their withdrawal after the war, but others equated it to a dog slinking away to lick its wounds. Absalom understood his kin; they were much like the Phay in their response. When the world kicked you in the face it was best to withdrawal and let the world be.

But the world wasn’t going to leave them alone, not this time.

They set sail out into the gray morning, the dull green waves lapping at the side of the boat wetly. Tobi huddled in the boat with his tail between his legs; he never did like boats much. They sailed close to the coast, while the Verde Sea was a giant lake it was still large enough that if they went out of sight of land they could become lost. The wind was harsh and wet from the lake, clouds obscuring the sky and threatening horrible weather.

It was half way through their journey when the storm struck. Blowing off the lake the storm howled with the vengeance of He Who Bites. Rain and hail pelted the boat in stinging waves and the wind drove the ship nearly to ruin on the rocks. Lars steered the vessel through the storm and into a sheltered cove where they could weather the storm. It raged for three days, Lars and his sons taking the chance to repair their ship.

“Are storms like this common?” Absalom asked as they sat by the fire during the storm.

“During this time of year of course,” Lars answered. “But I’ve hardly ever seen one this fierce before.”

“Father look!” Greg said amazed pointing out into the stormy sea. The wind was blowing so hard and the water so turbulent they could hardly see the waterspout touch down until it got bigger. Absalom watched seeing what the others could not see. A great undine and great sylph were doing battle over the waves, struggling together in the waterspout like dogs over a carcass of meat. The waterspout moved out of sight, but they could still hear the wind howling over the waves.

Absalom knew this was a greater sign of the Phay meaning to march. The aether was so stirred the greater of the Wild Kin were starting to come at odds with each other. Their battles were causing the terrible weather, and only stirred the aether more. The Phay were doing no service to Miread by stirring the aether in this way, but they had no other choice if they were to march.

The storm cleared at last and once again they set sail, the air still charged with the battle of the greater elementals. Absalom looked out into the Verde Sea feeling as if he was missing something. It was just a feeling, which was the problem with intuition you had no idea what the feeling meant. He stared out into the sea trying to nail down the feeling but it passed.

They sailed for another four days until they reached Alda. The forest rose on the horizon of the lake like a green cloud, a dark line that grew as they neared the shore. Before they reached the shore however another ship came sailing out over the water from the north. It was an Aldan ship, the vessel a better craftsmanship than their own, having two masts and more sails as well. The Aldan on the ship were armed, and guided their vessel to cut off Lars before he could make for the shore.

“Hail!” one of the Aldan sailors shouted over the water. “Alda’s borders are closed, who seeks to make land in Alda?”

“I am called Absalom; I am a wayfarer seeking to return to my homeland before I die.”

It was a common thing with the Aldan who knew when they were about to die to return home if they were away. Once an Aldan began to show signs of their age they sought out their home to die with their kin.

The Aldan vessel sailed close enough for one of the sailors to leap aboard their vessel with the grace of a cat. He was a tall man and looked like all other Aldan, beautiful. He was armed with a saber and several large knives, wearing the cold blues of winter already. He walked over to Absalom ignoring Lars and his sons completely. He looked at Absalom, his face unreadable as he examined him. At last he bowed to him, his hand over his heart.

“Welcome home Elder. My name is Aaren, Captain of the Heart’s Wind,” the Aldan said indicating his vessel. “We are part of the border guard for the shores of Alda. These waters are off limits to outsiders, but you are welcome to join us on the Heart’s Wind Elder. We will take you to where you need to go.”

“Thank you,” Absalom said. He turned and picked up Tobi who was still sick as a dog, literally. Aaren turned and leapt back aboard his ship not even looking at Lars. “Thank you Lars for your aid,” Absalom said to the fisherman before he turned and leapt aboard the Heart’s Wind with the same ease as Aaren.

The ship set sail again heading now for the forest on the horizon. Absalom set Tobi down and leaned on the rail looking out to the coming forest.

“Do you know where your kin are?” Aaren asked as his men piloted the ship.

“I’ve out lived my close relatives and even my own children,” Absalom answered. He knew Aaren would not believe him if he were to tell him he was Absalom of the Deep Woods.

“Where then would you like to go?” Aaren asked.

“Alma was the closest I had to a home,” Absalom answered. He had never felt at home in Versae and of course now he could not go there. Besides he wasn’t going to Alda to visit home, he was seeking out the ruler to warn them of Feng Loe and the Crippled One. “Speaking of Alma, who rules Alda now? I have been away for a long time.”

“Alora Tira-Dora rules now after the wars,” Aaren answered. “She has no heirs; some think the royal line’s end has been a sign of Alda’s end.”

“I see,” Absalom said feeling sad. Absalom stared out into the sea then feeling lost. What had he really accomplished by uniting the kingdoms? Everything he had built seemed pathetic now, especially if his line didn’t even survive the decades.

These were not new thoughts, after he had left because the duty of the crown had weighed on him. When he returned it was to a world that was little better, maybe even worse, than the one he had left. He had wanted to convince the Phay to return by repairing the kingdoms. He had united the kingdoms only to grow tired of the petty bickering of the kings. So he had carelessly left thinking his children could handle the problem. Maybe it had worked for a time, but the Phay were marching soon and the kingdoms were in even more disarray than when he had left.

Absalom knew it was time to set things right. But was he the one to do it? How long would he really live? Despite his trip through the aether Absalom couldn’t be sure his body was immortal like the Phay. It could take the Phay years still to March, and years to set the kingdoms to rights. Could he live that long? Would anyone really believe he was Absalom of the Deep Woods returned? Sure some of the Aldan liked to keep that fantasy, but no one genuinely believed he would return. More Aldan probably believed in the Phay returning than Absalom returning. After all many could see the Wild Kin, who were proof enough the old legends were true, and so held faith that the Phay would march again.

His doubts chased themselves as they sailed closer to the Aldan woods. The giant forest had shrunken over the ages and after the wars some of those lands had been claimed by Regis. The forest was so large its territories were called woods. The Deep Woods were the most potent in the earth powers and the only place where Winter’s Tear, the cure all, grew. The Deep Woods were in the center of the forest, few lived in those woods.

Absalom had been called Absalom of the Deep Woods because his mother had birthed him there and raised him there. His mother, Eileen named after the first and legendary Eileen, had left her family because she bore the child of a woodsman. Not that it was shameful, status didn’t matter much to the Aldan back then. Absalom’s father though, a man named Elam of the Wandering Path, was a woodsman by trade and wandered the woods. His parents had spent one night together on Dóiteáin, the spring celebration. When his mother had found herself with child, she went to the woods to find his father.

She had found him of course, and they had traveled the woods together raising him. The rest of his kin though were the kings and queens of Alda. He had few memories of all the royals of Alda, though his favorite had been his grandmother Rane, She that Breathes Deep. They had visited Alma sometimes and he still remembered the scent of her perfume, vanilla with a hint of almond blossoms. She had been the reason he had sought to unite the kingdoms to lure the Phay back. Rane had told him many tales of the Phay and had seemed so sad that they were gone.

As the ship sailed Absalom was flooded with memories of an Alda that was long dead, of people and friends that had not only died long ago but had been reborn and died again at least several times already. And here he was lingering like a lost shadow returning to a place that he once called home.

The Heart’s Wind made birth in a little cove, forest trees hanging out over the green water, some bare of leaves and others evergreens with drooping boughs. Absalom scooped up Tobi and leapt ashore before the ship had even fully docked.

“Wait!” Aaren said startled. “We can take you closer to Alma.”

“I would like to walk the woods again,” Absalom answered. “It has been a long time since I was home.”

Perhaps it was something in his voice or the way he stared out into the darkening forest, but Absalom heard Aaren take a sharp breath. He looked back at the ship captain and saw his eyes were wide and wild with shock.

“I thank you for your aid,” Absalom said to him. “After hundreds of years I have returned home.”

Before Aaren or the other sailors could stop him Absalom walked into the trees; drawing the aether around him so to their eyes he vanished into the lingering shadows of the forest.

[vraiesmeufs]

Estelle

Enghien-les-bains, 16h

J’attends Estelle à la gare de cette ville, située au nord de Paris. Elle me rejoint quelques minutes plus tard, veste en cuir, cheveux bouclés, grand sourire. Elle m’emmène dans un parc, pas loin de la gare, un endroit calme et ensoleillé.

J’ai connu Estelle sur les réseaux, sous le pseudo Zoovie Kazuyoshi. “C’est simple, Zoovie c’est un surnom que m’avait donné un pote à moi, un jour, en me disant que ça allait bien, puis finalement je l’ai gardé. Et pour Kazuyoshi, un jour, j’ai cherché des noms de famille japonais, je suis tombée sur celui-là, je trouvais que ça sonnait bien, donc je l’ai aussi gardé !”

La grande passion d'Estelle, c’est le Japon. “J’ai commencé à regarder des mangas en primaire, je regardais généralement ce qui passait à la télé. J’ai commencé à m'intéresser à la culture japonaise vers 13 ans parce que j’avais une bande de potes qui était dans le style “japon kawaii” mais c’est plus vers mes 17 ans que j’ai saigné cette culture, les mangas… Je ne suis jamais allée au Japon mais c’est un de mes rêves.” Ses mangas préférés ? “Je dirais Nana et Tokyo Ghoul. Nana c’est vraiment un manga qui m’a particulièrement marqué, j’adore l’histoire, les personnages, l’ambiance. Tout est captivant.”

Une passion qu’on peut même retrouver dans ses tatouages, qu’elle collectionne sur sa peau. “Le dernier tatouage que je me suis fait, c’est celui qu’il y a sur mon front, “Deter”. Après une rencontre, on voulait chacune se tatouer le blaze de l’autre, un peu sur un coup de tête du coup elle s’est tatoué “Zoovie” et moi je m’étais dit que c’était le moment de me tatouer le visage, c’était un projet que j’avais depuis longtemps en tête.” Le tatouage qui m’a le plus marqué sur elle, ce sont 2 yeux façon manga qu’elle a sur l’avant bras. Lorsque je lui demande quel tatouage l’a le plus marqué, elle me répond qu’il y en a deux. “Le premier, c’est un tatouage qui a beaucoup d’importance car c’est ma mère qui l’a dessiné. Le deuxième, c’est un tatouage en japonais que j’ai au niveau de la nuque, ça veut dire Jésus Christ. Je me suis convertie au christianisme il y a quelques années donc c’est vraiment un tatouage qui a une très forte signification pour moi.”

L’autre passion d’Estelle, c’est la photographie. “Je préfère être derrière l’objectif, même si ça ne me dérange pas non plus d’être devant. En fait, j’aime l’image, j’ai envie de faire ressentir des sentiments, des émotions à travers une photo. Le fait de créer une belle image, c’est un truc que j’adore. J’aimerais bien faire de plus en plus de photo et pourquoi pas, à long terme, en faire mon métier". Estelle a d’ailleurs arrêté l’école assez tôt, vers 16 ans. “J’avais en quelque sorte une phobie scolaire, je m’y sentais pas bien, l’école ce n’était pas fait pour moi. Aujourd’hui, je regrette un peu parce que c’est dur de travailler quand t’as pas de diplôme. Le problème est que le système est fait de sorte que, si tu ne fais pas d’études ou que tu n’as pas de diplôme, il est quasiment impossible de trouver du travail. Donc j’ai regretté un peu mais il y a toujours moyen de s’en sortir sans.”

Niveau musique, Estelle a passé plusieurs caps : “J’écoute un peu de tout. Disons qu'avant j’ai eu une période rock, puis une période très rap…. Aujourd'hui, j’écoute un peu tout ce que j’ai écouté. En ce moment, je suis à fond sur XXXTentacion, j’écoute aussi beaucoup de k-rap, de jazz et de sons un peu dépressifs.“

“Une vraie meuf c'est une meuf authentique, c'est une meuf qui se démarque, une meuf qui fait pas semblant.”

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ENGLISH (translated by Mathis)

I am waiting for Estelle at the train station from this city, located in the North of Paris. She comes to me a few minutes later, leather jacket, curly hair, a huge smile. She takes me to a park, not far from the train station, a sunny and calm place.

I’ve met her on the social networks, under the nickname Zoovie Kazuyoshi. “It’s simple, Zoovie is a nickname a friend of mine gave me one day, saying that it fits well, so I kept it. And about Kazuyoshi, one day, I looked for some Japanese last names, I found that one and kept it as well, as it sounded good!”

Estelle’s biggest passion is Japan. “I started watching mangas when I was in primary school, I used to watch what was on television. I started getting interested in the japan culture around 13 because I had a bunch of friends who were in the "japan kawaii” style, but it is more around 17 that I got REALLY interested in this culture, mangas, … I’ve never been to Japan, but it is one of my dreams.“ Her favorite mangas? "I’d say Nana and Tokyo Ghoul. Nana is truly a manga that touched me, I love the story, the characters, the mood. Everything is captivating.”

We can even find this passion on her tattoos, that she collects on her skin. “My last tattoo is the one you can see on my forehead, "Deter”. I recently met someone, and we both wanted to get tattooed the other’s name. On a whim, she got tattooed “Zoovie”, and I was telling myself that it was the right moment to get my face tattooed, I had this idea in my head for a while.“ The tattoo that impacted me the most on her is the one with two eyes (in a manga way) that she has on her forearm. When I ask her which one impacted her the most, she replies that there are two of them. "The first one is a really important tattoo to me because my mom drew it. The second one is a Japanese tattoo that I have on my neck, which means Jesus Christ. I converted to Christianity a few years ago, so this one truly means a lot to me.”

Estelle other’s passion is photography. “I’d rather be behind the lens, but it doesn’t bother me to be in front of it. Actually, I like the picture, I want to make people feel emotions through a picture. Creating a beautiful one is something I love. I would like to do photography more and more, and, why not, make it my job later.” Estelle dropped out of school kinda early, when she was 16. “I had like a school phobia, I wasn’t feeling good, I felt like school wasn’t for me. Today, I regret a bit, because it is hard to work when you do not have diplomas. This problem is due to the system, which make it almost impossible to find a job without doing studies or having certificates. So I do regret it a bit, but, well, there’s always a way to get out of this.

About music, Estelle went through different things : "I listen to a bit of everything. Let’s say I had a rock period, and then a big rap period… Nowadays, I listen to a bit of everything. These days, I listen a lot to XXXTentacion, as well as k-rap, jazz and some depressing songs.”

“A real girl is an authentic girl, a girl who stands out, a girl who does not pretend.”

[oxfordeliterp]

❝ Damn the exquisite measuring of depth.       take me away from the water;   i can no longer see my reflection from such a gruesome height.❞

Nicholas Mercer | twenty-three (III) | The Riot Club | Douglas Booth | taken

Nicholas is a series of uncertainties, but one thing has never been debatable about him — he is a sweet talker that could convince flowers to bloom with the sound of his voice and turn their leaves red with nervousness. He has always been known for it, charming and self-confident, winning over, one at a time, his whole middle school, two high schools that he changed in his Sophomore year and, soon the way he used to see it, the world. Because who could resist to an intelligent mind who knew how to smile as well? Yet, as soon as he got accepted into Oxford and met his colleagues, Nicholas faced the shock of his life: suddenly, he was no longer the only one with a witty remark on the top of his tongue. Suddenly, his light faltered as he looked around and realized that the sky was full of stars just like him, maybe even brighter. The boy who had been constantly told how special, how out of the ordinary and how irresistible he was finally met not only an equal, but dozens. The university was crawling with clones of him, sometimes even improved, for most had the funds and parental support impressed almost equally. For the first time in his life, Nick understood envy from the other side, for he was used to being the subject of others’. Yet, he didn’t give up. Although the thought of not being an original bothers him to this day, two to three years later, he is mostly pleased with himself: he has managed to get in the top ten best versions of the IT boy archetype. Taking it to the next level after getting to see the crème de la crème in action, he stepped up his own self expectations and became good according to the high society’s standards. But he isn’t just good, not the way he sees himself; he is a God and nothing can stay in the way of his dreams. The frustration regarding financial possibilities is still breaking his heart because he just knows that if he had these boys’ upbringings, he would have been the sun, not just a star, but he learned an alternative way of getting there. At first, it was strategically shot compliments at the ladies who came to eat in the restaurant he used to work as waiter in. The compliments became dates and he became a handsome resort for lonely rich women who found him so full of potential and delightful. This scheme only works for a limited amount of time, though, so he came up with a long term solution to his problem. Although he doesn’t want to marry so soon and especially in such circumstances, he is positive that it is the only safe way to immediately see himself in a manor after graduation, so the fishing has started. Despite him being the one pushing for it, he feels like it is him the one making the selection of who deserves to be the spoiled girl, lucky enough to have her minds to twisted by him and him to sweep her off her feet. He doesn't like to think about it, for the mere reminder of why he is doing it and the fact that he is blacken the walls of his brain and disappoint himself, because what happened to the boy who genuinely thought his only powers were enough to take over the world? Less idealistic and dreamy, but feeling repulsed staring at the bathroom mirror painting his own reflection, Nick doesn't know what this school has made of him and isn't entirely sure if it was the environment or simply the path he would have gone on out of his own initiative. He can't accept to have ruined himself and his integrity willingly, so he denies the very existence of his materialism and pretends to be genuine with every step in hopes that he would not only fool a stupid rich girl, but also the smart poor boy hiding in his shoes. He never meant to be so shallow and wicked, which is why if he wasn't handling it all with the biggest possible ray of confidence, he would be too disgusted to even lift his eyes from the ground. Coming home to his mother, the woman who adores him the most, without even the pretty words and batting of eyelashes flirtatiously, turned from the most expected event of the season into a burden, because he cannot look in the eyes of the woman who raised him and feel so impure about himself. Yet, he can't have it any other way, needing the Riot Club, needing the level of high life and the glimmer that comes with it all. No matter how intelligent and prepared in any sort of situation, the man can't seem to get off the burning train of taking advantage of his friends and apparent social title, because he has got acquainted with the spotlight and it caused him to become addicted. He can't seem to give up his plan and he needs it more than ever, because he can't afford not succeeding — though it is as true as the fact that he wants to come clean and become a decent man again that most of the times he asks himself why, realizing that all the people he knows are accomplished and rich because somebody from their family, at one point or another, was in Nick's shoes and chose success over integrity. He doesn't know what is more important to him, but, from the looks of it, he is leaning towards the temptation and needs financial balance even more than he wants it, which is enough to begin with, anyway.

Victoria de Terreros Nick isn’t a gold digger — he says — but a curious boy who finds it fascinating that somebody so out of the quotidian studies at the same university with him. That is what he tells himself to justify what of Victoria’s company is worth seeking, in order to feel better about taking interest in the girl just because she is a duchess. Yet, Victoria isn’t mature enough to realize where the line between genuine friendship and friendship based on interest can be crossed, which is why she can’t tell that she is being used for the nice ring her name has to it. She actually considers Nicholas to be quite a gentleman, and his company always makes her feel better, as the charming boy knows exactly what words to use to get under her skin… for no reason whatsoever. He is charming and dreamy and just like the unwritten book hero of her life. Alexandra Rossessen Alexandra is the only ones he couldn't possibly fake liking the company of. She might be younger than him by far, but it is not like he sees her as a potential target anyway. The two met as a result of her catching him lying and recognizing potential that looked just like what was lying inside her heart as well. The two hit it off rightaway and just as she is a little sister following him all the way to Oxford to him, Alexandra sees the big brother she never had and a shoulder to lean on in him, which is something she never had before and never imagined she would find, as she has always felt pretty different from everybody else and as if nobody deserves her friendship. Now, the two liars — one more at peace with her doings than the other — go out together, having teamed up and taking the lying game to a whole new level, even if they don't need fake identities to get into most of the parties and even if causing a staged scene eventually causes them to get kicked out of the club earlier than planned. It's entertaining and something both of them do to keep themselves away from becoming dusty. Lucas Lockwood Lucas doesn't know how he found somebody he can relate to as well as to Nicholas and, for that, he is grateful to have him as his best friend. He enjoys his company and doesn't even realize when he is paying for both their drinks — or, rather, he doesn't mind and care enough to ask why, which is the little tact he has, all coming into play for a platonic relationship rather than a person he is trying to impress. In fact, romantic interests matter too little to Lucas compared to his friendships and the loyalty he has towards the Riot Club in general. Nick can't say he agrees on that, no matter how much he enjoys the club and all of the perks that come with it, but he does care about Lucas right back, even though it all started as using him for a living wallet that wouldn't even realize some of the money went on things other than his own. Lana Chambers Instead of running away from her origins and pretending to be part of the game in the true sense of the word, Lana stands out being proud to be here on a scholarship, just because her mind is brilliant enough to deserve it. Nicholas doesn't understand it and little would he have cared about it and her if they didn't know each other, having grown up in the same town. What a small world we're living in. The young woman remembers him well — because how does one forget somebody like Nick? — but she is skeptical towards him just seeing his behavior and how he is trying to bury his roots as deeply as possible. Although it isn't something she is actively trying to achieve through manipulation of a sort, she wishes to have him exposed in front of his posh friends who, mostly, think he is as rich as they are, which is why, to him, she is the most dangerous person on campus and he resents her for the power she now has over him.

[satorisa]

Lift the Veil - Chapter 5

Lift the Veil - Chapter 5: War of My Life

Rating: T

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own

Risa may or may not have a drinking problem, but I most certainly do know that I have a problem with how this is progressing because I’m behind on my editing schedule for this fic because life but mainly because I have no clue what I’m even doing. 

On that note, enjoy this mess of a chapter. 

War of My Life

I’ve got a hammer and a heart of glass; I got to know right now which walls to smash.

Waving goodbye to Saehara, I left the police station feeling energized with the noon sun on my skin. Ritsuko stood outside, dressed in a fashionable ensemble that she complemented with a designer handbag. She smiled before somehow managing to run towards me in her heels to give me a hug.

“How’ve you been?” she asked excitedly as she let go of me.

“Good,” I replied as we started walking towards the café that was, according to her, to die for. She reminded me of my high school self, back when she was level-headed and I was the hyperactive one more in touch with my girly side. I supposed owning and managing a couple of high-end boutiques does that to someone. “Work’s been easy, and it’s nice being back home. What about you?”

“I’m great!” she exclaimed with an enthusiasm for life that I no longer had. “The boutiques have been doing well, and the suppliers are wondering if I can extend the market to a bigger city like Sapporo!”

“Really?”

“Yup! I get a lot of customers who come by the boutiques since a lot of our better merchandise is marked as store-exclusives.” She smiled. “Honestly, I didn’t realize I’d have this much fun working with the fashion industry. When my friend decided to rope me into entrepreneurship, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

“Wasn’t it hard?”

“Of course! I nearly quit in the beginning since I was selling unknown brands from a tiny little boutique, but one regular turned into several regulars who attracted more upcoming designers which, in turn, brought more regulars, leading me to where I am today. It’s amazing to see how far everyone I’ve worked with has come, and seeing all my hard work paying off has been the biggest reward for me!”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Well, what about you?” she asked. “Don’t you like what you’re doing?”

I paused, unsure of how to actually respond to her question. Once upon a time, I had big plans on becoming a news anchor, completely obsessed with the fact that I’d become famous in my own right by showing up on TV every day. I settled on editing being my entry job simply because I was relatively decent with writing and grammar but, somewhere along the way, I became attached to books. Even though I still aimed to be a news anchor, I now had to determine whether I kept that goal because I really wanted to become one or because it was my childhood dream.

“Yeah,” I finally answered, trying to hide the small crisis that innocent question brought. “Working in Tokyo was too much, so I decided to move back here. The workload is nothing compared to my last job, but it still keeps me preoccupied for most of the day.”

She nodded, staying silent as if waiting for me to elaborate as much as she did. However, before she could say something to egg me on, we arrived at our destination—unfortunately christened Castelnuovo Bistro—and were seated in a booth under some dim lighting.

After ordering, we started talking about our college lives which, eventually, led to us sharing all the dumb things we did as students. However, no amount of laughing and eating could get my mind off of earlier. Even as we headed back to the police station, joking as if we were back in high school with Mari to complete our trio, I could barely focus on what exactly we were talking about.

And, when I walked back in, both Saehara and Hiwatari stopped their conversation, staring at me with bewilderment as I sat down, opening my laptop to drown myself in work and forget about my sudden displacement in life.

For study breaks, my friends and I always headed to the Starbucks overlooking Shibuya Crossing, somehow managing to find a vacant table in the midst of all the Tokyo chaos. Over personal drinks and shared snacks, we’d discuss what I secretly called the topic of the day.

One time, unfortunately, they all decided to focus on their love lives. They ranted on about terrible exes and failed romances or praised their current partners, proudly boasting about their healthy relationships. I sat there reading (The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry felt too out of place amidst the love lives of young adults in this century) while nibbling away at my baumkuchen, hoping that I could stay quiet and unnoticed for the rest of this conversation.

Unfortunately, they could read neither my mood nor my expression, so they eventually turned to me with smirks and curious eyes. They were all journalism majors and approached me because I seemed just like them: a girl who only cared about how well other people perceived her. Finding it hard to connect with others, especially as a first-year in college, I clung to them if only for my weekly dosage of social interaction. (It took me a while to finally separate from this group of people, but that wouldn’t happen until I finally got closer to other people in Japanese literature who eventually introduced me to other people in journalism.)

“Come on, Risa-chan!” one coaxed. “You’ve got to have some interesting stories!”

“I came from a small town in northern Japan; the only interesting story I’ve got is the fact that my sister’s been in a relationship for four years.”

Another pouted. “We’re asking for your stories though! Nothing passionate? Sexy? Steamy?”

I silently laughed at the memories that resurfaced, mentally berating myself for my stupidity. But then my mind, whirring from comprehension, presented two memories regarding the first word. I cringed at the juxtaposition of them, and I could feel my tears rising up.

“Please,” I croaked, ready to chug my chai latte after I said my piece. “The only thing that was hot and steamy was the bits of salmon floating around in the soup.”

They looked at each other, slightly confused before forcing a laugh. Any lover of language would have either groaned or snorted at my remark. Clearly, I had found myself in the wrong group of people.

Blocking out the rest of their conversation, and the memories trying to flood my brain, I downed my drink, trying to forget everything with its comforting warmth.

“Harada-imouto, be a pal and let me go home early today!”

Looking up from my laptop, I saw Saehara in front of me, bowing at such a steep angle that I thought he might just tumble over. I nearly dismissed him without hesitation considering the Saehara I knew probably had a dumb reason to excuse himself, but I decided to give him the benefit of doubt.

I braced myself for his terrible answer. “…why?”

“I’m having dinner with Akane and—”

“Why are you still here?” I screeched, somehow too caught up with the pitiful image of his girlfriend having to wait for his sorry ass to consider that Saehara might’ve just played to my pathos. “You’ve got better places to be than this dingy place!”

Thanking me, he rushed out at such a pace that I couldn’t help but believe his claim. He usually left the station at a casual stroll, and I smiled at his burst of energy and enthusiasm before returning to my work. I had around an hour left before I wanted to leave for the news station so I could polish up my pre-broadcast work without running into Hiwatari.

“Is my station really that dingy?”

Looking up from my work, I saw Hiwatari standing nearby with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. Startled by his presence, I slightly jumped, noting the flicker of concern on his face before his composure settled in.

“All police stations are dingy,” I answered. “To be fair though, I might’ve spent too much time in one back in Tokyo.”

He nodded. “I can imagine that the ones in the city weren’t as well-maintained, although I am glad that that was just your biased opinion. I do take good care of my station, but I am willing to work on improving it if need be.”

I didn’t acknowledge his statement. Hopefully, my disinterest would dissuade Hiwatari from continuing this conversation, but his figure lingered in my peripherals, detracting me from the work I was trying to focus on.

“Your sister invited me over for a meal whenever I was free as thanks for the other night,” he awkwardly started.

My focus waned from my growing agitation at Hiwatari’s inability to take a hint and at Riku’s well-meant yet completely insensitive offer. “Why tell me that?”

“I figured that you would’ve appreciated the notice.”

“You don’t have to be considerate of my feelings now.” I turned to him, allowing my frustration to seep through my furrowed brows and frown. “Besides, don’t you think it’s kind of late to be caring now?”

He somehow maintained his expression despite my sudden accusation. With a nod, he muttered a soft-spoken apology before he turned away and retreated back to his office. Once I heard the door shut, I gathered my things and escaped from the police station, running towards the news station in a feeble attempt to get my mind off what happened.

I knew that what I said rattled Hiwatari; he had a habit of excusing himself whenever he was uncomfortable. Not that it was easy for a layman to read the subtle changes in his expression and mood, but Hiwatari always felt apprehensive whenever he found himself in a vulnerable position. A lot of men did that to protect their manly pride or ego, but, for Hiwatari, it was one of the consequences of living with Krad for around fourteen years of his life.

Honestly, I hated that I knew this. I hated the knot that appeared in my stomach when he stiffened up before quickly excusing himself. After all these years, after everything that happened, I still couldn’t stand seeing Hiwatari anything less than his normally aloof and composed self.

I somehow managed to keep myself collected and made it to the news station without catching too much attention. The security guard greeted me with a smile, and I returned the gesture, trying to leave any thoughts of Hiwatari at the door of the building.

Heading towards my cubicle, the staff seemed as calm as always, chatting about the usual topics of the handsome Police Commissioner (not that that was helping my case and ick) or the cute new editor from Tokyo (please) before I settled down at my desk. Even with the trivial and slightly annoying conversations occurring around me, it set up the white noise I needed to fully focus on the rest of my work.

Until they started gossiping about something that turned my productivity into an existential nightmare.

“Oi, Kawamura-san, did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

I peeked over the cubicle, looking at the women in the cubicle next to mine. One of them was sitting, the other standing, but both were idly holding a steaming cup of coffee.

“That the Captain’s going to promote the new editor.”

“Eeeeh? Already? But she just got here!”

“But she graduated from Tokyo University and interned at the NHK! Don’t you think she’s overly qualified for her current position?”

“So what? She just got here. Who cares about where she came from? I’ve been working here far longer than she has, and I’ve yet to receive some huge bonus or substantial raise!”

“You’re just jealous!”

“And you’re not? She comes here from Tokyo, gets stationed at the police department with Hiwatari-san, and is already on her way to getting promoted! It’s not fair!”

“I know right!” she leaned closer to her confidant, but I could still hear her obnoxiously loud voice. “Did you hear this though? Apparently, she grew up here before disappearing off the face of the earth, and now she’s returned despite all her success. Do you think it’s a fraud? Maybe she’s running from something? Relationship issues?”

By this time, I was already so far into the conversation that I was silently responding to their blathering mouths with my changing expressions. They somehow moved onto another conversation that lost my attention without noticing that I was obviously eavesdropping, and I returned to my work, glad that I was on my way to not having to see Hiwatari first thing in the morning. But did I really want this? Anyone would be glad to have a promotion since that meant a more prestigious job with better pay but…

Damn. How dare I have these second thoughts now. I should be happy about this.

Hearing my phone ring, I looked down to see a text message from Daisuke saying that his parents wanted me over for dinner and that Argentine and Towa terribly missed my company. He, unfortunately, couldn’t be there in case he needed defuse his rambunctious family since he made plans to have dinner at my house, so I texted Riku that I would be over at Daisuke’s for dinner and continued working until I had to leave.

“Risa!” Mrs. Emiko greeted, pulling me into a hug. “It’s been forever!”

“Emiko, please, you’re choking her!” Mr. Kousuke called when he emerged from the kitchen.

She pulled away with a huge grin, ushering me into the living room before excusing herself to check up on the food. I sat next to Grandpa Daiki, bowing slightly before turning my attention to an Alphonse Mucha documentary that so happened to be on. I became so engulfed with the show that I didn’t notice Towa and Argentine slowly creeping up behind me.

“Boo.”

Startled out of my seat, I turned around to see the personified artworks hovering over me from behind the sofa. Towa had a grin that eclipsed her face and Argentine, sly bastard, covered his chuckling mouth with his gloved hand.

“Still as sensitive as ever!” Towa chirped before skipping back into the kitchen to help the Niwas prepare dinner.

Argentine offered his hand, helping me up with an apology, before setting up the table. I followed him and, despite his protests, laid out the wine goblets and silverware.

“You are the guest, Risa-sama.”

“And, as the guest, it’d be rude of me to just sit around doing nothing!”

He sighed before heading into the kitchen. From previous experience, I knew Mrs. Emiko would kick me out if I stepped onto that hallowed ground, so I settled back down next to Grandpa Daiki and dove back into the interesting world of the Art Nouveau movement.

Back then, when I practically spent every waking second with Daisuke, Riku, and Hiwatari, we tended to drop by the Niwa household after school. Riku and Daisuke always retreated to the latter’s room before dinner, getting their daily dosage of alone time together, so I spent that time studying at the dining table with Hiwatari’s guidance. And when he had to work overtime, Towa and Argentine took a break from maintaining the house to keep me company. On occasion, when Grandpa Daiki was awake or in, he’d sit at the head of the table with a steaming cup of green tea while reading or writing something.

This slightly cramped and always noisy household became my second home, and I found a second family with the Niwas, too. I used to joke around about getting to know the in-laws back then but, on the extremely off chance that Riku and Daisuke didn’t work out, I knew they’d still be family to me.

The doorbell rang, and I shot up to let whoever it was in. I didn’t think too much about who it could be but, opening the door to see a slightly startled Hiwatari, I squeaked.

“Good evening, Harada-san,” he mumbled, taking off his shoes and brushing past me without much of a scene. “Auntie, Uncle, I’m home.”

The quartet in the kitchen marched out, greeting their wayward “son” with fanfare. I returned to my spot by Grandpa Daiki, wondering why he didn’t bother to join them.

“Not greeting your practically grandson?”

“He doesn’t need this old coot to fawn over him; the rest of the family gives him enough attention anyway. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve seen my practically granddaughter-in-law.” He shot me a toothy grin before patting my shoulder to comfort me. “I told them not to invite him for dinner with you, but they just didn’t listen to me.”

After coming back to Azumano, I hated how everyone assumed that I had gotten over what happened. Sure, their conclusions were valid, but my being back here didn’t mean that I had finally made peace with what happened. Like any other adult dealing with a lack of closure, I left it as far behind me as feasibly possible so I could move on with my life. And here I was, still running away from it just to keep myself afloat and somewhat sane.

I took Grandpa Daiki’s hand and smiled, grateful for his gesture. It was nice to know that someone still kept what happened in the back of their mind even after my long absence.

“Risa, honey, dinner’s ready!” Mrs. Emiko called. “And could you please help Dad over? Thanks, dear!”

Despite his old age, he was still fit enough to move around without aid. Mrs. Emiko probably worried about her aging father yet, despite Grandpa Daiki’s notorious stubbornness, he let me help him to the table if only to avert my attention from Hiwatari’s presence at the table.

Argentine insisted on having me sit next to him, so I found myself wedged between him and Grandpa Daiki. I found it funny how I became closer to Argentine even though he kidnapped me back then. I certainly kept my distance from him after meeting him at the Niwa household once but that somehow turned into him poking my ticklish sides when I was too engrossed with my work to get a rise out of me (and entertain whoever else was around.) Maybe it happened from listening to all his long-winded stories, filled with melodramatic tangents, about Qualia. I was a blooming teenager obsessed with love, and he probably found solace from my genuine interest in his life.

“How are Towa and Argentine?” Hiwatari asked, rightfully concerned over the artworks wellbeing.

“They’ve been good,” Mr. Kousuke replied. “Emiko’s been working them to the bone like always. It’s a mystery how they’re still holding up so well.”

The married couple squabbled from his remark, and I glanced at Hiwatari’s expression. With his smiling eyes and upturned mouth, I found myself recalling those looks he—

“Risa-sama, are you okay?” Argentine asked. He, luckily, didn’t draw any attention towards me. I exhaled the breath hitched at the back of my throat and drank some wine to wash it do.

“I’m good. Sorry to worry you.”

“It’s alright as long as you are fine.” On his other side, I saw Towa jab him while taking a bite. “Erm, if you don’t mind, could you share some of your experiences in Tokyo? Towa and I were wondering what it would be like to be in a big city.”

They couldn’t leave Azumano due to reasons along the lines of being delicate and an extreme liability, so I picked out stories that I knew would catch their attention. Hooked on my words, they reminded me of children with their enchanted eyes and fascination with the simplest of things. Eventually, the table quieted down as I started talking about my college misadventures.

Argentine found himself attached to the many themed cafés dotting Akihabara, while Towa clung onto the melting pot of Harajuku’s fashion scene. Mrs. Emiko and Mr. Kousuke, however, were thoroughly entertained whenever I’d talk about my college hijinks. (I mean, at some point the couple was snorting in laughter. Pretty sure they were getting a kick out of this.) Grandpa Daiki would sometimes smile, and Hiwatari looked like he was having a ball with it. Whenever he would catch me watching him though, he would feign indifference, faking a cough to hide his laughter and cover that smirk he couldn’t seem to get off his damn face.

To think I was somehow concerned over this man a few hours ago when here he was, perfectly fine while relishing in my embarrassments.

Eventually everyone calmed down and the conversation moved to other topics, like the artworks asking if they could take a short trip to Tokyo and the art-savvy men wondering what could possibly go wrong. (Apparently, it was so bad that the three of them couldn’t wrap their head around the potential chaos that would occur.) I finished the grand meal of Tournedos Rossini (courtesy of Emiko’s grand tastes and Argentine’s odd talent for creating fine cuisine) before my eyes drifted to Hiwatari, who looked content surrounded by such animated company for dinner.

Honestly, why the hell was I always staring at him?

“The past is always too hard to leave behind,” Grandpa Daiki sighed.

“It’s not like it’s easy to leave it behind when it’s right in front of you.”

“There will never not be a day when it’s not in front of you,” he reminded before sipping his water.

I groaned, downing the rest of my red wine. Grandpa Daiki offered his untouched goblet, and I quickly finished it as well. Did he want me to drink for him? Or maybe he wanted to help me by letting me loosen my grip on reality?

Eventually, dinner came to end when Grandpa Daiki excused himself to get some sleep. Both Mrs. Emiko and Mr. Kousuke left to help him upstairs despite his protests. Towa and Argentine started to clean the table, keeping me in my seat despite my protests to help. They emerged from the kitchen after they tidied the table, each of them carrying a flower-adorned porcelain plate with a matching teacup. Argentine set his set of china down in front of me, and I stared in awe at the intricately decorated petit four and could smell what seemed like jasmine tea from my cup. Hiwatari had a different petit four in front of him, and his cup was filled with black coffee that eclipsed the flowery aroma in front of me.

“Enjoy the desserts!” Towa chirped.

“You won’t join us?” I asked.

“There’re dishes to wash,” Argentine answered. “Besides, Satoshi-sama likes time to himself.”

“Well, if he likes time to himself, I should help you then.” I started to get up from my seat, but Towa pushed me back down.

“Nu-uh. Madam said that no one gets up from the table until they need to leave.”

“Well then, I have to go.”

“Risa-sama!” The artworks simultaneously called over the scraping chair as I started my long overdue escape.

“I never thought the day would come when Risa Harada would pass on an offer of cake and tea.” When those cold words sliced through the air, I stopped. I turned to see Hiwatari’s icy glare, unmoving as he mechanically sipped his coffee. The striking color of his eyes only aided his intimidation. “If you have a problem with me, you should personally tell me instead relying on off-hand comments and running away.”

The Hiwatari I knew would’ve sulked for a bit instead of passive aggressively confronting anyone; I was the one guilty of doing that. But what fueled his uncharacteristic pettiness? Was it to call me out on my disdain from earlier in an eye-for-an-eye type of deal? Or was he trying to undermine me by using my own methods?

I shot him a look before sitting back down, readying myself to verbally battle with Hiwatari. Immature, I knew, that our communications had finally boiled down to this, but unrelenting stubbornness was an uncanny trait I shared with the young man hailed as such a mature role-model; we could never just admit our wrongs. Besides, I wasn’t going to take this without a fight. I wasn’t that young woman who allowed herself to get hurt by others anymore. And if ignoring him meant protecting myself, I didn’t care what others thought of it.

Besides, the damn hypocrite had no right to call me out on that.

“Oh, boo-hoo. I’m so sorry that I heart your pathetic pride,” I responded with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize that I had to be nice to your frozen majesty when I came back.”

“It’s common courtesy, although I highly doubt you know what that means since you’re making a fuss at someone else’s house.”

“I wouldn’t be like this if you hadn’t started it.”

“Did you need to continue it though?” he scoffed. “Six years later and your volatile temper is still as prominent as ever.”

“As it should be considering I have good reason for it compared to that nasty attitude of yours.” I took a bite of my cake. “Tell me, how does it feel to have karma bite you in the ass?”

The calm front that Hiwatari somehow maintained gave way to the storm brewing inside of him. He shot up, slamming his hands on the table; a cacophony of clattering china and spilled drinks followed. I flinched, slightly terrified at his sudden ferocity almost reminiscent of Krad, but I had to maintain my ground.

“Harada-san, how could you be so damn stubborn?”

I glared at him, gingerly laying the fork down before I threw it at his face. “Self-preservation, Hiwatari-san: something you know very well. After all, would you keep someone in your life when you know that they’re able to ruin everything in one-fell swoop?” His eyes widened, and he fell back into his chair looking devastated. “See? You wouldn’t, so I have every right to do the same.”

Finally finished with letting out those pent-up emotions, I focused on the food in front of me, stuffing myself with the cake before emptying the teacup without break, burning my tongue from its scalding temperature. I left the house without a farewell, avoiding the frozen artworks who were unfortunately caught in the fray and the bewildered older Niwa couple standing by the foot of the staircase.

I ran back to my house, trying to at least keep myself composed until I got to my room, but when Daisuke opened the door, I broke down crying right there on the stoop, screaming into my hands until Riku pulled me into an embrace.

[deans-fire-dragon]

What Comes After, SPN Fanfic, Gen, Chapter 10 part C

...continued from part b...

As soon as the door closed, Dean threw the congealed bacon back on the plate with a plop. He wrapped his arms around his middle, leaning forward until his forehead rest on the table. Hollowed out, he sighed and let his head roll to the side. He was sick of the ice block camping out in his gut, sick of the heaviness pulling at him constantly. He’d forgotten what it felt like to truly feel well. Maybe he was a corpse that didn’t yet know it was dead?

Everything was flat. The flavor of food, the temperature of coffee—even the colors around him seemed muted, slightly off. Dean didn’t want to scare Sam, but he scaring himself. Truth was, he wasn’t sure killing the shadow creature and unbinding Jessica would stop this. How could he be sure of anything when they had no precedence for this?

The only certainty he had was in how much he ached. His chest burned, his back throbbed and a whopper headache stabbed his brain relentlessly despite the medication saturating his system. Had he been alone, truly alone, he’d have curled up under a mass of blankets and let come what may.

He must’ve drifted off, because, in the next minute, the door opened again, letting Sam enter balancing two large coffees in a to-go container. Dean jerked into a sitting position, grinding his teeth on a moan when he remembered why that was a bad idea.

“Hey, if you’re tired, go rest after you eat. I can start researching and we’ll talk later.”

“Naw, I’m good.” He rubbed his gritty eyes hoping it would help the blurriness, but when he blinked, a hazy halo fuzzed everything.

“Here ya go,” Sam said as he dropped a plastic fork onto the table in front of Dean. “Too bad this place doesn’t have a microwave, huh? I could see if they’d let me use the microwave at the gas station?”

The false brightness lifting Sam’s words drew Dean’s focus to his little brother. Sam hovered beside him, the worry practically vibrating Dean’s teeth. For a brief moment, he imagined Sam cutting up the pancake for him and maybe even force-feeding it to him, such was the manic twitch of Sam’s fingers.

Dean picked up the fork and glared at the pancake. He didn’t think heating it up would make it more appetizing, but with Sam standing there watching intently, he cut into the cake and stuffed a bite in his mouth, forcing his jaws to move.

“I’m good. See?” He smiled with his mouth full. It was enough to get Sam moving on to other things.

The food tasted of nothing, just wet, sticky mush coating his teeth and tongue. He had to concentrate on keeping repulsion from clogging his throat, gag building in his gut. Taking a gulp of his coffee, he was disappointed to find it wasn’t much better. Though it looked black as tar, the taste was barely that of coffee water. It didn’t have the texture of mush, though, which was something. Mechanically, he shoved food in and forced himself to chew and swallow. Sweat broke out all over his body from the effort.

Sam reappeared to take the other seat and stole the last piece of cold bacon from the plate. Thank God. Dean raised an eyebrow at his salad loving brother only to double-take when he realized Sam’s hair was wet. His brother had apparently showered and dressed in fresh clothes all while he’d been grappling with the food.

“What?” Sam said, unaware of Dean’s inner thoughts. “I enjoy bacon.” Sam shrugged.

Dean simply pointed at the computer and drank another mouthful of coffee so he wouldn’t have to speak.

Wiping greasy fingers on the side of his jeans, Sam pulled the machine closer. “So? Creature or spell?”

Dean laid his fork aside. Nausea slow-rolled through his stomach with an uncertain turn.

“Creature.” He belched, one hand creeping up to rub at his stomach.

Shooting him a look of disgust, Sam opened his browser, letting his fingers hover over the keyboard. “So, what are we thinking?”

“Definitely the phantom variety. I’m thinking ancient and pissed.”

“And you know that because?”

“Yesterday I found ectoplasm where that girl, Julia, died.”

Sam’s jaw clenched as he sighed out his nose. “So, you went to not one, but two scenes without me.”

He reached up with both hands and scrubbed at his face, hoping to rub the irritation away. He was so not in the mood for another Sam inquisition—his nerves and his patience were stretched to their limit. Lips pressed together in a thin line, he glared at his brother.

“It was the freaking middle of the day. There was no reason it’d still be hanging around—especially that far out of the way. Even so, I doubt it would’ve been strong enough to hurt me there.”

“It had no problem killing Julia there.”

Oh, Dean hated that look. The one that said in blinking neon ‘you are the biggest moron on the planet.’ Maybe Dean hadn’t graduated with a diploma, and maybe Sam had enough brains for two people—but that did not make Dean the stupid one.

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean bared his teeth as his eyes narrowed, “an unsuspecting girl who was unprepared and caught off guard in the dark. She probably fed it all kinds of juicy emotion being alone like that. I’m hardly any of those things—I had full view of the whole area. Did I mention it was broad daylight? I’m not a drooling idiot despite what you think.”

Surprise defined Sam’s face and he held up his hands, palms out. “Whoa. I didn’t mean—”

“No, you never do,” Dean growled, “at least not to my face, but it’s what you really think.”

The words popped out before his brain could abort—something he rarely ever allowed. Now Sam regarded him with wide, slightly hurt eyes and no small amount of worry. The frustration and anger fled so quickly, he was left aching and empty.

“I’m sorry.” Dean bowed his head, rubbed his forehead with a shaky hand. “I’m an ass. Really, man, I’m sorry.”

If anything, his apology made things worse because now Sam had that constipated look he got when he wasn’t sure what emotion he wanted to lead with—concern, anger? Flip a quarter, Dean thought with an internal sigh.

“So,” Dean cleared his throat, swallowed to keep the food in place, and tried to steer things back on track, “we’re looking for something with ectoplasm, cats’ eyes—really tall, nasty claws and a nasty temper to match. And, wind. Wind tore the room apart despite the outside air being completely calm.”

Sam fixed his gaze on the floor and pursed his lips. At first Dean thought maybe he was waiting. For what, Dean didn’t know—the roof to fall on their heads, Dean to implode before his eyes—who could be sure when it came to Sam’s enormous capacity for worry. But then he realized his brother was contemplating whether or not to speak to him at all. Anger, it was.

“Sammy, please,” Dean whispered when all attempts to catch Sam’s eyes failed, “you can be mad at me all you want, but please—let’s figure this out.”

Just about the time Dean shifted to leave the table, Sam nodded. Stiffness making his voice flat, he said, “Okay, that’s a place to start.” He started typing in the search window. “What about the spell?”

He still wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, but at least he was talking. Dean would take it with a smile on his face—as long as they kept moving forward.

“Now that, I don’t know. We know fire is involved and it requires an object that was important to the person. Probably used to bind the spirit?  I thought maybe…” Dean yawned, his jaw cracking loudly. “I thought we could put in a call to Bobby for that one.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said. He stopped what he was doing and looked up. “I got it covered, why don’t you rest?”

The words came grudgingly, but they were said to Dean’s face and with sincerity. Sam’s face was still marred with a deep scowl, though, and that just wouldn’t do. Dean graced him with a blinding, goofy grin. Sam valiantly tried to ignore him, but he held firm, smile in place until his checks burned and a good portion of it became genuine.

Seeing Sam relenting, he topped it off with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Who’s your favorite brother?”

Finally, Sam’s lips twitched and he shook his head, grin sliding across his face. He narrowed his eyes and cracked, “If you’re not careful, it’s gonna get stuck that way. Jerk.”

As Sam’s eyes searched his, Dean could practically feel him pick right back up where he left off stewing.

“Dude, you’re sweaty and green. You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

Dean slumped against his chair. “No. But if I spew, it’s gonna be in your direction. I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

Sam’s obligatory glare lacked any real heat. “Go. Lay. Down.”

He glanced at the bed and wondered if he could get away with a few minutes. Sleep called like a siren and the meds had him wrapped in a fuzzy, woolen cocoon. He reasoned there was enough light in the room to keep him from dozing too soundly and his body could really use some rest. Plus, Sammy was here to watch over him. He trusted his brother to keep him safe.

“If I start to dream—at all—you wake me up. Got it?”

Sam nodded mindlessly, already immersed in some article on the internet.

“Sam,” he said sharply. “I mean it. Don’t let me dream.”

At that, his brother looked up. He took in Dean’s seriousness and said, “Sure, man. Don’t worry. I got it.”

Satisfied, Dean pushed his chair back and stood. A wave of dizziness swamped him and he grabbed for the table. He felt Sam catch his other wrist, steadying him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on that touch, wishing it felt solid on his numb skin like it should. He released the table to press the back of his hand to his mouth, swallowing hard and breathing deep through his nose until all was settled again. Blinking his eyes open, he looked down at his brother. Sam’s eyes were saucer wide, making him look so much the little kid Dean remembered—before all this, before the YED, before Stanford, before.

“Dean?”

“Stood up too fast.” He smiled, easy and calm.

Dean gently took his arm back, giving Sam’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he turned and walked unsteadily to his bed—shoulders twitching from being watched each step of the way. He crawled on top of the covers and settled with a hearty sigh, moaning his pleasure into the soft pillow he burrowed his face into and closed his eyes. He pushed all his fears into his worry box and slammed the door firmly shut. It felt luxurious to let go and sink into the bed. Screw consciousness, it was highly overrated anyway.

After a while, Sam’s breaths behind him calmed too and were joined by light tapping on the keyboard—making a soothing soundtrack to relax into. His stomach called a shaky truce and he was able to fall into sleep a short while later.

After indeterminate, blessed nothingness, the dreams came. They started out mild enough, but soon evolved into him on the ceiling, burning as Jessica reached out to him. As before, he was too grief stricken and wrapped in guilt to decipher the message.

This place—and he was sure it was a place—overpowered his senses, overrode reason. The acrid fire, the metallic blood, the scorching skin—all vivid and distinct. Sam’s inhuman, garbled screams rammed his battered heart and the smell of burning pork assaulted his nose—the lingering taste of ash pungent on his tongue. No bland numbness, no fuzzy head and blurring vision to save him here. Pain bubbled and peeled his skin, every nerve dancing in sharp agony.

This time, instead of slamming him repeatedly against the ceiling, Jessica laid a hand on his face, the icy cold of her drawing some of the heat away. A relieved groan escaped him, the flames receding down the length of his body at her cooling touch.

“Dean,” she said, drawing her hand down his face, resting it on his lower jaw. “Please, let go.”

His eyes opened and he blinked at her. “Let go? I-I don’t know…I—

“Let go,” she whispered inches from his face. “It’s time. Stop.”

Dean stared into her blue-blue eyes—compassion and something he didn’t understand held him captive. Maybe she meant for him to let go of life. Maybe that’s how Sam would find release, if he let go. But, he couldn’t. There was something dangerous out there. He couldn’t leave Sam to fight alone. He couldn’t without making sure he was safe first. Maybe then, maybe then he could.

“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Sam…”

Jessica whipped around to look behind her. Dean couldn’t see beyond the flames, didn’t know what she was looking at, but he felt her touch slip away. The fire took over in her absence. He squeezed his eyes shut and sealed his lips against the scream clawing at his throat. His chest heaved with moans as he failed. A large hand rested on his chest, right over his heart—a heavy, steadying weight. An additional hand joined the first to grip his upper arm and, while this touch didn’t take the pain instantly away, it dulled it into the background.

From a distance, he could hear his name.

“Dean! Please. Please wake up.”

He tried to resist, he didn’t want to see. Nausea grew in his gut until he gagged with it. A rippling sensation rolled over his body and he struggled to breathe through the gossamer shroud enveloping him.

“Dean, hey!”

Sam’s voice pulled him against the barrier separating them. But he didn’t know which Sam he would see if he opened his eyes. A biting burn deep in his neck forced his eyes open, air flooding into his lungs. His Sam, the real Sam, leaned over him, ashen and sweaty—looking sick. Which, yeah.

“Gonna be sick!” Dean choked out, shoving away blankets that hadn’t been there before.

A small, grimy trashcan appeared under his face and he heaved violently. By the end of it, tears wet his face and his whole body trembled. Dean slumped against the headboard, muscles weak and rubbery. Sam brought him a glass of water to rinse his mouth out and then set the trash can aside. He winced at Sam’s shaking hands running through his lanky hair.

Visibly gathering himself, Sam asked, “Is that what it was like? Last night?”

“Uh, yeah. More or less, I guess.” Clearing his throat, he pushed himself further up the headboard to sit. “Wh-what happened?”

Sam’s knee jut into his thigh when he turned into him. His little brother had always had the boniest, sharpest knees—it was a familiar comfort.

“Um…well,” he faltered. “For the first hour…was it an hour? I don’t know, maybe a little more…” he shook his head. Earnest, like Dean might not believe him, he said, “You just slept. N-nothing unusual.”

He reached out and squeezed Sam’s leg, hoping to calm him. Letting him know he wasn’t alone.

“I was in the bathroom when I heard you making noise, talking maybe? I thought you’d be okay until I finished. But, uh—by the time I got out here, you were—god, Dean—you were keening through your teeth—your back was bowed off the bed. I tried to shake you awake, but I couldn’t-I couldn’t…and y-you were burning up… I-I don’t know if it was fever or, or...”

Sam looked to Dean, one hand wiping across his mouth. He let it drop away and said, “I swear, your skin glowed from within and I smelled smoke. How’s that—how can that be? What were you dreaming about?”

Dean closed his eyes. There were ten million other questions he’d rather answer. How could he say those words? Describe to his little brother the pain of watching the skin melt from his bones even as he, himself, burned on the ceiling? Like his girlfriend—like their…

He sure as hell couldn’t tell his brother about the letting go part. Sam continued on, though. The kid couldn’t stop, words tumbling out before he could settle on a single thought.

“I couldn’t wake you up. You-you wouldn’t wake up,” Sam’s voice faltered and he wiped at his nose.  “You fell deeper into the dream and I couldn’t pull you out. You had stopped moving and were barely breathing and I—”

Dean let go of Sam’s knee to squeeze his forearm, stopping the manic speech.

“I’m awake now. You did good—I’m okay.”

“I had to pinch your trapezoid muscle hard, Dean. It was the only thing that worked.” Sam huffed a nervous chuckle. “You’ll probably have a bruise. Talk to me, man. Tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“Gimme a minute. I need....” He tried clearing the sand from his voice, but it stuck like cement. “Help me up.”

He pushed himself from the headboard to sit on the side of the bed next to Sam. Once settled, he asked, “We got anything to drink?” His throat burned like he’d actually inhaled fire and smoke. He could taste it on his tongue.

“Just tap water,” Sam said.

“Anything,” Dean told him, “Whatever we got.”

He returned with the glass of water and Dean drank it all down. Sam’s nose crinkled in disgust before he flopped boneless into the nearest chair.

“I’m worried about you,” he said after a drawn pause. “You’re really scaring me.”

Dean found himself answering honestly. “Me, too. But… it’s gonna be okay. We always find a way. You just gotta believe in that.”

Sam pursed his lips as if to say more, but ended up nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Dean felt warm wetness tickling his upper lip and touched his fingers to it. Blood. Sam’s distressed expression, when their eyes met, caused a current of anger at himself, at his weakness, to surge through him. Yanking a handful of cheap tissues from the box at his bedside, he tilted his head back and pinched his nose roughly. He was glad when it hurt.

“I’m okay,” he told Sam. Dipping his chin at the laptop, he asked, “Did you find anything?”

Sam studied him for a moment, his questions still hanging in the air between them. Dean shut his eyes and hoped for space—everything was too fresh, there was too much. Please, Sammy, please. I just can’t right now, please let it be. He counted on Sam understanding the unspoken message. Dean heard him sigh before tapping his touchpad.

“Looks like we’re dealing with a Sumerian utukku—commonly known as an ekimmu. Can be twice as tall as a human with a humanoid body. Violent death and leaving the body unburied seems to be their origin. They tend to be vengeful toward the living and they can’t find peace without a resting place—basically, a spirit driven insane by their own unrest and violent death.”

Sam looked meaningfully at Dean as he read the next part. “They are sometimes referred to as “evil wind gusts” because of the wind associated with their presence. They’re able to attach to people even if they have nothing to do with their death, can influence people—amp up their emotions, even cause criminal behavior. Besides feeding off flesh and blood, they feed off the energy of human emotions and can take someone’s spiritual life force to replenish themselves.”

“Peachy,” Dean lifted his head and looked over, eyebrows raised. “Sounds like our guy.”

“Yeah, pretty spot on. Maybe even explains why I got so mad this morning. I remember being so angry ever since I left the apartment last night—almost overwhelmed by it. Do you think the ekimmu has anything to do with what’s going on with you?”

“I don’t see how.” Dean shook his head as he tossed the tissues. “Nothing you described explains how I’m feeling.” Raising both brows, he said, “I’m thinking, though, its current host isn’t able to sustain it and that’s why it’s randomly striking out at whoever is convenient.” Dean waited for Sam to connect the dots himself.

Sam cocked his head. “What, you think…you think it’s attached to Jess?”

“It would explain some things. If that’s what her initial message to me was about, that she needed help?” Dean watched Sam closely, hoping each next word wouldn’t be the one that broke the camel’s back. “But now it’s killing randomly because it can’t feed on something with no life force… but they can’t separate fully either, so it can’t attach to anyone else and, when it weakens, it always gets pulled back to Jessica.”

Sam shook his head. “But is that possible? Can a spirit attach to a spirit?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not attachment. Maybe bound together because of the binding spell? Whatever the case, the ekimmu will keep lashing out at whoever gets in its way until its strong enough to break free and find some poor soul to ride.”

Sam sat for a long while thinking. Dean could see the flashes of emotion crossing his brother’s face and he hated how he’d had to put these thoughts about his girl in his head. He could imagine which direction Sam’s thoughts had taken.

“You think she’s suffering?” Sam finally asked. “You think it’s hurting her?”

Dean wished he had a pat answer. “I don’t know. I doubt it can hurt her like it can a living person. Whatever it’s capable of, it’s probably moved on from her when it realized she was a spirit too.”

Sam nodded, seemed accepting of that. His lips thinned and his face became stony hard. “We have to get this thing. Whether it’s hurting her or not, I want it dead.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean held his gaze, lips pushing together. “I know you do.” He said with as much confidence as he could muster, “And we will.” Sam bobbed his head once and turned back to his laptop. “So,” Dean asked, “you find out how we kill this thing?”

“Uh, well,” Sam scrolled down the website. “Says here giving the body a proper burial usually does the trick. But, obviously that’s not an option since we have no way of knowing who it once was or where the body would be. Some of the stuff I read suggested there was a ritual or maybe some kind of exorcism that sometimes worked, but I’ll need to research it more to know for sure. And,” Sam said, “we may need to do the unbinding spell first.”

Dean heard the implication. If they didn’t unbind Jessica from this thing, she might get dragged down into the exorcism with the ekimmu or, her being part of the deal, the exorcism might not work at all.

“Yeah, I agree.” Dean rubbed his hands together. “So we’ll have to find a way to trap it at least until that’s done. Shouldn’t be too hard, almost everything has something that works. Okay, so I guess we need to figure out the binding spell next.”

“Yeah, I called Bobby while you were sleeping. He said he’ll call back when he finds something.”

Nodding his head, Dean wiggled his toes in the carpet. “You heard from Becky today?”

“Yeah…called her too. She said there was no change in Aaron.” Sam turned away from the open page on the computer screen. “You think whatever is happening to Aaron can be reversed? Because I’ve been thinking—there’s no physical reason he should be in a coma. It’s like he’s sleeping, like those kids in Wisconsin with the Shtriga. Maybe it was the ekimmu, not Jess.”

Dean thought about that. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but Sam had a good point. Leaning forward, Dean rested his aching head in his hands. “Well, you said it feeds on psychic energy, so basically it’s the same deal. Maybe it couldn’t kill him because Jessica wouldn’t let it?”

“Right, because she was there at the hospital, too. So, if—when—we kill this thing, he should wake up, right?”

“Maybe. Definitely a possibility.”

Sam nodded and stretched his long legs out in front of himself. “Think we should tell Becky and the others?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I mean, what if we’re wrong? What if…” he left the sentence hanging, unable to finish it. He didn’t want to think about Sam’s friend not waking up. He looked at Sam, knowing how much hurt losing Aaron would cause. How much these people meant to his brother. They’d been his family when Dean couldn’t be. And if Dean had to leave…

“I’ve been thinking, too,” Dean said. A lump rose in his throat. He wasn’t sure he could force the words out now that he was faced with saying them out loud. “Maybe, when we’re done here…maybe—if you wanted—you could stay.”

“What?” Sam’s faced wrinkled, the words not absorbing. “What are you talking about?”

Dean looked down, nodded. “Look, it’s okay. If you want to stay, go back to school…I’m saying you could do that.”

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. “Right. Where’s this coming from? How hard did you hit your head, man?”

When Dean leveled his serious expression Sam’s way and said nothing, Sam laughed a little hysterically. “No, Dean, I couldn’t do that and you know why.”

“Come on, Sam. Dad and I, we can keep looking for the demon—we can keep him off your back—”

“You don’t even know where Dad is and I’m in this now. Jess was my girlfriend—I need to be a part of this. You’re the one who keeps saying we’re stronger together!”

“I know, but just think about it,” Dean said, beseeching. “It’s not too late for you. You’ve got good friends here, a family. They miss you and I think you miss them.  Dad and I, we can keep you in the loop, but you can stay. Get on with your life.”

“What the hell, Dean?! Do you want me to stay? Is that what you want? Because I—I thought we were in this together.”

No, Dean thought. But it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you need. “It’s just…Dad and I can do this without you and, uh, I think it’d be better if you stayed as far away from this demon as possible. It wants you for a reason—but if you’re not available? One less thing to worry about.”

Dean wanted to vomit even as he said the words. Nothing could be further from what he wanted, but Chris’s words kept echoing in his ears. Even Jessica urged him to let go—maybe this is what she meant? Maybe she knew what the demon wanted? No matter the logic in it, though, wrongness dug deep in his gut. Watching the hurt confusion rippling across Sam’s face, maybe his brother felt the same. The aching pressure in his chest ballooned until the physical pain made him want to double over. He forced himself to breathe through it and keep strong.

Sam swallowed and dropped his gaze. “I thought…I can’t believe…” Pressing his lips out, he nodded. “If that’s what you think. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should stay.”

The words fell like dead weights in the air between them. For the strangest few seconds, Dean was blissfully numb—his brain couldn’t register what his ears had heard. Once it sank in, though, his breath hitched in his chest and it was all he could do to keep his face straight. Some small part of him had hoped Sam would refuse.

Going it alone, leaving his brother unprotected—not knowing if Sam was safe day to day—could he really do this? Could he go back to days, weeks, months of silence, no human interaction beyond working the case—constantly wondering if his family was safe, if they ever thought about him too? Just one big blur of one hunt melting into the next until he lost track of the whens and wheres. ‘Cause he knew, he absolutely did know Dad wouldn’t be joining him, he’d be on his own again. He could hear his dad’s commanding baritone, Too risky, Dean. I need you boys safe. Stick close to Sam. But Sam would never have to know, would he?

TBC…

[mitchintille]

2019 mock draft special

After spending countless years fully invested into the draft, I’ve decided it’s time to create my own mock ahead of tonight’s highly anticipated draft.

These picks are entirely based on what I predict will happen tonight, not what I would do. My personal grades, team needs, and team’s tendencies have all been put into consideration with this mock.

Mainly why I'm posting is because the draft is always a fun time of the year, and while I know this draft might go about 7/32, maybe we can laugh about it tomorrow.

Hope you guys enjoy!

1: Arizona Cardinals - Kyler Murray, QB, Oklahoma

While there has been smoke here about the possibility of the Cards taking Quinnen Williams, I think first year head coach Kliff Kingsbury's prior connection to Kyler is simply too irresistable for them to pass up. Kingsbury nabs his franchise QB before coaching his first game, and Josh Rosen gets shipped off to LA before the pick is announced.

2: San Francisco 49ers: Nick Bosa, EDGE, Ohio State

A defensive line featuring DeForest Buckner, Solomon Thomas, and Arik Amrstead with an opportunity to add the best pass rusher in this class with newly acquired Dee Ford? Yep, that'll fix your defense. Dream sceanrio for GM John Lynch, as the no.1 player on their board falls right into their lap.

3: New York Jets: Quinnen Williams, iDL, Alabama

The best player in the draft is simply too much for GM Mike Maccagnon to resist. While I considered a trade down here with Cinncinatti, I opted to keep NY in this spot because of the Jets' trajectory. After signing Le'Veon Bell to pair with year 2 QB Sam Darnold, I can't envision the Jets having any feature picks this high in the coming years, and the opportunity to acquire a rare talent such as Williams is one they have to make.

4: Oakland Raiders: Ed Oliver, iDL, Houston

Whew, what a pre draft process this guy has had. From being in consideration for the first pick, to being considered a late first rounder due to "character concerns", Oliver has come full circle back to where he belongs, in the top 5. His combination of burst, versatility, and pure athleticism is too much to overlook for a team who desperately needs a pass rush. First yeay GM Mike Mayock has played this pick close to the chest, and while I genuinely feel as though Kyler Murray would be the pick if he was available, Oliver is the no brainer here.

5: Tampa Bay Buccaneers: Devin White, LB, LSU

The Bucs LB core as it stands today is Jack Cichy, Riley Bullough, Lavonte David, Kevin Minter. I just threw up typing that. This pick has long felt like the worst kept secret in the draft, and while I am not the biggest fan of White's game, it's not every draft you get the chance to plug in a 240 pound linebacker that runs a 4.4 speed and already knows the entire defense before stepping foot into the building. This pick is as much culture based as it is talent, and with the impending departure of Gerald McCoy, the Bucs can look to White to lead the new regime.

6: New York Giants: Dwayne Haskins, QB, Ohio State

I'm just simply not convinced that they pass on him. Eli's game has plummeted over the years, and Kyle Lauletta isn't the long term answer. Haskins offers a wide range of skills and fresh life to a team that desperately needs it. Haskins can sit for a season and learn under the tutelage of Pat Shurmur before replacing Eli in 2020. The Giants can't afford to pass on a top QB two years in a row, and while I am not the biggest an of Haskins' game, he makes the most sense here.

7: Washington Redskins (Trade via JAX): Drew Lock, QB, Missouri

Alas, a trade! The Redskins roster is in win now mode, and with the loss of Alex Smith, the Redskins simply cannot rely on Case Keenum or Colt McCoy to get the job done. The Skins nab their future franchise QB by trading up 8 spots to land him. A high price to pay for a prospect whom most consider to be "boom or bust", but in today's era of the NFL quarterbacks are regarded higher than ever.

8: Detroit Lions: Josh Allen, EDGE, Kentucky

Dream scenario here for Matt Patricia as the highly versatile Allen falls right into their lap. Allen is the perfect fit for this defense and if I fully expect him to be the pick if he's available.

9: Buffalo Bills: TJ Hockenson, TE, Iowa

The Bills tight end room is.....not good to say the least. When you get an opportunity to draft the cleanest TE prospect in a decade to fix a deflated TE room, you run to the podium. The Bills nab my #4 overal player and add an NFL ready weapon to Josh Allen's arsenal.

10: Denver Broncos: Devin Bush, LB, Michigan

You want to talk ugly personnel groups? Take a look at the Broncos middle linebackers. New coach Vic Fangio is a defensive minded guy who has coached guys such as Ray Lewis, Patrick Willis, and budding star Roquan Smith. Fangio lands his future leader and my top LB in the class, as it feels like this pick has been a long time coming since the combine ended.

11: Cincinnati Bengals: Andre Dillard, OT, Washington State

This pick is completely foggy to me. With all the top QB options off the board and being unable to find a successful trade partner, the Bengals opt for the best pass blocking tackle in the draft.

12: Green Bay Packers: Rashan Gary, EDGE, Michigan

Packers added pass rushers Zadarius and Preston Smith this offseason to help bolster their pass rush but I'm not convinced they're done adding to that unit. Packers nab the highly athletic and versatile Gary to add to new defensive coordinator Mike Pettine's arsenal. Pettine is known for his multi look defense, one that allows Gary to fully embrace his versatility whether it be on the edge or the interior.

13: Miami Dolphins: Christian Wilkins, iDL, Clemson

This pick makes too much sense. New HC Brian Flores has openly discussed the new high character culture he's trying to instill, and Wilkins embodies that to a tee. New defensive line coach Marion Hobby was also Clemson's co-dc from 2011-2016. All signs lead me to believe this is the pick.

14: Atlanta Falcons: Brian Burns, EDGE, Florida State

The best pure edge rusher in the class falls to a team whose best pass rusher is Vic Beasley. Burns is a plug and play guy from day 1 who would be my bet to lead that team in sacks as a rookie.

15: Jacksonville Jaguars (Trade via Wash): Jonah Williams, OT, Alabama

The Jags find themselves in a dream scenario here as they take the guy they wanted at 7. Williams is the best OL in the class and while this may not be the sexiest pick, the Jags found themsevles having to settle for Ereck Flowers at one point last season. To me, this is as easy of a pick as it gets this draft.

16: Carolina Panthers: Cody Ford, OT, Oklahoma

A chance to add the best run blocking OL in the draft to a run first team with an abysmal line? Yup, that'll work.

17: New York Giants: Jawaan Taylor, OT, Florida

The Giants add an anchor to the offensive line to help bolster the run game and protect Eli/Haskins' blindside. Taylor is a pro ready mauler in the run game who showed plus flashes of pass pro all season. His development year by year at Florida was notably impressive, and I expect him to step right in and have no problems.

18: Minnesota Vikings: Garrett Bradbury, iOL, Nc State

It's no secret the Vikings need help on the interior, and they land a versatile interior lineman with experience at all 3 positions. Bradbury excelled in a zone blocking scheme at Nc State and should transition fluidly to Minnesota. Vikings can plug Bradbury into the center spot and kick Pat Elflein back to his natural postion at guard.

19: Tennessee Titans: Chris Lindstrom, iOL, Boston College

With Brian Burns off the board and uncertainty surrounding Montez Sweat, the Titans opt for Lindstrom, an experienced starter whose versatility should allow him to start day 1 over Kevin Pamphile.

20: Pittsburgh Steelers: Rock Ya-Sin, CB, Temple

It has come to my attention that Ya-Sin has gradually been trending upwards this whole process, and rumors have it that the Steelers have pegged him as their #1 CB. With them being in the market for a CB, I'm buying into the rumors. Ya-Sin isn't very high on my board, but schematically it makes sense and given that the Steelers reached on a secondary player last season to fit their scheme, it wouldn't shock me to see history repeat itself.

21: New England Patriots (Trade with Sea): Noah Fant, TE, Iowa

The Pats have 12 draft picks this year. Knowing the histoy of their front office, a trade up here wouldn't shock me one bit. Going from Gronk to Fant is about as smooth of a transition as Favre to Rodgers. The evil empire makes a power move and adds an elite talent and the #9 player on my board.

22: Baltimore Ravens: D.K. Metcalf, WR, Ole Miss

FINALLY! The first receiver is off the board as Ozzie Newsome can't overlook the talented Metcalf. The 6'4 freak blew up the combine with an historic workout, and his on field skillset smoothly correlates with the Ravens offensive identity. Lamar gets his big man WR and some much needed help.

23: Houston Texans: Dalton Risner, OT, Kansas State

Best available offensive lineman. That's it.

24: Oakland Raiders: Greedy Williams, CB, LSU

Everything about this pick is perfect. Raiders need help on the outside and Greedy's height and swagger perfectly matches what Gruden is building his defense towards.

25: Philadelphia Eagles: Marquise Brown, WR, Oklahoma

This has long felt like this the direction the Eagles are heading towards. Brown has world class speed and is one of the better vertical threats in the draft. Perosnally, I feel this is a huge reach for Philly but this seems to be the expectation tonight. Side note: there is no precedent for a player of Brown's size going RD1. It could happen, but it never has before. Something interesting to watch for tonight.

26: Indianapolis Colts: Jeffery Simmons, iDL, Mississippi State

The Colts fill a monster need and add my #3 overall player in the process. Simmons is coming off a torn ACL he suffered a few days before the combine, and there is a chance he does not see the field his entire rookie season. However, GM Chris Ballard had proven to be a believer in a process over immediate results. Simmons' talent is too glaring and while he won't make the immediate impact they'd hoped for, his ceiling is worth the wait.

27: Oakland Raiders: Joshua Jacobs, RB, Alabama

Did the Raiders really just take a RB who never eclipsed 1k yards in a season? Of course they did. Jacobs saw his star rise quickly last Fall with a breakout season for the Crimson Tide. His bruising running style and receiving abilities are ideal for what Gruden wants in his offense, and coming from an offense where he wasn't the feature back means less miles on his legs. With the recent retirement of Marshawn Lynch, all arrows point to this being the pick.

28: Los Angeles Chargers: Jerry Tillery, iDL, Notre Dame

The Chargers stay hot with their recent run of first round picks and snag another gem in Jerry Tillery. Tillery was borderline unblokckable up until his shoulder injury that clearly affected his play. After successful offseason surgery, the Chargers benefit yet again from other team's incompetence and land another premier player at a position of need cough cough Derwin James

29: Seattle Seahawks: Byron Murphy, CB, Washington

Seahawks score a ball hawking corner that fits their scheme. Montez Sweat is in consideration but the Seahawks ulitmately opt for the hometown playmaker that fills a big position of need.

30: Green Bay Packers: N'Keal Harry, WR, Arizona State

After solidfying the defensive line, the Packers look to add some extra support for Aaron Rodgers. Packers prefered Noah Fant, but with the Pats trading up they will settle for a YAC machine and physical receiver in Harry. He is the perfect complement to Da'vante Adams, and a neccessary choice to help shore up that unit.

31: New York Jets (Trade with LAR): Montez Sweat, EDGE, Mississippi State

The slide finally comes to a halt for the talented edge rusher. The Jets make a ballsy move and trade back into the first to solidy what would be an elite unit. Gregg Williams' new 4-3 scheme calls for a hand in the dirt pass rusher of Sweat's caliber, and the only way to land him is by being aggressive. Statement pick her for Maccagnon

32: Houston Texas (Trade with Sea): Erik McCoy, iOL, Texas A&M

More. Offensive. Line. Notice a trend? Texans need offensive line help in the worst way possible and have the picks to make this move up. They snag a very underrated interior lineman to pair with their newly acquired franchise tackle.

Well guys, that was fun. If you are a draft fan I highly recommend giving this a whirl sometime. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Thanks!

[taylrejones-blog]

Pre-Chemo Testing

I wanted to talk about some of the tests that have to be done before you can begin chemotherapy for anyone who may have to go through it some day. These will of course be my opinions of the tests which may differ from person to person. Later on in my blog I’ll start to talk more about my feelings but I wanted to keep these first few posts more focused on the facts of what has been happening. I think the feelings and struggles of the cancer will manifest themself the most as I am going through chemotherapy. The following tests have to be done for the doctors to have a base line to measure from before you start chemo. They aren’t light weight drugs so the doctors need to be sure they know how your body and certain organs are functioning that can be affected by chemo during treatment. PET Scan The PET Scan, though expensive, is a pretty straight forward test. You have to fast for 6 hour or so before hand and they test your blood sugar levels when you first get ready for the test. They do this because they will inject you with a glucose substance laced with a radioactive tracer. Since cancer is a high energy cell and loves sugar the substance will accumulate around those cells in higher concentration along with a handful of other organs such as kidneys, bladder, and brain. You have to let the substance settle for an hour and then they take you in for the scan. Now, I imagined the stuff they injected into me being some highly dangerous radioactive goo or something. It isn’t. In fact, there aren’t any special procedures you have to follow after treatment like drinking tons of water or anything like you do when they inject you with contrast for an MRI or a CT scan. The stuff from the PET just naturally dissipates over time. The scan itself is pretty easy. I had to be scanned from the head down to the knees to basically get a full body scan to make sure we could see where all the cancer is. You sit in a tube, similar to an MRI, and they just basically take pictures of the different sections of your body. There really is no noises or anything at all. You emit gamma rays from your body and the camera just sits there and absorbs those gamma rays to form a picture. You won’t turn green like the hulk so hopefully that isn’t crushing anyone’s dreams. Once they take the pictures you are on your merry way. The images from the PET are pretty obvious at identifying areas of cancer, at least with mine, and they show up red in areas of high concentration and fade to less intense colors through orange, yellow, all the way down to blue. We could easily identify the lymph nodes that were infected. There was some faint color in the spleen that they weren’t sure about as it wasn’t an obvious red tone but a very muted small yellow/orange. They were also able to identify some GREAT news that what we thought was a mass on my liver was actually an infected lymph node that is near the liver. It would be easy to misidentify because there are some many lymph nodes around and that travel through the liver. Since my liver was completely blue they had no reason to suspect any mass infecting it. Echocardiogram

The echo is without a doubt the easiest of the tests. It’s basically an ultrasound video of your heart. They do it to see where your heart function is and make sure there aren’t any abnormalities. You just lay on a bed and they do an ultrasound through your chest at different angles and get a bunch of pictures and recordings. Easiest test by far. Pulmonary Function Test (PFT)

This was, to me, the most annoying of the tests. There wasn’t anything painful about it you just have to do a lot of breathing exercises that push your lungs to the limit. They have you blow into a tube/mouthpiece and you take deep breaths and blow out all your air to measure your lung capacity and oxygen intake levels. The problem for me was I blew my air out too quickly and they would tell me to keep blowing out for another 10 seconds when I literally had nothing left inside. If I took any breath in or stopped exhaling, I would have to do the test over again. There is nothing scary at all about this test I just didn’t like having to “do it over again” so many times pushing my lungs to their limits.

Port Placement

This one, similar to when they did my biopsy, required me to go through the whole conscious sedation again. This video sort of explains what a port is for anyone who is a more visual learner (all computer graphics no real surgery imagery). The purpose of the port is to make an easy access location to administer drugs that doesn’t require very much maintenance and lower risk of infection. It does make you feel like you have a tracking device or some strange alien implant because the port is actually under you skin and you can see it bumping out. They have to make some small incisions so it does take a few days to heal. So far, the biopsy and the port placement have been the most expensive procedures.The sedation drugs just make you feel a groggy and tired. I don’t think I said or did anything funny like you see in some of those wisdom teeth videos. If I did, I would post for your viewing enjoyment! Scheduling Advice All in all the biggest struggle with these tests was just getting them scheduled in a timely manner so I could get going on chemo. The hospital doesn’t do the best job at following up with you quickly on scheduling. YOU need to be pretty proactive and make sure that you are getting on the schedule quickly by calling the different scheduling departments. Even if the doctor orders something stat they don’t always make things happen quickly. That is my piece of advice regarding tests/scans that I learned the hard way after having to wait almost 2 weeks to get my biopsy performed.

[rosemariehaas-blog]

real life cam nudes - Five Reasons People Laugh About Your Best Nude Cam

This happened to me when I was eighteen years old, while on a gruelling fourteen hour flight to London. This made me feel a little lonely, I guess. I don't recall what the in-flight movie was, but I remember not being particularly interested by it. I ended up sitting beside a stranger - because of a problem regarding our ticket bookings - and that was a first for me. The rest of my family were all up at the front of the plane, where snacks and beverages always seem to materialize miraculously. It sounded like it must have been funny. An older woman with a soft face and a heavy-looking bosom. She was in her early fifties. But, after a couple hours of being in the air, I found myself glad to be sharing a stranger's company at the back of the plane. A few times before take-off, I heard my father and brother laughing about something up-front, but I wasn't able to figure out what that was. She almost reminded me of a pre-school teacher I'd once had. I wasn't sure if I was meant to acknowledge their presence after take-off, or simply just keep to myself and stare forward for the whole flight. We talked a lot, mostly about books and movies we both enjoyed. Considering the twenty-something year gap between us, we had a surprising amount in common. It was the aura of tenderness about her, I suppose. Some time after dinner was served - I got the beef option, just to be safe - the lady beside me fell asleep. I don't think I'd ever seen a pair of tits up close like that before in my whole life. Something about the gentle slope of her breasts conveyed a warm motherliness. With-in minutes of her eyes closing shut, the side of her head slumped against my shoulder. I mean, she was clothed, of course; but still, if I leaned into her shoulder a little, I could see the dark shadow of what might be an areola. This contact sent spontaneous shivers up my spine. As I stared down into the deep valley between her tits, minutes began to feel like hours. The stewardess came walking down the aisle, offering blankets and pillows. This woke the woman beside me just long enough for her to accept them, then reposition herself and fall back asleep. The two of us sat that way for a long time: the lady, with her head rested on my shoulder and her breasts hanging sideways out of her bra; and me, with my head phones in and my eyes glued open. It was almost shocking, really. Not to mention, the view this provided me of the woman's breasts was jaw-dropingly intimate. The plane was almost entirely dark now, illuminated by only a few sparse islands of light. I put the blanket I'd been given over my lap, then pulled out an iPod full of porn cam site and started - well, y'know. The thick hum of the engines seemed amplified by the silence, creating a cloak of noise. I forgot all about the dozens of people sitting near-by, sipping their single-serving liquor and reading their best-seller's. In my defence, the temptation to continue to leer was far too great for any eighteen year old boy to withstand. For all I knew, I had a long and boring flight ahead of me. And that's when the lady sleeping beside me woke up. Or, maybe she was never sleeping at all. Either way, she caught me in the act. I'll be honest, after about twenty minutes of slowly stroking my cock under the blanket, while listening to the abrasive moans of hardcore porn in my headphones, I began to forget about where I was. Nothing good can last forever, I thought. She saw the expression of horror on my face, then opened her eyes, smiling mischievously at me. The lady whispered that "it was okay", that she was "the only person who'd be able to see". The woman told me that she'd never seen an un-cut man before; it didn't seem to turn her on as much as it fascinated her. The plane was still dark and now, most everyone appeared to be sleeping. She joked about warning me if she saw anyone coming down the isle toward us, but I knew it was no joke. I think turbulence woke her. She asked me if she could "give me a hand". I continued to jack off, with the tip of my cock poking up from beneath the blanket, so she could watch my foreskin glide up and down over my head. Before breakfast was served, the lady started jacking me off a little faster. It was blissful torture. The woman slowly stroked my cock under the blanket, letting her finger-tips slide over my foreskin, until my whole head felt numb. While doing the deed, I had glanced over in her direction, then spotted one of her eyes-lids slightly open, watching me. Now, she was able to give my cock long, hard strokes, without making too much noise. When I was close, I told her so, and she smiled, before ducking her head under the blanket and sucking my cock dry. Meaning, I didn't last longer than a couple seconds. I'd been hard for literally hours and my balls were psychically aching. Her technique had developed a lot over night. Maybe I should have clarified that part earlier. But my cock didn't stop erupting cum. I emptied the biggest load of my life into her mouth. And the woman kept gulping under the blanket, with one hand wrapped around my shaft and the the other cradling my sore balls. I heard her swallowing under the blanket in rapid succession, as if she were chugging alcohol. Three, four seconds maybe. If you have any kind of inquiries pertaining to where and how you can utilize live free cams no sign up, you could contact us at the page. I expected her to return quickly, but nearly half an hour passed. My legs spasmed for a long moment, causing my knees to knock into the seat in front of me. And also, I'd never felt a woman's lips wrapped around my cock before. When she reappeared from under the blanket, the woman's smile dripped a little cum. When I reemerged from the bathroom, I took a step toward my family, then stopped dead in my tracks. After the cum had already dried on my skin, I got up and made my way to the vacant bathroom at the front of the plane, pausing awkwardly to say hello to my family. She whispered to me about needing to "wash up before breakfast", then disappeared down the aisle. I sat in my seat, only now realizing what we had done. Beside the two of them, their son stared down into his laptop, wearing headphones and a vacant expression. She did this for nearly forty minutes. The previous handful of hours had felt like time spent in a dream. " A few more hours, I realized. I glanced over my shoulder again, then stopped dead in my tracks for the second time. I'd heard the woman's voice speaking, from somewhere close-by: "How are you feeling now, sweetie? The woman was staring over the top of her husband's balding head, making direct eye contact with me. "Oh, I'm sure I'll find something to entertain myself with. I occupied myself this long, right? The lady kissed her husband on the lips, then tousled her son's hair. But in retrospect, they were terrifyingly real. After a moment's hesitation, I forced my legs to keep walking, pretending I had been looking at something else. " Startled, I turned, then saw the woman leaning over her husband's seat. We ate in silence, pretending to be strangers. Behind me, I heard her speaking to her family in a hushed voice: "Just a few more hours now, honey. "Fair's fair, I guess. You showed me your's, I'll show you mine. Before could talk about what had happened, breakfast was served. It was obvious to me that someone had seen us, but it appeared like the plane's staff were choosing to ignore it. A few minutes later, the woman sat down beside me. Could we ever get away with this twice? But that didn't matter anymore, because the top button of the woman's jeans were already undone. She laid the blanket across her lap - the one already covered in my cum stains - then pulled her jeans down, like a woman changing at a public pool. "I've been waiting eight hours to feel you inside me. When she lifted the blanket up for me, I saw her tangled panties, which barely managed to conceal her swollen lips. Could we ever get away with this twice? "Don't be shy", she whispered. After a long period of silence, the woman beside me took a sip of her tea, then turned her head toward me. "Ever since you first heard the word 'pussy' naked cams live said in the schoolyard. I still didn't think so. "But I know you've been waiting a lot longer", she continued. " I sat down in my seat, my head spinning fast enough to make me feel dizzy. The stewardess came and collected our meal trays, then turned and left without saying a word. The fabric looked discoloured from her wetness. " subspacecadets .