#categorize this under things that pop up in my head late at night

[mountaingoatsfirstlineaday]

the mountain goats reached me across genre.

I'm a punk kid from way back, though my music taste has always been eclectic. taylor swift's you belong with me was the first song i ever heard that clicked. I've loved her music for an amount of time that stretches out in both directions from me, past and future. i listened to pop, always leaning towards artists like avril lavigne and p!nk, mostly before age ten. I dabbled in electronica (owl city was my absolute favorite for a long time). like so many disheveled-and-black-sheep sort of kids, i discovered the emo trinity in middle school and pledged allegiance to them. since then, I haven't quit listening to punk. sometimes i slip into the indie/lofi territory (phoebe bridgers car seat headrest neko case my beloved) but other than swift, my most constant music companion has been my chemical romance.

i heard the mountain goats first when i was in high school, during the tail end of a period of two years, give or take, that i now consider to be the worst time of my life so far. as many of you guys know by now, it was late at night when rain in soho came on.

and i couldn't help it. i fell in love. slowly, silently. the song passed almost without me checking the title, and at the last moment i thought to. i didn't look up the mountain goats until a couple days later, thanks to my poor memory.

i didn't really understand what it was that appealed to me about the music back then (as a rule i never listen to the album that contains the song i discovered the band through first... i don't have a good explanation for why i do this); the first entire album i listened to was the sunset tree and i was genuinely put off by how different it sounded (something i'm now deeply grateful for... if tst sounded like goths it would be a vastly different listening experience and i like the it the way it is now very much). i'm not a usual folk listener, even on the folk punk side of things, and until a couple years ago i had a severe aversion towards most vocalists who were not classically trained (i have very different opinions on this now lol. blame my mental illness and first vocal teacher). tmg was such a giant step out of my usual zone of beloved music, and yet there was, and still is, something magnetic about them. i cannot help it.

i'm still not super into folk punk. i like ajj occasionally. i appreciate the front bottoms. kimya dawson is always nice. it's unfair to reduce the mountain goats (or any music, for that matter) down to one of their many genres. the very idea of genre shivers under the weight of the gaze of the mountain goats' music. how do you categorize it? something so unique and varied? that shifts like a kaleidoscope when you turn your head? we can call tmg punk: we have before. heretic pride comes to my mind first, especially in the craters on the moon and lovecraft in brooklyn. maybe it's not as much of a stretch as i thought when i started this post.

either way, it was unexpected to me at the time. in hindsight though, the music that the mountain goats makes is the music i had been craving since the very first time i checked an avril lavigne cd out from the library. an everchanging, beautifully violent, and heartburstingly romantic catalogue. stories told with language that suits them, narrators who are emotional and volatile and growing constantly. something rough and ragged and untamed. undefinable.

and when i needed it, i found it.

#not a first line #tmg #the mountain goats #john darnielle

[tomorrowsdrama]

So the costumes in rebel princess are obviously beautiful and incredibly detailed.  But I love that the costuming also informs us about a character’s social standing and for some characters, their state of mind as well.  Or in Song Huaien’s case, how far into the dark side he’s gone.  He’s really the inspiration for this post.  As I was re-watching some of the early episodes while waiting for the new subs (shhh, I know I’m unhealthily obsessed with this drama), I noticed not only how drastically his costuming/hair has changed, but also that he’s pretty much a mirror of whoever he chooses to follow at the moment.  Cheng’s very own Single White Female without the obsessive craziness, if you will.  Delusional?  Sure.  But not quite crazy.

But first, let’s talk about the clothing of the noble class.  I’m sorry for this thesis that I’m going to inflict on everyone that no one asked for.  I’ve joked about the long trains on Awu/the nobles’ clothing before, but it’s clear that they are a sign of high status and wealth.  The higher ranked/wealthier you are, the longer your train is it seems.  Also, just in general, the nobles’ outfits usually include an abundance/overflowing of luxe silky and billowy material.  See:

And the nobles can afford to have such styles of clothing not just monetarily, but also lifestyle wise.  To put it bluntly, the nobles don’t have to do shit in their lives so they can afford to drag long trains of expensive fabric back and forth in their huge manors/the palace.  These clothes aren’t for functionality, but for beauty/showing off your wealth (whether intentionally or not).  If they need to go anywhere, they have comfy carriages to travel in instead of walking long distances.  If they need something?  That’s what servants are for.  I mean, just imagine how cumbersome it is to move around with such huge billowy sleeves and six feet of cloth dragging behind your ass.  You don’t have to imagine, just look at this scene where Daddy Wang visits Prime Minister Wen in prison (oh, how I regret taking this time for granted and condemning Daddy Wang for imprisoning that old fool):

Look at how his train drags over the threshold of the prison door.  Daddy Wang literally has to lift his train and throw it over a bench in order to sit down.  

The higher your status, the less physical activity you have to partake in a.k.a. the more useless you are, so it should come as no surprise that the longest train I’ve seen so far in the drama belongs to none other than our Useless Mopey Teenager Zitan:

The clothing choices are pretty deliberate, because whenever a character needs to do something more than just sit around enjoying tea (or wine if you’re Awu), they are given clothes that are more practical for moving around. Like the outfit Awu wore when she chased after her dad:

It’s much shorter than her usual garb and she’s wearing simple black pants underneath which makes horse riding and chasing after a traitorous father much more manageable.

What’s interesting is seeing the opposite happen with Hu Yao.  Hu Yao is usually in very practical and simple clothing since unlike the rest of the nobles in the capital, she has to fight against invaders and protect Cheng.  But when she goes to meet our Emo Emperor Zitan, of course she has to be dressed up in a big frou frou dress that makes it hard to walk:

It highlights just how impractical this type of extravagant clothing is for any kind of life other than a noble’s.  Hu Yao can barely walk without tripping over her own dress, let alone fight.  Also what the hell is that giant bow?

Now let’s talk about Daddy Wang’s clothes.  So before he gets exiled for attempting a coup, Daddy Wang was arguably the most powerful man in court.  He was the head of the Wangs, the most influential noble family in Cheng.  The past 10 empresses of the empire were daughters of the Wang clan, and his sister, the current empress, listened to whatever he said (for the most part).  Also his nephew wass the crown prince and easily manipulated.  He’s also wealthy AF so his status and wealth was apparent in his clothing.

Look at the sheen on that fabric and all that intricate embroidery work!  But then of course, he gets exiled and understandably has to put on some more humble clothing:

Simple, unembellished clothing made of coarse fabric that can withstand moving through the fields and rough terrain while you covertly make your way towards your disappointment of a son.  What really sticks out to me though, is his wardrobe choice after he reunites with the turnip.  Instead of going back to the lavish and ornate clothing he used to wear, he opts for an understated gray and black outfit with no long train in sight:

Turnip obviously can afford to put his dad in fancier clothing.  I mean look at the gaudy over-embroidered monstrosity that he’s wearing.  But it makes sense that Daddy Wang has now opted for something a bit more subdued and modest.  He’s been defeated once and is no longer the powerful prime minister he used to be.  Also, the Wangs do not hold as much clout as they used to because 1) empress has gone mad; 2) potato emperor is dead; and 3) the official head of the Wangs is now...Turnip.  

But make no mistake, his clothes may be simpler than before, but they’re still made out of very nice materials. He is after all, still Daddy Wang.  And Wang will rise again if he can help it! 

Next we have the seagull.  Ugh, yuck, gross, I hate her.  Anyway, now that I’ve gotten the bad taste out of my mouth...So for the majority of the drama we see her in light pastel colored clothing with little to no make up as if to imply that she’s a sweet, innocent thing:

She’s also usually pretty covered up.  But then she becomes Concubine Su (ugh) and all of a sudden she’s in bold colors, wearing red lipstick, and most noticeably, gotten very breast-y

Man, did Seagull make a wrong turn and accidentally stumble onto the set of The Empress of China?  She’s definitely got the tackiness to fit in with them.  This drastic shift in styling is clearly to signal to the audience that Seagull is now a seductress ready to do whatever it takes to hold onto that magical flute and never let go.  Also, whereas before she was a snake hiding in the grass, now it’s all out in the open (at least to the Wangs) just like her bosom.

Look, she even gets her own long train to reflect just how useless she is.

And finally, we have Song Huaien, Cheng’s very own Single White Female who molds himself to whoever he happens to follow and takes on their personality and principals (or lack thereof).

In the beginning, he is stuck to Xiao Qi’s side like a shadow, dresses similar to him, and even wears his hair like him.  He’s like the kid brother who copies everything his cooler older brother does because he looks up to him. 

Notably, he’s the only one in the Ningshuo crew who wears his hair down with a half bun, just like Xiao Qi.  Hu Guanglie (RIP best bro) is XQ’s oldest friend and literally devoted his life to him, but he’s also his own man and did not need to copy XQ.  He never wanted to be him, he only wanted to serve him. 

If you didn’t pay attention, you wouldn’t be able to tell who’s who.

When you follow a brave, honorable general who’s sex on legs, you too will be a brave, honorable and sexy general.  Song Huaien never looked better than when he tried to emulate Xiao Qi.

Interestingly, when Song Huaien goes off with Awu and starts to fall for her, he also starts to incorporate some color into his previously all-black wardrobe.  I guess spring arrived in his heart even though it was the cold winter:

Hm, now I’m starting to wonder if a part of his crush on Awu wasn’t influenced by his desire to be like XQ a little bit.  And then, sigh, he starts to get tempted by the riches of the capital city and the internal shift in his character is materialized externally through how he wears his hair in his first appearance in court:

This is the first time we’ve seen him wear his hair in any style other than the usual loose half bun.  And of course, his top knot conforms and fits in with how the rest of the ministers wear their hair.  Now contrast that with Xiao Qi who only wore his hair in a top knot once:

and then promptly went back to his usual hair style:

Sure, he looked good with the top knot (when does he never look good), but it wasn’t him.  Unlike Song Huaien, XQ is secure in himself and knows who he is.  He is not easily swayed or corrupted.  That is why he is able to remain just like how he always has been, internally and externally.

The next change we see in Song’s appearance is his armor.  Now that he is Count Suyi, his armor is noticeably more ornate.  Unlike XQ’s armor, which remains pretty much the same barebones armor we’ve seen since the beginning, Song’s gets fancier and fancier as he gets more lured in by the nicer things in life.

At this point, his hair is still down like before.  But then the next time we see him after his wedding, his hair style is changed into a high ponytail:

Which is a very good look, don’t get me wrong, but it is again another physical representation of the change happening in Song internally.  It’s kind of a weird limbo he’s in because it’s not completely a top knot, but it’s definitely neater and closer to a top knot than his previous hairstyle.  At this stage, Song hasn’t completely crossed over to the dark side quite yet.  He’s still kind of wavering and going back and forth.  So a high ponytail that is a shift from his prior hairstyle but not quite the same as the nobles’ hairstyle makes sense.  He keeps this look for a while and even momentarily goes back to his less fancy self while dealing with the floods away from the capital.  That is, until he joins hands (or is it roots?) with Turnip and it’s all downhill from there, character-wise and also appearance-wise.

First, we have this very ill-advised mustache and goatee which mimics the same facial hair Turnip all of sudden started sporting:

Matching facial hair to commemorate their entry onto the shit list, perhaps?  Anyway, turns out facial hair isn’t for everyone, including Song Huaien.  But this isn’t even the worst of it.  As Song Huaien continues his descent into being a greedy, spineless, puppet for Turnip (HIM of all people! or should I say, of all root vegetables?), he gets uglier and uglier.  I mean:

He looks downright haggard and as if he aged 20 years overnight.  Notably though, he looks exactly like the rest of the useless ministers in court.  He has definitely lost the sheen, vigor, and hotness that he once had when he was following XQ.  It’s as if the ugly inside is reflected on the outside as well.

I guess when you follow a weaselly coward like Turnip, you too will turn into a weaselly coward.  Oh Song Huaien, Song Huaien.  What a disappointment you turned out to be, you dumb, greedy bastard.   

#categorize this under things that pop up in my head late at night #monarch industry #the rebel princess #cdrama

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (4/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

Found on Ao3: Beginning | Current

Found on Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

-/-

Emma has this thing about the summer tourists in Martha’s Vineyard. There are several types, but they can be categorized into two main groups: the annuals versus the one-timers.

It’s pretty self-explanatory. The annuals come back every year. They usually have a family home on the island or in Cape Cod or Falmouth, and they come back year after year to do the same things – from taking out the same boats to eating at the same restaurants. Then there are the one-timers. They get an opportunity to come and spend a week or two taking pictures, eating food, spending time by the ocean, going on hikes, and then they never, ever come back. They’ve seen enough.

The annuals pay for Emma’s life. The one-timers, though, keep her entertained.

If she never has to see them again, there are no consequences, no attached strings. It’s the perfect distraction, especially in the past few years, and she will not be ashamed of the choices she makes.

Not at all.

Except, right now, she’s seriously questioning her choices because sometimes Emma can be pretty damn stupid.

But then Killian’s hand slips down the back of her thigh, fingertips pressing into her skin, kneading it in the places that bring her pleasure, and she forgets how stupid this is and remembers how good it feels. His voice is deep with his teasing, his mouth soft, and when he uses his knee to nudge hers to the side, Emma complies and arches her back as he slowly guides himself into her. Her heartbeat speeds up, sweat already forming at the nape of her neck that not even the breeze from the open window can fix, and she continues to adjust her hips as Killian finds his rhythm.

It’s a damn good rhythm, one that only takes a little instruction on her part, before he’s leaning over her, sucking the skin at her neck, and building her toward a higher and higher pleasure as he whispers filth into her skin.

And for the minutes that it takes, ones that seem to fly and drag on all at once, Emma forgets how monumentally stupid she’s being by sleeping with him. It was a moment of weakness, one where she was lonely and he was there with his stupidly handsome features and charming stories, and it seemed like the obvious thing to do.

Even though she really did simply intend to invite him in for coffee, but how many people truly believe that offer to be taken at face value?

Emma thinks he’s an obnoxious flirt, but at least it’s nice to know he can back his words up with actions.

Emma scratches her fingers down his back until she’s tightening them around the muscles in his arms. He’s fitter than she imagined, which is always a bonus, and his muscles twitch as he continues to move in her, over her, until his hand reaches between them and Emma finds the subtle bliss she doesn’t often find from arrangements like this.

So, she’s stupid, but at least she’s satisfied.

Killian hovers over her as his thrusts become more erratic, as he finds his own release, his forehead pressed into hers, and then he’s rolling over, taking a breather next to her, before getting up to dispose of the condom and put his briefs back on. Emma does the same, using the bathroom to pee and wash her face, before putting on a t-shirt and pair of underwear.

“So, that was,” Killian begins when she comes back from the bathroom. He’s sitting on the end of the bed, body still on near full display as he presses his hands back.

“You’re only staying here this summer, right?” Emma interrupts.

He raises one brow, then the next. “Aye. I don’t imagine I’ll return next year. My life should be…less complicated then.”

Okay, good. Maybe she’s not so stupid after all.

Because he may be friends with Ariel and Eric, which isn’t the clean break she’s looking for, but it’s clean enough.

She wonders how his life could be complicated. She doesn’t know much about him, but she knows enough. He’s rich, can take months off from work to vacation, and there’s little chance he actually knows what complicated is.

“Why do you ask?” he continues, scratching his neck.

Emma shrugs. “Because this wasn’t…this was casual. I’m not into having a relationship, especially with someone who has an expiration date.”

“Trust me, love,” he laughs, “neither am I. I do fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me, but I know what this was. I’m not under any impressions otherwise.”

Emma nods and grabs a pair of sleep shorts from one of her drawers. “Well, good. That’s good.”

This is always the awkward part. Do they stay or do they go? Emma votes go, but she’s unsure how to ask without coming off as a total bitch.

Especially since this is a man who already knows her more than he should.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “it is good.” He leans down and picks up his jeans, standing to slide them on. Why the hell are his pants that tight. “But I have the feeling you’re waiting on me to leave, so I can do that for you.”

“Oh, I - ”

“Perceptive, Swan.” He points to his head. “I told you I’m actually quite perceptive, and I meant it. Have a good night, love. I’m sure I’ll see you around the island.”

He finishes getting dressed as Emma stands in the corner and crosses her arms, watching him. Not five minutes ago she was watching him move in a completely different way, and the memories nearly tempt her to ask him to stay.

She’s stupid, but she’s not that stupid.

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, “I’ll see you around.”

-/-

July

“Can you work Saturday, Ashley?” Emma asks as she pulls up next week’s schedule. “Heather apparently can’t, and I have to have someone cover her shift. You’ll get good tips.”

“I can work then, but I need next Thursday morning off. I have an appointment.”

Emma adds Ashely’s name into the chart and looks up as Ashley rubs her hand over her stomach. “I’ll cover you. Are you finding out the gender?”

“I am. I’m excited.”

“Good.” Emma closes her laptop and stands from behind her desk. “I’m glad you’re excited. How are things out there?”

“Busy. I’d expect nothing less from the holiday week.”

Emma inhales before breathing out a slow exhale. “I wouldn’t either. I’ll come and help out. Make sure you’re taking enough breaks and drinking enough water. I don’t want you exhausting yourself.”

“I’m not,” Ashley promises, but Emma knows how tired the girl is, “but I really appreciate you.”

They walk out of Emma’s office, and while Ashley goes back to her section, Emma starts doing her rounds, checking in with her servers and cooks, making sure everything stays up to the standards she needs. This is one of their busiest weeks of the year, and she can’t afford for anything to go wrong. They had a hiccup last week with the bread order, and with how many burgers they’re selling, she really can’t afford for that to happen again.

Once she’s done checking inside, she walks to their outside area. It’s such a pleasant day out with the sun shining directly over them. The boardwalks are full of people, the beaches the same, and she sees more boats out on the water than usual.

She also sees a familiar mop of black hair sitting alone at the end of their outdoor patio. She hasn’t seen him since he left her house a few days ago, headlights of his Jeep fading in the distance.

Go figure that he’s here again. He seems to be fond of the place.

“You really like the food here, huh?”

“That and the manager.”

Emma laughs and leans against the railing as a family boards a boat a few feet away, their voices carrying over to Emma. It’s four of them, mom, dad, brother, and sister. It’s the picture-perfect New England family, and she imagines all the brochures in the tourism office look just like this.

And not at all like her.

“Laying on the charm a little too thick,” Emma sighs, shaking her head. “But I have a feeling that’s your thing.”

“I like to think it’s just the right amount.” He spears a bit of his omelet and pops a bite in his mouth. “What are you doing out here?”

“My job.”

His brow arches and he reaches out his arm, moving it around to the railing. His skin has tanned since she first met him, and she must admit, at least to herself, that he looks good. “You check in on all your customers like this?”

“Just the ones who keep coming back.” “To be fair, I figured I could avoid you seeing me if I sat out here.”

Emma rolls her eyes as the family’s boat starts and begins to stutter away. “Look, you can come here all you want. I know I - I didn’t make it seem that way, but I don’t care what you do or don’t do as long as you don’t expect anything from me.”

“Not a thing, love.”

“Good.” Emma stands, tightening the knot on her Blue Dog Tavern t-shirt. “But, you know, if you did happen to be up late at night, and I happened to be up, I wouldn’t oppose you stopping by for some coffee.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Well, some nights, of course. When I feel like it.”

Killian chuckles and leans back in the chair, the front legs coming off the ground. “When you feel like it. And how would I know that?”

Emma pulls her phone out of her back pocket and holds it out to him. Without a word, he types his number in and hands it back to her. “That’s how you’ll know. I hope you enjoy your meal, Jones.”

Emma taps him on the shoulder and walks away, shaking her head. She’s stupid. So damn stupid, but as she walks back into the main dining hall and sees how crazy it is, she thinks she deserves a bit of a break, a bit of fun. She’s an adult. She can make stupid decisions sometimes.

Especially hot, British stupid decisions who are here on a time limit.

Her life is messy already. What’s one more thing?

-/-

Emma pops open a beer bottle, throwing the top away and settles on David and Mary Margaret’s pool lounge chair, pulling her legs up to keep them out of the sun. Ruby, meanwhile, is on full display on a pool float, as is David. Mary Margaret is joining Emma in the no sun club.

“So, how are you lately?” Mary Margaret asks, sipping on her lemonade. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in a week.”

“That’s because you haven’t.”

Mary Margaret laughs and puts her drink on the table between them. “Well, you have to tell me what you’ve been up to. I don’t know how you deal with months without - ”

“Oh my God,” Ruby screeches, nearly flopping into the pool before she paddles her way toward the two of them, “I totally forgot.”

“What’d you forget, hon?”

“That I saw Emma’s hot British friend running yesterday, and I nearly passed out.”

“Why?” Emma asks, sipping on her beer again. “Were you running too? I told you to stop doing that when you haven’t had water in ages. You’ll legitimately pass out.”

Ruby kicks and some of the water splashes onto the side of the pool. “Hey, careful!” David yells. “I just cleaned this grout.”

“Yes, Dad,” Ruby mocks, kicking more water before paddling to the edge of the pool. “Anyway, I meant to say that I saw him, was reminded of just how attractive he is, and Emma, my darling, I must say that there is no harm in having a little summer fun. In fact, I encourage it. It’s good for the soul. And the vagina for that matter.”

Emma spits out her beer, the alcohol spilling onto the tile, and she swear David gives her murder eyes even though he’s gone back to lounging with his eyes closed. “You need a filter, Rubes.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Emma laughs and stretches her legs out, letting her toes peep out of the shade and into the brightness of the sun. “I will have you know, though, that he doesn’t plan on returning next summer. He has an expiration date.”

“So you fucked him?” Ruby asks, a little too gleeful.

“You can fill in the blanks.” Emma pulls her feet back under the shade and closes her eyes.

She’s not shy with her friends, especially Ruby. they know enough about each other’s lives to fill books about, but some things, Emma keeps under wraps unless she absolutely has to share them. Or unless she’s in the mood. Right now, with David nearby and with Mary Margaret totally judging her.

The woman is kind and fun and supportive, but she also met David a decade ago and knew he was the one on the first date. Personally, Emma thinks that is bullshit, but she’d never tell anyone that. You can know someone for years without truly knowing them, so how could anyone be so sure on a first date?

David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard somehow were.

“You know, Emma,” Mary Margaret begins, “that wall you keep up may keep out pain, but it may also keep out love.”

Emma laughs and presses the cold bottle to her lips. “Marg, I’m sleeping with a guy for fun. It’s not a love match. Let me have this. In September, I’ll go back to being the Emma Swan who doesn’t do stupid things like this.”

“I didn’t - ”

“It’s fine.” Emma finishes her drink and pulls her hair into a high bun before standing and walking toward the pool, quickly submerging herself in the water to get used to the chill. She swims over to David and pulls on his float. “Hey.”

He lifts his sunglasses. “Hey.”

“How goes the job? Still seeing a bunch of cats and dogs be cute?”

“Cute and gross. What’d Mary Margaret say to make you leave your cocoon of shade?”

“Nothing. Just thought I’d come say hi to you. I do like you from time to time.”

David chuckles and slides his glasses back on. “I only believe half of that, but it’s alright. I won’t push.”

“And that’s why I love you.”

Emma stays with the Nolans and Ruby for the rest of the afternoon, and no one bugs her about her dating life, thank God. They all mean well, truly, but sometimes the last thing Emma wants to do is listen to them. On the spectrum of how they approach love, Emma is somewhere in the middle. She’s not David and Mary Margaret with their love conquers all attitude, and she’s not Ruby with her casual, carefree approach to simply seeing where the wind takes her. She’s...well, she doesn’t know what she is. All Emma knows is that while she’s experienced the highs of what love can bring, she has also experienced the lowest of the lows.

It’s safer in the middle. If you don’t fall in love, you can’t get your heart broken. But you can have some fun when you need it.

Hence, Killian, even if he is not the someone she expected to be having her summer fun with.

God, when she thinks like that, it sounds like she’s narrating a beach movie where all the colors are too bright and no one ever sweats despite spending their entire lives outside.

Speak of the devil, a group of young girls ride down the street on bikes, laughing, their hair falling behind them, and then two minutes later, they’re back again. What the hell?

That’s when she realizes they have a friend with a camera standing on the sidewalk, taking pictures of them, and Emma rolls her eyes before turning to grab her purse and her keys. “I’m going to head home,” she yells out. “I want to beat all the drunk drivers and the illegal fireworks home.”

“Wait, don’t go,” Mary Margaret insists from her spot on the couch. “Let me get you some leftovers.”

“Marg, you don’t have to feed me.”

“I know, I know.” She stands from the couch and heads toward the kitchen. “But you so rarely cook, and it’s good for you to have real meals. And since you’re alone without - ”

“Oh my God,” Ruby squeals, king her leg out. She nearly knocks over the vases and books Mary Margaret keeps on her coffee table. “Holy fuck. Like, fuck.”

Emma drops her purse. “What?”

Ruby raises her hand and folds her fingers, beckoning Emma to come closer to her. Emma rolls her eyes, but she does it anyway, plopping down next to Ruby.

“Okay, so, I couldn’t stop thinking about your new boy toy,” she starts.

“Not a toy,” Emma corrects. “He’s fine with the arrangement too.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I wanted to know more about your little sex buddy, not that I think he’s little in any way, so I went to Ariel’s Instagram, searched through her followers, and found him. And, well…”

Ruby shoves her phone into Emma’s hands, and Emma looks down, scanning through the photos. It’s a lot of group shots of men in soccer uniforms, and she thinks that’s weird but okay. He’s a member of a little soccer club back home. That seems like something rich people in England would do. It’s probably more interesting than her extracurricular hobbies which consist of eating, going to the gym, and sitting in David and Mary Margaret’s living room. It’s not like she has any room to judge someone over what they do in their free time.

Still, she continues scrolling, careful not to like anything, and it’s not until she comes across a picture of him with his shirt off that she stops to really think.

Not because he has his shirt off. She’s seen that in person. She doesn’t need to see that in pictures.

But because of the number of likes on the picture.

And the number of followers he has.

And then the little blue checkmark next to his name.

Holy fuck indeed.

“So, that’s how he has money to rent one of the big houses over in Edgartown.” Emma closes out the app and hands Ruby back her phone. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Interesting?” Ruby scoffs, getting loud enough that David finally looks up with his own phone. Mary Margaret remains clueless in the kitchen. “You’re sleeping with a literal professional athlete, and that’s your reaction?”

Emma shrugs and stands from the couch as David asks Ruby to see what she was showing Emma. “David obviously finds it more interesting than me. I don’t care who he is or what he does or doesn’t do. That’s none of my business.”

Ruby gapes, David does too, and while Emma does have a bit of a weird feeling in her gut, she truly does not care what Killian Jones does. She’s got a few questions, sure, but much like the other men she’s been with lately, all she needs to know is if they’re clean and if they have condoms.

A little crude, but it’s the truth.

“Holy shit, Emma,” David whispers, but Emma is already ready to go, making her way into the kitchen to get the tupperware from Mary Margaret before this becomes a thing and she gets home too late.

It’s not a thing.

And she wants to go home.

-/-

It’s definitely not a thing, but she does think about it the next time he comes over. Not for long, though. Just when she notices a noticeably defined muscle she’s a little jealous of, but then he does this particularly delicious thing with his tongue or his hips that makes her completely forget about it.

And it’s not a thing when she thinks about it when she sees him running along the sidewalk outside the Blue Dog. She can run. She’s fit. She hates doing it, but she can. He just seems...graceful or something that she isn’t always. It’s difficult for her to articulate in her mind.

It continues to not be a thing each time she sees him, even when he invites her to his place for a change of scenery. The house, surprisingly, isn’t overly big compared to some of the other houses in the neighborhood, but it’s definitely not a place she could ever afford.

Not if she worked her literal ass off for five lifetimes and never spent any of her money.

All of the finishes are new, the design that modern coastal feel Emma sees on all the HGTV shows, and she can’t say she minds it. Her taste has always been a little more eclectic, but it’s nice, clean. And maybe one day when she’s not living in someone else’s house, she’ll actually decorate where she lives to her taste.

One day.

“Nice place,” Emma says, craning her neck so he can run his lips in just the right spot. He’s a quick study, which she appreciates, and he always remembers whatever she tells him.

“I like it,” he mumbles, his voice vibrating against her skin.

“Is this your style? Do you live in a big coastal home back in England?”

She doesn’t know why she asks, but she does.

He pulls back and raises his brow, which is this thing he’s always doing. At first it was annoying, like he was always questioning her, but now she realizes his brow likely has a mind of its own.

“Why do you ask, love?”

And much like the brow, that word seems to slip off his tongue without much thought. It has also become less annoying.

“No reason. Just curious.”

“I thought we didn’t ask personal questions.”

“You,” she corrects, tapping his chest, “don’t ask personal questions. I never said I couldn't ask.”

“I don’t think those are rules I agreed to.”

Emma ducks from underneath his arms, making her way into the open space of the living room. She unbuttons her shirt until her bra is exposed, and Killian’s eyes immediately glance down. Men are so easy.

“Okay, fair,” Emma sighs, running her hand over the back of a very well-made couch. “If I ask you a personal question, you can ask me one in return. But I have the right to veto. It’s a tit for tat situation.” He opens his mouth, and she already knows what he’s going to say. Again, men are so easy, and this is one that never passes up the opportunity for an innuendo. “Don’t say it, Jones.”

“Wasn’t going to.” He strides toward her, his movements fluid, and he puts his pointer finger in the empty belt loops of her jean shorts to pull her closer to him. He’s ridiculously warm. Then again, that could just be the flush in her cheeks. “And to answer your question, no, my flat in England doesn’t look like this. The colors are darker, but I do have a lot of blue and a few nautical pieces.”

“So you like the ocean then?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he corrects, tugging on the loops again, “you’ve already asked your question.”

“Asking if you like the ocean is not a personal question.”

“Anything can be a personal question depending on the person.” There’s a flash of something in his eyes, but Emma can’t decipher it. She’s usually a little better at reading people than that. “That can be your question for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” she asks as his hands sneak around to her ass.

“Yep. One personal question a day. Keeps things interesting while separate.”

“And we keep the veto rule?”

“Aye, we keep the veto rule, Swan,” he smiles, dipping his head down to kiss her. That’s the entire reason they’re here, after all.

“Good.”

Tomorrow, she’s totally going to ask a better question than if he likes the beach or not. He left England to hang out in Martha’s Vineyard for a few months. He obviously likes it.

“So,” Killian begins as he skillfully snaps the hook on her bra off. Emma lifts her back from the couch to give him easier access. “Tell me, darling, do you like seafood?”

His mouth grazes over her nipple, and Emma yanks on his hair, hard. “Is this your one personal question?”

“Aye.”

Emma rolls her eyes at the same time that she rolls her hips, and she thinks there must be some kind of metaphor for her life choices there.

“Love it.”

“Good,” he whispers as his warm hands run down her bare stomach and underneath the waistline of her shorts. “Then I insist you stay for dinner.”

And because Emma has been all into making stupid decisions over the past month, she does.

-/-

-/-

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#I hope we never see october #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan #queue poetic noble land mermaid

[iamkidfish]

just wanted to pop by and thank you for the cazzie fic! i've been obsessed with them lately so having one of my fave fic authors write them really helped me cope. if you ever have the time i would love it if you could write something where leah is jealous of dot cuz she thinks there is something between dot and fatin, and fatin realizing this. thanks, have a great day!

thanks for your kind words! <3

here's a quick little 900 words for your prompt! also on ao3

Honestly, Fatin should’ve figured it out weeks ago (she’s usually better at this stuff) and she’s a little bit annoyed at herself for how long it took, even though the lack of food, sleep, orgasms, and the overall health benefits of spending your summer vacay shipwrecked on a deserted island has made her brain tragically lackadaisical in the social comprehension department, except of course, if the certain social interaction involves death or threats of injury, then she pays attention.

Still, Fatin has eyes. Eyes that have categorized and tracked every single other girl on this island, so she knows a thing or two about patterns of behavior and all that other junk about observational studies from her AP Psych class she took last fall. Between getting a five on the AP Exam and predicting the Toni/Shelby hookup (listen, they just had too much weird sexual energy between them for something to be not going on), she really deserves some sort of medal to recognize her achievements. But then, it’d have to be revoked too, on account of her being an idiot the past few weeks.

The evidence becomes even more glaringly obvious and Fatin’s forced to see what’s in front of her face: Leah has feelings for her, feelings that sometimes make Leah more territorial of Fatin than usual.

Maybe she should do some of her own unpacking of why that realization has her stomach doing flips, especially every time they all have a meal on the beach, and Fatin notices how Leah chooses to sit down next to her more often than not, sitting so close sometimes their knees knock together.

It starts small, of course. Interactions Fatin would deem inconsequential, if she wasn’t so in tune with Leah’s general state of being—which, on the island, teeters between fragile and volatile, at best—so really the first hints aren’t really hints at all, until she’s looking back and includes them with the rest of the examples. By themselves though, a few moments here and there when Leah looks at her funny aren’t anything substantial. It certainly happens other times too, not just when Fatin is pretending to flirt with Dot, like when she sticks around and helps Dot with the inventory, or like last week when they all voted in favor of recon missions into the woods (to scope out more potential relocation spots ) and Fatin voted for Dot’s argument without even really thinking, and then volunteered to go on said recon missions with Dot, when everyone knows walking in the woods, or walking in general, isn’t her favorite thing, or like—

Okay, maybe Fatin is noticing a pattern now. But if she’s only just realized something odd about Leah’s behavior, the rest of the girls, especially Dot, are blissfully oblivious. Fair enough, staying alive has got to take up most of everyone's time and energy, so there really is no time for the type of drama Fatin used to live for, back before the island. That’s her old life now, she supposes, before a plane ride irrevocably changed the trajectory of her life forever.

In the end, Dot helps her in the most Dot way possible, because of course; she’s helped Fatin in every other way on this island, why not one more of Fatin’s predicaments for her to solve? Dot helps Fatin and doesn’t even realize it, just wanders over to her one day and tells her, tonelessly, “Leah wanted to switch with me for firewood duty today. Weird, since she hates it.”

It’s like she has the last puzzle piece to figuring everything out, but then suddenly, the puzzle goes missing. Later, when they’re walking through the woods, various shaped branches and sticks in hand, Fatin tries to get a read on what Leah really seems to be feeling, but the other girl is guarded with her emotions for once, and they only make small talk while doing their chore.

Thankfully, it’s that night that everything finally clicks into place. Fatin’s dozing, almost asleep, when she feels the sand shift around her, meaning Leah’s turning over to try to get comfortable. (Another thing Fatin now notices, Leah makes it a point to claim sleeping space next to Fatin most nights.) She tries to keep her breath even so Leah doesn’t suspect she’s still awake—not that anything would happen right now, they’re surrounded by the six other girls, most of them who are probably still awake. Fatin feels the sand shift again and imagines Leah’s arm moving to tuck itself under her head. It’s her own preferred way of sleeping, using her upper arm as a pillow and having the rest of her arm and hand stick out. Instead, she feels the soft heat of Leah’s hand on hers, just barely, as her pinky finger loops itself around Fatin’s own finger. There’s a second where Fatin feels both of their heartbeats (she hopes Leah can’t tell hers has ticked considerably uptempo) before they sync up, beating as one.

Fatin doesn’t dare open her eyes, she just lays there listening to the roll of the waves and feels the thrum of both of their hearts beating together, under the stars.

(In the morning, Toni shoots her an eyebrow-waggling when she walks over to wake them both up and sees their hands tangled together (Fatin wonders when that happened during the night) but she doesn’t even care.)

#the wilds #the wilds fic #leah rilke #fatin jadmani #leah x fatin #leatin #dot campbell #jealous!leah is my fav #watch in real time how i remember how to write leatin lol #my writing

[7-wonders]

The Thrill of the Chase

Summary: Your path once again crosses with Michael’s, this time under much more dire circumstances. Life and death, specifically yours, has suddenly never been more prevalent in your mind.

Word Count: 2602

A/N: Hey y’all, this takes place after Lost In the Shadows! We’ve been talking a lot of True Blood on here lately, and when I wrote this sort of situation with Eric Northman, somebody said they could imagine this with Michael. Hence, this new work. I hope you enjoy, and please remember that likes, comments, and reblogs are what makes my world go round.

In the weeks since you had discovered that vampires are not just a myth written about in romantic novels and scary stories, and that your boss, Michael Langdon, was the first vampire and the Antichrist, life had been quieter than you were expecting. After luring Michael to your lab and forcing him to tell you about vampires, you had thought that he was going to make you go missing or force you to swear that you would remain silent. To your surprise, however, he gave you space. You had seen him multiple times since the incident had occurred, but every time he kept his distance, choosing to greet you with a simple smile before moving on to whatever a vampire CEO needs to do. 

Maybe this is some predatory habit of vampires, where they bait their prey before backing off and driving them mad with anticipation before striking. If it is, you would rather Michael get whatever he’s planning over with. This wait, whether it be for something or nothing, is starting to affect your work.

Speaking of work, it’s then that you shake yourself out of your thoughts and realize nearly an hour has passed since the typical work day ends. You sigh, running a hand through your hair and looking disdainfully at the paperwork that still litters your desk. Some days, being head of R&D has its perks. Others, when you have to sift through hundreds of funding requests from developers just as idiotic as Jeff and Mutt, make you want to walk out and never come back. You doubt you’d find a job with health insurance as good as Kineros’s, though.

Deciding that a walk to clear your head will do you some good, you stand and relish in the popping noise that your shoulders make when you stretch. The building’s your favorite when it’s almost completely empty, the comforting silence a perfect work environment. Greeting one of the custodians as she mops the hall in the direction away from your lab/office, you decide to walk downstairs to give her uninterrupted time to clean without you getting in the way. 

Eventually, and like always, you end up down at the main lab that Jeff and Mutt inhabit. You’ve made it a habit to come and check that everything is turned off and put back where it’s supposed to be, not trusting two men constantly high on cocaine to properly dispose of used chemicals and turn off the power source to loose wires. After getting on them numerous times about proper lab etiquette, they’ve actually become quite vigilant. Tonight, however, you can already see a bunsen burner that looks like it’s still on. While concerning, it’s not a disastrous situation. It’s not, at least, until you turn the light on and notice the ethanol-soaked rag right next to the open gas source.

That’s when the explosion happens.

It’s a perfect storm, with a combustible chemical having had plenty of time to oxidize next to a natural gas source. The heat emanating from the fluorescent lights that you turn on act as the catalyst, and you only have time to cover your eyes as the light from the rapidly-expanding flame warns you milliseconds before the explosion reaches your ears. The sheer force of velocity is enough to throw you across the room, with the all-glass interior proving no match as every surface shatters. Everything is happening so fast, yet it seems as though it’s in slow motion, an out of body experience in which you’re a passive observer watching what’s happening to you. Maybe you are having an out of body experience, since the bouncing of your head against the wall is something that you’re pretty sure knocks you out.

It’s unclear how much time has passed when you hear a voice calling your name. Long enough that the flames have started smoldering under the water of the fire alarms. You blink rapidly, trying to get your eyes to focus again. Finally, Michael Langdon comes into view. If you weren’t in a state of shock, you’d be mildly upset that of course the vampire whom you threatened last week is the one to come upon you in a state of mortal peril. Since you are dealing with a bit of shock, you can only stare at him in disbelief.

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” You nod. “What happened?”

“Cokeheads...chemicals...bunsen burner…” Damn, that sounded way more eloquent in your head. Your inability to string together a full sentence means a concussion is almost certain.

“Those fucking imbeciles,” Michael says lowly, eyes scanning you to catalogue the extent of your injuries. His eyes are dark red with veins extending to his cheeks, startling you just as much as the previous time you saw this side of him. What startles you even more is just how easily he bites into his own wrist to let blood flow, holding it out to you expectantly.

“No, I don’t wanna be a vampire.” You try to move away from Michael, but you’re in too much pain for even that.

Although your words come out slurred and confused, Michael still understands you. “You won’t, I promise. It’s a very specific ritual, and there’s not even a chance of you becoming a vampire from this. Please, just take my blood and let me heal you.”

Later, you’ll wonder if Michael had done some sort of vampire mind trick on you. That’s the only way you can justify taking his blood with so little hesitation. Regardless of the reasons why, the earnesty in his voice tells you that he’s being truthful.

Michael leans over you, slipping a hand around the back of your neck to help you up as you lower your mouth to the open wound on his wrist. While you grimace at the metallic taste when Michael’s blood first pools in your mouth, the taste changes to something much more pleasant. It’s like a new cocktail that you get at a bar; you’re not too sure of whether or not you like it, but you know that it tastes good.

By the time you notice that your head feels clearer, Michael’s deemed that you’re fully healed. To your muted horror, you realize that you don’t want to pull away, but Michael gently forces you off of him. His inquisitive eyes look you over once more, and he uses his thumb to wipe stray blood off of your lips.

“You healed me. Why?” Your head is reeling with how fast events have been moving in the span of just a few minutes, yet the one clear question you have is why Michael healed you when he could have just as easily killed you.

“Why not?”

“Well...because…”

“Are you feeling better?” Michael decides to take pity on your bewilderment, switching the subject. 

“Oh!” Now that he mentions it, you do feel better. You can think in full sentences now, and the dull ache in your head has disappeared. While you hadn’t seen any cuts on your body, the thin lines of blood left behind on your arms prove that there were wounds from the broken glass. “I am, actually.”

“You sound surprised. Did you not think that it would work?”

Laughing sheepishly, you shrug. “I mean, not really.”

You look around, just now seeing the destruction around you. “You think Jeff and Mutt have insurance that covers gross negligence?”

“Oh, they’ll be paying for this out of their own pockets. They’re lucky that I won’t have them criminally charged for any of this.” Sirens sound in the distance, and Michael pulls you up from out of the rubble. “Come, the authorities will be here soon.”

“Wait!” Michael allows you to pull him to a stop. “What do I even tell the police? I’m sure there’s security footage of me getting knocked out.”

“Conveniently, the cameras were knocked out due to the explosion.” Michael winks at you before disappearing like he was never at the scene, leaving you to stand among the carnage as authorities swarm what was once a laboratory.

//

It’s light out when you wake up after your whirlwind night, which is what you first recognize as odd. When you arrived home last night, you don’t remember falling asleep. The next thing that can be categorized as odd is the tall, blond vampiric Antichrist standing in the middle of your bedroom. You scramble up on the bed with a surprised gasp, pulling your blankets up to your chin and staring at Michael’s smirking face.

“What--how are you here? I never invited you in.”

“A common misconception about vampires.” Michael slowly approaches the bed, his languid movements reminding you of the predator that he is.

“But what about the fact that it’s light out? Shouldn’t you be a pile of ash right now?”

“I am not the final word of vampire lore.” He kind of is, and you would retort with that, if it weren’t for the way he crawls towards you. “Your heart is beating very fast.”

“That’s because I’m not sure if you’re gonna eat me.”

“Potentially, but not in the way that you’re thinking.” If Michael couldn’t hear your heart beating before, he surely can now, especially once he leans in and kisses you.

You’ve been kissed before, enough times that you would consider yourself pretty knowledgeable about the subject. If you know a bit about kissing, then Michael Langdon is an expert on it. He manages to be sensual, yet rough at the same time, a fang nicking your bottom lip and making you shudder in surprise. Just as quickly as the droplet of blood can bead up to the surface, Michael’s licked it away, moaning at the taste of your blood.

“I don’t know how I’ve managed to go so long between tasting you,” Michael mutters against your skin, using his skill to quickly remove the shirt that you had been sleeping in.

You’re not self-conscious at Michael seeing you topless, which is unusual for you. Maybe it’s just because he knows how to treat a person right, but it’s impossible to even have those thoughts when the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen is currently kissing his way down your abdomen. Michael’s fingers ghost over the top of your pants, and you thread your fingers through his hair in response. Then, there’s a loud knock on the door.

Sitting up in bed, you’re disoriented when you realize that it’s not light out, and you don’t have a gorgeous blond vampire on top of you. Somebody knocks on the door again, and you realize that must be what woke you up from your extremely vivid, extremely wonderful dream.

“I’m coming,” you say in the loudest voice you can muster, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders to combat the cold air that the open door will let in. “Michael!”

Either this is the weirdest inception-like dream you’ve ever had, or the man you were just having a sex dream about is standing at your door. “Hello, (Y/N). I hope you won’t be too upset that I woke you at this hour.”

“Uh, you’re fine.” You open the door wider to allow Michael to enter, but he just continues to stand in the same spot. “Do I...have to invite you in? Like, is that a real thing with vampires?”

“No, I just prefer to be polite and not barge into somebody’s home without their permission.” You smirk. Of course that myth would come from the overly-polite Antichrist.

“Come in, Michael.”

“Thank you.” He steps in, quickly appraising the entryway of your apartment with the detached air of someone who’s been in homes much grander than this (he probably has; you’ve seen a couple of portraits of the French court at Versailles with a blond lord who looks suspiciously like Michael). “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“That would be a question I have.”

“Well, I realized that I had forgotten to mention something about taking vampire blood when injured.”

“And you couldn’t wait until the next time that you saw me to tell me this? Wait, how did you even find my address?”

“I’m the CEO, I have everybody’s records.”

“So, what did you have to tell me?”

“I’m assuming, since you were asleep, that you had a pretty...imaginative dream about me?”

The blood drains from your face. “How did you know about that?”

“I was so wrapped up in saving you, and the commotion that followed, that I didn’t get to tell you that a human drinking a vampire’s blood bonds them to that vampire.”

“What does that mean?” you ask incredulously.

“What it means,” Michael explains patiently, “is that certain things are going to happen to you now that you have a vampire’s blood in your system. Your senses will be enhanced, you’ll have heightened strength…”

“And the dreams?”

“As I said before, drinking a vampire’s blood bonds a human to that vampire. Until my blood is out of your system, I’ll be able to sense if you’re in trouble and your emotions. It can also give you erotic dreams about the vampire whose blood you’ve consumed.”

You groan, dismay evident on your face. “Great, that’s just--fantastic. So when does it stop?”

“A couple of months? Blood doesn’t cycle through the body very fast.”

“You’re kidding me,” you say with a disbelieving laugh.

“I don’t see what’s funny about this.”

“My entire life since I’ve met you has been fucking hilarious! And now I’m apparently bonded to you because you just happened to cross my path when I was mortally wounded.”

Michael glowers at you. “I didn’t have to save your life, you know.”

“Yet you did, all the while knowing what would happen when I took your blood.” You want to say all the things you’re thinking of, like how you still would have survived out of sheer hatred for him even if you did have to wait for the ambulance to arrive (which they had, clearing you after you had explained to the very confused EMTs that you hadn’t been in the lab when the explosion happened, just right outside of it; they had accepted your lie, albeit dubiously upon seeing the devastation that wrecked the first floor of Kineros), but all you can think about are his goddamn beautiful lips and how badly you want to kiss them. “Fuck, I can’t even focus on being mad at you because of the urge to kiss your stupidly perfect face!”

The anger Michael was previously feeling evaporates as he fights the upward quirk that his lips threaten to take. “We certainly can kiss, if that’s what you’d like.”

“It’s not what I’d like! It’s that stupid bond you were talking about.”

“Maybe just once will help to quell any future urges you may have?” 

You’re not sure if you want to smack the cocky grin off his face or jump on him, so you settle for pointing to the front door. “Out.”

“Alright, but just remember that the offer still stands.” He produces a business card between his long, ringed fingers, and you snatch it out of his hand while still glaring at him. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

You slam the door behind him, leaning against it to help your shaky knees. Michael’s laughter is still on the air long after he’s left, and you sigh as you wonder how on earth you’re going to get to sleep...especially when you realize that you won’t be able to take care of your little problem without Michael knowing. That laughter suddenly seems a lot louder now.

//

Baby tag list bc I’m lazy: @moonanonwriting​ @lvngdvns​ @wroteclassicaly​ @sojournmichael​ @chibi-lioness​ @ccodyfern​ @trelaney​ @xavierplympton​ @dyns33​ @michaelsapostle​ @ajokeformur-ray​

[tiesandtea]

I met two members of London Suede, Brett Anderson and Mat Osman, in the lounge of a major New York hotel. They were at the beginning of a four-city tour of the U.S. in support of their newest release, Coming Up on Columbia Records. I got a chance to talk to them about songwriting, performing and who they think can write a good song. Brett did almost all the talking and never took his sunglasses off. Hey, he's a rock star; he doesn't have to. This was my first time interviewing a British band and I couldn't escape the feeling of being Rob Reiner in Spinal Tap.

An interview with Brett & Mat by Dave Levine for Urban Desires, May 1997. The rest of the article under the cut. (x)

London Suede, or Suede as they're known in England, is at the forefront of the new Brit-Pop explosion that includes bands like Oasis, Blur and Pulp. They write lush poppy songs reminiscent of Bowie in the late seventies. As with many of the new British bands, success in America is hard won. They released their first record, Nude in 1993 and it went #1 in England but didn't make much sound on this side of the Atlantic. Why? well Brett thinks he knows, so read on.

UD: So have you guys been to New York a lot? LS: Yeah, we've been here quite a few times. UD: So what's the difference between London night life and New York? LS: I don't know really. I think every city in the world is pretty much the same, isn't it? I mean there's no difference between New York, and London. Everyone likes to think that they live in the biggest, baddest city in the world. London's just as big and bad as New York and Rio de Janeiro is just as big and bad as London. I think at this point in the twentieth century everyone is so well connected and the world's just become one big place... got tramps sittin' in the street and sex and sleaze and stuff like that. It's all the same, isn't it? UD: Except for the bars in London close at 11:00. LS: Yeah, but there are after-hours places. UD: What's your favorite place in the world to play? London? LS: Probably Thailand or Scandinavia. UD: Why? Because the crowds are crazy, and they just love it? LS: They're mad, especially in Singapore. They sing along with every word. UD: What about New York? To me, New York crowds are jaded. LS: Yeah, they are a bit. Last time we played here it was shit. I can't really get my hands around the mentality. I don't really know how to put this. I mean, I don't want to be offensive. UD: Go ahead be offensive, it makes good copy. LS: New Yorkers want to be shouted at or they don't respect you. They tend to assume that quietness equals weakness, which it doesn't. That's an assumption that I don't think anyone in the world makes. The first show we did here was really boring and the second show we were going through quite alot of bad times with the band. We were having alot of internal arguments and it was a real low point in our relations. We were so fucked up with each other, we absolutely fuckin' hated each other... I don't know how to put it.... UD: New York probably loved that. LS: Exactly, it came across in the gig. It was a real wild gig. UD: I read in your press release that when you first started playing, people hated you. Is that true? LS: (Both laughing) UD: Critically too, and then at some point it changed. Did you do anything? LS: No we just got better, that's all there is to it. We always were going against the grain, and so when you're doing something that is going against the grain and you're not very good at it, people hate you. When you do something against the grain and you're good at it, people start thinking it's something special. UD: So it was just experience, then? LS: Experience of playing live, learning how to sing and how to write songs.

UD: I want to give people here in the US that don't know much about you some background. How did you get started? LS: No one really fuckin' cares anyway. UD: ... Okay. Why do you think it's hard for modern British pop bands to break into the U.S.? LS: I know exactly why that is, 'cause the American music industry is obsessed with categories and things. And we aren't that happy with being categorized. In Europe we're just a pop band. We're #7, and George Michael is #5. You know, we're just a band. There is a song on the second album called "The Wild Ones." When we first played it for Sony they were doing somersaults. We thought it was like #1 and they took it to radio stations, and they couldn't get it played. They couldn't figure out if it was a love song or a rock song by a band with a bunch of guitars. We took it to alternative and they thought it was too mainstream, and we took it to mainstream and they thought it was too alternative. It's never been my desire to be neatly sectioned into some little box. Then you lose any mystery, any danger, any X factor that you might have had, and I don't think that many bands in Europe are happy being categorized like that. UD: Your press release touted you as the best lyricist of your generation-- LS: --I wouldn't believe anything it says there-- UD: --do you have any problem living up to that? LS: Do I have a problem with that? Yeah, I don't think it's true. I don't think anyone is the best lyricist of a generation. I should burn that press release. It's been the source of so much inflammatory rubbish. UD: What inspired you to start playing? LS: We just loved music and wanted to be in a band. LS: I wanted to be a song writer. UD: What songwriters do you admire? LS: Kraftwerk, Lennon and McCartney, Pet Shop Boys. UD: What do you think of Billy Bragg? LS: I think he's got a big nose. UD: (Laughing) I guess that would be 'not too much'. LS: Naw, I think he's alright. I like some of his love songs. UD: Yeah, he does write good love songs. LS: It's like Bob Dylan; I think all these political writers aren't as political when they are writing love songs. I think their political stuff stinks. Bob Dylan's political songs are so fucking one dimensional, and the same goes for Billy Bragg. UD: So you don't believe in the folk, socio-political commentary song? LS: Yeah I do. I just don't believe it's effective when it's put in that crass category. I don't think any of Bob Dylan's political songs were that moving. UD: ... What about "Times They Are A Changing"? LS: Yeah, I guess. UD: What about Elvis Costello? He's a guy who writes political songs. LS: Yeah I like "Shipbuilding." That's probably the best political song ever written. It goes beyond politics, and touches on the human consequences of politics, which I think song writing has got to do. I don't think you can just put numbers and manifestos within a chord sequence. I don't think it strikes a chord in the human heart. I think to actually say something to people you've got to say it with emotion. That's why I think that "Shipbuilding" is one of the best political songs.

UD: What's the worst thing about being on the road? LS: Standing in a pool of someone else's piss when you're on a fucking bus on a three-day journey. UD: Is there a story that goes along with that response? LS: No, that's an everyday occurrence. UD: What do you guys think about Tony Blair? LS: I think it's fucking great. I think it's the best thing to happen to England in a couple of years, wonderful. UD: In the United States they compare him a lot to Clinton. LS: A politician can never be one hundred percent great. I think a politician, as long as he inspires confidence in a positive way, then he's a good politician. And I think Blair and Clinton both do that. UD: What kind of press does Clinton get over there? LS: He gets good press. UD: He probably gets better press over there... LS: ... I'd rather see someone like him than some rejuvenated old skeleton like George Bush. You know what I mean? Some old man that looks like they've been revived, you know, dug up from the dead. UD: If you could just sit at home and write songs, would that satisfy you? LS: I don't think so, it's not boring enough yet to do that. There is part that is mundane. There are some low points but then there are some extreme highs and those highs can inform your writing. I think the point of it all is to actually let things inform other things, and let the whole thing become one big process. UD: Do you guys all get along on the road? LS: We've had fights in the past but not in the last couple of years. Although maybe we should start. LS: There is an idea. LS: Maybe I'll punch our bass player. UD: Head butt him? LS: Yeah, I want to give him a good head butt. LS: I might give him a hug. UD: No, don't do that. New Yorkers won't like it. Don't do the hug thing. Don't be nice or anything.

#suede #brett anderson #mat osman #coming up era #i thought i had posted this before but it seems i didn't? #anyway here it is :'DD

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, epilogue

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, epilogue: goodbye

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 3.7k

Rating: M for mature themes, mostly T though.

Warnings: just sad feels, my guy.

Notes: One last and final thank you to everyone who has read, kept up, commented, popped in to say hello to me on Tumblr. You really made this an incredible experience. ♡ I can’t wait to get started on the sequel, and I hope you enjoy this little interlude!

Everything hurt.

Or, rather, everything that he could feel hurt—which wasn’t much, or was hard to categorize, considering that opening his eyes felt impossible and thus his brain couldn’t register whether or not all of his limbs were attached or not.

“.... ohn. John, wake up.”

No thanks, he thought, tiredly, as pain splintered up his spine and radiated through his skull. No, I’m really quite good right here where I am.

“John,” and it was Joseph’s voice, muddled with the sound of steady rain. “Wake up.”

John felt the groan, rattling somewhere deep in his chest, as he pushed his eyes open. Then, and only then, did the agony really fucking hit—real, pure body-pain, the kind that sank straight into the marrow of his bones and stayed for a good many days. Struggling, he forced himself into a sitting position, hands flat against cold, wet pavement.

Hands flat. Free. Not cuffed.

“Good,” Joseph said, sounding relieved, “you’re awake.”

When his older brother extended his hand out, John took it; with a surprising amount of strength, Joseph hauled him to his feet, and he finally got a good look around him.

Carnage.

The highway was littered with bodies and blood and the mangled metal of crashed vehicles. He saw dark figures; it was night, late, and his eyes burned, and his body ached, and when the low snarl of one of Jacob’s judges echoed in his ears, he thought, ah, that’s it, then.

Jacob was there too, with Faith glued to his side. Her palms skinned and her dress torn, and the blood from Jacob’s gunshot wound seeping through dark-crimson. A steady sheet of silver rain had begun to fall, drenching them all; the chill seeped straight into his bones.

And, of course, there was Joseph. Relatively unscathed. Not an open wound in sight.

“How did—” John started, his brain still foggy from pain and, presumably, being unconscious. Joseph gripped his shoulders. There was a kind of look in his eye; fervent, urgent, and John realized that it had been there all along—that his brother had always looked like this, and maybe he had just gotten used to looking into different eyes as of late.

“Our followers have stayed true,” Joseph told him, his voice low. “The Collapse remains on the horizon. Perhaps—”

His brother stopped, as though to gauge himself.

“Perhaps,” he began again, “not as close as I thought. I prayed, John. I prayed for us—for you, and for your child, and even for...” Joseph’s mouth twisted viciously for a moment. “Even for that Delilah of yours.”

Elliot, he thought, a wave of sickening, burning fury washing over him even when the venom in Joseph’s voice doused him like gasoline. Liar. Lied to me, lied to my family, lied—

Wretchedly clever and cruel. More devil than woman. He had always known it, had loved her for it, and he couldn’t be surprised when his hand had come back from the fire burned. You can’t have both, she’d said, and she’d meant it; of course she had. He wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t the kind of woman who meant what she’d said.

“We have much to do,” Joseph plunged on, as headlights turned around the corner of the road. “God is going to speak to me, I know it. I can feel that we have so little time left, John.”

“Okay,” John said, feeling a little dazed, trailing after Joseph when he began to move to one of the nearby trucks idling. “Okay, yes, we’ll—what do we do about—”

He stopped, opening the door to the car automatically for Faith to climb in. Of them all, he thought maybe he was the least fucked up—outwardly, anyway. Inside, his body felt like it had been jumbled around, tossed like a fucking salad at Olive Garden. The ache in his head didn’t dull as the seconds ticked by.

Jacob paused. The redhead’s mouth twisted, like he was biting back the things he wanted to say; John knew it had to be something like I fucking told you, I told you the situation wasn’t under control, I knew you couldn’t control her, but the words didn’t come out.

And in his own mouth, words sat, too: I’m sorry, I know I fucked up, but I know I can get her back.

Not can. Would. Would get her back, no matter what. By any means necessary.

“John,” Jacob barked out, and he realized that moments had passed—maybe minutes—of him standing in the rain, the door of the truck open. He moved on autopilot, hauling himself into the back seat of the truck and slamming the door shut.

The air inside the truck was humid, fizzing and popping with a strange energy. He could taste it on his tongue, electric; ozone; vibrating in his mouth and in his skeleton. Some of it the storm outside, and some of it the fury in his mouth, so potent it had become tangible.

Mine, he thought, shifting as pain splintered up his spine and shoulder. My wife. My baby. She thinks she’s done with us, huh? Not even fucking close.

“We have much to do,” Joseph murmured as the truck pulled a u-turn and began its route back to the compound. “Now, more than ever.” Through the rearview mirror, his gaze met John’s; lingered for a moment, and only a moment. “We will find her, John. Her, and your child.”

John felt his eyes flutter. Exhaustion was already beginning to try and take its toll on him. “She traded us in.”

“Yes,” Joseph replied, and his voice was terse, sharper than normal. “But God is ever merciful. And are we not to liken ourselves in his image, so that we may be as holy?”

He didn’t know if he wanted Elliot back to be holy. He thought maybe he wanted her back because she belonged to him—because they belonged to each other, two wretched creatures, and she owed him, and he would have what was rightfully his. What he was owed.

“Yes,” John agreed hoarsely. “Just as holy.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nothing like dry-heaving over a toilet with your mother standing by.

“You know,” Scarlet said, “us Honeysett women have always taken well to childbearing. You were the most perfect baby, Elliot.”

Her mother was perched on the edge of the sink, a glass of rosé (chilled glass, of course) in her hand, golden curls perfectly pinned and coiffed and the floor-length maxi dress pressed to perfection—in stark contrast to Elliot, gripping the edge of the toilet in her sweats, stomach somersaulting and trying its best to achieve Olympic level gymnastics.

You’re not a Honeysett woman, she thought exhaustedly. You’re a fucking Graves woman. She managed to spit, taking in a long-suffering breath. “You said I was colicky.”

“Well, yes. But I never got morning sickness.”

Elliot gritted her teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the hot wave of nausea rolling over her, prickling sickly heat along her spine in warning. “That’s awesome, mama. Good for—” She swallowed. “Good for you. So glad. Really cool.” She exhaled. “Thank goodness it’s five in the afternoon. What’s that, then? Afternoon sickness?”

“Mm.” Her mother sipped at her wine, setting it on the counter with a little clink that somehow managed to sound three thousand times louder in her wretched state. “Yes, we’ve always been excellent vessels for our children.”

“That’s lo-uuh—” She closed her eyes tight. “Lovely.”

Scarlet’s fingers brushed her hair back from her face, cinching it in a ponytail. “Must be the father.”

You don’t fucking say? Elliot wanted to spit, but there was no room. Scarlet Honeysett tolerated a great many things—poor weather on the day of her events, a lukewarm glass to transport her alcohol, the repeated and systematic abandonment of her by her husband—but a mouthy child she did not.

“Educated inference,” is what she said instead. “I think I’m done.”

“Well.” Scarlet looked at her, arching a manicured brow. “Stay here for a while longer, then, just so you don’t go puking on my carpet.”

“Thanks, mama.”

“Mmhm.”

When her mother swept out of the bathroom and took with her the scent of her perfume—normally familiar and comforting, now only nausea-inducing—Elliot closed the door with her foot and leaned back against the wall in the bathroom. Her chest was burning; the strain of dry-heaving while the skin on her chest was still tight and healing was enough to have probably broken it open if she hadn’t been meticulously taking care of it.

And thank God her mother hadn’t seen that yet.

After a few more minutes of questioning whether or not she was going to actually puke, Elliot pushed herself to her feet and rinsed her mouth out with Listerine. It had not been easy, the last two weeks. Not only was she acclimating to living with her mother again—a thing which she had not done since she was in high school—but she was doing it pregnant. Pregnant, and with the child’s father nowhere to be.

Her arrival at the ancestral Graves home—a meticulously kept two-story historic building that had not only been in their family for so many years, but was planted on twenty acres of premium real estate in what was otherwise a small town named Weyfield—had been a tumultuous one, to be sure. Though her mother seemed inquisitive about what had occurred, she wasn’t even aware that anything had been happening at all.

Because she hadn’t been there.

“What do you mean?” Elliot had asked, incredulous.

“Well, I always come down here when the weather is starting to turn,” Scarlet had replied idly, squeezing her lime wedge dry into her glass. “I left In July.”

“The weather is not turning in July.”

“Some of us, Elli,” her mother had snipped, “are sensitive to changes in the weather. It’s not my fault you couldn’t feel it. Nor my fault that you didn’t answer my phone calls.”

It provided, at the very least, a bit of leeway when it came to explaining what was going on. Her mother had, of course, been aware of the Seeds in some capacity; but only in the kind of capacity that she thought them a zealous nuisance, and a little slimy—“Except for the oldest one, he seems like a good man,” she’d said, much to Elliot’s disgust—but nothing more than that.

This meant that Elliot didn’t need to tell her anything she didn’t want to. For now. Until the news broke, if it ever did; it seemed like headlines these days were more preoccupied with what was going on overseas than what was going on within the States’ own borders.

“Here,” Scarlet said, planting a pill bottle in her hand. “Take one of these thirty minutes before you go to bed.”

“What are these?”

“Sleeping pills,” her mother explained.

Elliot’s mouth twisted. “I sleep fine.”

“If you slept at all, I might believe you. I know you, Elli, I birthed you from my own womb, and you’ve never been a good sleeper.” The blonde paused. “And I hear you at night, you know, moving around. You and that hound.”

Boomer was fairly good at being stealthy, but perhaps not so much so in a house that was almost exclusively hardwood flooring. She’d have to remember that the next time she decided to go on a walk at three in the morning.

Elliot looked at the label. Eszopiclone, it said. S. Honeysett. “I probably shouldn’t take your prescription, mama.” And why are you giving me sleeping pills you should be taking, anyway?

“You need to sleep,” Scarlet said firmly. “For you and baby.”

It took a concerted effort to swallow back bile that tried to surge up her throat—for some reason, the knowledge that there was now a she and a baby, that she was both herself and vessel, made her nausea want to kick in. She hadn’t been sleeping, it was true. Not for lack of trying, either. She’d drink some kind of stupid sleepy-time tea, settle herself into the bed, and lay there. And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But every time she’d close her eyes, she would be assaulted by images; Joey, jaw snapped and hanging loose from her face. Kian, face a bloody pulp. The blood seeping down her chest from the WRATH scar John had left. And John, of course.

He was always there, too. His eyes on her, his hands on her, his mouth on her.

So good, hellcat, it’s gonna look so good on you.

I’m all yours, just take what you need, I’ll give you anything, anything.

I’m fucking it for you.

I love you, Elliot.

“... listening to me?”

Elliot blinked. Her eyes burned, stinging with the threat of tears, and she swallowed thickly again. It felt like choking. Things often felt like choking, nowadays—things like breathing, swallowing, sleeping. It all felt too much for her to take, sometimes. Like she was deranged.

“I’m sorry,” she managed out, her voice barely breaking a whisper, and the second she felt the slip of a tear down her cheek she quickly wiped it away and sniffed. “I’m sorry, mama, I wasn’t.”

Something in her mother’s expression shifted for just a moment. Her eyes swept over Elliot, like maybe she thought she could see what it was that was really ailing her. Scarlet had tried to pry about John; she’d tried to figure out who it was that had left her daughter destitute, like this. What she didn’t know was that Elliot had left him destitute.

He deserves it, she thought through the heavy wave of exhaustion. Whatever they do to him, he deserves it.

“Maybe you should take a nap,” her mother suggested after a moment. “Dinner in an hour.”

“I’m going for a walk,” Elliot replied, tucking the bottle into her pocket for later. “Boomer gets crazy if I don’t.”

“Well, can’t have that. Back in an hour, then, bunny.”

She slipped past her mother, snagging the dog leash by the door and calling for the Heeler. He came sprinting down the stairs delightedly, and Elliot opened the door so he could go racing out. He’d certainly gotten less time running than he had prior to this, but he seemed in better spirits, anyway—new smells, friendly people. It was a dog’s dream.

“Don’t forget you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” her mother called after her. “I’m taking you in at nine A.M. sharp.”

“Yes, mama.”

The afternoon had passed by in a blitz, as it was wont to do in late Autumn, and now Elliot found herself with so little golden daylight left; but she thought maybe she liked it best like this, walking with Boomer darting around ahead of her, watching the sky wring the last little rays of light out of the sun before it dipped fully behind the mountains.

I love you, Elliot.

She stopped walking, closing her eyes for a moment. A low, dull headache had begun to bloom behind her eyes. Lack of sleep, probably. Lack of sleep, and now she had a—

A fucking baby, she thought, with no absence of despair.

Boomer had doubled back when she stopped moving, and for a moment Elliot felt a vicious sting in her chest. Cry, it said, when the dog nosed her hand with a cold nose. Cry, it said, when she struggled to sit down in the damp, chilly grass, and Boomer could push his face into hers.

She had been alone, before. Alone in all the world. But not anymore.

Boomer tucked his face against her neck and stayed there, panting his hot doggy breath down the collar of her shirt. And as dusk fell, and the first speckling of stars started to make their appearance, Elliot felt herself come undone.

Just a little bit; just for now, while she could bury her face into her dog’s fur and cry, she would come undone.

And when she was finished, she would get up and walk back home. She would sit down and have dinner with her mother, and listen to her complain that while the doctor they were going to see was quite new but supposedly very nice, and she’d take a sleeping pill so that she could hopefully get some peace of mind for one night. In the morning, she would get up and out of bed, and she would keep living. That was all she could do.

For now, though—for a little while, she would let herself grieve. And every time she thought she couldn’t do it anymore—every time she thought she’d reached the absolute bottom—she’d keep fucking digging. What would she do with grief, if not lug it?

She would never heal otherwise.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Where the fuck is Weyfield?”

Jacob’s derisive tone did nothing to help John’s mood. Hunched over a map, the scattered papers of the file he hadn’t thrown away, eyes stinging, he thought he’d felt shittier only once before—long before his reuniting with Joseph. Back before he’d been cleansed.

He’d read every paper three times over. Stared at her photo for hours. Nothing felt any better than it had two weeks ago, when she’d been screaming that she would kill him.

“Some nowhere corner of Georgia,” John muttered, passing a hand over his face. “Her file says she was born in Weyfield, but that can’t be right—that shit is so small. Like, population three hundred, maybe? And her mom’s rich, which means—”

“Probably some kind of old money, then,” Jacob suggested. “Historic home. Lots of farmland surrounding it. Didn’t you say her grandfather was a racing jockey, mom never worked, or something? Gotta have room for horses and big fancy homes to go with those horses.”

Oh, John thought absently. Oh, of course. Of course her mother is a trust-fund baby. They would have an ancestral home, wouldn’t they?

They’d been back at the compound for a few weeks; Joseph had been secluded, alone, ruminating and marinating or whatever else it was he had to do to really hear God, and that meant John had been free to figure out what his plan was. So far, it was pretty bare bones.

Find Elliot and baby. Bring Elliot and baby home.

Joseph did not have a timeline, yet. He didn’t even know what it was that had delayed the Collapse—not quite. He had fervently insisted he be left alone to himself and God, to ensure that there were no interruptions—“Interruptions,” he’d said, “interfered with it last time, I won’t have it again,”—and so John, Jacob, and Faith had been left to rebuild what they could.

What members of Eden’s Gate remained after the veritable slaughter the Family had brought upon them were run ragged, but the nice thing about having an enemy meant that they were bound together by the same hatred.

“So that’s it, huh?” Jacob asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Weyfield, for the little hellcat?”

“That’s it.” John sucked his teeth and came to a stand, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “I should head out to Atlanta as soon as possible. I’ll need—”

“That’s a big city,” his eldest brother cautioned.

“That city has resources I’ll need. As much as I’d like to think that I could just track her down and we’ll kiss and make-up, I get the feeling that if I don’t do this the right way, it’ll be dragging her back kicking and screaming.” He paused, his voice tightening. “And I will be getting her back.”

Jacob watched him for a moment. He exhaled out of his mouth before he reached over, planting a hand on John’s shoulder. He half expected his brother to say something like, just forget it, Johnny, or it’s not worth running the risk of getting recognized, but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “Be careful, keep in touch. And get my nephew back, yeah?”

John swallowed thickly. There was a lot wrapped up in those words; a lot that he had yet to parse through. Blinding, insatiable fury, that he had been tricked and lied to and deceived, but above all else—above all of that, he missed—

No, he thought, hands shaking and jaw clenching as he pulled his coat on. No, above all else, Elliot belongs to me, and that’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Don’t know it’s a boy,” he managed out, with all of those whispers rattling incessantly in his head. Jacob smiled.

“Joseph does.”

“I suppose so.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, and for the first time in a long time, John felt closer to Jacob than he did to Joseph—and maybe that was because he hadn’t seen his brother’s face in weeks, or maybe it was because he knew that for some strange reason, Jacob was pleased to have Elliot come back, and Joseph might not be.

Not if he was being honest, anyway.

“Off I go,” John blurted out, worried that he would get stuck in an infinite loop of trying to parse out things that weren’t meant for him to understand. “I’ll call when I get there.”

“Take someone with you?”

“It’ll just slow me down. Besides, I’m trying to not draw attention.” He paused, hesitating at the doorway of the church. “You’ll tell me when he knows, right?”

When he knows how much time I have?

Jacob’s expression hardened. He nodded once, short. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

John pushed the door open, stepping out into the night. It was chilly; soon, it’d be snowing, if it didn’t do so that very night, and the compound’s courtyard was bustling with sleepy life. As he climbed into the truck and took a breath to calm the rapid, unsteady beating of his heart, he closed his eyes for just one moment.

Just for now, he thought tiredly. I’m going to take a breath just for now, and then—

And then one more breath, and then another, turning the key in the ignition and shutting the radio off and throwing the car into drive, and then one more breath, until he was breathing all the way to fucking Georgia. He was going to get his wife back.

One way or another.

#my writing #fic: ancient names #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #far cry 5 fic #fc5 oc #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #i'm not cry ur cry #i have said thank you so many times and it will NEVER BE ENOUGH #but i wanted to keep things concise. but #thank you #<3 #fc5 fic #john seed/deputy #john seed/original female character

[benditlikepress]

texted you a picture where you looked pretty

@indestinatus @coffeedepablo @ncisjes

all day long I waited for my phone to ring

I counted every glow star on my ceiling

texted you a picture where you looked pretty

and wondered if you saved the ones you had of me…

[illuminati hotties – (you’re better) than ever]

The first time Tony sent Ziva a picture, she’d only been gone a week.

He hadn’t left the apartment for anything other than work since getting back - first because of jetlag, and then out of plain exhaustion. It didn’t help that both work and home were full of things that reminded him of her, of them, so much so that it was beginning to feel like a strange form of self-flagellation to stay cooped up there.

It was easy to convince himself he wasn’t thinking about her, talking himself into thinking about any and every other topic on the planet until he was lying in bed wide awake staring into space wondering where it had all gone wrong. It was then, and only then, that he allowed himself to obsess: to think over things he should’ve said, things he never said, or ways he could try and fix what he knew deep down was unfixable.

This particular night was worse than most – someone at work had stopped him in the elevator and asked him what was happening with Ziva, and if she was coming back – and he’d found himself seeking out reminders of her rather than pretending he wasn’t hyper-fixating on them. His phone was a great source for that: text messages and phone records and her name, over and over and over. His photos and videos, too, were full of her, and his tired fingers paused on one she’d never known he’d taken. The most recent one he’d taken of her - asleep, wrapped in sheets, the Israeli sun hitting the bare skin of her shoulders and back. Her hair was spread out over the pillow and her hand was spread over the vacated side of the bed, as though reaching out for him.

He couldn’t bring himself to scroll past it even when it caused a ball to form in his chest that made it hard to swallow.

It was 2am and he found himself opening a conversation thread and dropping the photograph into it, pressing send quickly.

“I really miss you”

He typed the words with nervous fingers and pressed send even quicker still before throwing his phone in a drawer and turning away from it.

He woke up three hours later and saw she hadn’t opened the message yet. He deleted it, and thanked the gods of modern technology that she never would.

———————–

The next time was a month later, and he thought he’d been doing better until he found a stack of old photographs piled at the back of his top desk drawer. They had been collected over the years and though some pre-dated her arrival in the States, she was a prominent feature in most of them.

Though they still hurt, he was finding himself increasingly able to appreciate them for what they were. He found one, near the bottom of the pile, that even had a smile threatening on his lips. A doctor-themed party from a lifetime ago that had to be up there with the more ridiculous ideas of his life.

The picture had been taken not long after Gibbs had left for Mexico and Tony had relented into Abby’s plans for a surprise party for Jimmy’s birthday, still keen to make sure that people didn’t stop seeing him as a friend instead of just a boss. It was him and Ziva, posing, with Jimmy’s drunkenly sleeping head face-down on the table inbetween them.

He remembered everything about that night: how her hand kept brushing his leg under the table, and every time he’d snapped his neck up to look at her but found her looking in a different direction. How they’d shared a cab home and he’d insisted on walking her to her door, in spite of her drunkenly listing a handful of ways she could kill any man who approached her with only the costume on her back. How she’d invited him upstairs and there was no pretence but he’d said no, trying to be diplomatic, though they’d only lasted another week of summer before that had all came tumbling down.

He opened a message again and snapped a photograph, the edge of his fingers visible holding it up to the camera.

“Remember this? Do you still have that picture of me piling stuff on top of him?”

He didn’t get a reply. Then again, he hadn’t really been expecting one.

He flipped the photograph over and placed it back on the pile.

———————–

The next time he sent her a photo, it had been over 9 months since he’d last seen her and she’d been on his mind all day.

It wasn’t unusual for him to get wrapped up in thoughts of her but it had been plaguing him in a way it hadn’t in a while – starting with a dream in the middle of the night that woke him up startled and coursing through his brain all morning. When it wasn’t better by night-time he’d gone for a drink with the team to take his mind off it, and when that hadn’t helped he’d found himself scrolling through old messages and photos and videos that he’d sworn he was going to delete (or at least put on a flash drive, out of sight out of mind).

When he still had that feeling that something was missing, that he was categorically in the wrong place right now, he got out of bed and walked into the living room in search of a cure.

He remembered, later, one photograph he’d never been able to take down. He lifted his head upwards to the top of his DVD shelves and grabbed for the card, bringing it down and sitting on the sofa with it in his hands.

A Paris street. Years ago now. She looked like a 50s movie star, frozen in time, and he could remember how enraptured he’d been as he’d approached her - watching her in her own world, flicking through postcards and wrapping her coat tighter around her.

Him capturing it in a photo had been what alerted her to his presence, but instead of asking him to delete it like he’d expected she’d simply rolled her eyes and told him with a smile that he was late.

He thought so fondly of that weekend even now. They’d both been overcompensating in the dust of everything that had happened, nervous and eager and hurting deep down, and Paris had come along at the perfect moment to show them both that the thing they’d been orbiting around for four years wasn’t lost. Could be stronger, even. And it was.

Before he could change his mind he went to grab his phone and snapped a photo of the image, opened the long-gone conversation thread and ignored his previously unanswered message.

“Weird day - you’ve been on my mind. Hope everything’s good. Open invitation: call if you need me.”

———————–

Almost two years down, he got a social media reminder of something he tried not to think about.

He didn’t have a photograph of the actual day Ziva became an American citizen. In spite of his promises he’d be there, he’d ended up in another country entirely as she swore her loyalty to his.

He’d felt sick even now that he’d missed her ceremony, knowing how much it had meant to her, even if she tried to play it down when he’d told her. He looked at the photograph that had popped up in his notifications, the two of them smiling with her certificate, and ran his hand over it. Her eyes were so bright and he could barely remember her looking so young.

He remembered how proud she’d been. Wondered if she still was, after how it had ended.

He found himself wondering, selfishly, if he still crossed her mind sometimes too.

“Happy anniversary Miss America”

Part of him was worried it would sound spiteful, but hoped she still knew him well enough to see the good meaning behind it. He pressed send and turned off his phone.

———————–

The first time he thought about sending a photo but didn’t, he was holed up in a small Paris apartment wringing his hands.

He’d known he wasn’t going to hear from her often – she’d took great pains to explain that, voice shaking, reminding him over and over that it was for his own safety. But Tali had been asking for her for days and Tony couldn’t stop looking at the photo they’d taken in Cairo, the one he swore he’d destroy soon, where Tali was curled up in Ziva’s lap and Ziva was looking down at her like she’d hung the moon and stars.

It was the same night, as if by magic, that his phone beeped. He scrambled around for it in the dark, heart in his mouth. A  withheld number flashed on screen.

“Checking in. Everything is OK. On my mind tonight and always.”

———————–

The first and last time Ziva sent Tony a photo, he hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

When Ziva had been away he’d been non-negotiable on work trips and conferences. Now she was back he’d considered it a miracle he’d managed to get 18 months out of the way before being offered a spot on a 3 day conference that was taking place in London. Two hours in it became clear that nothing being shared was particularly relevant to his role, and any number of other members of staff could’ve been sent in his place. He knew he had no more right to be at home than any of them, but it made being away that much harder.

It was 3:18am in London and he knew it was even later in Paris but he couldn’t help himself as he flicked his screen on.

“Still awake? x”

“You sound like a teenage boy.”

“Take that as a yes”

The photo she responded with was a simple one from her slightly pixelated front-facing camera on the phone she refused to upgrade. She was sat up in bed, hair tipped over one shoulder. Wearing one of his t-shirts.

“How is it possible you’ve got even more beautiful in my absence?”

“Hush.

We missed you today”

“Never leaving again. Can’t wait to be home.”

“Pizza and movie night. Your pick.”

“Marry me?”

“Maybe the gigantic block on my finger in that photo did not give it away, but unfortunately I am already getting married 3 months from now.”

“That’s too bad. Lucky guy.”

“Yes, he is.”

“(Just so you know, it’s a rock. Not block.)”

“Goodnight, Mr DiNozzo. X”

“Night Mrs DiNozzo”

#tiva #ncis #ziva david #tony dinozzo #tiva fanfiction

[halothenthehorns]

RITA SKEETER’S SCOOP

Harry couldn't say he was particularly happy with where the last chapter had ended. He in no way wanted to live through another blow out fight of Ron and Hermione's, his sympathetic feelings for Hagrid were still leaving him wanting to run down to that hut right now and make sure his friend was okay, and as always that tournament and the next task hovered just on the edge of his mind, ready any moment to lash out and remind him of just how much worse his life could get if he got complacent. He just knew that if he had all his memories he could be telling his family right off the bat all the bad to come, save them the trouble and worry of trying to figure this out along with him, but wanting had never really gotten him anything, so he flipped to the next chapter with a heavy mind.

Gryffindor's were much quieter on the end run of their holiday, many yawning complaints punctuating their avoided homework. Hermione was one of the few avoiding this, as the next morning Harry spotted her bushy head again. After he asked, she confessed she'd had to use nearly a whole jar of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion to keep it up last night.

"My parents would be thrilled," James chuckled.

At Harry's confused look, James realized he'd never mentioned, "oh yeah, my parents invented that." All while mussing up his own hair for emphasis.

Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to be laughing or not, but when Lily read his look correctly she properly explained, "I do believe it was his mother's way of trying to keep her husband, and wayward son at some restraint. It didn't work, but it is how they built most of their fortune, the rest hadn't been very well kept."

"Hope someone informed you at some point you inherited the irony," Remus tried to laugh at the unpleasant reminder, though hopefully at least the Ministry at some point would have told Harry of this.

  She added that it was much too much work to be doing every day,

"Can't really blame her for that though," Remus agreed.

while cuddling with her cat.

Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to talk about last night.

"Better than how I was picturing it," Lily grimaced.

"I was hoping for a little more than just an argument," Sirius pouted, "those two really should have more than just a talk."

"I preferred it," Harry disagreed, "at least I didn't have to deal with the awkward conversation that would have been."

"Don't be such a romantic Harry," James smirked.

Instead they were being more formal to each other than normal. Harry broke into their uneasy silence by explaining all about Maxime and Hagrid.

"Not like you had anything else to share about that night," Sirius snorted.

Hermione was at first surprised by the news of Hagrid's half-human status, but didn't have nearly the reaction of Ron.

"Okay, I'll take that," James smiled, pleased at least one of Harry's friends had their same initial reaction. She'd been that way about Remus as well, but it was always good to know that extended.

She did admit that she'd had an idea about him, of course he couldn't be a full giant as they were twenty feet tall,

Harry blinked in surprise as he tried to imagine that, clearly even the dragon for scale hadn't been accurate enough.

but she couldn't understand the prejudiced against them either, it was the same ignorance as werewolves.

"While not entirely accurate," James sniffed.

"It's a close approximation," Remus muttered.

Ron looked like he was going to argue with her for a moment,

"With what?" Sirius raised a sharp brow, clearly ready to give a snappy reply right back.

"Don't know," Harry shrugged, "he never answered."

but clearly decided against it, instead turning back to the homework he'd been ignoring over break.

"Ah the righteous and bitter end," Lily agreed.

Harry was having a hard time concentrating, but instead was starting to feel nervous again.

Harry groaned and muttered something under his breath, half wishing he could go back and dwell on that ball again.

The date of the next tournament felt a lot closer from this side of Christmas,

"Was afraid of that," James muttered, shifting in his seat a bit at the approaching thought.

and he had no clue what to do about his egg. He began opening it at least once a day to the wailing noise, but nothing new ever happened.

"You know doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is a sign of insanity," Remus pleasantly informed him.

Harry gave him a halfhearted glare, like he wanted to demand for some better ideas, but decided he'd only be more annoyed when he actually got a good answer.

He pried at his mind for some hint of what the noise could be, but never got up to anything useful. He instead tried shaking the egg, or asking it questions,

"At least there's a different attempt," James smiled.

and still nothing changed. Then he chucked it across the room, which didn't make a difference, though he wasn't surprised that time.

"I'm sure it made you feel better though," Sirius gave a smirk he was sure was helpful.

Harry had not forgotten the hint that Cedric had given him,

"Kind of hard to forget about such an odd moment honestly," Remus agreed.

but he was not going to be taking advice from him if he could avoid it.

"And I honestly can't blame you," Lily shook her head ruefully, "but that vindictive streak is only going to hurt you."

Harry huffed and muttered something indistinct.

Cedric's advice hadn't even seemed helpful the more he reflected. At least Harry had told him outright what was coming, Cedric's idea of a fair exchange had been cryptic at best.

"Yeah, my feelings," James nodded.

He wouldn't be taking that from the man who was now walking down hallways with Cho in hand.

"Well now he's just rubbing it in," Sirius grumbled.

Lessons returned and while Harry stashed away the egg in his trunk, the golden object seemed to way as heavily on him as his bag.

"You might benefit from that though," Remus tried to say without a smile, "an idea might strike you at any time if you keep chewing on it."

"Actually, I find that not thinking on something actually leads to better ideas when it pops back up later," James countered.

"I'm sure you two could discuss this all day," Lily cut them off.

Snow was still thick and fast on the grounds as they headed down to Care of Magical Creatures, but as Ron pointed out, at least the skrewts catching everything on fire would keep them warm.

"There's the bright side!" Sirius chirped.

When they arrived though, their normal teacher was nowhere in sight, instead a new lady stood in Hagrid's spot.

"You said what now?" James demanded, trying to lean over Harry.

Harry nudged him back out of the way, still frowning down at the papers as a nasty feeling was starting to grow in him. Not towards this woman in particular...but something bad about this.

She barked at their approach,

"Well I dislike her already, using my phrases," Sirius had his eyes narrowed suspiciously at the pages and missed the groans.

telling them they were late.

Harry asked where Hagrid was, and she introduced herself as Professor Grubbly-Plank, and that she would be the temporary teacher for this class.

"Why?" Lily yelped first.

"If we knew, I'm sure you wouldn't be asking," Remus muttered, earning himself a scowl but allowing Harry to continue reading with increasing agitation.

Harry repeated where Hagrid was, and she merely stated he was indisposed.

"Indisposed," Sirius repeated the word slowly and carefully.

"You don't think this is still him being upset over Maxime?" James frowned. "I mean come on man, I'd be upset to, but this is kind of..." he trailed off with a sad shake of his head.

Harry recognized the unpleasant laughter behind him,

"Now who's the only person I can think of laughing at a time like this?" Sirius growled.

and turned surprised to see Malfoy and his Slytherins'.

"Sometimes I hate it when I'm right," Sirius finished his rhetorical question.

All of them looked gleeful,

"All of them," Lily couldn't help but groan, having grown quite tired of Harry categorizing all Slytherin's by Malfoy.

"Yep," Harry fully embraced that one this time, though explained, "but I get the feeling most of them were smiling not to see Hagrid for once. He wasn't exactly ah, a popular teacher." Harry's face showed quite clearly he didn't agree with that statement, he'd stick by Hagrid no matter his poor choice in lessons, but yes even some of the Gryffindors had looked rather relieved not to see him for once.

and none of them looked surprised to see the new teacher

"What is going on?" Remus asked slowly.

"Oh but when I ask that, you mock me," Lily grumbled at his side.

Grubbly-Plank took no notice of any of this as she instructed all of them to follow her. They treaded behind her, past the Beauxbatons horses shivering in their pins,

"I imagine those in particular aren't used to our climates," Remus muttered to himself, as their winters tended to be a bit harsher than the greater France that wasn't in the mountains. Then again, maybe Beauxbatons was somewhere in the Alps or the likes, so he let it go.

The trio followed, but Harry glanced back over his shoulder at Hagrid's cabin, noticing all the curtains drawn shut, and worried if he was sick?

Lily cooed, wriggling on the spot as she pictured the poor dear needing a cup of tea and a blanket that was across the room, too sick to go and fetch it. Hagrid was not known for falling ill, so if that was it then this must be bad. Hopefully Madam Pomfrey had been down to see him and Harry would go and confirm this.

Harry instead caught up to the teacher and again asked why Hagrid wasn't hear, and she told him not to worry about it, as if he were being nosy.

"Well normally I'd agree," James said, his tone explaining the exact opposite.

"But as you consider Hagrid a friend, I think she's being to crisp," Sirius sniffed.

Harry snapped back he was worrying, and where he was?

She pretended not to hear him.

"Well that was just rude," Remus huffed.

Instead leading them to the fringes of the forest, where a unicorn was tethered.

"Darn," Sirius sighed, "I kind of wanted to see another professional try and handle those skrewts. Prove to the lot of them it's not all Hagrid's fault they're hard to manage."

"I think I'm relieved," Remus disagreed, "since we've well established Hagrid probably shouldn't even have those. Having someone like a substitute teacher finding out about them probably wouldn't be helping him feel better right now."

Most of the girls oohed at the sight of it, while Lavender whispered how beautiful it was, and how it had been caught?

"It's not that hard if you know what you're doing," Remus began babbling at once. "What you want to do is get some raw, precious metal untampered-"

"Thank you, Professor Lupin," Sirius quickly cut him off before he launched into an hour's worth of lecture notes. "Either let the teacher talk or give Harry the highlights later when I can avoid you."

Remus stuck his tongue out at him for now.

The steeds coat was so white it made the surrounding snow gray in comparison. Its golden hooves were pawing nervously against the powder while it tossed its horned head at their approach.

Grubbly-Plank snapped her arm out, catching Harry in the chest before he could move closer as she instructed only the girls were to approach closer, they preferred a woman's touch.

"Sexist beasts," James pouted. "You know that can really hurt a guy's feelings."

Lily was giggling too hard into her hand to respond.

She and the girls continued forward, while Harry turned to Ron and whispered if he had any ideas where Hagrid was?

Ron began to suggest something about the skrewts

"I really don't think a skrewt could hurt him that badly," Sirius winced at the thought.

but Malfoy cut off behind them it was just him shamefully hiding his ugly mug.

"Wish you were," James snapped back.

Harry regretfully turned to demand of him, but then Malfoy handed out a newspaper.

"Oh this can't be good," Lily groaned, as it had yet to mean anything remotely that this whole book when it came to a paper.

Harry was getting a nasty feeling rearing inside him in full agreement with her, now positive this bit of paper had everything to do with Hagrid.

Harry snatched as he and all his doormats crowded around him to read the big head title: Dumbledore's Giant Mistake

"Oh no," Lily groaned at once with an already settling sense of doom.

"I am completely sure she did," James growled right back, his eyes already narrowing with hate for this.

"How does she have the right to do this?" Harry demanded. "First me, now Hagrid, we haven't done a thing to her, why's she doing this?"

"You're asking something that does not have an easy answer," Remus sighed. "I have no idea how to explain her, or the people who read this garbage which only encourages her."

"I still say Harry and Hagrid should do something about her," Sirius sniffed.

The paper began by stating Dumbledore as the eccentric title he was, and how controversial most of his teachers were,

James and Sirius already felt on edge, something spiteful ready to be shot out at a moment's notice as their minds flickered to one person in particular. If Skeeter was going to span this article over all of Dumbledore's appointments, this could end up even worse for more than Hagrid.

the most recent appointment that of ex Auror Moody, a jinx happy man who shouldn't be let around kids.

"Well that's a little harsh," Remus couldn't help a little smirk. "I'm sure he hasn't gotten that bad."

"Remember who you're hearing this from," Lily reminded, choosing not to point out that from what she'd heard so far, that had actually sounded fairly accurate.

Moody was a law abiding citizen compared to the part human in staff.

Harry could sense someone wanting to cut him off again with a string of protests for that statement, but Harry was getting a little desperate now to see what Skeeter was really going to say about his friend so pressed on.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year,

"I sincerely doubt he admitted that to you," Sirius grumbled under his breath.

had been gamekeeper at the school for nearly fifty years under Dumbledore employment, but last year he'd gained an upgrade as Care of Magical Creatures teacher through mysterious influences,

"Mysterious influence?" Lily raised a sharp brow. "How about how knowledgeable he is over creatures? I say that's plenty influential."

over many more qualified applicants.

Remus felt bad about it, but honestly he may have given credit to that one at least. No matter how much he liked Hagrid, he clearly wasn't particularly good at this field. That didn't mean he wouldn't be as outraged as anyone if he lost the job, Hagrid was working on it.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man,

Harry muttered something foul under his breath about that.

Hagrid had been using his title to terrify his students with gruesome creatures.

"Flobberworms and hippogriffs are hardly horrific," James scoffed.

Lily's mind flickered to the idea of the skrewts, which she'd classify as fairly horrifying, but in no way wanted to give Rita a point so didn't acknowledge it.

Dumbledore had done nothing against the man despite many student complaints maiming's, and of how frightening everyone found him.

"Only one kids gotten hurt and it was his bleeding fault, Hagrid hasn't maimed anyone!" Sirius snapped in outrage at that pure fiction.

Reports of being attacked by a hippogriff,

As that was of course what Sirius had meant, Harry forced himself to keep reading slightly louder, even though he more than agreed with the others muttered insistence that was his idiotic fault.

and nasty flobberworm bites had been given by Draco Malfoy.

"Did he really just say that?" James demanded, now looking faint at the levels of idiocy. "Anyone with a brain knows that flobberworms don't have teeth!"

"Whoever agreed to have this in the paper has got to know how much bull this is," Lily agreed.

He went on to say how everyone hated Hagrid, they were just too scared to admit it.

Hagrid clearly knew about this and cared nothing about it, as recently this year he'd admitted to illegally breeding his own invention of Blast-Ended Skrewts,

"Oh Hagrid, you didn't," Remus groaned into his hands.

Lily was rubbing furiously at her forehead, her mind suddenly scrambling to try and think of a way to get him out of this mess as she offered, "well, it could be her word against his. Unless she was somehow recording the conversation verbally, she couldn't prove Hagrid said that. Honestly I don't really believe he did, she's dastardly enough to find out, well some other way."

"That's only mildly encouraging," James huffed.

highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs.

Remus couldn't help but roll his eyes as he thought back to first hearing about these things, and not exactly pleased he'd been right in the end.

This was a highly illegal offense that should have been handled by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical creatures, but clearly Hagrid found himself above such things.

Lily opened her mouth to snap something back, considered it, then closed it and slumped back. Yeah, Hagrid should pay a fine or something for that one at least, but certainly not on account of someone as vile as Skeeter putting him in this light.

All this not enough, Skeeter had even found that Hagrid was no pure-blood like he'd claim,

"When has he ever pretended otherwise?" James snapped at once. "Not that anyone should even bother asking in the first place, but even if you did he'd have the right not to answer like he does!"

but in fact a half giant, his mother being Fridwulfa, whereabouts unknown.

"Why does she know that?" Harry's frown deepened. "I didn't even think Hagrid knew that, the way he was talking to Maxime about her."

"I, honestly have no clue," Lily's tone matched Harry's. "I suppose the Ministry might have a registry of all known giants left in Britain, whether they have locations for them or not. Skeeter could have gotten ahold of that and picked any name on the list."

"What she calls facts are so loose I'd believe that," Remus shook his head in disgust.

Creatures known for being violent that had decimated their own numbers with their wars, they were also known supporters of You-Know-Who during his reign.

Harry fidgeted uneasily with the pages, thinking that this seemed truth enough with all Ron had told him as well. He thought back to how Rita had painted him in her previous articles, and his worry increased that now people would be thinking all this stuff of Hagrid as well.

It seemed that Hagrid had inherited his mother's bloodthirsty ways.

"How on earth could she say such a thing?" Remus snarled in outrage. "Hagrid's one of the kindest people you could ever meet! I can only think of a handful of times I've ever even seen him shout at someone!"

"I don't care her reasoning," Sirius snarled. "She's going to regret them."

In a shocking twist, the man had seemed to form a friendship with the fame Boy Who Lived, could this perhaps be a plot to get closer to the boy who caused He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's downfall? Harry Potter could be dangerously unaware of his friend's heritage.

Even though Harry had really only found out less than a week after this article, it didn't change his opinion that he wouldn't have cared no matter when he found out. Hagrid could have introduced himself as such and Harry would still look at him the same way, so Skeeter suggesting otherwise only managed to grind him up father.

Dumbledore seemed to have no care of informing young Mr. Potter of these dangers.

"Dumbledore'll sooner turn on Hagrid than eat Fawkes," James snapped.

"And any students who complain to him otherwise can see the door," Sirius agreed.

Harry finished and looked up to see Ron with an open mouth, recovering enough to whisper how she'd found out?

"That's a very good question," Lily sniffed. "Hagrid's hardly spoken of this to anyone, we only know of one! Who's she been talking to to get ahold of all this?"

"You don't think Maxime did it?" Remus asked uneasily.

"I should bleeding hope not," James shot off at once. "She'd be under just as much bombardment as he is, seeing as she's the exact same thing!"

"Maybe she made a deal with Skeeter, Maxime would share all this if her name was forever left out of it," Sirius said in disgust. "Besides," he added in heavier tones, "I think that's just a little naive. It's really not that hard to work out if you do a little digging, most people just wouldn't bother to think on it. We know that Skeeter's not that kind though if she really wants to, my question is why Hagrid? What'd he do to deserve this?"

"You think it's just second hand so she could go after Dumbledore?" Remus offered. "He was mentioned just as often, his face is public enough Skeeter would always enjoy taking shots at him, and his staffing choices are a brilliant way to do so."

Harry sat there chewing on his tongue while all of this was going on around him. None of this was completely lining up with what he was feeling, something more directly involved in Rita's means to pull this off...but then he noticed that they'd mostly wound themselves down around him. Still angry as all get out and wanting to go give Skeeter a good shove up her nose with her own quill, they were now much more antsy to hear from Harry what the fallout of this would be for Hagrid, which Harry unhappily turned back to the book to oblige.

Harry though directed at Malfoy what he'd meant about how everyone hated Hagrid!

"Didn't exactly lock in on that part," Sirius rolled his eyes, "that was just Malfoy being Malfoy."

Gesturing wildly at the paper about the stupid statement of getting a flobberworm bite, they didn't have teeth!

"Which I would hope anyone with a pair of eyes reading that tosh would make them understand the level of credibility it should be given," Lily stated.

"Which is none at all," James finished.

Crabbe was laughing, clearly pleased with himself for the lie.

"I doubt he had the capacity to even come up with that on his own," Sirius snarked. "Malfoy probably spent hours coming up with that load!"

Malfoy was more than pleased with himself as he told this should put an end to Hagrid's teaching.

"What does he have against Hagrid?" Remus demanded of nothing. "He's been set on getting him fired from the beginning, and for what?"

"No, bleeding, clue," James got out through gritted teeth. Truth be told they were all well aware it was simply Malfoy seeing anyone who wasn't like him shouldn't even have the standard of living as more than a servant, but it didn't make it any less terrible to hear.

Malfoy had always thought he'd just swallowed too much skele-gro, now the parents were going to have kittens about this half-giant.

"They can all bite me!" Sirius barked.

They'd be worried about their kids being eaten.

"You'll be top of the list," James pleasantly informed.

Harry began shouting at him, but then their teacher snapped at them to pay attention.

They all startled just a bit, that paper having completely erased from their minds where Harry even was.

Grubbly-Plank was still discussing the creature, but Harry was so angry he didn't hear a word of it.

"It's good to know you don't get so easily distracted by shiny objects," Remus mumbled under his breath.

Class was dismissed, and Parvati wasted no time in stating she hoped that teacher stayed.

"Why hasn't Hermione cursed her yet?" Lily raged. "I've had almost as much reason to despise her as Malfoy lately!"

"It really does hurt that we seem to be the only ones upset on Hagrid's behalf," Harry agreed bitterly, thinking only of himself and his two friends right off the bat.

It was good to have finally gotten a proper class over something as gorgeous as a unicorn, and not monsters.

"That class has to show you all manner of creatures," Remus instantly corrected, trying to lighten his scowl like he'd correct any complaining student, "not just the pretty ones. It's not your job to like them, but to learn about them."

'Still think I could do without Hagrid introducing more of them,' Lily thought to herself.

Harry shot back at her what about Hagrid?

Parvati was unconcerned as she said he could still have his gamekeeper's job.

"That's not the point!" James shot back. "Hagrid has just as much right to that job as anyone, and he's never done something so egregious to lose it. He knows his creatures, he's just at a learning curve!"

Parvati's attitude had been very frosty towards Harry since the ball, and while Harry reflected he should have given her more attention during the night, she seemed to have had a good time without him.

"Credit that you at least acknowledged that after the fact," Lily sighed, "since I doubt you, or even Ron, apologized."

Harry gave her a blank look, it hadn't even occurred to him.

She certainly enjoyed telling anyone who would listen about her plans with a Beauxbatons boy.

"I can't even begin to pretend to care," Sirius grumped.

Hermione caught up with them in the Great Hall, going on about the good lesson,

James' temper looked ready to fire again at Hermione agreeing with Parvati, but Remus quickly cut him off, "she doesn't know about the paper yet, in fact neither of those girls did." He also couldn't help but rebuke Lily, "Give Hermione a chance."

saying how she hadn't learned half of that lesson yet,

"Now that I find hard to believe," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"I'm not shocked," James shrugged, "she spends more of her time studying spells than creatures. Can't expect Hermione to know everything."

Harry cut her off by shoving the paper under her nose.

Hermione reacted like Ron, demanding to know how she'd found out about this?

Harry had no clue, as he'd never told anyone. He guessed that she'd been mad about Hagrid not spilling beans on Harry so went looking for some on him.

Lily's mouth flopped open at the idea while James began steaming at once. "That's the pettiest reason in existence for doing this!"

"Can't pretend I'm surprised if you're right though," Remus groaned as he fidgeted with the baby in his lap to keep him entertained during this unpleasant mood.

Hermione offered Skeeter could have heard when Hagrid had been talking to Maxime.

Something was going off in the back of Harry's head as he heard that, absolutely confident Hermione was right and waiting for Ron to agree he may have picked her out.

Ron said they would have noticed her.

"I don't know," Sirius shook his head, "that garden was a slew of loose conversations that shouldn't have been overheard. I can imagine Skeeter getting away with some charms and blending in to even sneak up on a few."

Then Ron added on that she wasn't even supposed to be there that night, Dumbledore had banned her from the grounds.

"That's yet to stop her," James snorted.

Harry offered that she might have her own Invisibility Cloak,

"Perish the thought," Remus crinkled his nose in distaste of what all she could do with a thing like that. Even a cheap one could cause problems.

how she'd use it to spy on people's conversations.

Hermione pointed out that the two of them had done that.

"That was an accident," Harry muttered to himself while he saw them all try to stifle just a bit of laughter for Hermione being right on that one.

Ron blustered that had been an accident! What was Hagrid been thinking, saying all that stuff out in the open for anyone to hear?

"Well Ron is kind of right on that one," Sirius sighed. "Hagrid should have had that in his cabin or something, less chances of what happened, well, happening."

"Nobody should have been listening in in the first place," Lily shot back. "Anyone should be perfectly entitled to have a conversation wherever they want without being listened in on."

"Yeah, but the more private ones, I mean you really don't want to risk having those walked in on for any reason," James shook his head, as he thought back to all the times they'd practiced their animagus training in the Shrieking Shack for this very reason.*

Harry decided they'd go see him after their Divination class, tell him he had to come back.

"Oh, this can't be the reason Hagrid's hiding in his cabin!" Lily yelped. "I'm still convinced he must be sick on top of this, there's no way he'd..." but she trailed off miserably as they all realized that yes, Hagrid could very well be trying to hide himself away after seeing this. The idea of him losing his job because of something like this would be devastating to him.

"Is he not even going to try and fight back," Sirius pouted. "Keep going to classes until someone tries to forcefully remove him, that would be a sight."

"I'm worried that could only cause more harm than good," James sighed.

Remus was keeping himself quite for this bit at least, still hoping his name wouldn't come up amongst his friends for this paralleled problem.

When Hermione didn't immediately agree, Harry demanded of her that she did want him back.

Hermione held herself stiffly for a moment, stating she wouldn't deny having enjoyed a proper class for once,

Lily shook her head sadly, honestly feeling a bit on Hermione's side for that one. The only proper lesson Hagrid could really claim was the Hippogriffs, which had ended in disaster, and those fire-salamanders. Of course she'd have a temper if anyone tried to remove Hagrid from his position, but well, perhaps Hagrid should consider asking for some advice from Grubbly-Plank.

but hastily tacked on of course she preferred Hagrid at Harry's furious look.

"That's the least she should have gotten," James muttered bitterly, "I'd have started shouting at her."

That evening after dinner,

"I think I'm actually disappointed to have missed that evenings Divination lesson," Remus huffed under his breath, "they're usually good for a laugh."

"Not this time," Lily agreed just as quietly back.

they did indeed head down and knocked on their friend's door, but though they could hear Fang begging to come out, no one answered.

"Maybe he's out on the grounds doing his Gamekeeping as well," Sirius offered without hope. "He doesn't always take Fang to do that."

"Why would he be doing that and not his teaching?" James sighed, "He's either sick or avoiding people, and this doesn't account for both."

"Well I would hope he wouldn't be ignoring them," Lily's lower lip was starting to jut out in the start of a pout. "He must know Harry doesn't care."

They waited for at least ten minutes, Ron even trying by knocking on a few windows, but then they trudged back to the castle, Hermione demanding what he was avoiding them for? Hagrid must know they didn't care.

It seemed that Hagrid did care, as there wasn't a trace of him that whole week, and they kept with their substitute.

They were all starting to get very antsy now. Hogwarts without Hagrid just wasn't picturable.

Malfoy was gloating at every possible opportunity,

"Of course he was!" Sirius broke and shouted that very loudly. "Because we can't just go one bleeding instance without hearing his opinion about it!"

Harry was rubbing absently at his ear and Remus was having to comfort a now fussy child at the outburst, but no one really looked angry, they were all at their breaking point between the stress of the Tournament and now this. Malfoy just kept managing to push every one of their buttons.

saying such things as how Harry was the only one missing the elephant man.

Harry looked as tense and ready to snap at a moment's notice right along with his godfather if this kept up.

"You know," Remus sighed, feeling tense and snappy at having to deal with a wailing child just days after a full moon managing to give him the beginnings of a headache, caught Harry's expression and scolded both him and Sirius. "Just once I'd like to see you lot walk away from a fight. Not everything needs to end in threats."

"Hark, look who's talking," Sirius began grinning at him at once.

Remus looked more than happy to back down, looking pleadingly at the book to keep going to avoid whatever tale Sirius was fixing to share, but it was Lily who said, "No, no, I want to hear this." While reaching out and taking the baby away. Remus now let his head hang as he realized he wasn't getting out of his mouth's timing and instead began fingering his wand like he wanted to sew his lips together in preparation.

Remus sighed and slouched back into the couch, while Sirius had already began without prompting. "Well the first thing that came to my mind was this day before a full moon. Despite everyone protesting however, Moony here decides he's going to go spend a normal day in the school like everyone else, exams were less than a week away and he refused to miss out on classes." Sirius paused to give Remus a winning smile, who was already groaning and grumbling under his breath how much he hated his friends for bringing this up.

"Well by the time potions rolled around," James picked up when Sirius hesitated to long, "we'd almost convinced him to skiv that class and take a nap, we were all going to honestly, since, well since the three of us never liked that class much." By this time, he'd almost grown used to that odd cold spot that lived in his chest for having to revert that story a bit, but for the first time it in no way dampened what he was telling.

Whether Remus noticed this, or just decided to get the worst over, he finished for them, "James got me to agree just as Snape was walking past, so of course the only thing he heard was me agreeing with Prongs it was a good idea to skip class and take a nap. He called me the Marauders yes man," he finished with an ugly scowl.

"Now Moony's a grumpy little thing on his best days before the full moon," Sirius chirped when his friend seemed to want to end the story there, but Harry should know all of these details. "So before either of us could even finish blinking, Remus spun on the spot and cursed him-"

"-In front of a crowded corridor-" James tacked in.

"-which caused old Snivellus' tongue to get stuck to the roof of his mouth. It was nice having the silence for a few moments until Madam Pomfrey got him fixed." Sirius finished with the air of one finishing an epic tale.

Harry couldn't help it, and didn't really try to stop it, as he started laughing at the lovely mental image. Even Lily joined in after a moment, giggling like crazy, even if it was a tad righteous considering her ever growing hatred of him of late.

"You two paint me in such a bad light," Remus told them all tragically, though the lingering smile on his face showed no real way to contrast what his tone tried to show. "I was an angel, all the teachers said so."

"They just caught you the least," James waved him off with a crazy smile still in place, his face turning an ugly puce color for a moment before he told Harry, "ah, someone else took the fall for that, so Moony never got in trouble. Don't let him fool you though, he's just as bad as us."

Harry gave him an easy smile, it wasn't hard to guess who had been blamed judging by his dad's expression, but this had finally dragged on long enough he decided he wanted to get back to the book and see how this had played out.

There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January.

"Are you really telling me you didn't retaliate to any of that stuff?" Lily demanded.

"I really tried not to if I could help it," Harry muttered with regret. He'd had enough practice by now trying to avoid all things Malfoy, but it wasn't always easy.

Hermione was very surprised that Harry was going,

"Why wouldn't you?" James yelped.

"Why does Hermione seem to have a constant disagreement with you always going," Sirius rolled his eyes.

as she reminded the silent common room could help him figure out that egg.

"I doubt the level of quiet actually helps anything," Remus snorted.

Harry lied on the spot he didn't need it, he'd almost worked that egg out.

"I can't even blame you lying to her," Lily sighed, "she acts more like your mother than your friend most days."

"That's rich coming from you," Sirius told her, which she happily ignored.

Harry felt guilty as she praised him for doing so, but consoled himself he still had five weeks to really work it out, and that was plenty of time.

"Oh please don't keep thinking like that though," Lily groaned reproachfully. "That deadline will creep right up on you."

Harry tried, and failed, to look innocent of this most likely happening, leaving them all just that little more stressed than they were before, and they hadn't even be aware that was possible.

Yet if he went to Hogsmeade, he might have a chance of running into Hagrid.

"I don't see Hagrid in a Three Broomsticks mood," James disagreed.

"Maybe more like his own private storage in his hut," Sirius sighed.

They passed the Durmstrang ship on the way to the gates, and noticed Viktor Krum had decided to spend his day in swimming trunks on the deck of his ship.

"Is he mad?" Remus yelped, goosebumps erupting on his skin at the thought.

"He did say it was colder where he came from," Sirius shrugged without remorse. "If he thinks he can handle it without freezing to death, that's his problem."

"You're just so caring of everyone," Lily tisked at him.

Harry hardly noticed them, his mind puzzling why on earth he should think it a good idea to maybe pay more attention to that lake...

His slim body showed as he climbed onto the side, and dived right in.

"He's mad!" James still balked at the idea.

Harry stated he was mad as his head came to the surface.

Sirius was shaking himself vigorously at the idea as well, but was aware enough to smirk at the mimicking pair.

Hermione pointed out it was colder where he was from, this might be warm to him.

"Warm is putting it strongly," Lily shivered, wrapping her baby's blanket just a smidge tighter around him.

Ron voiced that there was still the squid to think about, though he sounded more hopeful than anything.

Causing a collective snort of laughter from all even if it was an empty threat.

Hermione noticed the tone and frowned at him, saying he really was nice, and he actually liked Hogwarts better, he'd told her so.

"Not what I'd go bragging to him about," Remus shook his head, now wondering if Hermione was either trying to, poorly, make him jealous, or actually being as ignorant as Ron about what the two of them were really dancing about.

Ron did not respond. He really seemed to not be trying to start a row with Hermione, but that hadn't stopped Harry finding a miniature plastic arm under his bed the other day wearing Bulgarian Quidditch robes.

"Now what on earth would have you making that connection?" Sirius asked redundantly.

Harry kept his eyes scanning through every shop window they passed, until finally he suggested they try the Three Broomsticks.

"He's not exactly hard to miss, even bending over something," James shook his head. "I'm sure a quick sweep would have done the job."

Harry didn't respond, he'd still been holding out hope that his eyes had been deceiving him.

The pub was as crowded as ever, but one quick sweep proved that Hagrid wasn't here either. Harry slumped his way up to the bar, feeling he may as well have stayed behind and listened to that egg wailing after all.

"I'm surprised you haven't at least tried putting water into the egg or something," Remus tried to offer when he saw how gloomy they all were getting, and at least the egg was a better problem to focus on than Hagrid. "Cedric's tip was odd, but soap and water were clearly heavy hints."

"And give him the satisfaction that he'd both asked out Harry's date, and helped Harry with this," Sirius shot back with a frown.

"Don't curse your nose to spite your face," Lily shrugged, on Remus with that one.

Harry muttered something indistinct about how unhelpful this all was.

Hermione caught sight of Ludo Bagman though, grumbling if he was ever in his office?

"I suppose it is odd to see him out of his office so much," James arched a brow, "tournament aside."

"He's allowed to have social visits, not all Ministry employees are Percy's," Remus said.

He was sitting in a shadowed corner with goblins.

"That's not a social visit," Sirius pointed out.

"Well it could be," Lily backed Remus up just for the joy of annoying the other two. "He could have goblin friends." She knew as well as them that goblins didn't have wizard friends, the two rarely interacted outside of contracts and deals, so this was indeed an odd sight.

Bagman seemed strained in the faint lighting as he spoke to the three, who all had arms crossed and looked menacing in the shade. Harry reflected it was very odd to see this outside of an event, he hadn't seen Bagman looking so tense since the night of the Dark Mark incident.

"I remember all that," Sirius nodded along. "You think he ever got his money back from whoever stole it?"

"If not, maybe that's what he's talking to them about," Remus cocked his head to the side. "Explaining what happened. Maybe they have some way to track down who robbed him."

"Wouldn't surprise me," James shrugged, "even if they don't work for Gringotts, goblins have this eerie way of tracking down gold."

Bagman seemed to notice Harry then, and quickly excused himself to come have a word, that boyish face coming back at once.

Whatever curiosity they held for his situation though vanished in that instant. They felt bad for his troubles, but his continuing to chat up Harry like this still managed to rankle them every time.

He called a pleasant greeting to Harry, saying how he'd been hoping to run into him.

"Really? Been hoping the exact opposite," Sirius grumbled, wondering when he'd grown to dislike the mention of both the Quidditch stars running around Hogwarts.

Then he asked Harry for a private word, asking Ron and Hermione to scoot along.

"What's he up to now?" James demanded, thinking that if he had to listen to anyone else giving Harry paternal advice lately he'd really lose his temper.

The two agreed, grabbed their drinks, and went for a table. Bagman led Harry into the opposite corner as far away from everyone as he started by congratulating Harry. He thanked him, but kept silent and waited for the real reason of this, as he could have done this in front of his friends.

"It's nice of him to at least start polite," Lily rolled her eyes.

Bagman seemed in no hurry to get to the point, his eyes occasionally flickering back to his goblin guests.

"What would he be nervous about them for?" Remus asked in surprise. "He's supposed to be asking for their help?"

"Search me," Lily shrugged.

Bagman noticed Harry staring at them as well, and Bagman explained that it was a nightmare trying to communicate with them as they only spoke Gobbledegook, and as he only knew one word that meant pickaxe, it was hard pressed to be talking.

"Okay, then you should have brought a translator," Sirius rolled his eyes at the absurdities this guy kept pretending was explaining.

Harry asked what they were doing then, and Bagman quickly gave a nervous laugh before saying they were looking for Crouch.

Harry only had a moment for his gut to wrench, informing him that was a flat out lie, before a quick shot of pain in his head reminded him quickly to let it go.

"Why would goblins be looking for him?" Remus questioned with a deep frown.

Lily tried to work out, "I guess I can kind of see how they'd be looking for the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, there are foreign goblins after all, but what are they asking Bagman for? They should be up at the Ministry asking all of this."

"Got me," James grumbled, more than happy to move this along.

Harry asked why they were here then, shouldn't they be at the Ministry?

Bagman uneasily answered that he actually didn't know where he was.

"That's not even that surprising," Sirius snorted, "I don't think I'd call them friends."

No one did, he'd stopped coming to work.

"Wait, what?" All five of them yelped in surprise. Even Harry, who knew the least about Crouch, found this mind boggling.

"Did he die?" Lily managed to splutter out first. "That is the only explanation I can fathom for this."

"Bagman wouldn't be talking like this if so," Remus countered, his mind spinning to try and think about this mess.

"What is with the Ministry lately?" Sirius scathed. "Can't seem to find one department that hasn't wanted to make me burn the building down lately."

"At least make sure Mr. Weasley's not there," Harry shrugged much to Sirius' amusement and agreement.

He'd been gone for weeks now, his assistant Percy had been running things and telling everyone Crouch was ill.

"I'm really starting to think that you might be onto it Lily," James couldn't help but frown. "Unless Crouch has had something really big happen to him, this is the only way to explain what's up with the Crouch I know." It wasn't a particularly pleasant thought for any, but nobody argued it.

He'd only been sending in notes lately, but then Bagman quickly tacked on not for Harry to go mentioning that. Didn't want Skeeter finding out, or she'd turn it into another Bertha Jorkins story.

"And there was a time I praised that journalism and the Ministry never mixed," Lily snorted, Merlin knew Bagman was right in that instance.

Harry asked if there was any news on her, and Bagman said no, though he had people looking.

"Of course," Remus rolled his eyes, "like of course you should have months ago."

They were all feeling rather fidgety at the reminder that a body would never be found.

Harry privately thought it was about time as Bagman explained how odd it was. There were confirmed reports from her family that she had arrived in Albania, but on route to visit another person she'd vanished.

Sirius was starting to chew on his own tongue to convince himself not to start the speil of diatribe he wanted to launch because of what that vile rat had done.

They'd yet to find an explanation, as she wasn't the type to elope.

"At least that's a kind explanation," James hissed.

Then Bagman came back to himself, demanding what they were doing talking about all this nonsense.

"Agreed," Lily couldn't help but huff, "quit being a walking distraction every time you appear."

Bagman instead asked how Harry's egg was coming.

"Oh, this again," Sirius' brows shot up in surprise.

"I can't pretend I don't find it sweet he's helping you," Lily frowned, "but I still can't figure out why?"

"Playing favoritism to the Boy Who Lived?" Harry offered bitterly, though somehow even saying it out loud didn't feel right.

Harry lied again and said he was doing fine.

"Can't fault you for lying to him though," James smirked.

Bagman seemed to guess that wasn't the truth, as he lowered his voice and said he'd taken a liking to Harry, since he hadn't volunteered for any of this.

"Thank you for the reminder," Remus said stiffly.

"Where was this attitude at the ball?" James snapped, "You seemed to find it plenty of fun then."

His voice kept lowering all the time until Harry was reading his lips,

"Well he is technically cheating doing this," Sirius shrugged, "but he couldn't have found a better place to do it."

that all Harry had to do was say the word and Bagman would drop some hints.

Harry worded his answer carefully into a question, that he was supposed to be doing this alone,

"Why are you turning him down?" Lily asked in surprise. Honestly she wouldn't even blame him if he did accept the help, Harry shouldn't have been in this stupid tournament anyways, so anything and anyone he could use to survive it wouldn't be pestered by her.

"I saw him as trying to cheat too much, it just felt different than anything before," Harry shrugged, trying to understand this feeling he had about the old Quidditch player who'd been nothing but kind to him.

so as not to accuse the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports of breaking the rules.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Remus agreed, his pessimistic mind starting to wonder if this was some part of the tournament and Harry was being set up.

Bagman agreed that was the case, but no one could deny they wanted a Hogwarts victory.

Harry asked if Cedric had been offered help. Bagman's face flickered for a moment before he admitted he hadn't.

"Probably lying," Remus offered, then explained what he was thinking.

"Wouldn't put it past them," James agreed at once, "that's pretty tricky."

"I've never heard of anything like that in the previous tournaments," Lily cocked her head to the side as she thought it through.

"Maybe no one's ever fallen for it, so no one's ever recorded it," Sirius smirked.

Harry diverted by promising he didn't need any advice, he pretty much had it all figured out. He wasn't entirely sure of himself why he was turning down the help, but somehow asking from Bagman felt different than asking of his friends or Sirius.

"Glad I'm above him on the list," Sirius sniffed.

Before Bagman could keep trying, the twins appeared, offering to buy him a drink.

"Oh good," James brightened. "This always turns out fun when they're around."

Bagman looked disappointedly at Harry as he turned down the red heads.

"Aww, why not," Remus pouted. "I really wish we'd get to hear more about them and their joke shop already."

Fred and George looked quite as disappointed as Bagman, who was surveying Harry as though he had let him down.

"He must be a really good actor," Lily shook her head at him, agreeing with the boys he was better spending his time helping out the twins than Harry.

He excused himself from the lot of them, slipping out of the pub, when the goblins hastily followed.

"I thought he was trying to explain to them about Crouch?" James did a double take. "What's he ditching them for?" Looking quite as affronted as those goblins probably did.

"That man seems to have no mind," Sirius rolled his eyes, wondering if one to many bludgers had erased his memory of everything lately.

Harry went back to his friends and explained what happened, and Hermione was shocked at the news. Then pointed out Harry didn't even need the offer, because he said he'd figure it out already.

Harry uneasily agreed.

"You keep telling yourself that Harry," Remus snorted, "I'm sure saying it will get the job done."

Harry stuck his tongue out at him.

Hermione switched back to disapproving of Bagman, saying Dumbledore wouldn't like to hear about this cheating going on.

"I still think our idea's better," Sirius said with just a tad of pompousness in his voice no one could miss.

"It was my idea," Remus tried to correct him with a fond smile.

"Making it our idea by default," Sirius countered at once. "You know you get your best ideas just by being around us."

"Why do we put up with him again?" Lily asked the baby in her lap, who merely babbled as answer.

Then she hoped he was at least doing the same for Cedric, which Harry corrected Bagman had denied. Ron scoffed and said who cared about Diggory anyways, which Harry did agree with.

"Sounds like he doesn't need it on this task," James quietly muttered to himself.

Hermione switched to talking about those Goblins, and Harry explained what Bagman had told him.

Ron's first comment was to say Percy was poisoning his boss,

Five collective snorts of laughter were given for Ron's wit, or at least what they hoped was a joke.

as he probably thought if Crouch croaked he'd get the job.

"He'd be the youngest ever," Lily couldn't help but point out, "it's one step closer to what he's really aiming for."

"Don't encourage him," James scolded.

Hermione gave Ron a don't-joke-about-things-like-that look,

"Why do you have names for all of these looks?" Sirius demanded between cackles. "How often do you get them?"

"I made a chart once," Harry told him with an innocent enough smirk, "but she burned it and made me swear not to say."

"Well she's not here now," James pleaded.

Harry shook his head adamantly though, insisting, "oh no, I'm not doing anything to get on Hermione's bad side."

and instead said those goblins were still odd, shouldn't they be talking to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures rather than Crouch anyways.

"Also true," Lily agreed, "I guess the two departments might be delegating, with someone so young at the helm or-"

"Lily," James cut off his wife, "I have begged you not to try and get into office politics with me unless it's Harry's nap time."

Remus gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, he'd received that comment a few times in his life as well.

Harry reminded how many languages Crouch knew, maybe they were looking for an interpreter.

"He is not the only interpreter in that Ministry," Sirius adamantly shook his head, "I cannot be wrong about that."

Ron tried to laugh her off, asking why she was so worked up over the poor 'ickle goblins now? Was she going to start another group named S. P. U. G.? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?

"While a little on the nose," Remus got out through some chortling.

"Credit to Ron for thinking of them," James finished easily.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, saying goblins didn't need anyone's help, weren't they listening in Binns class about goblin rebellions?

"Did she really just ask that with a straight face?" Lily demanded, "I've never met anyone besides her who would answer other than no."

"You know it's true when Lily agrees with us," Sirius nodded along.

Harry and Ron said no together.

"That about covers the whole school's answer right there," James snorted.

Hermione answered that they were very clever and more than capable of standing up for themselves, unlike house-elves.

Ron was no longer listening, but watching the door and interrupted to say uh-oh.

"I can imagine Ron said that often when he realized he got her into a tangent," Remus sighed, now watching Sirius and Lily uneasily as he hoped those two fighting wouldn't cause another eruption in here.

Rita Skeeter had just entered.

"That is much more cause for uh-oh," Lily puffed up at once, several things on the tip of her tongue she couldn't wait to throw at that person for doing this to first her son, then Hagrid!

She came in already chatting with her photographer, bought drinks, and went searching for a seat with the trio glaring all the way.

"You are much kinder than any of us," James snarled, "I'd have booby trapped her chair before she even knew which one she'd be picking."

"I'd pay money to see it," Lily happily agreed.

She was talking fast and looking very satisfied about something,

"Ruined somebody else's life already has she?" Sirius got out through gritted teeth.

which seemed to be why someone didn't want to talk to her?

"I cannot think of a single reason," Remus stated with transparent sarcasm.

What had he been doing with those goblins?

"Waiting for you to ask obviously," Sirius sneered.

Showing them the sights, how ridiculous that was.

"Hark, there's some blessed irony, watching her get lied to," Lily scathed. Admittedly she didn't particularly like Bagman, but he was much lower on her list than Skeeter.

Skeeter was already saying how she should try doing some digging on him, coming up with a snappy title on the spot, but needing a story to come along.

"She comes up with those titles before she even-" James sputtered off when he realized how absurd it was to be criticizing this excuse for a writer.

Harry loudly shouted that she was already set on ruining someone else's life.

"Oh Harry," Lily groaned. "Are you trying to start trouble now?"

"He's a bit of a late bloomer," Sirius couldn't help but grin, "but I'm willing to encourage this behavior, especially towards people like her."

"I wasn't going to be able to leave without saying something to her for what she did to Hagrid," Harry snapped at no one in here.

This caught Skeeter's attention at once, beaming at the sight of Harry as she asked him to join her.

"She, cannot, actually be, that, oblivious," Remus gaped at the idea that she was still putting on pleasantries around him!

Harry snapped back he wouldn't come near her with a ten-foot broomstick.

"Never get tired of your word choices," James praised.

Demanding what she'd gone and done that to Hagrid for?

"Because she got off topic of you for five seconds and needed someone else to harass," Remus sneered.

Skeeter raised a penciled brow at him, stating people had a right to that truth.

"Not at the expense of a good man's job," Lily spat back.

Harry shouted back no one cared that he was half-giant!

The whole pub had gone silent by now, Rosmerta didn't even seem to notice the drink she was pouring was overflowing.

"You know it's got to be dramatic for her not to be stepping in," Sirius shook his head.

Skeeter recovered quick enough, digging in her bag for her Quill and asking Harry if he'd like to give an exclusive piece then, on the Hagrid he knew.

"No, I mean it," Remus insisted like he was sure he was talking to a dummy. "She cannot actually think he'd still give her a breadcrumb, let alone-"

"She's either the most oblivious person in the world," Sirius shook his head in disgust.

"Or the most heartless for it not even registering," James finished.

"I choose the second," Lily sniffed.

He could give details of their unlikely friendship, how he may even be a father substitute?

James nearly snapped at that one. He was sick and tired of every single male being compared to him as of late when Harry had never even met him! Glory his son was technically the same age as him now meeting him for the first time! Sirius he'd hold back, Bagman was inconsequential and more mildly annoying, but Hagrid actually had been there for some of Harry's most important firsts! Hogwarts letter, Diagon Alley, even his first Quidditch game, and it wasn't bleeding fair. The only thing actually stopping him was that it wasn't Harry who'd thought it, just Skeeter spurting off some more. Still, it wasn't making him feel much better when he glanced at Harry and saw that he wasn't exactly looking to deny the comparison, he was too busy still glaring at nothing that he wished was Skeeter herself.

Hermione stood up, her butterbeer clutched in her hand as though it were a grenade.

"There's a pleasant thought," Sirius chuckled low in his throat, trying to help his best mate move past these constant pangs that must be breaking his heart. James didn't seem to hear him.

Shouting at Skeeter that she'd just do anything for a story.

Rita snapped at Hermione she was being a silly little girl,

"Silly little girl?" Lily raised an imperious brow. "She has no idea who she's talking to."

"I can't wait for her to find out," Sirius said with a wolfish grin.

and not to talk about these things.

"Not surprised," Remus scoffed, "of course she'd treat Hermione like dirt, she's not a name."

Skeeter knew things about Hermione that would make her hair curl.

"Then why don't you publish your article and be done with it," James rolled his eyes, clearly thinking he was calling her bluff.

Hermione did not respond, instead marching out with Ron and Hermione at her heels.

Harry glanced back long enough to see the green Quick-Quotes Quill already on the move.

"What on earth is it even recording?" Lily demanded of nothing.

"Nothing good," Remus shook his head, thinking Hermione had just picked quite a fight.

Ron warned her Hermione would now be her next victim.

"I really can't see Skeeter writing anything Hermione would care about," James sneered. "She's proven at every turn she doesn't let other people's mocking get to her."

"The only times she's snapped is when someone insulted her intelligence, or friends," Sirius nodded along, that predatory smile still dominant. "Skeeter's done both. Can't wait to see what Hermione pays her back with."

Hermione was not concerned, but instead shaking with rage as she screamed about that woman going first after Harry, than Hagrid.

"I will genuinely pay Hermione to assist with this in any and all ways," Remus cackled at the promise of this.

"Another reason you should have stuck around," Lily snarked at him under her breath. He gave her a hurt look for the shot, but wasn't going to start that argument again.

Ron said he was serious,

"There's a good idea," Sirius snapped his fingers with pleasure. "Get me involved, I need something to do with my free time, this will bring back some good memories."

"As if you aren't involved in enough," Lily scolded him at once.

Hermione could get herself into trouble.

Hermione didn't think a thing of it, saying that Prophet couldn't scare her into hiding! She was walking so fast the boys were practically jogging to keep up. Harry hadn't seen her this mad since she'd slapped Malfoy.

"I thank you for that treasured memory," James beamed. They were all still angry at Rita of course, but Hermione's reaction was pure gold to anything they could have done, or in this case were incapable of doing, so cheering her on felt best.

She went on to say Hagrid wasn't going to be hiding from her anymore, he never should have let that waste of a human do this to him!

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Lily's smile stretched so wide, she couldn't have been prouder.

She broke into a run then, back onto the school grounds, and stormed up to Hagrid's house, yelling his name and pounding on his door.

"That'll give him a start," Sirius stated ruefully, "he might even come bursting out thinking you're in trouble with that."

"Whatever gets him out," Harry shrugged without remorse.

She only got a bit of yelling in about how that foul Skeeter woman shouldn't have been able to do this to him, and to get outside, he was being- but was cut off by the door opening via Dumbledore.

Harry read that with such an astounded look that quickly flushed in embarrassment, that alone would have caused their laughter, but the thought of the headmaster getting the pleasure of hearing all of that through Hermione's screeches had already caused them all to burst. It only subsided as quick as it did, and Harry quickly kept going, so they could hear the rest of this.

He pleasantly greeted them with a good afternoon.

"Well it sort of was, there for a moment," James shook his head.

Hermione's voice was now contrast in the face of him, as small as could go as she said they'd wanted to see Hagrid.

Dumbledore's eyes were still twinkling as he stated he'd gathered that.

"So glad he could take a hint," Remus got out around his chuckles.

Then he invited them inside.

"Well it'd be rather embarrassing to turn back now," Lily smirked.

The moment they stepped over the threshold, Fang bombarded them and Harry had to ward off the boarhound. Then he spotted Hagrid slumped over the table. He'd clearly been crying, and his hair was at the other extreme, so unkempt it looked like tangles of wire.

"Actually I thought it always looked like that," Sirius snorted.

"Shut it Padfoot," James quickly shushed.

Harry greeted him, but Hagrid only gave a hoarse hello back.

Dumbledore instructed they all needed more tea, and a wave of his wand made a tray appear along with a few miniature cakes.

Harry couldn't stop his mind floundering for a moment as he really wanted to ask about this display of magic creating all of that into existence, but then he remembered his first trip to the kitchens and how the house-elves had a set up just like this, and Dumbledore had probably summoned that in his own way.

They all took seats at the table before Dumbledore asked Hagrid if he'd heard what Hermione had been shouting.

"I'm sure Trelawney heard what she was saying," Remus gave a toothy grin.

Hermione went pink with embarrassment, but Dumbledore continued that these three proved what he'd been saying, they still wanted to know him, judging by their actions to break down the door.

"Well that's going a bit far," Lily shook her head fondly, "more like dent it for now."

"Though I'm sure if he hadn't let them in, it could have escalated," James sighed with longing at how that could have turned out.

Harry blurted that of course they did! How could he let that Skeeter cow, though quickly corrected himself and apologized to his headmaster.

"I hardly find that the foulest insult you could have used," Sirius snorted.

Dumbledore simply stated he may have gone temporarily deaf and hadn't the faintest clue what Harry said, now watching the ceiling and twiddling his thumbs.

"Oh I missed this," Remus gave a breathy laugh and tried to speak all at once. None of them had even begun to forget what he'd done to Sirius, and possibly even Remus and Harry, but at least there was still the man sitting there. The true leader of the Order, the man who would stick by his friend's side no matter what and offer whatever comfort he could. He may have abandoned Sirius when he needed him most, but even now he was slightly making up for that as far as Sirius was concerned by sticking with Hagrid, and clearly still Remus on some level.

Harry went back to talking to Hagrid, saying that Hagrid shouldn't that, well that woman

"Nice catch," James winked at Harry.

get to him.

Dumbledore stated Harry was living proof of what he'd been trying to convince Hagrid of. Dumbledore had already shown Hagrid letters of previous students of his who threatened mayhem if Dumbledore did anything against Hagrid.

That still managed to increase their smiles to another degree. Hagrid had been gamekeeper for countless generations, and an apprentice to the job even before that. He'd never harmed a soul and in fact had been an honest comfort to anyone and everyone with just the tiniest offer. This in fact managed to give Sirius and James a conspiratorial look at each other, now fully intending to throw in Remus' face later when they had a better chance that the same would be spoken true of him if it had ever gone this far, not that Remus had stuck around to find out.

Lily's heart did manage a painful twang though, as she realized that she wasn't one of those to have sent such a thing, it was never a pleasant reminder.

Hagrid still sniffled that not everyone would feel the same.

"He can't honestly expect universal popularity?" Sirius raised a staunch brow, his tone carrying as much, "and even if he didn't have that much support, it should be the real ones who matter like Harry."

"Um, thanks," Harry muttered, feeling bashful at the unexpected praise and quickly reading to cover it.

Dumbledore gently scolded that if Hagrid expected everyone in the world to like him, he'd be in this cabin forever.

Lily gave a soft sigh and yet couldn't stop a smile. Happy as she was to see Dumbledore acting the way she'd always known him to again, even his wisdom filled words now weren't making his past crimes against her son feel much better.

Explaining that he hadn't his position at school for a week before he got letters of complaint. What was he to do? Barricade himself away?

"That would have been a sight," James rolled his eyes.

Hagrid reminded none of them were half-giant.

Harry snapped back that he still had some unpleasant relatives, look at the Dursleys.

"Best point you could have made," Lily griped.

Dumbledore agreed on that point, reminding of his own brother Aberforth,

"Where have I heard that name before?" James asked with his head cocked to the side.

"Err, isn't that the guy from the Hog's Head?" Sirius asked as he raked his brain.

"That smelly old guy?" Remus scoffed, "probably a name coincidence, there's no way it's the same person."

who had been prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat.

Harry spluttered in shock at that, something very hard trying to smack his memory into thinking of something, but the others thought it was suppressed laughter at such a tale, so Harry was instantly distracted by Remus saying, "before our time, only ever heard rumors about that."

"I didn't even know Dumbledore had a brother," Lily said in surprise, then she went cross eyed as she realized, "err, Albus, because his brother would be called that too, oh you know what I meant."

Harry felt disappointed that they clearly didn't know more about Dumbledore's brother, but didn't press them for more.

That had been all over the papers, but Aberforth had never acted differently. Well, then again Dumbledore wasn't certain his brother could read, so that may not have been bravery...

This time Harry couldn't help but laugh a small bit along with the others, Harry still eagerly pushing for any details, "so you've never heard anything about Dumbledore's siblings?"

"We've only heard gossip about a brother," James said in surprise, "think my parents mentioned it once as a joke, I wasn't even sure that was true. I doubt he has even more."

Harry slumped back in disappointment, his mind clearly unwilling to let this one go though. Still, the headache won in the end and he forced himself to keep going.

Hermione put herself in then, begging Hagrid to please come back.

Hagrid let a few more tears trickle out but didn't answer.

Dumbledore took to his feet and made his answer for Hagrid, saying he refused his resignation.

"Oh Merlin, he actually tried to quit," Sirius pouted.

"Thank goodness Dumbledore doesn't let all of the best teachers walk out," James said with an obvious look at his favorite teacher, who was clearly ignoring both his friends.

Dumbledore expected him back to his regular schedule Monday, no excuses. He bid them all good evening, and then left.

Hagrid still couldn't help crying a bit, in between stating what a great man Dumbledore was.

Ron absently agreed as he asked for a cake?

"And there's Ron keeping us on point," Remus snorted to try and bring his own amusement up.

Hagrid happily pushed the tray towards him, brushing at his eyes and admitting he'd been an idiot. His dad would have been ashamed of him. Then he realized he'd never showed them a picture.

Lily couldn't help but coo with sadness for the poor dear, but at least he was finally starting to look up.

Hagrid got up and went rummaging through a drawer coming back with a photo of a much younger Hagrid standing next to a man with the same eyes, beaming with pride. Hagrid was already a good eight feet tall in the photo judging by the tree,

"Merlin, can you imagine sharing a dorm with him," Sirius shook his head. "He'd take up all the beds."

"You know what house he was in?" Harry asked curiously.

"Gryffindor," Remus shrugged, "about the only thing he'd ever share about his time at Hogwarts."

but judging by his face, hardly eleven. Hagrid explained this had been taken just after he got his letter, his dad had been so proud, as he wasn't sure if he'd be a wizard because of his mother.

"If one of your parents is magic, then you are going to be a wizard," Lily said stiffly. "It is only in extremely rare cases otherwise. I wish wizards would understand that."

"Good luck getting it through so many thick skulls," James grumbled.

Sadly he hadn't lived long after this was taken, he'd died in Hagrid's second year, before he was expelled.

Lily's frostiness at persons unknown melted at once as she wanted to go right back to comforting Hagrid for that travesty.

Dumbledore had taken care of him after that, got him this job. He was always willing to give anyone a second chance.

Sirius felt himself give a horrible little twitch, now a little bug forever going off in the back of his mind why he'd been left out of that when it seemed to be true for every other person, bloody hell the man trusted a Death Eater more than him apparently.

He'd let anyone join Hogwarts,

Remus couldn't help but flush happily as he smiled at the reminder, his mind still boggled some days even after he'd spent seven years there that he'd gotten the experience.

as long as they were magical. He knew all you had to do was give them a chance no matter their families. Some people didn't understand that, they'd hold your heritage against you, or pretend like nothing was wrong and they just had big bones like they were ashamed; but Hagrid wasn't.

"Think he took Maxime to heart," Lily sighed in sympathy, still hoping there was someone else out there for Hagrid rather than that stuck up old bird.

His dad had always told him never to be ashamed. He was right of course, and he'd never forget to live by that. Big bones, he'd show her big bones.

"Hagrid just has no filter," James chuckled lightly. "If those kids didn't know what he was talking about, it wouldn't exactly be hard to guess from all that."

"Yet we still love him all the more for it," Sirius chirped.

The three of them tried not to exchange looks, Harry would rather take fifty skrewts for a walk than admit they'd overheard him talking to Madame Maxime,

"That is the best comparison I've ever heard," Remus told him after a bit more laughter.

but Hagrid was still talking, apparently unaware that he had said anything odd.

"He's actually getting worse with years," Lily giggled, "at least by now he should have cut himself off and corrected that he shouldn't have told you that."

Now turning on Harry with bright eyes that when he'd first met Harry, he'd reminded him of Hagrid. Parents gone, and so sure he wouldn't fit in at Hogwarts.

Harry's smile was a bit more forced now as yes, he did remember all of that quite well, but he'd never been happier to be wrong.

But look at him now, school champion!

"Still don't know if I'd go so far as praising him for that," James muttered to himself, now wanting to curse Skeeter for a whole other reason. She just had to put that poisonous little thought in his head, now he was even feeling resentful of Hagrid!

He looked at Harry for a moment and then said, very seriously,

Sirius worked furiously for a moment before actually putting on a fair impersonation of Hagrid's West Country accent, "well if he can be me, then I can be him."

Everyone was plainly distracted from whatever they'd been thinking to either groan at him, or in Harry's case to laugh, which had been the whole point so Sirius smiled, more than pleased with himself.

that what he'd love more than anything was for Harry to win, to show them all you didn't have to be a pureblood to be something.

"Err, I'm fairly confident I don't know any of the other champions blood status," Harry said in surprise.

"It's the principle Hagrid's going for," Remus shrugged, "you are an underdog of sorts being the youngest."

"Actually Fleur would make his impact better," Sirius couldn't help a little smirk, "being part human and all with her veela status."

"I like Harry better, so let's stick with him," Lily chuckled.

Gently asking how Harry was doing with that egg?

Harry quickly fudged like he had to everyone else, and Hagrid gave his first real smile.

"Worthwhile lie," James beamed anew, he really couldn't stay mad at Hagrid after such a sweet little speech.

Claiming, 'that's my boy.'

...okay, maybe he could a little, but at least his tick of annoyance went unnoticed.

Lying to Hagrid felt even worse than anyone before, so as Harry went up to his dorm that night, he decided it was time to shove his pride away. He couldn't let Hagrid down, it was time to check out Cedric's hint.

"Was wondering when you'd break on that," Lily chuckled, giving her baby's nose a friendly little tweak as Harry got up to hand the book to Remus.

HPHPHPHP

*maana999 offered the question of where that was being taken place if not the Room of Requirements, this had always been my running idea.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #GoF #Marauders #reading the books #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter #Jilly

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 89

Wee-oo-oooooooooooo!

I thought long and hard about this chapter before writing it, and it just felt like it fit more into the narrative. Will it raise questions later? Probably.  Am I prepared to answer those questions?  I’m pretty sure.

Thank you, @satan-parisienne for being such a lovely person to bounce ideas off of, and for being an amazing sister (real and fictional).

The following week was a fog of exhaustion and mind-numbing soreness.  Tyche insisted on sparring each night, either with fencing or some other form of combat, while adamantly refusing to speak other than instructions and taunts regarding my form.  Any stretching to relieve my over-worked body had to be done in the gym, at home, or in my office, as those were the only three places I was allowed for the time being.  I didn’t even have the relief of walking to stretch my legs, since any time I spent in transit was seated on a transport with two escorts, one on either side.

Conor and Maverick were as patient with me as could be expected, but I could readily admit that I was in a sullen mood and would have done anything for some privacy.  Eventually, they both told Tyche to come keep an eye on me herself, they both needed some space.  Since she had been working me to the bone, not to mention was responsible for my ongoing rotation of guards, she was honestly the last person I wanted to see at the moment.  The second she walked in the door, the feeling was clearly mutual - she wouldn’t even look at me, just stood staring at one of my plants, arms crossed.

“You couldn’t even bring Mac with you?” I glared.

“I haven’t seen him in two weeks,” she snarled back. “Pretty sure you scared him off with your crappy attitude.”

“Maybe it’s because I haven’t had five minutes to myself in the past fucking week,” I muttered, turning away from her. Stomping into the kitchen, I got two cups of coffee, set one on the end of the table closest to her with a thunk - being angry didn’t mean I was going to be rude - before flopping down in her favorite armchair.

The next hour was the most tense round of sipping my walls had ever seen. She surrendered first, standing to pace. “Where the hell are they? They didn’t say how long they would be gone.”

Before I could respond, a chirp came from the ceiling. “Human Conor and Human Maverick are at the Undine, playing a Terran game with needles and a target.  They advised me when they left that they would return when both of you have categorized your defecation, although I am not entirely sure what that means.”

Against my will, a snort of laughter almost sprayed my coffee onto the deck. Tyche’s eyes tracked as she parsed what was just said, and I recognized her scowl as the one she used to keep from laughing. “I know for a fact that you have a better grasp of human euphemisms than that. You knew what they meant.”

“Simon has informed me that it is a standard Terran practice to diffuse tense situations with humor. Did I do it wrong?”

“We aren’t tense,” she argued.

“Tyche. There is currently less strain detected in the hull plating than there is in that room. Please re-evaluate your statement.”

She gaped like a fish at the remark, while I dissolved into breathless laughter. “Oh my gods, who taught you to say things like that?”

“Several humans on the Ark display a propensity for conversational rejoinders using wit. I find it very unique and pleasing.”

“I don’t care how witty you think you’re being, we don’t need to sort our shit out,” Tyche asserted airily.

It was my turn to gape. “You have me under house arrest! Don’t you think that needs to be addressed!?”

I was less than intimidated by the finger she pointed at me with, despite her gesturing like it was loaded. “First of all, it’s a protective detail, not house arrest. You’re free to go wherever you want, in a transport, with escorts.”

“How is that any - “

“Second of all,” she raised her voice to interrupt me. “Do you really think I have the authority to make that decision?  Yeah, you’re my sister, and I love you, but you are also my boss, dork. Not the other way around.”

Every processor that I joked existed in my head stopped with a grinding screech. How fucking stupid am I? “You mean to tell me I could have just walked off at any point?”

“Pfffft. No.” Annnnnnd now she was looking at me like I was an idiot.  “I mean, you can try. But the door won’t open.”

If I wasn’t already sitting down, I’d have fallen on my ass. It hurt itself in its confusion! Something supplied from the back of my head.  “So. I’m not on house arrest, but I also can’t walk out that door by myself. You don’t have the authority to assign a protective detail to me, but you did assign a rotation of escorts… Ohhhhhhh.”  Apparently ‘turning it off and back on again’ worked for mental processors, too.  “I am under house arrest, or protective custody, or whatever, but it wasn’t your call.”

“Finally!” she threw her hands in the air and flopped elegantly across my couch.

“Which means it was someone on the Council. So Xiomara did this.”

An exhausted thumbs-up popped comically from the pile of scarves and sweaters formerly known as my sister.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” I demanded angrily, chucking a pillow where I thought her head was.

A muffled voice came from under the pillow. “I did manage to make sure you actually like and trust your escorts.”

“What do you mean my escorts? Who else’s… The entire Council?”

The thumb popped back up.

“And you couldn’t tell me.”

Second thumb.

“Why not?”

One hand dropped and the other flashed me a middle finger.

“Okay, can’t answer that either.” I thought for a minute. “Can’t as in, not supposed to, or can’t, as in you don’t know?”

Index finger. First one.

“Is there a penalty if you do tell me?”

Thumbs down.

“So, really, there’s not anything stopping you from telling me except you keeping your word,” I pointed out.

Thumbs down.

Wait, what?

“There is something other than your word keeping you from telling me, but it’s not a penalty.”

Thumbs up.

“You literally can’t tell me, can you?”

Thumb still up. That explained the twenty-questions game, and her terseness lately.

“Are you physically incapable of making the words go, or is something preventing the words from getting there once they go?”

Two fingers. Second option.

“What is Xiomara thinking!?” I blurted angrily.  “This is over the line. She may have the authority to put the Council under watch for our safety, since Safety is her jurisdiction, but dinking around in your head!?  She can’t do that!”

I glanced back at Tyche, her hand in a thumbs down. “Something I said was wrong.” Thumb up. “She doesn’t have the authority to go poking around in your head.”

Thumb stayed up.

“Who does?”

She flapped her hand. Apparently can’t tell me that either.

“Did they have your permission to do this?”

Tyche made a ‘sort of’ waver with her hand before giving a thumbs-up.  At this point I wanted to scream in frustration. 

Keeping my eyes on her hand, I started talking, playing a sort of hot and cold. “The only person who has the authority to poke around in your head is you…” Thumb up. “Unless you’re unconscious.” Thumb down. “So you were awake and aware, and gave permission…..” Sort of, yeah, again. “But someone suggested it…” Thumb up. “Was it Xiomara?” Thumb down. “Antoine?” Thumb down. “Was anyone else in the room?” Thumb down, to my relief.

Wait. Thumb down?

“This was your idea!?” I shrieked, resisting the urge to tackle her when she gave a thumbs up.  “And you thought I was being an idiot!? Tyche, how could you do that!?”

She sat up, gasping for air. “I knew I would tell you at some point.  I let it slip a dozen times, and you were so distracted you didn’t notice. So, since Antoine and Derek were clever enough to set up the proximity alerts for those of us who are triggered by random strangers touching us, I asked if whop could set it up so you couldn’t hear me, even if I did slip.”

Hang on. “Say that last part again, slower.”

 “I asked if wherb could set it up so you couldn’t hear me, even if I did slip.”

“Oh my gods,” I whispered. “That’s why you haven’t been talking.  It’s garbled when you say something I shouldn’t hear, isn’t it?”

She nodded and started talking. It sounded like someone speaking backwards, through a voice distorter, while underwater. “Tyche, it sounds like I’m having another stroke.”

She nodded, and made a ‘keep going’ gesture. 

“It’s supposed to, isn’t it? Because even though the brain damage was fixed and I can hear fine now, I had hearing issues for so long that you knew I would brush it off and not think anything of it.”

She nodded again, lips pressed in a firm line. “Because I would notice not hearing you at all, or any noise replacing it, or anything like that. But I literally never noticed that my hearing was garbled again until I was looking for it. Which I wouldn’t, because I should be able to hear fine.”

“Yep,” she confirmed with a firm, final nod.

“Sneaky bitch,” I muttered.  It was clever, I had to give her that.  I thought back over the past week and all our interactions, trying to determine if any specific topics triggered the parts I couldn’t understand. I started at the day she punched me, and something stood out in screaming neon with alarm bells attached.  “We.  When you were chewing me out in the gym that day, you kept saying ‘we’. We were counting on Bjornson thinking I’m helpless. We thought we had the advantage.” I paused as one sentence stood out, even clearer and louder than the rest. “This time, he’s got more people than Arantxa did, but we thought we had the advantage…. Because we knew who they were, we knew what they thought…”  I focused on her, and felt nothing but fear and confusion as I whispered. “Tyche, how do you know who they are and what they think? How deep into this did Xio drag you?”

 She stared at me, wide-eyed and helpless as garbled words fell from her lips.

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#the miys #family #found family #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #aliens #sci fi #science fiction #original writing #apocalypse #earth is space australia #original sci fi #my writing

[littlemisspp]

The Little Surprise (TH Blurb)

Summary: You found out you were pregnant and were nervous to tell your boyfriend, Tom. But of course, those nerves are put at ease after you tell him.

A/N: Did someone order some fluff? Because it has ~arrived~ lol Idk I thought of this today and wanted to see how it would play out. Kinda adorable tbh. I’m also open to any requests for imagines or blurbs... tbh i also don’t know the difference between the two but regardless I will write some stuff!! just send me an ask!!!

_____

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there. The cold tile floor cooled your overheating body. Your stomach was in tight knots, hands sweaty as your mind ran a million miles an hour. But only one question rose above all the others:

What was Tom going to say?

Your boyfriend was not a bad guy, not at all. He was one of the kindest most pure hearted people you’d ever met. Tom didn’t have one mean bone in his body, and you believed that. But it didn’t make the situation any less nerve-racking.

You see, your lives were not normal. He was one of the most popular and in demand actors on the planet. His schedule had him in LA one hour and in London the next. His life was crazy, stressful, busy, and wild. 

Not necessarily the best scenario to bring a baby into.

You sat there, legs bent and curled to your stomach as you stared at the stupid little test on the tile floor. It was mocking you. That damned plus sign was laughing right in your face. You run an uneasy hand through your hair, sighing. You reach over to click your phone on, noting you had some time to compose yourself before Tom came home.

He was due home in the evening, arriving back in London after a two week media and press tour for a movie in the states. You had been looking forward to seeing him the entire time he’d been gone, feeling a little lonely some nights in your king sized bed. It wasn’t until the other day you slowly sank into your newfound pregnancy worries.

You had noticed you were late a few days prior, but that wasn’t completely abnormal for you, so at first you shook it off. Writing it off to stress or something of the sort. But then the morning sickness came, making you sit up from your toilet and sigh, knowing good and well what you had to do next.

Which led you to now, hours before your boyfriend was going to waltz in the door, sitting on your bathroom floor staring blankly at your fortune teller. 

The day slipped by like clock work, the sun sinking as the street lights clicked on. Tom was due home any moment, and you were now pacing in your kitchen. How did you even start that conversation? How do you tell him? You were completely dumbfounded by all of it.

Like a cruel joke from the heavens above, a jingle of keys in the front door made you whip your head to the side, he was here. 

You stop dead in your tracks, quickly locking eyes with the plastic bag holding your positive test. You quickly grab it, shoving it into your sweatshirt pocket as he steps into the kitchen, setting his keys on the counter.

He looked exhausted, hair messy and eyes faintly red from lack of sleep. He steps and pulls you into a hug, sighing happily.

“Hey” He mumbles, wrapping his protective arms around your waist.

“Hey” You peeped, trying to steady your heartbeat. “How was your flight?”

“Long” He groans, pulling away. “I’m so tired, babe”

You reach up and cup his cheek, offering to run him a bath. He gladly accepts, sluggishly moving into the bed room to unpack his bag. You follow close behind, hand in your pocket fidgeting with the plastic baggie. 

You had to get this off your chest soon, or else you might explode.

You sit on the side of the bathtub, making mindless conversation with Tom as he dumps clothes into the hamper for washing. You stick your hand under the running water, feeling its temperature before reaching and adding some bubbles, hoping the lilac scent will help calm your nerves.

He soon slides in, exhaling gently as the warm water soothes his aching bones. His back still ached slightly from the long plane ride back. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning back and closing his eyes. He was content..... but not fully content.

“Love?” He called, quirking an eye open. “Join me”

You stood, running your sweaty palms over your pants.

“I-I don’t really feel well” You lied, running a hand on your neck. 

He makes a face, sitting his head up properly.

“Whats the matter?” He questions, becoming a little concerned. You always loved to take baths together. It was your tradition after a stressful week of work.

“Just... my stomach” You wince, not believing your own lie. You look at Tom, who was clearly not buying it either.

“Y/N” He says matter-of-factly. “What’s wrong?”

This was the moment. This was when you had to tell him. Not telling him now would categorize it as a secret, and keep this a secret from him would be wrong. Your head was racing, cheeks flushing, blood pumping.

“Y/N?” He quizzed after a moment of silence, watching you stare wide eyed at him.

You decided to bite the bullet.

“I’m pregnant.”

The room was silent, the simple seconds felt like years to you. You swear it was so quiet you could hear the bubbles in the bath pop. 

Tom’s heart races, his mind running a million miles an hour. A baby? How could he take care of a baby? He still felt like a kid himself, how could he be responsible for one?

“Tom” You inhaled. “Please, say something”

Despite his ever growing blood pressure, he smiled. It wasn't the biggest smile in the world, but it was still a smile.

He held his arm out, signaling for you to come to him. You do, tears pooling in your eyes as you balance at the side of the tub.

“I’m sorry” You whisper, not making eye contact. “I know this is crazy, I wasn’t expecting this either.”

“It’s alright” Tom cooed, placing a wet hand on top of yours. “Y/N, I love you. Sure, this maybe wasn't number one on our list of things to do right now, but I know we are going to be alright.”

You smiled, tears rolling down your cheeks at his words.

“Besides, Y/N” He added. “Anything that is half of you can’t be all that bad”

You laugh, heart swirling as your nerves finally calm down. Tom’s lips curl into a smile, happy to see you feeling better. 

Of course, a baby wasn’t part of your plan. But one thing you and Tom never failed at is working together. You were both sure you were capable, but the looming fears of parenthood also stood in your minds. 

But you loved Tom, and he loved you. And you knew that would be more than enough.

#tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader

[lady-divine-writes]

I Was Praying for You and Me: Chapter 3 - You Are my Favorite Distraction (Rated NC17)

Summary: Kurt and Sebastian are not together, and Kurt is sure that this break up is the last one. But when tragedy strikes over Christmas, of all times, Sebastian is the only person who comes to Kurt's rescue.

This is an ACITW inspired ficlet that I wrote, written for the Hummel Holidays prompts 'Christmas' and 'New Years Eve'. Based off the head canon I had, and mentioned in the one-shot 'Under the Fireworks' that I wrote, that during the course of their relationship, they suffered several small break ups, and one big one. This happens during the big one. But it has a happy ending. :)

Read on AO3.

Lights.

To get his mind off things, Kurt stares at all the lights he can see from the passenger seat of Sebastian’s car. He names them, counts them, categorizes them the same way he did with street signs driving home from his mother’s funeral. Mindless busywork his dad had called it, which sounded insulting except it gave him something to dwell on instead of reality - a future where he never sees his mom again. Truth be told, that’s a reality he never has gotten a firm grasp of. There are days that, despite all of the love and support he has around him, he wishes she was there.

And there are days that, despite the years gone by, he wakes up and, in the haze between awake and dreaming, forgets that she’s dead.

He’s not ready to go through the same thing with his dad.

He can’t lose him yet.

Single street lights, traffic lights (in units of three), Christmas lights strung in fifties, hundreds, two hundreds, the neon light from a diner Kurt doesn’t remember ever seeing before, a garish purple sign in the window flashing the word closed. Kurt wonders if that diner, with it’s shabby-chic gingham curtains and picnic tables instead of regular tables, is one of the places Sebastian called in his search for the impossible – a restaurant open on Christmas. It’s just a diner, but its existence proclaims something stronger, more terrifying than Kurt wants to acknowledge.

Times have changed.

This city – Lima, Ohio - that Kurt once hated with a burning passion, has changed.

His father, sleeping in a hospital bed and surrounded by cellophane-wrapped cocoons of inedible food when he should be at home, has definitely changed. More than Kurt is comfortable with.

He has changed. No longer the closeted kid waiting for his moment, he’s had moments. Tons of moments. Moments he’s proud of. Moments he’s learned from. Moments he’d rather forget. Moments he wishes he could go back to.

Sebastian has changed, too.

And as a couple – romantic, friends, or otherwise - he knows they’ve changed together. He’s owned up to that change more than once. It’s one of the reasons they’re in this situation. Because they’ve changed, and Kurt doesn’t know if they can change back, even in some small way so that they can see eye to eye again.

Does he want to? Will it help?

Or is there a path forward that’s better even if he can’t see it now, where they walk alone for while but meet each other at the end?

But since that thought strays into Sebastian territory (territory that, for the time being, Kurt is trying to avoid) he goes back to looking at the lights. Because the lights are keeping him from grilling Sebastian for information, ask him what happened back at the hospital, what it all meant. Ask him if he knows the thing that no one’s telling him.

Is his father going to be okay?

Kurt watches the lights pass by, the buildings change into houses, the amount of cars parked by the curb increase. He counts the cars, sorts them by color in his head. But the mundane begins to drive him insane, and the words piling up in his brain behind an ever crumbling wall of minutiae tumble over the edge.

“So,” he says. It’s an opening, an invitation if Sebastian chooses to take it.

Even if he doesn’t, Kurt will more than likely keep going anyway. The floodgates are opening. The barricades won’t hold.

“So ...” Sebastian returns, eyes scanning the road ahead unnecessarily.

He’s not a complete idiot. He knows what Kurt is doing.

“What did he say to you?”

“When?”

“You know when?”

Sebastian makes a middle-ground face - the face one makes at a car salesman who comments about the weather as an opening salvo before he starts haggling about price. “Honestly, not much.”

Kurt huffs. “I don’t believe you.”

Sebastian shrugs. “It’s the truth. He just wanted to make sure that you were okay. Asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“You’re lying.”

Sebastian smirks. In this low light, it makes him look years younger, makes Kurt’s heart skip a beat. He wishes that smirk could transport them back in time to when things were simpler, when the most pressing thing on Kurt’s mind was that his so-called soulmate had cheated on him and how in the hell he was going to come up with ten thousand dollars to pay for admission to NYADA.

If he’d only known then how petty those things were, how easy to solve.

Ironically, he was able to overcome both those problems with the help of the man sitting next to him.

“It’s been known to happen, but I’m not lying now.”

Kurt considers debating the point further, not because he doesn’t believe Sebastian, but because provoking Sebastian into an argument would give him something else to take his mind off things besides staring out the Goddammed window.

He’s running out of things to count.

“If the silence is wearing on you, you can put on the radio,” Sebastian offers, reading Kurt’s mind. “I’m pretty sure there’s one or two stations not playing Christmas carols.”

“I doubt it.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“I guess …” Kurt reaches for it, but an inch away, he stops. Memories flood back - good ones, bad ones. This car, his house, this town are chock full of too many memories.

Too many landmines he can’t seem to avoid stepping onto.

They show up without warning, incapacitate him when they explode.

It’s becoming too much.

He pulls his hand back, crosses his arms over his chest. He hugs himself tight, hunkers down in his seat, and starts counting wreaths.

***

Sebastian pulls up in front of the Hudmel house and parks by the curb. Kurt doesn’t move. He hasn’t fallen asleep, he just doesn’t have it in him. He doesn’t want to sleep in Sebastian’s car but he doesn’t want to bother with incidentals like walking and finding his keys.

And Sebastian knows.

He lets the engine idle, keeps the heater running.

Waits in silence till Kurt has the energy to move.

Kurt stares at the cozy house decorated to the nines for the holidays. His dad and stepmom love Christmas as much as the next middle-aged, suburban couple, but they decorate mainly for him and Finn. He and his stepbrother have managed to spend most every Christmas since high school graduation at the Hudmel house, and usually, Sebastian and Rachel spend it with them.

Not this time.

His and Sebastian’s situation is, of course, complicated.

Finn and Rachel were scheduled to join them the following week. They’d gone on some Rosie O’Donnell comedy cruise with her dads. Carole called Finn from the hospital, just to give him the news, but he’s making arrangements to fly in the second he reaches their next port of call. Until then, it’s Kurt holding down the fort. But no amount of sitting outside in the cold, wearing down Sebastian’s engine, is going to make his father get better faster.

And as awful as it sounds, Kurt has to think about himself.

Kurt starts to stir, and Sebastian turns off the engine.

Sebastian gets out of the car, reaching Kurt’s door before Kurt can open it, and offers him his arm. Kurt takes it. Looking up into his ex-boyfriend’s face, the street lamp behind him giving him a blurry, sodium-orange halo, Kurt yawns.

“Ready to pass out, huh?” Sebastian asks, leading Kurt up the icy walk. He catches Kurt’s keys when he fumbles them and helps put the correct one in the lock.

“My body is,” Kurt says, opening the door and walking inside. “My brain wants to solve the Riemann Hypothesis.”

“Brutal.”

“Yeah. It would make more sense if I liked math.”

Sebastian locks the door for Kurt, who looks ready to knock out where he stands. And as much as he wants to let Kurt crash, he doesn’t want him to drop emotionally. What Kurt deserves is twenty-seven hours of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep, but he needs to ease into it.

“Are you in the mood to watch a movie?” Sebastian asks, turning on the central heat and switching on the lights, bringing the house to life. “Maybe binge watch some late night television? I can rustle up some snacks. Uh …” He’s about to make a comment about Kurt’s dad hiding something in the kitchen he shouldn’t be eating, but it strikes him as tasteless to make jokes, no matter how much he knows Burt would appreciate his humor. “I could whip up some French toast. You remember how stellar my French toast is.”

Kurt cracks a small smile and triumph, for the moment, is Sebastian’s.

Another memory, but this one not as devastating … the damage to the kitchen notwithstanding.

“Thanks,” Kurt says, “but I’m (yawn) exhausted. So, if you don’t mind …”

“Do you want me to leave?” Sebastian asks, feeling uneasy for suggesting it considering what he’d promised Burt.

“No. I just … I would rather hang out in my room, if that’s not too weird for you. This way if I fall asleep, you won’t feel obligated to carry me to bed.”

An image pops into Sebastian’s head of him carrying Kurt, bridal style, to his room. Then his brain helpfully reminds him of all the times he has carried Kurt to bed, and it almost does him in. “The boiler room would be weird. Your bedroom, not so much.”

“Boiler room? Who do I look like? Freddy Krueger?” Kurt mumbles, trudging his way to his room. Step by step everything becomes difficult. The act of lifting his foot can go straight to hell and burn in a fire. He feels very much like he’s fighting molasses and the molasses is winning. Part of him wants to stop, lay down in the hallway and conk out. But he can’t do that.

He can’t give up.

He can’t sleep here since he doesn’t know how often Carole or his father cleans this floor, and he’s wearing one of his best pairs of jeans.

He reaches for the doorknob about three feet before he reaches the door. He might as well do it now while he’s thinking about it. Otherwise he might not have the motivation when he gets there. He turns it, pushes in, lets the door swing. If it rebounds while he’s walking through, there’s a fifty-fifty chance he might let it smack him in the face.

He couldn’t care less.

He stops at the foot of his bed and starts taking off his coat.

“Why do bedrooms always seem smaller when you go back to them?” he asks. “I mean, I only lived here during high school, but it still seems tiny to me.”

“I think because when you’re young, your bedroom is your whole world. But when you leave home, you outgrow that world. Ergo, you outgrow them.”

Kurt chuckles dryly. “You’re one to talk. Your childhood bedroom’s about the size of a studio apartment!”

“Yes but the penthouse I live in now makes it seem so much dinkier,” Sebastian claps back with a smirk. “Did you want to take a shower or …?”

“If you don’t mind …” Kurt tugs off his sweatshirt, tosses it on a chair, then starts unbuttoning his shirt “… I’d really rather fuck if it’s all the same to you.”

Sebastian’s face goes blank and his eyes pop. “I’m sorry. Wha---?”

Sebastian doesn’t finish his question.

Kurt digs into the last of his reserves and crashes their mouths together. “Did I stutter?” he whispers, reaching for Sebastian’s belt.

“No, I just … mmph … I want to be sure …”

Kurt tugs hard on the leather, freeing the strap from the buckle in one pull. “Do you want me to stop?”

“That depends … do you really want to do this? I mean really?”

Kurt looks into Sebastian’s eyes, the right corner of his mouth sliding up into a cocky grin. “Absolutely.”

Sebastian’s grin matches Kurt. “Then by all means.” He crouches, hugs Kurt’s legs around the thighs, then picks him up and carries him to the bed. “You know, when your dad told us to go do something fun, I was hoping we’d do this.”

“Probably not the best time to mention my dad,” Kurt says, starting in on Sebastian’s shirt even though he’s only about halfway done with his own, “all things considered.”

“Gotcha.” Then Sebastian kisses him. And apart from taking a breath or two, he doesn’t stop.

Despite the fact that Kurt is wearing a pair of jeans so tight Sebastian thought he might have to cut Kurt out of them, both of them end up completely naked in a ridiculously short amount of time, clothes tossed about like confetti, not in keeping with Kurt’s usual edict that everything be laid out neatly on the nearest piece of unused furniture. Lube and a condom are located and not by Kurt. Sebastian knows all of Kurt’s tricks and hiding places. He doesn’t look as he reaches under the mattress and to the middle drawer of the dresser, completely confident that what he needs will be there when he reaches out a hand in search of it.

And he’s right.

Sebastian sits up with his back against the headboard. He rolls the condom over his cock while Kurt straddles him, taking a moment to stack pillows behind Sebastian’s back so the wood doesn’t dig into his spine.

“Thanks, love,” Sebastian whispers as Kurt positions himself, starts working himself down. He nips at Sebastian’s bottom lip, never staying in the same place longer than a second, keeping him on his toes.

“Jesus fuck!” Sebastian growls when Kurt begins to move, grabbing his shoulders and pushing down, burying himself in Kurt’s body deeper … deeper …

Kurt goes deeper. He also goes faster, hitting Sebastian’s thighs hard - deeper and faster, pleasure and pain bouncing off one another until he begins to see stars.

“You know,” Kurt moans, “this doesn’t mean anything. I’m just … I’m just using you as a distraction.”

“Kurt” – Sebastian grabs Kurt’s hips to slow him down, but Kurt slaps his hands away. He’ll go as fast as he likes, as hard as he wants, and when they’re done, they’re going to do this again. They’re going to do this till he can’t remember his own name, till his mind is wiped clean, till the exhaustion in his body is so overwhelming he can’t do anything but close his eyes and pass out. He’s going to do this until he can effectively erase the past twelve hours of his life. And then, they’re going to do it again – “when have I ever objected to being used as a distraction by you?”

“Yeah, well, I could just as well slap you in the face.”

Sebastian bucks up, willing to play this Kurt’s way if this is really the way Kurt wants it. “Do you … nngh … want to slap me in the face?”

“Only every time I see you,” Kurt admits, stopping and hovering so Sebastian can have a turn at pounding him instead.

But Sebastian stops altogether and it pisses Kurt off, especially with the addition of his raised eyebrow and his smug-ass expression.

“Then do it,” Sebastian says.

Kurt chuckles nervously. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all. If you want to slap me, go ahead. Get it out of your system.”

Without another beat lost, Kurt rears back and slaps Sebastian across the face. Sebastian’s face flies to the side as he takes the hit. He turns back to look at Kurt, a red hand mark visible across his cheek. They lock eyes, both with peculiar looks of surprise on their faces.

Kurt can’t lie. Slapping Sebastian feels amazing.

Sebastian must think so, too, because he stares at Kurt, lips twisted into the most sinisterly erotic smile Kurt has ever seen.

Kurt considers asking Sebastian if he hurt him, but he doesn’t. He slaps him again. This time, Sebastian hisses, but Kurt doesn’t let him catch his breath, slapping him a third time for good measure. Sebastian catches Kurt’s wrist and holds it; holds his gaze, too, trying to decipher what’s going on in his mind.

“I’m gonna switch things up a bit,” Sebastian says. “Do you mind?”

Kurt shoots him a curious look. “Not at all.”

Sebastian slides out of Kurt’s body only long enough to re-position him on his knees facing the headboard, then grabs his hips roughly and enters him from behind. His hands roam, pinching at Kurt’s thighs and slapping his ass while he gnaws his shoulders. He wraps an arm around Kurt’s body, a hand creeping up to his neck. The hand doesn’t close around, doesn’t squeeze. It’s just there, a symbol of Sebastian’s possessive nature where Kurt is concerned.

Mine.

I call him mine.

Even if they’re not officially together, on some level, Kurt belongs to him, especially now when he’s consuming him.

Kurt grabs the headboard and holds on tight, turning at an angle to catch Sebastian’s gaze. He loves looking at Sebastian during sex, loves seeing the desperation in his green eyes.

And Kurt does see it, but it has little to do with the sex they’re having. Sebastian is begging, trying to hold on to every second, hoping it’s not the last time they’ll have together.

He’s looking at Kurt the way Kurt looked at his dad, and Kurt realizes he’s not okay. He’s not okay with losing his dad.

But he’s also not okay with losing Sebastian.

What exactly had Sebastian done?

He’d overstepped a line, the same way he always does, but not necessarily in a bad way.

He didn’t cheat on him.

Like the hand on Kurt’s neck, he was being possessive. He did what he did because he cares. But Sebastian’s numero uno solution to everything is to buy a way out, so there are times when it seems he doesn’t take anything seriously, and Kurt can’t live that way. He can’t live in a sit-com where every situation that comes up, good or bad, has a punchline followed by canned laughter.

And he comes out looking like a naive idiot.

Why is tonight different?

A few thousand dollars, a few million dollars, can’t buy a solution to what’s going on with Kurt’s father. Yet Sebastian is here in bed with him, letting Kurt open up, be vulnerable. And aside from a few attempts to ease the tension at the hospital, he hasn’t cracked a single joke.

Because Sebastian has changed.

And if Kurt loved Sebastian then, he adores him now.

“Talk to me,” Kurt moans, unsettled by the quiet in the room, as if they’re together in this but still apart.

He can’t be apart.

He needs to be whole.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The first thing that comes to your mind.”

“I …” Sebastian hesitates, a brick lodged in his throat. “I love you, Kurt.”

“I love you, too,” Kurt admits. “But say something else.”

Thank God! Sebastian thinks, on the verge of tears. The sex is incredible, but hearing that Kurt still loves him … that’s what he’ll take awake from this, what he’ll carry with him if this ends up being the last time.

Dear God, don’t let this be the last time ...

“I love your ass.”

Kurt chuckles. “Better.” He pushes back, sticks his ass out, lets Sebastian have his way with him.

And Sebastian does because (this might sound lousy to say) here in Kurt’s bed, the man is in his element.

When it comes to sex (because that’s what they’re doing - having sex. Kurt refuses to think of this as making love. They’re fucking. That’s all …) Kurt hit the lottery with Sebastian. Ever since the first time, sex with Sebastian has been glorious, and it gets better the more they do it.

Kurt tries not to dwell on why that is.

But the man knows his way around a human body.

And he has the hands of an artist.

“Oh, Kurt,” Sebastian pants into Kurt’s shoulder, “Jesus Christ … I’m cumming … I’m cumming, I’m cumming ...”

Kurt huffs, put off by the fact that they’ve only been at it for around forty-five minutes - a mind-blowing forty-five minutes - and Sebastian is already throwing in the towel. Of course, Sebastian hasn’t been with anyone for the time they’ve been apart, so Kurt can’t blame the man.

Kurt hasn’t, either, so when Sebastian’s palm starts caressing his cock, his resolve starts circling the drain as well.

“Yes, yes, yes …” Kurt chants, his vision going prickly, then black before he even closes his eyes. This is it - this is where he escapes. Behind his eyelids, into the recesses of his mind, where thought disappears and sensation takes over. If he can just hold on to it, if Sebastian can make it last. He’d try if Kurt asked him to, but the words won’t come out. As with everything, there’s a point where things start to spiral out of his control. His muscles spasm and his body shudders. He has to choose between thinking of something to stop his orgasm and risk going unfulfilled, or giving in to the void, letting his body do its thing, and then start all over from the beginning once they catch their breath.

That’s the most logical course of action. And it’s not a bad one.

The thing that scares Kurt is that space in between, when he comes back from ecstasy and Sebastian’s heat and has to face the cold and dark. He’ll have to exist there with whatever thoughts his brain decides to throw at him until they can start again and Sebastian can wipe his mind clean.

He’ll have time, he figures. Time to get his head on straight, stop reeling, before the plunge happens. Three minutes? Four? He’ll only need five minutes before he’ll be ready to go again, to lose all thought in Sebastian’s arms. That means one minute of depression. Two at the most.

But he’s not as lucky as he thinks he’ll be.

It comes at him much too quickly.

Kurt leans against the headboard, hugging what he can of it so he doesn’t drown when the wave hits.

“Kurt? Honey? Are you okay?”

Kurt shakes his head.

“Is this … not what you wanted?” Sebastian slides his hand off Kurt’s shoulder and backs away. Kurt hears him gulp behind him. “Did you change your mind in the middle and I didn’t hear you?”

Kurt shakes his head again. “That’s not it. I did want this. I …” His body curls, sinks towards the pillows. “He’s not … he’s not leaving the hospital? Is he?”

Sebastian sighs. “I … I don’t know, Kurt.”

Kurt spins around and shoves Sebastian away, but he doesn’t go far. He doesn’t get up. He doesn’t leave. Kurt didn’t want him to, but he needed to be sure he wouldn’t.

As immature as it sounds, he needs to know that Sebastian won’t leave, even if Kurt pushes with all his might.

He needs Sebastian, but he needs to be able to hurt him, just a little, to even out the pain inside of him.

He’ll find a way to make that up to him later.

“Yes, you do!”

“I don’t! I swear!”

“You’re lying!”

“Kurt, babe, I’m not that cruel a person. Not to you. Even if he told me in the strictest confidence, I would still tell you because you deserve to know. We’re all on edge about this, all jumping seven steps ahead and assuming the worst, but to be honest, I don’t think he knows for sure.”

“Then what did he tell you?”

“Nothing! Like I said, he wants me to look after you. He’s scared, like you. That’s all. But you need to have a little faith.”

“In what?” Kurt snaps, irritated that Sebastian would spout faith with him of all people.

“In the people who love you, Kurt. The people who want to help you. Look, I know that at times like this, it feels like the best thing is to be alone, but I disagree. That’s just the easiest. And I get that. When you’re around people, you feel the need to be accommodating, and you don’t have the energy for that. But I think you need all of the fun and laughter you can find right now, with people who get that this is hard for you and will give you your space when you need it. Turns out, I just so happen to know a big house not two hours from here filled with people who would love to see you, who will shower you with love and affection, but will also ignore the shit out of you if you need it. Because, again, they love you.”

Kurt glares at Sebastian, eyes hard as glass, but he begins to soften when Sebastian’s hopeful gaze starts to slip.

He’s tired, too, but he’s doing everything in his power to be strong for Kurt.

Kurt needs to start giving some of that strength back.

“You’re really working hard to sell that love angle, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, it’s important. I want you to know that you’re loved.”

“I do,” Kurt says quietly, plopping on his side with a body-deflating sigh. Sebastian wastes no time lying behind him and winding his arms around him. He doesn’t hold tight in case Kurt wants to put some distance between them.

He doesn’t.

He moves closer.

“What do we do now?” Sebastian asks.

Kurt doesn’t want to be rushed into giving him an answer, even though he has one more or less figured out, but he also doesn’t fault Sebastian for asking. Sebastian had hitched quite a few of his future plans to his relationship with Kurt so Kurt understands.

Kurt did, too.

“I say we keep going on the way we are, not think about anything too heavy for the moment. We’ll go visit your folks, celebrate the holiday, and then, when we get back to New York, we’ll revisit it. I promise.”

“Fair enough,” Sebastian says, sounding a bit disappointed. “Do we still get to fuck?”

In another lifetime, it would have embarrassed Kurt how fast he answers. “Provided you’re a good boy, yes. Yes, we do.”

“Groovy. But just so you know, I’m always going to be yours, Kurt. Always. We’ve done everything aside from mortal combat to push one another away, and guess what?”

“What?”

Sebastian takes Kurt’s hand, weaves their fingers together. “I’m still here.”

“Me, too.” Kurt wriggles back into Sebastian’s embrace, buries himself against his body. Despite the confusing and uncomfortable situation they find themselves in, he’s grateful for this, that Sebastian would be so generous with his body even if Kurt isn’t giving him the security of absolutes. But Kurt can’t make decisions right now. He needs to hide from the world, from his life, his responsibilities.

From the inevitable.

There are way worse places to do that than Sebastian’s arms.

“Mortal Kombat?” Kurt snickers. “Still keeping up that nerd boy street cred, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know …” Sebastian hugs Kurt tight, pulling the sheets over them and rocking him back and forth. He missed this. God, did he miss this. And even though he didn’t believe in God an inch, he silently prayed that he could get this back. Somehow, in some way, he needed this back. But for the moment, he was content to hold Kurt together, keep him from shattering. “I’d say that was a … flawless victory.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, groaning to the moon and back. “Shut up, Smythe, or I’m never fucking you again.”

#kurtbastian #acitw #acitw au #sebkurt #sekurt

[mayaswollman]

TITLE: the plain woman. TRIGGER WARNINGS: abuse, domestic abuse, violence, injury, parental abuse, depression, and brief stalking.

Therapy was an exhausting crusade. It mainly consisted of Maya sitting inside a dusty old room with her sweet but cynical therapist. The room is filled with comfortable enough looking furniture and the lighting is a dim yellow-golden hue. Despite it being perfectly mediocre and not bad in the slightest, it makes Maya unreasonably angry. Though she knows it’s better to go than lie awake wishing she did. That sentiment might relate to almost everything in her life.

Maybe she should have known then. Maybe she should have known to trust her gut. Or maybe she should have known when she lost her charm bracelet.

The plain woman. The categorization falls into Maya’s lap, something she complains about often while spewing away in her therapy sessions. Most times, her words escape her, especially since she was still a tad new to the whole therapy thing. The plain, average woman. 

Do you feel special? Is what her therapist had asked originally, and Maya just exploded like a dying star. It resulted in tears and snot, excessive apologizing for said tears and snot, and bittersweet laughter to save face and not make a total fool of herself. 

Really, she was nothing special. Though perhaps that was a stupid insecurity. Never being the one but being a one regardless. That was truly something, a surefire way of making her feel more than terrible. Never the one, but one regardless. Maya says that too, her voice wavering like she has something crawling up her small throat, threatening to hop right from her mouth.

That’s how the session ends, Maya leaving with nothing but a relatively stable, reassured mind and a bucket of her own salty tears and gooey snot. It doesn’t help that she steps out into sticky, still air. Louisiana heat coming faster than she’d like. She looks to her wrist where she should be wearing a watch, like normal people, and thinks of what the might could be. Maybe past seven, but not before six. She drags her feet to her car, head low, dark curls falling in her face. 

Wrist.

The drive home is lackluster and nothing to report. So is stepping into her apartment. Though the cool air that hits her was a nice welcome, Maya inhaling deeply upon arrival, happy to just be home. She thinks to make herself something to eat before her phone buzzes, a notification popping up onto her screen.

If there was anything anyone needed to know about Maya Wollman, it was that she was a lazy person with commitment issues. Communication was certainly not where she shined, hence why most of her relationships were fickle ticking time bombs. It was only a matter of time before Maya became bored and over the whole idea of being someone else’s, despite growing lonely only days later. She’ll never reach out again, though, in fear of seeming desperate or ridiculous altogether. This cycle repeats itself more often than not. 

There’s this one guy who’s been kinda persistent, though. Nice looking, full beard, not huge but bulkier than most. He has the kind of face that’s neither plain or remarkable, somewhere in the middle. Maya would honestly put herself under that category too, so to her, he was just fine. In modern terms, you could say she ghosted him quite a while ago, unable to commit to anything but food and her work schedule. 

They went on one date. Maya doesn’t think of it very much, but he seems to think of it frequently. She likes to think they’re just casual friends now who went on one Tinder date that didn’t work out, really, and they text sometimes to say hello or for a brief chat. That was it. 

Truth be told, Maya likes being thought about. Remember that feeling of not wanting to seem desperate? Well here was the cold truth, she was. Desperate by all the means within her. Desperate for something, anything. Maya absentmindedly clicks through her phone before she gets to her text messages, reading the ones he’s sent. Her read receipts weren’t turned on, of course. Nobody with commitment issues had them turned on.

iMessage, 7:33PM, Matthew: Hey, was thinking about you. I saw you at The Dive recently with some friends and thought to say hi but didn’t. Hope you’re well! iMessage, 7:33PM, Matthew: Also, I think I have your bracelet? I found it on the ground at the bar and noticed it looked familiar. iMessage, 7:34PM, Matthew: [image:attatched].

Oh, fuck. Her charm bracelet, gifted from her grandparents when she was three or four. Maya’s hopeless romanticism kicks into high gear then as she sets down her bags and heads for her tiny living room. She plops down onto her couch, hands a little shaky, reading over the messages over and over. Then she looks to the photo. It’s definitely her bracelet staring back at her, the one real piece of jewelry she owns that she somehow lost at The Dive not too long ago.

The plain woman.

The thought, or insecurity, returns in no time. Are you going to be just one forever? Maybe he’s the one. Maya starts typing out a message, knowing there’s no going back now. 

iMessage, 7:40PM, Maya: Hey! You should have said hello! I can’t believe you somehow found my bracelet. I thought it was gone forever or a pack of angry criminals came and snuck it from my wrist, never to be seen again. iMessage, 7:40PM, Maya: Do you wanna meet up? Just to catch up and so I can get my bracelet back lol.

The exchange is simple. They text for a little while longer before deciding when and where to meet. Maya feels a little giddy inside, beginning to picture every scenario. She thinks from now to ten years from now, daydreaming endlessly about what could come of the two of them. A childish thing, really, and she knows it. But perhaps her loneliness had become futile.

ONE DAY LATER.

When it comes time for Maya to finally meet up with Matthew, her nerves finally bubble to the surface. She doesn’t even know how long she’s paced around her tiny apartment, going over every which way this could go wrong or right. It’s a game of back and forth inside her mind, every image flashing vividly and at a rapid pace. 

In classic Maya fashion, she gets ready with about two hours to spare. That was never a good thing, causing in the exploding of her own thoughts. By some miracle, the two hours go by and Maya is leaving her apartment, locking the door behind her securely. No going back now.

CALLIOPE, 8PM.

“Hi, sorry I’m late,” Maya says upon arrival, though she’s not actually late. Matthew had just shown up first. That’s never happened to her before. “Oh, you’re not late at all. Sit, they should be bringing the menus around now.” Matthew so politely pulls out her seat, which makes Maya’s entire face heat up, a reddened hue decorating her expression. She carefully takes a seat, smoothing the end of her dress. “Thank you,” She says quietly to the gesture, then smiling warmly to the waiter who places their menus down. 

It’s like a scene from a movie, really, how the evening pans out. They spent the night laughing and sharing stories, Maya finally settling into herself once she begins to feel comfortable. That was always when Maya shined. That was when she finally shed that outer layer she always sported, the one that dared to deem her an average woman. Maya Wollman was not plain or average, she was bright. She was funny and sweet and everything wonderful. Matthew seemed to like her too, head resting in his hands endearingly every time she went on about some silly little story from her youth. He laughs at all her jokes and even reaches out for her hand towards the end of the date, the pads of his fingers dancing across the tanned skin of her wrist. 

Wrist. Hand.

Touch was a strange thing in Maya’s world.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Matthew says, his touch pulling from Maya. She misses it the moment it’s gone though feels strange once it’s there. She touches her arm while Matthew plucks her charm bracelet from his pocket, sliding it to her. “Fuck, thank you so much. This is the only real piece of jewelry I own, so, I really appreciate this.” Maya’s tone returns to that middle ground, that nervous place that fears so much and so little at the same time. Matthew doesn’t seem to mind it, his smile still present, that same endearing look on his face. Maya tries to relax again. “No worries, sweetheart.” He says, brown eyes glued to her.

Maybe Maya should have known that things like this don’t really stick. Maybe she should have known when she got a phone call after an exhausting therapy session, one where she was vulnerable and unable to feel good about herself. But the night takes a quiet turn somewhere towards the end.

They’re walking out, Maya happy and at ease. Matthew is at her side, saying they should head to a bar and continue the night. Maya is more than happy to do this, despite being someone who prefers to call it a night rather early. Mainly from her own personal tiredness.

Maybe she should have known when he’s grabbing her a little too tight. Or maybe she should have known when he makes some crude remark about a guy across the way getting a look at her. It was just a small glance. I’m with you right now. Is what she said to reassure him, smiling sweetly. That giddiness seems to have fallen from his face like he’s flipped a switch. Though it returns in small ways, a little flicker of hope, and Maya clutches onto that hope like it’s her last chance at survival. 

Or maybe she should have known after the second date when he’s showing up at her job on a whim, asking her to take some time off and go away with him to New Orleans. Maya chuckles and says no. Sure, she was beginning to like him a lot, but not enough to go on some spur of the moment getaway. He seems upset by this, his jaw clenching. Maya sees a small vein bulge in his forehead as if he’s holding his breath. 

“Next time, I promise,” Maya says gently, resting a hand on his chest. She didn’t want him to be upset, despite her own discomfort. Matthew grabs at her arm, maybe a little too hard. But Maya was a small woman with petite features and he was much bigger than her. He just didn’t know his own strength. 

Wrist. Hand. Arm.

But maybe she should have known when he picks her up from a therapy appointment, pressing her about what she talked about. Maya isn’t comfortable with this, he tries to joke about it, wanting to know if she talked about him. She didn’t, which makes her feel guilty. Though she tells him no, not wanting to lie, and he becomes upset. Angry, even. Maya is confused, asking him why he’s so mad. They’re sitting in his car when he pulls his hand up and smacks her across the face, the sound and impact earning a ringing to erupt in Maya’s ears.

Wrist. Hand. Arm. Face.

Maya has been hit before. By her parents, by her siblings. But not like this. Never like this. Suddenly she’s back in her parents’ home, thinking back to every moment they’ve hurt her both physically and mentally. But then Matthew’s voice breaks through the noise. Or, his voice drills through it aggressively, tears running down his nice but not spectacular face. 

“Maya,” He cries, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just want to be a part of your life. I really, really like you. Maya, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Maybe Maya was a little weak. But was weak the word?

She forgives him. She cries along with him and they drive back to her place, a reddened spot on Maya’s face. It was going to bruise, she knows it. He probably does too. She stares at it in the mirror when she gets home, the smell of chicken and rice coming from the kitchen, Matthew was cooking for them. 

Maya had never tolerated violence from her parents? Despite always going back to them, she always fought back. What was so different now? She couldn’t quite figure that out but everything inside her turns to spoiled milk, her heart a paperweight inside her chest. Everything is warped.

It happens again while they’re out on another date. This might have been their tenth or eleventh, Maya was losing track. She was having a great time until Maya says she wants to get home, she had work in the morning. Matthew grabs her wrist a little too hard, this time causing a bruise. He says he wants to stay out and he wants to spend time with her. Apparently, he hasn’t seen her enough this week. 

Her charm bracelet dangles on her wrist, a reminder of the good deed he’s done. His grip leaves a bruise just under the jewelry. He lets go of her soon enough, spewing his apologies again, cooing to her. He missed her. This time, he says he might be falling for her. That sends a sudden signal through Maya’s mind. Was she the one?

She complies, smiling warmly. Her bracelet still dangles on her wrist.

Wrist. Hand. Arm. Face. Wrist. Wrist. Wrist. Wrist. Body. Heart.

#drabble. #character study. #tw abuse #tw violence #tw injury #tw domestic abuse #tw depression #tw paternal abuse #WELL....YEAH

[rough-n-randy-rando]

Edd and Flow; Jitters, Junk, Fireflies

Eddward Vincent had never been on a clandestine date before. Or any date for that matter.  He’d gone to Sadie Hawkins with Nazz, but it had been a pleasant outing between two friends. Nazz had met his parents, he’d met Nazz’s, pinned a corsage, danced together under the supervision of chaperones, drank punch that may or may not have been spiked. It had been a quick affair, never repeated and with no misunderstandings or hurt feelings.

     As he decided on what to wear, he thought over the situation in terms of what a date classically is and found that it was beyond typical categorization. If anything, it was a rendezvous. It had all the thrill, danger and intrigue of one at least. And it was hot, but not just hot, humid at that. A romantic rendezvous in a tank-top and shorts? It would be so.

    There was another point of consideration; was that all this would be? A passing… something… in the night? Is that worthwhile? Is that something to look forward to? So many questions, and nothing but a time and place to answer them. As well as an auburn-haired boy. That raised more thoughts, lewd, personal thoughts. He humored them and changed again. Messy, messy, messy.

    By four in the afternoon he’d run out of things to catalogue and alphabetize; every advisory note left by his parents was read and followed; Jim and the ant colony fed and watered; any and every bit of clothes washed, folded. Now he’d resorted to an impromptu one man play in the living room, portraying both himself and a suddenly erudite and proper Kevin, replete with baseball cap. Then, a knock at the door.

    Actually, it was less a knock than it was Eddy strolling in, Ed in tow. “Hey Sockhead why dontcha answer your phone?” He tracked in mud, fresh, blackened mud likely from a runoff canal near the Creek. “Ed and I found a great spot ta set up Slippery Eddy’s Super Summer Splash Park and we need ya ta draw up the plans.”

    “Eddy, shoes, please!” Double-Dee sprung over the couch and dialed a command into his wristwatch, sleeker models of the cleaner bots from the café emerging from the hall closet and setting to work.

    Ed swept Double-Dee in his arms and crushed the air from his lungs in a rib-cracking bear hug. “Eddy told me you’d been taken by the sewer people, to build them a radioactive claw they’d use to steal the Earth’s core!” He mimicked a gnarled claw and snapped at various objects on the end table near the couch, curling his lip and crossing his eyes in his best impression of a sewer person.

    “Ed, we’ve talked about unnecessary roughness in our greetings.” Double-Dee felt the pressure around him relax.

    “Sorry Double-Dee.” Ed seemed on the edge of tears, sincerely remorseful he’d slipped up and possibly disappointed his friend.

    Double-Dee had a special place in his heart, and therefore his patience, for Ed, and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly fine, Ed, just a friendly reminder. Now, if you wouldn’t mind releasing me.” Ed dropped him bodily to the floor and stood smiling.

    Eddy had meanwhile helped himself to one of the pre-made sandwiches Double-Dee had spent the morning preparing for himself and was lounging on the couch, a phone in his hand. “All my missed calls and you didn’t even try to get back to me.” He seemed taken aback by something he saw on the screen and flew into a rage. “Kevin? What, he tryin ta shanghai ya ta help him with his summer school?”

    Double-Dee scrambled over the couch and tried his best to get his phone back, Eddy keeping him at bay with his leg. “My correspondence with other people is my own business, Eddy; so unless you’re listed as the account holder or contribute directly to my service bill, I’d appreciate you returning my property to me and pondering your own social interactions, thank you very…” he kicked off the arm-rest of the couch and managed to spring past Eddy’s leg, grabbing ahold of his phone as he sailed off towards a crash landing, “much!”

    He made a hard landing against the opposite wall, knocking over a waist-high bookshelf. Ed scrambled over and helped unbury Double-Dee, lifting him up to his feet and dusting him off.

    “Are you okay, Double-Dee?”

    “Yes, thank you, Ed… you didn’t take off your shoes?”

    Sure enough, there was a long, thick trail of viscous, blackened mud from the entryway to him, the cleaner bots chugging along frustratedly.

    “Forget his shoes, what’s Shovelchin tryin ta rope ya into, huh, huh?”

    Double-Dee held the phone to his chest and turned his nose up at Eddy, moving off towards the kitchen. “None of your ‘beezewax’ to borrow from your own crude vocabulary.” He glanced at the screen and saw he had indeed received a message from a number identifying itself as Kevin.

Hey Double-Dork, it’s Kev, don’t forget.

    He felt a bolt of lighting shoot up his spine and crash back down in the pit of his stomach, flooding him with warmth and energy, his heart racing. Now how to go about responding. He wanted to send a long-heartfelt message filled with his excitement and anticipation, the concern and worry that had been consuming him ever since their brief intimacy the day prior. Then he thought of how Kevin, up till now the smoothest of operators when it came to romance, would take this outpouring of deep emotions, especially in such an early, fragile state of their… relationship.

    “Hello, Double-Dee, ya have a stroke or somethin?” Eddy had finished his sandwich, wiping his hands on the couch, and was looking at him expectantly.

    “Eddy, how would you respond to someone who had asked you out on a date, wishing to maintain a level of distance and mask your enthusiasm?” He looked to Eddy, who had a crestfallen look on his face.

    “Oh come on, not Boxhead…”

    “The identity of the individual is irrelevant, but the question stands.”

    “Is Double-Dee in love, Eddy?” Ed again closed the distance between himself and Edd, wrapping him up in a cautious embrace.

    “I wouldn’t call it love, Ed, but someone has piqued my interest, yes.” Double-Dee relished the affection afforded to him by his gregarious friend and returned the hug.

    “What you have to do is beat up their enemy like in Ultra Space Adventure number six-hundred and four, where Tim Cobalt, space explorer, fought for the love of an alien with a thousand mouths by defeating the hairy mutants from X-O-Nine!” Again, sudden silence, pleasant smile.

    “I’ll take it under consideration, Ed.”

    “I say leave him hangin, never text back, move away, save yourself the headache.”

    “Come now, Eddy; could it be your prior antagonistic encounters with Kevin have soured your opinion of him?”

    “Kevin’s a jerk, always will be a jerk, ask Nazz.”

    Double-Dee bit his lip and tapped Ed to release him. He moved into the living room and sat in his father’s recliner, looking off to a spot on the carpet. “I admit, Kevin’s romantic record to this point has been less than stellar. But could it be that that’s a part of adolescence? After all, Kevin and Nazz remain close friends, despite their history.”

    Eddy looked Double-Dee over and shook his head, standing to leave. “Double-Dee ya could marry a hornet’s nest and I’d ask when the reception is…” he picked at his teeth with the nail of his pinky-finger and examined what he’d scraped loose, “but Kevin?” He tutted and walked towards the door. “Just don’t ask me ta be nice ta him.” He paused and said over his shoulder, “Keep it loose, say when and where, then be there, keep him guessing.”

    “Remember Double-Dee; defeating your love’s enemies is the key to the heart.” Sudden silence. Pleasant smile.

    “Ed, your advice, as always, is illuminating.”

    “Wait for me, Eddy!” Ed raced after Eddy and practically bulldozed him out the door, the pair alternatingly laughing and arguing as they made their way back to whatever spot they’d staked out.

     Save for the cleaning machines lethargically scrubbing away at the last of the Ed’s mess, the house was quiet. Double-Dee looked at his screen again and considered a response. Then, another text popped onto the screen.

Don’t flake on me or I’ll pound ya.

    It seemed Kevin was also in the throes of pre-date jitters. He thought on it for a moment, then replied.

Eight o’clock, the park.

    And that was that.

       The Park was one of the oldest in Peach Creek, planned back when the cul de sac and other suburb outcroppings were still just blueprints and promises. It was simple, a few play structures, slides and swings, as well as a sandbox. Ringed by tall, old trees that were always last on the town’s list of landscaping priorities, a canopy had formed in some places, and in others crowded saplings and bushes fought for space. Otherwise, it was a straight shot through the park from one end to the other, wide open views from the street that anyone could take in unobstructed while passing by.

    These observations were obvious to Double-Dee as he sat at the picnic table, glancing at his phone every few seconds. 7:55pm. He’d arrived promptly at 7:30 to allow himself the opportunity to settle in, seem casual, build an alibi should anyone from the neighborhood or beyond happen upon him and subject him to interrogation. He’d imagined a million and one scenarios, his stories becoming more and more fluid as the questioning increased in severity. By 7:45 his resolve had faltered a bit, though he quickly reminded himself that it was Kevin who’d set the time and Kevin who’d sent a reminder, as well as a, hopefully, playful threat.

    The summer sun set late. It would be almost 9 by the time it fully set beyond the western mountains, casting everything into deep, dark night. Now, at 8pm, there was more than enough light to show someone mounted on a restored, candy-red ’92 Honda VT600 Shadow roll up to the curb beyond the park’s entrance.

    The mystery rider cut the engine and sat back in the seat, arms crossed, the tinted, visored helmet clearly looking towards him, “You comin or what?”

    Double-Dee felt both underdressed and intimidated. Whereas he’d resolved to wear cargo shorts and a simple band tee, Kevin was clad in black denim with a weathered, adobe-colored leather jacket. He needed to retain some of the rehearsed blasé attitude he’d constructed.

    “I’d accuse you of showing off but I’m afraid I don’t know enough about motorcycles or the necessary safety gear to offer any real criticism.” Humorous, self-effacing, humble.

    “Shut up Dork, put this on.” The careful waltz of clever witticisms was shattered, and Kevin lobbed a small backpack at Double-Dee. Inside was an equally weathered chartreuse leather jacket and an older, Italian motorcycle helmet.

    “First of all, Mr. Barr, don’t speak to me in that way.” Double-Dee let the bag drop to his feet and crossed his arms. “I’ll admit I’m positively disposed towards you but this disposition does not mean I’ll forgive disrespect.”

    Kevin kept his helmet visor down, a black-eyed cyclops that stared him down wordlessly. He triggered the kickstand switch and let the bike settle at a cant, dismounting and walking straight up to the other boy. He stood a full head taller, and he still didn’t raise the visor.

    “Well?” Gasoline fumes mingled with the aseptic bite of a cologne that had given up the ghost long ago. The closeness of the two as well as Kevin’s facelessness revived the sense of enticing danger Double-Dee had dismissed as romantic fantasy.

    Kevin flipped up the visor and was smiling. “You’re cute when ya want to act all tough, Mr. Vincent.” He scooped the bag up and handed it daintily to Double-Dee. “Pretty please, with sugar on top, put this on.”

    “Very well, but only because you asked so nicely.”

    Soon, they were off, riding for about an hour to the west, halfway between Peach Creek and Lemon Brook. Suburbs gave way to orchards, the new moon providing more than enough light to navigate the many backroads Kevin detoured. Here and there you’d spot farmhouses; lonely old things that looked abandoned, only the motion-activated security lights close to the road reminding you that people lived there.

    Even with earplugs, the sound of the bike’s engine was monstrously loud, the vibration of the road rattling Double-Dee numb. He’d kept his eyes clamped shut for much of the ride, but as Kevin slowed to take the winding roads to their unknown destination, he’d allowed himself to peek out into the night, take in the sights. In the milky-white brilliance of the new moon, details were discernable; old collapsed fence posts with depression-era barbed wire; an actual honest-to-god phone booth at a crossroads that still had a functioning light on the inside; an abandoned tractor that had been consumed by wild grass and weeds, a thicket forming around it; acres upon acres of anything and everything that grew on trees.

    Though named for the citrus fruit, no lemons grew in or around Lemon Brook. The main employer of the community, Staple and Citrus Cargo Company, named the town after the first product they’d shipped in upon opening in 1890: Lemons for the Navy from California. Rail-lines, weigh stations, turntables, fuel and water depots cross-hatched and dotted the county. This area surrounding the town was known as the badlands, beginning and ending at an old district boundary no one bothered to review.

    They finally came to a halt at the beginning of a gravel road that disappeared through a cluster of beech trees. Kevin killed the engine and sat for a moment, then turned his helmeted head.

    “Hey, uh, you can let go now.”

    Double-Dee did so, the blood rushing back into his arms, hands, fingers. “My apologies, Kevin, I’m not used to this mode of travel.”

    “It’s fine, Nazz hated riding this thing too.”

    Double-Dee dismounted shakily, his legs waking up. “I’m glad to know how other people you’ve dated enjoyed the experience.”

    “Come on, Double-Dee, I didn’t me-” Kevin saw that the other boy was politely stifling a laugh. “Good one, you really made me feel like a jerk.”

    “I can’t make you feel what you already suspect.” Eddward allowed himself the laugh and removed the helmet, his beanie pressed flat underneath.

    “I’ve never seen someone get helmet HAT before.” Kevin dismounted as well and walked the bike off the side of the road into a stand of already dying paper birches. Double-Dee was waiting for him as he reemerged, and Kevin thought on how ridiculous he looked in the oversized jacket, shorts, and chipped-white helmet, old-school driving goggles sitting crookedly across the brow. “You look like you shop at the Salvation Army.”

    Double-Dee considered what he was wearing and shrugged, “Half of this outfit was provided by you, so I’d say it reveals more about your own stylistic choices than mine.”

    “Fair enough, come on, we’re almost there.”

    They set off along the gravel road and entered the stand of beeches, Double-Dee taking note of the many bottles and cans strewn about the ground.

    “I take it this is a popular place for revelry, shame they’re so inconsiderate of the local flora.”

    Kevin stooped and came back up with one of the cans in hand. It was so faded, half-covered in a slimy, mossy sludge that he couldn’t make out any kind of date or design. He let it fall back among its brothers and wiped off the sludge on a tree as he walked by. “Used to be, all the upperclassmen would come here.”

    “We’re the upperclassmen now.”

    Kevin chuckled, “Yeah, we’re in the big leagues.”

    They exited the stand of trees and stood at the edge of a field of tall grass about two acres long by two acres wide. Rising out of the grass here and there were old hulks of various vehicles. They were rusted husks without engines, without seats, skeletons of skeletons. In the center of the field there rose a jagged mound of earth and steel. Bicycles, shopping carts, weathervanes, melted and crushed together into a chaotic mass half-buried by an abortive burial attempt. The earth that had been heaped upon it had, over time, solidified and compacted, and now was topped by thin, white, fluted flowers.

    What gave this mound shape was the most surprising specimen of all; beneath the wreckage and dirt sat an old tank, its turret turned slightly to the right, main gun held aloft by a sturdy-looking support brace bolted to the chassis.

    Kevin took Double-Dee’s hand and squeezed it. “Welcome to the ThunderDome.”

   Double-Dee giggled and took the lead, pulling Kevin along as he walked towards the mound. “I’d be interested to see what species of flower that is, as well as the model of the …”

    They’d only taken a few steps in when the fireflies, as though they had fallen asleep on the job, rose and began their display. The two teens were surrounded by a flurry of light, a chain reaction rippling outward across the field, legions upon legions of the luminescent insects taking flight. The new moon was obscured by a blanket of clouds that threatened rain and thunder, the night deepening across the land. The fireflies were transformed from points of light to living stars, meteors caught in the atmosphere of this private universe, celestial bodies that collided and danced all around them.

    “It’s beautiful, it’s like experiencing the moment after the Big Bang!”

    Kevin looked at Double-Dee and was struck by the awe, the wonder in his eyes. As those wide orbs of glacial blue diamonds took in the beauty of the moment, reflections of fireflies that passed close by blinked in and out of existence like sparks from a flint. For a moment Kevin was party to Double-Dee’s immense knowledge, imagination, and understanding, and in that moment he felt afraid. He was one of the most intelligent people Kevin had ever met, an inscrutable mind of unknowable potential. What could he offer him? What could he give to him that he couldn’t create himself, better, at ten times the scale with ten times the power?

    Double-Dee moved in close and laid his head on Kevin’s chest. “I could live in this moment for the rest of my life.”

    At a loss for a response, but feeling victorious, he held him close and said nothing.

READ THE FULL STORY IN SEQUENCE HERE

#kevedd #fanfiction #slashfiction #ship #fandom #yaoi #gay #romance #teen

[mythicallore]

Bizarre Encounters with Pale Humanoids

Of all of the unsettling denizens of the paranormal that could pop out of the darkness, one of the odder has to be the pale face of a humanoid creature beyond description, eluding all attempts to categorize it. These gaunt, hunched over specters seem to haunt the fringe of reports of the mysterious and supernatural. Yet there are countless such reports coming from people from all walks of life and from all over. Here is a selection of various reports of spectral, deathly pale beings that are humanoid to some extent, but most certainly not human, circling out past the boundaries of the truly odd.

One witness brings us the story of an anonymous Reddit poster who says he had a very spooky encounter in 2006 in rural Arkansas, in the United States. He claims that this happened when he was only 12 years old, and that he had lived in a modest house nestled on around an acre of land out in the boondocks, surrounded by dim woods and its only tendril to the outside world an unpaved dirt road meandering off through the trees. Making the whole scene even spookier is the alleged fact that there was a big old abandoned slaughterhouse somewhere back in the wooded area, as well as the remnants of some burned down house owned by anonymous parties long since gone. Whether this had anything to do with what was to come or not, the witness describes the whole area as rather “mystical and special,” as well as “odd in general,” and that his encounter would happen one evening when he went out to lie down on the outside trampoline after an argument with his parents. It was just him and that big sky with a full moon framed within it, and he says of what happened next:

So I’m laying on the trampoline, and other than the moon there isn’t any light aside from the porch light which is a ways behind me. All of the sudden I vaguely see something move. Its coming from the lot across from the dirt road, and its coming towards me. We had a Boston terrier at the time and at first I figured it was him. But as it got closer I knew that’s not what it was.

 It was sickly pale. It walked on all fours with its hands but seemed to be able to walk upright. Its kind of galloping towards me on all fours and its a little bit aways at this point but getting closer. The light bounced off of its skin and it almost seemed to look wet. Its gait and color is pretty clear to me but I don’t remember anything distinct about its face except that it just seems to be whitewashed to me. It’s happening so fast and now it is right near me still running and then I can’t see it. It’s under the trampoline. And then I feel it, I feel it PUSH up on the trampoline. I didn’t even bother to look back as I ran to the house. I don’t remember my thought process at all past that point but my mom has told me that I came in the house hollering and absolutely terrified.

 I’ve thought about this consistently over the years and as I’ve gotten older have seen stories of similar creatures. I used to describe it as looking like Gollum from the LOTR. I think of the creature kind of fondly in a way. It would never have occurred to me at the time but it almost had a playful vibe to it, and it makes me sad to think that it’s just some lonely but semi-intelligent creature. Maybe a grotesque experiment or some off-kilter evolutionary line. I don’t think that’s impossible. I guess I like to let my imagination run wild with it though. I will always be curious about this and the place in general.

It is hard to know how much stock to put into Reddit reports, but there sure are a lot along the same lines. Another poster at Reddit /r/paranormal gives his own freaky encounter, for which he even supplies photographic evidence. This supposedly happened in 2012, at an undisclosed location at a close-knit friendly barn community in a rural area of the United States, surrounded by dim woods laced with small, scenic trails. The witness says that his two horses were kept on the property, which was near his home and which he would visit ever day to care for and ride around through the peaceful scenery. One evening he had a startling experience as he rode one of the horses, of which he would say:

One evening, around 5pm, I was sitting on her, letting her stand when she started snorting and backing up. I looked up and saw this white/grey creature crawling out of the woods towards us. It had a very small round head, it’s eyes were just pits. It had a very small mouth, not much detail there. It’s arms were very long and thin, fingers also like that. Its rib cage was very pronounced and defined, and it’s legs were long and lanky.

Its movements were very jerky, not smooth and fluid. It slowly jerked out to us, when my horse turned and bolted out of the arena. She’s a dead broke, calm, well manners horse who never spooked before this. Stubborn old mare, but not spooky. She would not go back into the arena that night. I walked her around the barn yard, staying near the main barn, put her up, and ran out to peek into the arena, to find nothing except some “foot prints” where I saw the thing.

This would not be the end of the sightings of this odd creature, as the witness says it would lurk around the dark periphery of the property all through that summer, often peeking around the gate that led out into the woods. On one occasion he saw it running along the other side of the fence, keeping up with him and the horse. It was eerie to be sure, and the witness continues:

I continued seeing it, mainly in the woods, but it was always around. Summer 2013, the barn shut down when the owner died. We moved the horses to a friends place for the time being, and I didn’t see it there. Late summer/fall 2013, I found a new barn. Woods directly behind the barn and arena. This place had lights and was much newer.

About a month later, when I was getting ready to leave I heard something in the woods, I looked down the barn aisle into the woods and saw the creature running down the road into the woods. I saw it much less frequently for a while, until later in fall 2014 I began seeing it in the back pastures woods, it darted in and out of the tree line.

I saw a second one sitting in a neighbors yard, it would sit in the same spot every day and watch me ride.

Started taking pictures, which are very poor and crappy, and sent them to a friend who claimed he and some others have seen it. Kept seeing it occasionally, but from a much greater distance than at the first barn. I went with this barn owner to another farm to get some stuff, when I saw a very very large version of this creature run out from the woods, right behind a tree I was 10 feet from, while I was alone by the trailer.

Last November, I house sat for the barn owners. I went out around 2am to fill water troughs and enjoy the full moon and cool night. I was sitting in the back pasture when 3 of the creatures began coming from the woods, one came up to the trees near the trough where I was, the other two were walking along the tree line. The horses were silently munching their hay, pretty far from where the creatures were. I messaged the guy from earlier and told him what was going on. Since that incident, I haven’t really seen them. Last summer, I did see one outside my house staring into the windows. A few weeks ago, one was outside my bedroom windows tapping and making a strange faint shrieking sound.

Unfortunately the pictures don’t really seem conclusive at all, and we are left to wonder just what was going on here, if anything at all. Another Reddit poster gave his own report of a strange occurrence at a rural country house when he was 15 years old. At the time he was apparently in his bedroom on a very dark night, and was about to close the blinds to the window when he caught a glimpse of a “pure white almost glowing man/thing” glaring at him from next to a nearby pine tree. He would describe what happened as follows:

It was crouched down kind of in a spider-man pose and I believe it had larger black eyes. Not like something you see from the greys but it was a feature that stood out to me. It was very muscular, I distinctly remember seeing well defined arm muscles, it seemed just very muscular in general. It wasn’t too thin it was just strong looking. I don’t know how tall it was because it was crouched down looking up at me. I don’t remember if it’s head appeared larger than an average humans head, but I remember it was very bald.

 When I saw this creature I screamed for my mom, she came to the window and saw something that startled her too and ran downstairs to our back porch and yelled “who’s out there! Come out!” I remember standing behind my mother nervous with fear. We went back to my room and looked out the window and it was gone. I have this weird feeling that someday I’ll see it again. I’m not sure why, I just feel it.

A very similar report was posted on The National Cryptid Society, and was given by a witness in the Midwest United States. The report again concerns pale, humanoid things wandering about the dark outside of windows in the middle of nowhere, and the witness says:

When I was in 6th grade, I looked out the living room window and saw a white reflection. My mom grabbed a flashlight and looked out the window, she could see some white animal crawling around on the ground in the clearing by our house. It was approximately raccoon-sized, but white and apparently able to get 3′ up to the window. The next morning, before sunrise, I was letting my dog outside. He ran out the garage door and began barking and growling (completely out of character for him). I stepped around the door frame and saw an approximately 5′ tall pale being with two huge, glowing eyes and some form of round glowing item where a mouth or neck might be. My sixth grade self screamed, turned, and ran back inside, leaving my mother and dog out to fend for themselves.

By the time my mom figured out what happened and I calmed down enough to come back out, the thing was gone. To this day, I’m terrified of the woods surrounding their house at night. When I visit, I leave before sunset or have someone walk me to my car. It has been over 15 years. I would also like to add that I don’t believe in “aliens” or “ghosts” or anything, but I have no clue what these things were.

What are these things and what do they want? Was this a ghost, an alien, some sort of unidentified animal, or what? Our next account was provided to the site Phantoms and Monsters, and supposedly happened at Big Bear Lake, California, in 2017. The witness claims she had just checked into a Best Western motel in the area at just after midnight, and was going to her car to get her luggage when she had the fright of her life. According to the witness, it was very dark and was cold and snowy, with her just wanting to get her stuff and get in out of the cold. She says:

It had been snowing and was extremely dark, my car was facing a country road. When I hit the unlock button on my car, the parking and interior lights came on. This allowed me to see two eyes reflecting in the middle of the road, about 10-15 ft from me. At first, I thought it was a deer, I have lived in Colorado and I’m accustomed to seeing wildlife.

 I instantly stopped and remained still as I didn’t want to scare off the what I thought was a deer. As my eyes glanced downwards, I noticed it wasn’t a deer, it looked like a white, hairless naked man on all fours. It was at least four feet in height, on all fours. Probably around 15 ft if it stood up. There was a brief moment as our eyes made contact. It then, as quickly as I have ever seen any animal, turned around, ran as fast as a cheetah away from me and then, straight up a tree. I was frozen in disbelief. I said out loud to myself, “you have to be flipping kidding me”. Just as I was going to convince myself that this couldn’t possibly be happening, it leapt from tree top to tree top and I could see it’s full outline as it did so.

The speed and strength it had is like nothing I’ve ever heard of before. The creature was definitely solid, it appeared as if it was coming toward me, possibly hunting me? I don’t know what stopped it. Was it the lights that went on? It had no visible genitalia. it had a very human like qualities. None of this makes sense to me, the speed, agility of the creature and there shouldn’t be anyway that the treetops should have been able to hold the weight of the creature. It appeared to be flashing like a TV going in and out of reception as it sprinted up the tree. It also didn’t appear to disrupt the foliage as it did so.

Besides hanging out in the shadows and woods of rural properties, similar pale humanoids have been encountered on roads as well, where the lane lines come flickering out of the gloom to go racing back into the night. In a report to the July 15, 2016 episode of Coast To Coast AM, a caller named “Nate” gave his experience while driving along a desolate road in rural Illinois. He says that he is a truck driver, a profession that has numerous brushes with the paranormal, and on this night he was heading east on I-80 through Illinois. He would tell Coast to Coast:

I had stayed the night, well, the afternoon in Des Moines to get some sleep and I got a fresh eight hours of sleep and I had just got on the road. It was about dusk and the sun was just about to set and I was driving and I seen a figure just ahead of me on I-80 and it was right on the side of the road. When I say right on the side of the road, I don’t mean in the grass. Its toes were right on the white line. I slowed down a little bit to kind of see what was going on there and maybe avoid it. When I got about fifty yards from it. I got down to about 50 miles per hour and I could see it clear. I had my brights on and everything. It was a man. Well, it looked like a man about maybe 5’9 or 5’10. Couldn’t have been more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. And when I got up to him he looked at me and George I kid you not, he had no eyes, no mouth, no nostrils. There was no orifice on his face. He was pale white. No hair. No features whatsoever. There was a… It looked like a skeleton with bleached white skin. He was just kind of standing there looking right at me. I slowed down and as soon as I seen his face, he looked up at me, boy, I flipped the hammer down from Illinois all the way to Chicago. I never looked back. My blood ran cold. My hair stood up. I was one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen in my life.

Another such account was reported on Reddit by a witness who says his frightening encounter happened on Christmas Night of 2007, at a lakeside community in rural upstate New York. The festivities had worn down and at around 8 PM the witness took off in his car to a friend’s house. The place was only about a 10-minute drive away and the night was clear, so there would have been no reason to suspect that anything would happen in such a quiet and peaceful place, but things would quickly take a turn into the weird. He would say of his harrowing encounter:

As I drove, I noticed what looked like someone walking up ahead on the opposite side of the road, coming in my direction. Mind you, I was still going about 20 mph the whole time, so it was probably less than a minute by the time the “walker” came into clear view. I got a quick scan of it from my windshield before my car and it were exactly parallel.

 It was not a person. It stood on two long legs, with long arms hanging down from its shoulders. It was strong looking. Lean, muscular, but not beefy in stature. It looked thin at the same time. It stood at least 7 foot tall. It was light coloured: not sure whether it was white, tan, yellow or greyish. It didn’t appear to have fur but there was some texture to the skin- it wasn’t smooth. There appeared to be something coming down off its back. I don’t know what this was. All I can recall about it’s face is the small features it had but the mouth and jaw were notably large. And it had pointed things atop its head- 2 things going straight upward with something mingled between the two things. That’s what I got from a quick scan and from my observation of it as it neared my car and my car neared it.

 As my car became parallel to it within a split second, I went from looking out my windshield to looking at it from my drivers side window. In that moment, it’s face quickly peered down at me and all I remember was the mouth opened wide. Out came a remarkable scream that I’ll never forget. Gives me the chills just thinking about it. It consisted of a high-pitched shrill/shriek, enveloped by a deep guttural growl. Both sounds happened simultaneously in that scream.

 I kept driving all the while. This was all happening so fast that I didn’t even have a chance to be scared or shocked or anything. I continued driving and went past my friends house and drove home. Called him to tell him what happened and that I just needed to get back. I was probably running on adrenaline to get back home. Later on, I was in total shock after it sunk in. Had my drivers side window been opened fully, it would have touched me, or worse, taken me. I’m certain of it.

Another account from Phantoms and Monsters tells the story of a witness in Canada, who had at the time spent the evening laughing and talking with friends until the wee hours of the morning. At 4:45 AM he decided it was time to head home, and got into his truck to begin the 45 minute drive back to his place. In between his friend’s town and his own there was reportedly a pitch black forested area that took around 10 minutes to drive through, and after almost hitting a deer on his way in he decided to slow down and take his time getting through this tangle of trees. He would say of the series of bizarre events that would follow:

As I approached the exit of the forest there is a left curve in the road and an adjacent dirt road with a white wooden fence lining it going up a hill to what I would imagine would lead to someones property/home. As I was making the turn I seen something in my headlights (Brights) at the edge of the fence. It was a tall pale milky white creature with a bald head. It’s eyes reflected back. Clothes-less . It’s arms and legs just as white as its bald head. I seen it for a second or two as it made a move to dive behind the fence.

 I braked and backed up slowly and pointed my lights at the fence looking for any kind of movement. I was parked on the highway which was abandoned at 5 am. My heart was racing and I didn’t know why. I must have sat there for a minute before I calmed down, didn’t see any movement and decided I better not go and investigate or maybe I’d become a missing person and continued my journey home. So the only description I have of this “thing” is tall,pale, bald, and human like features, but no noticeable hair or eyebrows.

Such entities leave us wondering just what any of these people could have possibly seen. Are these ghosts, aliens, demons, or just the products of addled, tired minds? There are numerous encounters that cover a wide spectrum of such pale, humanoid beings, and as I have said I have covered such reports before, so are these related and what could we be dealing with here? Considering the very unearthly undertones of such reports, one might be inclined to think that this must surely be aliens. After all, how could something so innately bizarre as these pale, crouched monsters be anything of this world? One possible explanation for the pure outlandishness of these stories is that they are some sort of inter-dimensional entities or trickster spirits, that for whatever reasons find themselves here for unfathomable purposes and agendas. It was an idea championed by such esteemed paranormal researchers as Jacques Vallee and John Keel, and Keel himself would once say of such bizarre beings that seem to defy any conventional classification:

One basic fact should be obvious from the foregoing – these entities and things are not necessarily from some other planet. They are actually closely tied to the human race, are a part of our immediate environment in some unfathomable fashion, and to a very large extent are primarily concerned with misleading us, misinforming us, and playing games with us.

Is that what this is? Are there entities from beyond the fringe of the odd that are paying us a visit to taunt and manipulate us to inscrutable ends? How else can we explain these totally otherworldly reports and their crouched, pale denizens of our nightmares? How else can we possibly fit any of these accounts into our reality? Unless, of course, they are just pure fabrications? It is difficult to say what the case may be, as these are eyewitness accounts beyond the scope of out ability to verify or corroborate, but if they are in any sense real, then they leave a lot to question, and flitter about out in the domain of the truly strange.

#humanoid #paranormal #supernatural #cryptid

[dangerousluv1]

Coupons

A/N: Sorry this is a little late, got caught up with a couple things and this hellsite hasn’t been letting me schedule or even save a draft of the full fic. But you know what, here it is and I hope y’all like it. Remember to like, comment, and reblog, I’d love to hear what you guys think ♥︎

Warnings: smut, bondage, blindfolds, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), probably a couple curses thrown in the mix, oh and a bit of fluff

Word Count: 2.7k+

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“I’d like to cash in this coupon.” The very same words he’d used on you last time were now geared towards him. The playful glint in your eyes did nothing to ease his uneasiness. He held out a hand for you to hand him the coupon and looked over it, ‘Tie Me Up Tie Me Down’. He looked up at you and then back down at the coupon, biting his lip in worry.

“Don’t worry,” you cooed, your fingers running over the nylon rope tying your boyfriend’s wrist to the headboard. “It’ll be fun.” He gasped softly as you flicked your tongue over his nipple. He pulled against the bindings, momentarily forgetting they were present. “Aw, you want out so soon baby?” Your fingers trailed down his abdomen, lightly tracing shapes into his skin. “But we’re just getting started.” He could just imagine the smirk playing on your lips as you spoke. “I hope you like the blindfold. It’s from the last coupon that I cashed but never used."

He questioned why he had even included this coupon in the little booklet he handed you on your birthday. Of all things he could’ve chosen it just had to be the one that put him completely under your control. But he didn’t have much time to think the matter over for he had felt you sliding down his sweats, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. He clenched his fists in frustration. Not being able to see you or what you’re about to do next made him feel a bit restless.

He felt the bed shift under your weight as you moved off the bed. Straining his ears, he tried to listen for any other movements that would indicate where you were and cursed under his breath when he couldn’t hear anything but the eerie silence. The light caress of your fingertips against his bare thigh nearly had him jump out of his skin. Your touch felt so foreign, so new. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. He felt the bed dip again as you straddled his hips. The feeling of your warm breath ghosting over his neck sent tingles down his spine, anticipating your next move.

“Just relax baby,” you whispered, leaving lingering pecks along his neck and collarbone. You trailed your kisses up his throat, lingering at his Adams apple for a moment, eliciting a low groan from him. He tilted his head back further against the pillows as you nipped at his jawline. You pressed your lips softly to his, letting him lift his head to try and deepen the kiss only to pull away a second later. He growled softly, tugging at his bindings once again. You chuckled, leaning away to watch his reactions for what you were about to do next.

“Sweetie, remember when we went shopping last time, and you jokingly picked out a little outfit for me?” You paused and waited for him to nod in acknowledgement. “I went out and bought it.” His breath hitched upon hearing your words. You let your hands roam the expanse of his chest as you continued. “I’m wearing it right now.” A soft moan slipped past his lips as he pictured how you looked in the lingerie, his cheeks tinted a light shade of pink. “I couldn’t help but imagine all the things you’d want to do to me while I was wearing it. The way your lips would brush against my skin teasingly. The way your fingertips ghost down my inner thighs to spread them apart, your tongue licking everywhere except where I want you most. Oh how I’d whimper against your touch, my fingers gripping your hair to bring you closer. And when that sinful tongue of yours flicks over my clit repeatedly as you pump your fingers inside me, god how I’d croon.” His breathing came out in soft pants, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips on occasion.

Your voice was that of a siren’s singing, soft and seductive, so alluring. He held on to your every word, the images unfolding beautifully behind his closed lids. He raised his hips to grind his arousal against your core. Your name slipped past his lips in a needy whisper as you took in a shaky breath. You moved your hips in a figure eight motion, pressing your lips to the base of his throat and sucking until it blooms a pretty purple. He curses, snapping his hips up once more. You kiss your way down his bare chest; stopping at his navel to leave little licks and nips. You hook your fingers underneath the waistband of his briefs and slowly tug them down, his erection springing free.

“Once you were done with me I’d want to return the favor.” You accentuated your words by gripping the base of his cock and giving him a little squeeze. “I’d pepper soft kisses up your shaft, my tongue following the path my lips made.” Your actions mimicked your words just seconds later. “I’d slide my hand up, tightening my grip as I went while my thumb swipes against the tip once in a while.” You stopped talking for a few moments, letting your actions speak for itself while you listen to his small moans. Soon he was bucking his hips into your hand as your speed fluctuated between fast and agonizingly slow. You kissed the tip, tasting the precum that dripped down his cock. His arms tensed as he took hold of the rope to ground himself. You took the tip into your mouth and gave him a good suck before releasing him from your lips to quickly flick your tongue repeatedly across his reddening slit like a small kitten. You look up at him through hooded eyes to see his head thrown back against the pillow; his jaw was slack as a string of throaty moans floated to your ears.

You knew he was close to reaching his end and feeling as wicked as you did that night, you didn’t want him to climax just yet. You parted your lips, slowly taking in his throbbing member as your hand stilled. With your free hand you play with his neglected balls, driving him even further up the wall and even closer to his climax. You bob your head up and down slowly; taking him further into your willing mouth each time you went down. You pause your movements as the very tip of your nose brushes against his dark patch of pubic hair and you swallow around him. His voice is shaky as he calls out your name. You bob your head faster, opting to take him in only halfway while your hand pumped the rest. He let out a loud moan, signaling that he was going to cum, but you tightened your fingers around him like a vice, preventing him from reaching his climax.

He growled low in his throat and bucked his hips in retaliation while trying to pull his wrists free. You release him with a soft ‘pop’ in order to speak. “Ah ah ah. Bad boys don’t get to come so soon.” The sound of your voice border-lined a sickly sweet tone. “It’s not very nice to tease someone out in public and then just leave them hanging.” Still gripping the base of his cock, you trail a single finger up the center of his abdomen slowly, watching as his muscles tensed as it went. “Was it fun getting me all worked up and then refuse to continue?" Chuckling softly you tap his lips and wait for him to open up. You slid your index finger into his mouth and he timidly begins to suck. “Good boy,” you praise him with a smile while his cheeks flushed. “You had me cornered in that changing room. You could’ve easily hiked up my skirt and fingered me. I would’ve kept quiet… but something tells me you would have wanted for one of the employees to hear me moan your name and nearly stumble upon us in such a position… You know, I didn’t wear any underwear that day like you asked.” He groaned softly, his fists tightening around the rope as he pictured taking you against the mirror of the changing room; your skirt bunched up around your waist while his pants pooled at his ankles and your hands sliding down the mirror as he held onto your hips and rammed into repeatedly from behind.

Lost in thought, he didn’t realize that you began pumping his still erect cock until he felt a knot tightening in his abdomen as he neared his climax once more. But to his displeasure, you stopped him from coming yet again. You were starting to get on his nerves now. “Baby,” he said, speaking for the first time since you had begun your little game, his voice stern.

“Beg.” This caught him off guard.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, sweetie. If you want to come, you’re going to have to beg for it.” You chuckled softly as a small pout appeared on your boyfriend’s lips. You slowly began to pump his cock again, building up speed as you went. He swallowed, a choked moan leaving his lips shortly after. “Oh Hakyeon,” you started, “you’re not making this any easier. How long has it been since you had me on my knees, sucking on that beautiful cock of yours until you released in my mouth? It’s been a while hasn’t it? I miss your taste on my tongue. That sinful mix of salty and sweet that I can only categorize as yours. All you have to do is beg for it baby.”

“Please,” he whines softly, voice just barely audible.

You kiss the tip of his penis, hand moving slower as your ears perk at the sound of his voice. “What was that baby?”

“God, please. Please let me come.” His hips jerked, hands balled into tight fists, knuckles turning white with the strain, as he lifted his head to ‘look' down at you, imagining your lips still pressed against his hard cock. Another choked moan slipped past his lips as your tongue circled his tip slowly, releasing the rope from his death grip.

“How badly do you want to come?”

“So badly. Please let me come, please.” His voice cracks slightly towards the end, breathing ragged.

“Good boy,” you whisper with a smile. A relieved smile spreads across his lips. He attempts to reach down to stroke your hair, only to be rudely reminded of the restraints holding him in place. He cursed under his breath, making the corners of your mouth perk ever so slightly. You swallow around his cock, rolling his balls gently between your fingers. His wanton moans were loud and clear. Your name slipping in to the mix of colorful curses as his back arches.

“Fuck. Stop. Stop baby.” He’s breathing heavily and his knuckles are white once again as he grips the rope once more. You pause, eyebrows furrowed as you slide him out of your mouth. A genuine look of confusion washes over your features as you sit up between his legs. Sensing your confusion he answers with an “I…I want to be inside you.” His voice was soft and a faint blush was staining his cheeks.

You chuckle softly and nod even though he can’t see you with his blindfold still securely in place. "Good boys deserve treats, don't they? And you've been such a good boy tonight." You crawl up and straddle his hips once more, a hand sneaking down to teasingly rub against your fold before slowly circling your clit, your arousal coating your fingertips. You tap two of your fingers against his lips once more and he greedily licks your fingers clean.

"So good," he mumbles softly, licking his lips.

"Does Hakyeon want me to ride his beautiful cock? Does he want me to take his cock like a good girl?" You ask as you rub your wet mound against the length of his cock.

"Yes yes. God yes. I want you so bad baby, so bad."

"As you wish baby," you whisper seductively, taking his hard cock in your hand and aligning him with your entrance before slowly sinking down. A choked moan slip past your lips as you take him, loving the way he fits so snugly. Hakyeon has his lip between his teeth, trying to fight the urge to buck his hips. "God I missed you baby. You feel so good." You moan softly, raising your hips and sinking back down slowly to find a rhythm. It's takes him all of his self-control to keep him from rutting his hips and taking you from below.

To his surprise you tug the blindfold off of him. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus on as he looks up at the ceiling. You take his chin between your fingers, forcing him to look at you. "I want you to watch as I ride you baby." He merely nods and raises his head slightly looking down to see his cock slide in and out of your pussy. He moans softly, tossing his head back against the pillows as you quicken your pace, hands placed on either side of his head for leverage. Your breathing comes out in soft pants as you feel a knot beginning to form in the pit of your stomach.

Hakyeon throws care out the window and begins to thrust up into you fast and hard as you bounced on his cock. "Baby— I'm close… please, please don't stop."

You nod meekly, lost in the lustful pleasure. "Come for me baby." His thrusts become sloppy in rhythm as you try your best to keep yours steady. You lean down and press your lips to his in an equally sloppy kiss, moaning into each other's mouths, pulling away to moan each other's names as he climaxes with a final thrust.

You're panting softly as you move your hips, helping him ride out his high. His breathing is ragged and his eyes are shut when you let him slip out of you, soft moans leaving both your lips. You untie his bindings, rubbing each wrist to get the blood circulating again and pressing a delicate kiss to both of them. He sighs in content and pulls you down to cradle your head against his chest as you chuckle softly at his actions, winding your arms around his torso.

"Thank you," you mumble softly, closing your eyes and snuggling against his chest.

"I should be thanking you, that might've been one of the best orgasms I've had," he says with a cheerful lilt peaking out from behind his tired tone. Turning on his side and taking you with him as you swat his shoulder playfully. A moment later he pulls away slightly to look down at you with furrowed brows, moving some stray strands away from your face. He cups your cheek and says, “You didn’t get to come. Um I can-if you give me a few minutes I can—“

“Hey, it’s fine,” you interrupt. “I edged you like three times dude. And I had you tied up and blindfolded. Thank you for trusting me. You don’t owe me an orgasm every time we have sex… it’d be nice but I certainly won’t get butthurt over it,” you finish with a chuckle.

“Are you sure? I can use my mouth or my fingers to get you off.” He slides his hand up your outer thigh, resting it there at the top as he waits for your permission.

Shaking you head, you pull him closer to you, thumbs sliding over his cheekbones as you look at his tired eyes and appreciate the concern behind them. “I’m sure.”

He whispers a soft "I love you" and places a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Love you too," you reply as you snuggle closer.

It’s silent for a few peaceful moments until he decides to break it. "I'm totally going to use these on you next time, regardless of the coupons I have left," laughing as he tightens his hold around you while you playfully punch him.

“That’s it, you’ve killed the mood,” you grumble once you get free, turning around and walking away from the bed so he doesn’t see the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Come back and cuddle with me,” he whines, missing your warmth.

“After I get cleaned up!” you call over your shoulder as you head to the bathroom.

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