#maybe Ill just chop my bangs back

[withoneheadlight]

| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

~

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

.

.

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟

#harringrove #billy hargrove #will byers #steve harrington #stranger things #billy x steve #steve x billy #billy & will #xharringrove

[amintyworld]

I'm Like You - Origins SMP Oneshot

A/N: So... Origins SMP may be over but that won't stop me from posting this-! :D

Origins SMP please come back

Anyway here's some hurt/comfort more on the fluffy side. - Minty

TW: Blood/gore, mention of death, kidnapping, mention of chopping one's wings off, mention of selling body parts, almost drowning, cursing. (Let me know if I need to add anything else!)

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

Phil remembered the day they found him - he was tangled in some seaweed and reeds, floating along in the water, leaving a trail of crimson red in his wake. The teenager's right wing was a shamble of blood and feathers, bruises and cuts littering his skin that ignited Phil's anger - he had half a mind to find that damn village and set it ablaze. But, his mind made sure the boy was the priority. Phil untangled him, thankful that the ocean hadn't let him float out to sea, and pulled him on land, quickly searching for a pulse and practically sighing in relief when he'd found one. Phil wondered how long the kid had been out here - he felt ice-cold to the touch, skin ghostly pale.

He remembered, holding the teenager close in his arms as he took off in the air, wondering why. Why would someone hurt a kid, a child, for something they couldn't control? Why would someone have so much hate in their hearts to land deadly hits on a defenseless person? Why then, after everything they did to him, did they leave him in the river to die? Phil never really got an answer that night as he returned toward Ghostbur's mansion on the mountain. He guessed that maybe the world just didn’t have an answer, or rather, they just didn’t have an answer he wanted to hear.

Phil’s roommate, a good-natured phantom called Ghostbur, practically rushed the kid upstairs to a bed, grabbing supplies before Phil even had a chance to explain what happened. “Ghostbur, you really shouldn’t-!” Phil huffed as he launched himself to the second level, grabbing his friend by the arm, feeling his friend’s body shake with adrenaline, emotion. “Wil, he’s got a broken wing - wings are very sensitive and extremely delicate, we need to be careful.” His hand reached up to steady his phantom friend. “Can you grab a couple of potions, bandages, as well as a needle and thread for me? I’ll work on cleaning him up.”

The phantom took a deep breath, silently phasing through the floor beneath his feet to grab the items Phil requested. He understood Ghostbur’s worry - damaged wings for winged creatures could quickly turn detrimental, it was a natural part of who they were, how they felt, and sensed danger around them. Without it, they’d feel incomplete, empty, but most importantly - they’d be in their most vulnerable state.

Phil’s fingers were soft and light as he cleaned out the wounded wing, picking out and straightening feathers that were stuck, misshapen, or out of place. Gently, using lukewarm water, he washed the dirt, rocks, and dried blood from the wound, careful to move slowly so as to not cause alarm to the kid. Ghostbur floated up next to him, placing the things he asked for on the bedside table, crossing his arms, and looking over to the teenager. “Is he gonna be okay, Phil?”

“I…” Phil sighed. “I dunno. The wound’s deep, half his flying feathers are gone… thank gods whoever left him had a shit aim, it looks like they were trying to take the wing off at the source.”

“Can you fix it?”

“...I can try.”

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

Tommy’s head pounded, his body wrapped in a comforting warmth that practically screamed at him to sink into. His muscles ached for rest, but Tommy knew he needed to get moving. His head ached so much it made his brain go fuzzy as he struggled to remember what happened yesterday. He and Tubbo were moving to go collect some honey… Did he fall asleep again?

Tommy would admit it wouldn’t be the first time he found a good sunlight patch to catch a nap and the shulker hybrid had to carry him back to their base on the mountain. How long had he slept? Why was he still tired?

His ears perked up as he heard shuffling around him. His instincts began to flare, sending signals up his spine. Wait… the hunters… the hunters took him… Tubbo’s in danger-

He felt someone touch his wing, gently moving it toward themselves. His wing… they tried to take his wings, they wanted to sell them for money-! Tommy’s eyes snapped open. He wasn’t home. He didn’t know where he was and a stranger was touching his wing.

dangerdangerdanger-

Ignoring his body’s protests to rest, he leaped up, surprising the attacker as he tackled him toward the wall quickly to restrain him, pinning his neck with his arm. A crash sounded behind him but Tommy didn’t care. He was getting out of here and saving Tubbo no matter what. His eyes bore into the ill-intended stranger, ready for a fight. “Where am I?!”

The stranger’s eyes flicked up toward Tommy’s, at first matching his intense gaze before quickly softening, silent as he became acutely aware of the razor-sharp talons digging into his leg. “You’re in my house.” He did his best to keep his voice calm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Where’s Tubbo?”

“Who-”

Tommy slammed the man back against the wall. “Don’t act dumb you fucker, where’s the shulk?!”

“I don’t know, okay?! Just-!”

Tommy’s eyes flicked over toward the window - an escape! He needed to get out of here, clearly Tubbo got taken somewhere else if the stranger didn’t know him. He needed to get free and… and come up with some kind of plan...yeah! Adrenaline pumping like mad from the close encounter, the stranger noticed his gaze as realization hit him.

“Wait… hold on, you really shouldn’t-!”

Tommy felt the wind flow underneath his wings, perched on the window ledge. They were achingly sore - who knows how long he’d been trapped here? Moving to crack a tense spot in his back, Tommy felt a sense of relief. He smiled, knowing that his wings wouldn’t be sore for much longer. They just needed to stretch.

Phil rushed forward, an inch too late as Tommy leaped from the building.

The teenager stretched his wings out to catch himself on the breeze, confident for the span of at least a minute. He closed his eyes like he usually did to better focus. Why couldn’t he feel his wings picking him up? Why wasn’t his body doing what he needed to - it was as simple as taking a step! Just stretch and glide on the breeze.

Stretch, and…

For the first time since the avian learned to fly, Tommy found himself crashing down onto the grass. Shame welled up in his stomach, paired with confusion. Hearing the door bang open behind him added to it all a twinge of fear. He stumbled, trying in vain to gather his bearings. Ignoring the sting of scratches from the crash, he ran into the forest.

“Wait! Mate, just wait for a second!”

The wind picked up through the trees, tangling through hair and setting practically every nerve on Tommy’s wings aflame. There was danger. He needed to fly. He needed to fly away, but… but he couldn’t. He was trapped and alone with hunters chasing him down to finish the job they started. He couldn’t stop running. He couldn’t, because if he did he could say goodbye to flying ever again. He’d never grow his wings back, and he’d look like a useless disgusting human.

He’d be normal.

Flying was the only hybrid skill, the only uniqueness about him. Tommy would rather die than ever have that stripped away from him. Chopping away bone, muscle, and feather - all in the interest of earning a few gold coins! Well, fuck them. His body barely running on energy as it was, his legs gave out on him as he fell to the ground again.

No. Please.

He heard footsteps, flipping around to see the blonde man. Pure fear gripped him for the first time in his life. He scooted backwards as the man tried to approach. Another pathetic attempt at escaping - why was he even trying anymore? His back hit a tree trunk, his wings shrinking back, as scared as he was. Yet, the blonde man moved closer.

“Stay back! Stay back, or…” Tommy struggled, quickly moving to grab a rock, holding it up in some sort of threat. As if a rock could take down a hybrid hunter. “...or I will mess you up, bro!”

The blonde man stopped walking forward. “Look, I know you’re confused and scared, I would be too. But I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Liar! I won’t let you take them!”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Take them…? I…” He looked down at the teenager in sympathy. “I don’t want your wings, I swear!”

“Bullshit!” Tommy yelled. “I know your game, stop acting so innocent! You can’t lure me in, you can’t make me trust a single word you say, hunter!”

“I’m not... I’m not a hunter, okay?” Phil said, stepping closer and making Tommy tense. He sat down four feet away from the teen, taking a deep breath before shouldering off his green robe, leaving the white tank. Immediately, a pair of translucent, metallic wings unfurled from his back, so large Tommy almost felt intimidated. Tommy wanted to say something, but words died on his throat. Phil shrugged his shoulders after stretching his wings out looking up toward the avian. He awkwardly smiled. “...well mate, I’m like you.”

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

General Taglist (Tell me if you want to be added/removed!):

@bones-sprouts

@benzel

@foolishcaptains

#osmp #osmp!wilbur #wilbur soot #osmp!tubbo #osmp!tommy #tubbo #tommyinnit #tommyinnit and tubbo #osmp!phil #philza #dadza philza #my writing #hurt/comfort #osmp drabble #osmp fic

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Sick Day, Part 3 - Evening

This is Part 3 for my bby @silverwolf319 💖💖💖 Something soft and comforting for the days you don't feel well. Here’s Frankie Morales making you take a sick day.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Word count: 990+

Rating: soft mature, 18+ only

Outline: Frankie Morales x “You” (gender neutral reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: mentions of illness/nausea; food/chicken soup ingredients; tea; the world’s grossest hot drink for sick people (but it works); Frankie being all soft and comforting

You wake up to the music of the end credits of Jurassic Park, and Frankie is nowhere to be seen. There is a note on the coffee table next to your phone that says, “Gone to store. Be right back. DRINK!” You smile and obey orders, sipping down the rest of your lukewarm Gatorade.

You yawn and stretch, and shuffle back to bed. You’re not tired and you can’t sleep any more right now, but maybe a book will do. And when you get into the bedroom you see that Frankie has worked more magic while you were out cold because there are fresh sheets and pillowcases on the bed. You feel a little twinge behind your sternum, but you know it’s not a medical issue, it’s just Frankie and the way that he loves you.

You crawl into bed and pass an hour with a good book, and when Frankie returns you hear him unload all of the groceries before he pops in to see you.

“How you doing, babe?”

You smile, “Better. No more nausea. I finished my Gatorade.”

“Good. I got crackers and stuff to make soup. Do you want some hot tea?”

“Yes please,” you put your book down and reach your arms out to him. “But first I need a hug, baby.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed and wraps one big arm around your shoulders. Now that you’re not nauseated anymore he smells good again, clean and fresh and spicy with his usual deodorant and body wash. He’s warm and safe and Frankie, the smells that you associate with your best memories and experiences.

You let him hold you and envelop you until you’re almost drowsy again. And then he releases you and kisses your forehead, murmuring promises of tea with honey.

He returns in a bit with a big mug of hot, minty tea with just the right amount of honey, and a plate with a small pile of saltines. “Nibble these, sip your tea. I’ll be right back.”

And he goes to get his own book from the living room, and comes back and sits next to you in bed. He’s just right at keeping you company, reading one-handed and rubbing your back, only breaking the silence to ask you how your tummy is handling the crackers and tea. And there’s that twinge again, the little flutter that tells you that your body is in tune with Frankie’s love; and not just when there’s sex or passion or romance happening, but real love, all the time, even when it’s quiet.

And then the sun starts to get low, and your stomach growls, and Frankie laughs and gets up, telling you he got the stuff to make soup, and all you have to do is come out when it’s ready. So you lie down again for a quick nap, and listen to him banging around in the kitchen, chopping chicken breast and celery and carrots, mincing fresh garlic and pouring broth and stirring.

The next thing you know he’s shaking your shoulder gently, and his warm brown eyes are hovering over you, and his soft sweet lips are saying, “Hey, baby. Soup’s ready.” And you stretch and do an inventory of yourself: sore throat, sore muscles from laying around all day, but otherwise fine. You nod sleepily and tell him you’re ready.

And you sit down at the kitchen table to the best soup you’ve ever had, because Frankie’s gone all-out, making his mom’s recipe for chicken noodle soup with fresh garlic and a splash of lemon juice, and you could die right here and feel like you’d gone to heaven. And he smiles at you and asks you, “Is it good?”

And all you can do is moan around a mouthful of broth and egg noodles, and nod vigorously and ask for more pepper. And you don’t know how you’re ever going to repay him for this, for showering you with gentle love all day, on one of the worst-feeling days of your life, when all you wanted to do this morning was crawl into a hole and die. And then you realize you don’t have to “repay” him. All you have to do is accept his love and let it wash over you, let him do his thing and care for you. No repayment needed.

And then dinner is over and he takes the plates away and sets a mug in front of you with strict instructions to, “Drink up. It’s gross but it’s medicine.”

“Cold medicine?”

He tilts his head from side to side. “Kind of. More like folk medicine. It’s hot water, minced garlic, lemon juice, and honey. It’s gross, so you’ll probably hate me until you wake up tomorrow and feel human again.”

You wince and take a cautious sip, but other than the strong garlic it’s just lemony and not too sweet and pretty much just like a weird kind of soup. So you shrug and take a bigger sip and tell him it’s actually not that bad. He grins, happy that you think he’s done a good job.

“Can we watch another movie?”

“Of course, babe.”

He tidies up the kitchen while you fold your legs under you and pick a movie. He brings you a fresh glass of ice water to wash down the garlic-lemon-honey concoction, and you snuggle into his side. You’re warm and full of soup, less achy, less dehydrated, loved and supported and content.

Frankie looks down at you and smiles gently, his eyes crinkling up in the way you love. He tilts his head down for a soft kiss and you stop for a moment. He looks at you with a small frown.

“Garlic breath,” you say.

“I don’t care,” he laughs. “I just won’t breathe through my nose.”

You laugh, and let him lay a gentle, soft kiss on your lips. Then you tuck your head back against his shoulder and sip your ice water.

---

Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

My “all fics” tag list (my only tag list, actually):

@quica-quica-quica

@anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul

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#pedrostories #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #comfort fic

[softcrescendo]

stray kids | cooking with you!

"meals with you have always tasted the best, and i know it'll continue to be the best, as long as you stay by my side and maybe... keep on sharing them with me?"

pairing : ot8 x gn!reader

tw : mentions of food and light illness

genre : established relationship, fluff

a/n : the new skz-player has got me feelin' some type of way 😳😳 but i mean, skz always does this anyway so what's new

⤞ BANG CHAN whisks a few eggs together as the chopped meat sizzle on the pan, your hands carefully flipping them every now and then. He gives you a small smile whenever he glances at you, secretly thanking you because you chose to stay, after all. He sets it aside to prepare two bowls of rice, making his way to the other side of the kitchen. When he feels your gaze on his back, he turns around and asks "Would you like an extra bowl for today?" You lower the heat on the pan before smiling, too, because it feels too much like home right here. "Sure. Why not?"

⤞ I.N tries not to make a sound as he sneaks up on you with cheese in his hands, but he fails miserably, so he decides to stop right beside you. When he does so, you turn to place a kiss on his cheeks, but he turns to you too, so now the kiss goes on the corner of his lip instead. Both your eyes and his slightly widen, and not a moment too fast or slow, laughter bursts from the both of you. "That's no fair!" he exclaims, bringing you to his arms, right where you fit so perfectly. The ramen nearly falls then, but that's okay.

⤞ LEE KNOW silently puts all of the ingredients on the counter so the both of you can work with more ease. He looks over to you as you watch the water boil. "Is it ready?" he asks, to which you give him a nod 'yes'. As he brings over the pasta to you, he swiftly places a small kiss on your head. The simple gesture never gets old, like the same old spaghetti recipe you keep on using. Love with him feels just like that. Familiar, safe, and sometimes a bit cheesy. He sees a faint blush on your cheeks and chuckles, "Focus, love, it'll get soggy."

⤞ CHANGBIN frowns when he sees you walking into the kitchen in his hoodie, face a bit red and swollen. There's a small exchange of "I thought you're sick." "I'm okay now." "You should go back to bed." "No." before you're already mincing away next to him. When you insist that you are truly fine, he lets you stay by his side. Slowly, you put all of the last ingredients inside the pot as he stirs. His warm hands never leave your back as you both prepare dinner, and you know there's a silent promise that you'll always take care of each other, no matter what.

⤞ HYUNJIN wraps his arms around you, just to feel your warmth on this particularly cold night. When he realizes you're preparing a meal for him, too, he smiles at you as brightly as he always does. "Do you need some help?" he asks, letting his grip loosen, but not without a small peck on your ear. "Sure." you smile, letting him take over. He yelps when he feels an oil spark on his hand, turning to you with his puppy eyes. Before he knows it, he already feels your hands guiding his, and in moments like these, he knows he'll always be safe and warm with you.

⤞ HAN doesn't stop laughing when you smear flour all over your cheeks, yet again. You're laughing too, because he doesn't realize he's also covered in it. "Why are you laughing?" he asks between his chortles, and you immediately shake your head, "Because you're cute." His hands move to cup your cheeks, eyes twinkling and full of love. "Oh I see how it is." he says. You feel his nose brush against yours, and giggles fill the air once again. Love feels so easy, so right when it's with him, and as the pie bakes, he doesn't let you go. In this life, he'd never.

⤞ FELIX grabs the pan a little too quickly when he sees it wobble under his grip. But before he can let out a sigh of relief, his ears catch the sound of egg shattering. He turns around to see you standing right where the floor egg is, expressionless. His eyes sparkle when he laughs, "You okay there?" "No, I'm disappointed." you answer half-jokingly. His bubbly laugh erupts again, and you can feel warmth spread on your chest, "Come on, I'll make you extra dessert." "Cookies?" He gives you the tender smile he reserves only for you, "Anything, love."

⤞ SEUNGMIN had wanted to surprise you with a lunchbox today, but you accidentally caught him, so now you're making a lunchbox for him, too. There's mostly silence as you both work, besides his melodious hums every now and then. It feels the most comfortable this way, because love with him feels no different. You manage to sneak a few pecks on him, and he manages to brush his fingers against yours every chance he gets. When you both finish, he doesn't stop smiling, and neither do you. "Let's make each other lunchboxes again soon."

#I LOVE THEM AND THAT'S OKAY #stray kids #bang chan #minho #lee know #changbin #seo changbin #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #han #felix #lee felix #seungmin #kim seungmin #i.n #jeongin #yang jeongin #stray kids headcanons #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #i.n x reader

[mirsfa]

dangerously (v)

Genre: Uhm. Kinda everything, from angst through fluff to smut Word count: 10k  Pairing: Prince!Jaehyun x Mafia!Reader Warning: Cursing, underage smoking, drinking, use of drugs, even more cursing, smut in upcoming chapters. There’s a lot and I might have left some out oops. Summary: You were polar opposites. He was royalty, you were a criminal. You hated him, he hated you. This mission was the last thing any of you wanted, but you had to make it work. But could you?  TW: domestic abuse, violence

a/n: hello to every single one of you<3 so here we are again. me being ridiculously late, and you being like “wait whats this fanfic again i dont remember” hnng. SO here is part 5 of dangerously:) i promised a double update - which is going to happen. this is part 5, and i think next week ill upload part 6. i hope that’s alright:) (the whole chapter was 20k but i think its more reasonable if i upload it in two parts). Thank you so so so much for all the people that reminded me to keep going and keep writing. to everyone who likes this mess of words i manage to put together. i love you all, from the bottom of my heart.  also, i put a keep reading thingy on. i pray it works.

Previously: It all went down in slow motion.  The dancefloor of the gigantic room cleared out, the remaining guests pushing themselves up against the walls. Pure terror was written all over their faces, at the scene that played in the very middle of the room.   Prince Chenle stood there.   With a knife at his throat.   And at the end of the knife, the person who was holding it… Junhui.   You stopped breathing as you took in his face, took in that familiar, sharp smile. As your eyes met with Yukhei’s from across the room, you were certain he was horrified, just as much as you.   They were here.   The Black Spade was here.  

The air was stiff, tense; you felt the droplet of sweat on your neck before it had a chance to slide down. You were aware of everything suddenly, the sharp breaths of the elite guests, the faint clinking of your jewellery, the clamminess of your palms as you tightened your fist. You were in deep shit and you had a vague idea of what the outcome might be if you didn’t think of a solution quick enough.  

It’s been three years since you saw any member of the Black Spade.  

Not like you regretted it, or that you had wished to see them. It simply made you nervous, made you hyper-aware of your surroundings. Now, that one of them – if not all – is in the same room as you, some sort of perverse euphoria took over your brain, that they see you, and they want to kill you, and they have no idea how much can be done in the span of three years.  

“Long time no see, beautiful,” drifted Junhui’s voice, and you swore the blood froze in your veins. His ashy hair fell into his eyes as he tilted his head slightly, his cupid’s bow-like lips curling into a vicious, Cheshire-cat smile. He looked different since the last time you saw him, but if it surprised you, the feeling slid away into a secluded, subconscious part of your brain. It was not the appropriate time to think about the appearance of a conman. It was never the same.  

Even though he was standing far away from you, you felt feather-light touches caress your arms, ice-cold breath brushing your neck and even colder lips linger above your shoulder.  

Mirroring his expression, you placed your weight on your right leg and cocked your waist out. The dress shifted around your legs, the slit moving so that your left leg was let bare. You replaced your shocked expression with one of confidence, of piercing ice.  

“Let the prince go, Junhui,” you breathed as you kept eye-contact with him, no matter the amount of memories and even more regrets flashing into your mind.  

His grip tightened on the knife and Chenle hissed as a droplet of blood slid down on the front of his neck.  

For fucks sake.  

The youngest prince was supposed to be down in the basement along with his brother Donghyuck and Winwin…where are they? What happened to them?  

You did not dare glancing up at the balcony, where Taeyong and Doyoung lay, scared that a single look might serve as a clue to the one of the conmen of the Black Spade.  

“Come and take him, assassin,” mused Jun and you tilted your head to the side as invitation.  

“Where is the rest of your precious little gang, Jun?” you asked, masking your voice with the similar silky tone the conman sported. He ran his eyes over your figure then, something like bizarre satisfaction flashing in the dark orbs.  

“Three years ago,” Junhui purred, ignoring your question, as he flattened the blade on Chenle’s neck, “you pulled an impressive stunt.” You felt all eyes on you and him, the guests remaining backed up until the ivory and gold embroidered walls. You kept yourself straightened, focused on your breathing and let your hand linger around the dagger hidden under your dress.  

“Don’t evade,” you said then, icy edge wedging itself between your words, “let the prince go and show your faces so we can settle this properly.”  

A beat of silence, then Junhui craned his neck back as he let out a booming laugh. The knife tightened on Chenle’s neck and his panicked eyes searched yours.  

“Settle this properly?” crowed Jun then before his lips curled back in a vicious snarl. You felt the whole room tense at the sheer animosity. “And what does this ‘settling’ mean for you, huh, dear? Shooting someone in the head? Or stabbing them in the neck, maybe blow their guts up with the help of your little arsonist?” his eyes narrowed into slits as he drank up your facial expression, “or does spreading your legs nice and wide does the job for everyone?”  

You stopped breathing.  

Talk.  

This is all talk, and he talked too much –  

Stalling. Was he stalling?  

You didn’t dare look up at the balcony, it would just give him an idea of Taeyong’s and Doyoung’s whereabouts…  

“That’s quite enough, Jun,” a voice sounded then, echoing through the deadly silent ballroom.  

A figure emerged, muscular and clad in black. His hair was smoothed back onto his scalp, revealing a creaseless forehead and bedroom eyes, wide and dark. An easy, light-hearted smile coated his lips and his name flashed in your mind immediately.  

Seungcheol.  

Then you felt a presence at your back, a whiff of spicy cologne and smoke – Taeyong stepped beside you. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, with enough force to blacken your senses for a single second. But Taeyong didn’t look at you, didn’t even graze his fingers against yours, his gaze was fixated on the rival gang’s leader and conman.  

Rage rippled off him – you felt it, Jun felt it, and you reckoned that the entire room felt it too. It was quiet and icy, cold enough to freeze lakes over.  

“We didn’t come to fight tonight,” Seungcheol said then. His voice was deep and rough, embers of arrogant authority sizzling. You cringed and watched the knife at Chenle’s neck.  

“Of course, you didn’t,” breezed Taeyong, his crimson hair smoothed back, emphasizing his elegantly tilted cat-like eyes, flashing, “you hold daggers to princes’ necks for the laugh.”  

Seungcheol let out a deep chuckle and Junhui grinned, tightening his grip.  

“You are slick ones, you know,” the Black Spade’s leader said, leisurely placing his hands in his pockets. A move of superiority. A move of arrogance. “We managed to catch this little one here only, the rest – “  

He looked at you then, his depthless black eyes raking over your form smoothly and you forced yourself not to flinch.  

“– scattered. Like underground rats.”  

As if on command, tiny red dots flashed up on their skin – not yours or Taeyong’s but the others, and it took them a whole ten seconds to realize it.  

And when they did, you managed to grin as if you had been planning it all along.  

“Rats, you say?” you hummed and dared a glance behind Seungcheol and Junhui – where Yukhei was supposed to be but you found nothing other than an empty macaron plate. He managed to get out – through the servant corridors.  

“Let go of the prince, Junhui,” Taeyong said then, his voice barely louder than a faint whisper, but much, much more powerful.  

The conman and his leader exchanged a quick glance before Jun lifted the dagger from Chenle’s neck and pushed the princeling away from him. He stumbled but didn’t fall and his eyes found yours immediately. It took Chenle no time to be at your side, his breathing and legs shaky. You grabbed his wrist and manoeuvred yourself in front of him.  

“Consider this a warning,” Seungcheol murmured then, “we see and hear everything, and remember, the blade of the spade cuts the snake’s head off.”  

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.  

“Just take the rest of your ragtag and fuck off,” grumbled Taeyong and turning on his heels, walked out of the ballroom.  

For a second you held Junhui’s eyes, then turning around you followed your leader, not letting the prince’s hand go.  

You flinched, hard, when the double-winged door banged closed behind your back.  

Three and a half hours, four shots of whisky and an entire pack of cigarettes later your fingers still seemed to tremble, and you considered chopping them off with one of Doyoung’s crooked daggers. This was after you finally stopped running your eyes over your family and the princes, looking for hidden injuries, panicked flashes in the eyes or a shaky breath – which you had found plenty. None of you changed out of your elegant clothing. If someone had walked into the suite with no knowledge or context regarding your history, they would have perceived the situation as something beautifully morbid. Suits were crumpled – the immaculacy only a tell-tale of what was supposed to happen, and the weapons scattered around the velvet sofas did not seem as intimidating as they should have been.

Chenle was sitting on a big, plush sofa – his entire body shaking, sweat dripping off his brows – Renjun and Jungwoo sat by him, encasing him with their bodies, wiping the cold beads from his eyes and neck. You swore you saw Jungwoo’s hand tremble the entire time.  

Johnny ran his fingers through his hair – once brushed elegantly, now hanging low into his brows. His eyes kept going to his youngest brother, guilt glinting there now and then.  

“We were right then,” he murmured, his voice hushed yet it seemed like a shout in the painfully quiet room, “it has been the Black Spade all along.”  

Ten and Jeno exchanged glances and you hummed. The only noise coming out of you since you collapsed onto a couple-sofa with Winwin.  

Maybe that was why Prince Yuta’s sharp eyes cut to your features immediately.  

“Miss Assassin seemed to have a moment there,” you thought he wanted his voice to be threatening and reckoning but you felt nothing other than a hollow sort of static noise.  

Taeyong turned towards the prince before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that encased his face for a second.  

“She owes no explanation, even for Your Highnesses.”  

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Johnny said, his eyes now set on you hesitantly and you stared back with an empty expression, “but what if it has significance?”  

Doyoung squinted.  

“It doesn’t.”  

“Maybe it does.”  

“Trust me, it does not.”  

Jaehyun drew in a sharp breath.  

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t dare to or didn’t want to, that did not matter. You still felt the warmth of his breath on the tip of your nose.  

“It might have some, though,” you interrupted, and everyone looked at you. Tilting your head back entirely, you rested it against the head of the loveseat and Winwin reached underneath the nape of your neck. You let out a small, thankful smile.  

Sitting in the crossfire of burning gazes, you began to tell a story.  

Everything has a start. The creation of Earth, the start of civilisations, kings and queens begin their lives as toddlers like everyone and everything else. Gangs, mafias don’t emerge the way they are now. They are not born as complete, safe empires. They crawl out as muddy and clawed hands; they pull themselves through sewers and tunnels and they scratch and cut themselves in the process – but it doesn’t matter because the purpose is stronger than the circumstance.  

The journey is long – never ending. Your growth never stops, there is no limit of being better – or worse. And you believe you haven’t gone down the right path. But does being good mean being right? No one knows the answer to that.  

You took a deep, deep breath before starting.

“There hasn’t always been war between the Black Spade and the Diamond Snake. In fact, it started off as something as close as a brotherhood. It crumbled three years ago – I believe people have heard about it. It was all over the media. Before that happened… Dear heavens, we were inseparable, we even thought about merging our gangs. I was nineteen at the time it all fell apart…an age where you ardently believe you are mature enough for whatever might come your way. The age when life seems to throw its heaviest and sharpest stones at you. Three years ago, our family was thriving already…but only because of Seungcheol’s – the Black Spade’s leader’s – help.”

“The Black Spade is a bit older than us. Even though we are around the same age, they began their businesses much earlier. They were already dealing serious things when we only ran around, wreaking havoc, stealing and just…living life at its fullest. In the foulest ways possible. It was Seungcheol who told Taeyong that he should get into similar business like him. I remember, he said something along the lines of: “There is potential in you, brother. Great potential.”  

I was thirteen then. Taeyong was barely sixteen. We admired the way he built up something like a kingdom, we were there when the fundamental stones were placed down. So, we began to do the same. We built up bases, created businesses, recruited people. He stood with us the whole time, helping us, advising when we needed it.  

For two years, everything went smoothly. I was already good at fighting – living on the streets isn’t the best thing for a girl. Especially in that part of the city. But Doyoung and I began to train, to be weapons, irreplaceable assets. We were trained by ex-assassins, spies, conmen, any person who has once been great, and had enough skill and power to make empires crumble into pieces. Working on the streets and in the underworld had its perks.  

During those two years, the two gangs shared dreams. We had great plans…overly ambitious at the time but we were so determined – it was impossible to keep us down, to make us give up on those ambitions. It didn’t stray us that their gang structure was different from what we planned.”  

You inhaled deeply and let out a shaky laugh. Winwin squeezed your shoulder.  

“The Black Spade has a unique way of…working. I will try my best to tell you what I know about it.”  

You looked around the room, sweeping your eyes over the princes and gang members. They huddled around you and drank up each word you said. As you looked at them you realised – for the first time, there was no place for anger, prejudice or even disgust in the room. The princes and gang members sat by each other one by one, brushing shoulders, crossing legs. Not enemies. Something close to acquaintances. Not friends yet, no… but you felt like you were on the right path towards that. Maybe this mission which became a catastrophic mess, the embodiment of your mutual enemy – this was perhaps what you needed most to be pushed together, to begin acting like an alliance instead of two reluctant parties forced into working together.  

You continued with a small, bitter smile and tucked your trembling hands under your thighs.  

“The Black Spade hits and runs, without lingering. When you realize what they have done…you feel numb and out of place. They work and move in sync, through careful planning and execution of strategy. In and out. They work for money, for men of status and they are not afraid to do the dirty work. They work long-term, taking down their prey over periods of times, working their ways into systems and hearts. This is exactly what they were becoming after that year. The inner circle had roles and jobs – just like us. But they are trained to do the dirtiest and foulest of works. We have spies – but they have conmen. Their names are Jeonghan and… and Junhui.”  

You said the last name with a dying breath. Pressure held your throat together as you fought the urge to shake. Winwin’s pinkie finger began to trace calming patterns on your shoulders.  

“They are worse than spies, they don’t get the information like us – by listening carefully and paying attention to details, or even hacking. No. They deceive you; they make you trust them; make you believe that they are more important than what you are truly protecting. They take the information, and they make sure to destroy you afterwards. Slow and steady. That was the path they started to follow. Their ambitions took a dark turn, one we were not willing to follow. Taeyong wasn’t, at least. More complications arose and more fights broke out between the two gangs. The last one was between Doyoung and Wonwoo, one of the Spades’ assassins. It turned bad…Both Yukhei and Taeyong were needed to hold Doyoung back, and Mingyu – another Spade assassin and Seungcheol, their leader, to keep Wonwoo from throwing daggers at Doyoung. It was a mess. Pure chaos.  

That was when things turned around for us, we strayed apart from each other, went on different paths, different parts of the city. After another half a year, we started a race. To see who has more territory, more assets and influence over wealthy people. It was obvious, after a while, that they worked against us on purpose, but it was too late for them. We grew stronger, we knew their ways of working and we developed ours – a new system, something that was unfamiliar for them. That went on for…I believe I was almost eighteen when I met Junhui again. The last time I saw him was two-three years before that.”

Another breath. You felt your heart hammer against your chest as you tried desperately to calm it down by taking deep breaths. But it did not seem to work, and the dress started to feel tighter, more open – too revealing.  

“I’d always found him attractive. So, when we met again accidentally on a mission, where both of us had the same target…those old emotions re-surfaced. For me, at least. One thing led to the other…The next thing I knew I was sneaking out of the Viper’s Pit, our home and headquarters, to meet up with him. I believe the thrill that we were lovers like Romeo and Juliet, from two families who have developed hatred toward one another, fired our emotions up. He was irresistible. I knew I was doing the wrong thing, deep inside me, but I felt like for once, I would be young and foolish. That I could afford it and could get away with it later. That even if it ends, if emotions die or our families find out, we have learned something new from each other, from the whole situation.”  

“So, we continued meeting up. Secret rendezvous. We shared everything. Our pasts, our feelings, our deepest secrets and doubts.  

Then one day, he started asking about things that weren’t related to my own feelings…he asked about the Snakes, first about how my relationship was with them, then slowly about how we work. And I was so in love, I was so sure that he wanted to know where I come from, where and how I live…I gave him everything he wanted to know.”  

You took a breath. Then another. Then another.  

And you swallowed back the lumps in your throat, because thinking about the mistakes you have made was much, much harder than you thought it would be. The barricades, the walls you have placed between your memories and your thoughts seemed to weaken as you talked about him. You saw a mixture of emotions when you looked around the room, ran your eyes through the princes and your family.  

The young princes…their eyes were filled with held back emotions, sympathy and sorrow and something like understanding. They were young, too young to fully understand how it must have felt like to go through these things but…they were smart enough to comprehend other aspects of it. The choices, the danger of trusting and the importance of keeping vital information to yourself. To not let emotions come in the way of that.  

Then you glanced over at the four older royals…their expressions were a haze, a mess of swirling emotions. It was so clear, in that moment, what each of them felt. As if everyone had dropped down their guards along with you.

Prince Johnny swallowed; you saw his throat bob as he looked away from your face – to stare at his own feet instead. Was it pity? You didn’t know, and you weren’t sure you desired to find out. Yuta’s expression was perhaps the most shocking one. He was leaning back on an armchair, his legs crossed and his head resting in his palm. In his eyes – a sharp glint of understanding. His bone-chilling attitude seemed to have melted in that moment. The edge didn’t leave his eyes but was joined with something new. Something soft and forgiving. Prince Jungwoo had a similar calculating look in his sweet, brown eyes. Although he wasn’t looking at you only. His eyes kept sweeping over your family, their expressions while listening to your story. The big picture.  

Finally, you let yourself glance at Prince Jaehyun.  

He stared at you, his face radiating nothing but pure curiosity and painful realisation - the information seemingly took its place in his brain like the piece of a puzzle. The key to the lock. They understood where you were getting at. They knew what it cost you to love a rival.  

Your voice descended into a quiet, but steely whisper.  

“After I learned all the things he’d done, how he used me for the information…I visited their nest. The Spades’ nest.”

And when you looked up again, you felt like the entire weight of a cliff rolled off your shoulders.

“And I burned it to the ground.”  

“You shouldn’t have shared this much.”  

These were Ten’s first words, barely a minute after the princes left Taeyong’s suite, with something like incredulous haze dwelling in their eyes. Your story was followed by a heavy silence, and you noted the quiet tears in Jaemin’s eyes. He was the most reluctant to leave, but Jaehyun pulled him along gently with a last look at you over his shoulder. You met his gaze. And let it linger.  

You slid your eyes towards the spy, and it barely surprised you how much energy you had to muster for it.  

“I placed the youngest prince in danger. I owed them this much.”  

Ten clicked his tongue.  

“You could’ve told them all this with half as much detail. Something about you and the Black Spade conman fucking, him betraying you and you taking revenge. It would’ve also taken less time.”  

Winwin groaned.  

“Why is it that when you open your mouth, only negative things manage to leave through it?”  

“You’re one to talk.”  

Kun interrupted, “We need them to trust us.” He shot you an approving look before frowning.  

“You did not have motives other than that, right Z?” he looked at you more carefully.  

“Of course, I didn’t, what are you talking about?” you murmured and stared at the ceiling in a rather determined manner. Jeno sat up straighter.  

“Oh my god, is it because of one of the princes? You like one of them?” he grinned, his eyes contracting into half-moons.  

“How did you come up with that? What does it have to do with it all? I don’t like anyone,” you hissed at no one in general. But that wasn’t enough for your family, who had entered a state of frenzy.  

“It’s Johnny, isn’t it?” Winwin glanced down at you, his lips tightened so he doesn’t burst out laughing.  

“No what the fuck, Win -”  

“I mean I wouldn’t blame you,” Ten shrugged and you arched one of your freshly plucked eyebrows. You did not like the direction of the conversation.  

“You have a daddy kink, don’t you Z? And Johnny is the daddy,” Yukhei was nodding deep in thought, as if he was a doctor writing a prescription for you. You gaped again.  

“Excuse me – “  

“No, I think Johnny is way too soft to be a daddy,” Doyoung shook his head and the others murmured in agreement. You were at a loss for words. Just minutes ago, you were discussing your tragic past love-story and now they were dissecting the chances of who you might fancy and their kinks-  

“Nah,” Taeyong spoke up then, the one who did not render his eyes from your face ever since you finished talking about Junhui, “I don’t think it is Johnny.”  

Whipping your head at your leader you shot him a betrayed look. He just stared at you with ever-knowing eyes.  

“You don’t like anyone,” he tilted his head and placed his chin in his palm, “but you do find one of them fascinating, don’t you, dear?”  

You squinted.  

“You wouldn’t know – “  

“Yes, I would,” Taeyong’s voice was hard and you clumped your mouth shut, “I have known you your entire life. Gives me enough time to figure you out.”  

Shrugging, you hoisted yourself up from the sofa and stalked towards the door. You needed sleep. A day’s worth, at least. You didn’t want to listen useless talk.  

“Z, wait,” Taeyong called after you regretfully. Tightening your grip on your heels, you turned around, glanced at your leader, at the rest of the Diamond Snake.  

“Stay here for the night, please. Everyone will.”  

He hesitated, as if saying these words caused him physical pain. He was disappointed, too. Shaken up by the night’s events like the rest of you. On the edge.  

“I don’t think it is…safe yet. For us to walk around here alone. We also heard Seokjin’s words – about his office being near here. And he disappeared along with the Spades. No one knows where he might be, what he might be planning along with these little shits.”  

You saw his point, and you hated to admit that you agreed with him. A part of you wanted to say that you’re fine off alone, that you can protect yourself… but tonight’s events upset you, too. The moment of realisation, while Seokjin held your hair wrapped around his finger, that you knew nothing, that you stalked straight into a trap in golden stilettos. And that you had no idea.  

With a sigh, you dumped your heels back on the ground.  

“Fine. But I want the bed.”  

Tae let out a sigh of relief.  

But not even the soft privilege of the bed was enough to lull you into sleep that night.  

The next few days, most of your group retreated into a nerve-wrecking calm, even Yukhei was quieter and less lively than usual. It was nice to see that you were not alone in this pit of…lethargic feelings because of the ball. The next week was spent in solitude, the entire inner circle gathering up in Taeyong’s suite, eating and sleeping together. If anyone else saw you, they would have straight up called you miserable. The usual teasing, yelling and disastrous attitude towards the cleanliness of the place was nowhere to be seen.  

“We haven’t been that lucky while being here, have we?” Doyoung piped up one evening, with Taeil and yourself sitting on the balcony, smoking in silence. You placed your legs in Taeil’s lap.  

“What do you mean?” the eldest of the group asked as he smashed the remnants of his cigarette.  

Doyoung shrugged.  

“Well, look at the first mission. That wasn’t carried out so well either,” his voice sounded sarcastically cheerful, but you caught the tone of disappointment. Doyoung has always been the type to be adamant on succeeding on the events and actions and whatever objective you had in mind. You hardly failed. And it has never happened two times in a row, until now.  

You wanted to say something soothing, but the words got caught in your mouth.  

Taeil drew circles absently on the skin of your ankle.  

“Well the first mission was good to earn the Royals’ trust, no?” he said then. The raven assassin inclined his head.  

“Yeah, but Z got injured,” he countered, and you groaned, “so the two cancels itself out.”  

Taeil chuckled.  

“Based on what?”  

“PEMDAS?”  

You chucked the pack at Doyoung’s head. He threw it right back.  

“We have to come up with something. We can’t keep going on like this,” you said after tugging out a new piece from the pack.  

“What do you mean?”  

“I feel like we have been feeling around in the dark so far. We weren’t sure who stood behind the attacks, we could only play a role as bodyguards. But now we know it is the Black Spade for sure. Just think, what would we do normally?” you straightened up while talking, folding your legs underneath yourself.  

“We need to sniff around the Spades… find out the location of their headquarters, their current customers and deals,” Taeil caught up with your thinking and you nodded.  

Doyoung’s eyes shone as he leaned forward.  

“On the other hand, we need to get ready for any following attacks. We need to recruit more Snakes for this job, the inner circle can’t stay the only ones working on this case,” he thought out loud, “Ask for a new place from the Royals, and no one should know about it… not even the princes. Then we need to visit the Headquarters, see who can be used for the job. And then we need spies stuck onto the Spades… but I’m not so sure about that. Remember what happened last time?” he grimaced.  

You shuddered as you recalled what happened the first and last time you set three of your spies onto the Black Spade. You could hardly identify them two days later, when you found them at an abandoned bus stop by an empty road.  

Taeil let out a pained sigh.  

“That means we will need to hire someone who does not belong to us and is further independent from other gangs… and who knows how things work in the Underworld, knows people, has connections… Doyoung, all the people who would be perfectly up for the job belong to us.”  

“Not really,” you spoke up then, a triumphant grin stretching on your face, “there is someone who would be perfect for the job. Or more like someones.”  

Doyoung’s mouth hanged open after a minute of silence.  

“Z no. I don’t want to see those little shits ever again.”  

You slammed your hands on the arms of the wooden chair and shooting up on your legs, you smashed the cigarette that was not done simmering.  

“Z yes. I’m gonna talk to Tae. Call the rest of the Snakes together,” was all you said before you hurried inside the suite.  

Luckily, all of the members were inside already. You agreed not to roam around at night, especially alone, so it became a fixed routine, that all the Snakes are back in the suite around early evening, doing their own things, scattered around the place.  

As usual, Jisung and Winwin were on the floor in one of the living room’s corners, surrounded by cables and computers. Ten, Jeno and Yukhei were watching a video on one of their phones – something violent, judging by the crashing sounds blasting on full volume. Taeyong and Kun were bent over a pile of papers, thrown messily around on the coffee table. You sauntered over.  

“I have an idea.”  

Both of them flinched at the unexpected voice and the victorious cheer it held. Kun squinted.  

“What have you cooked up now, Z?”  

You jerked your head towards the couches and armchairs arranged into a half circle in the middle of the living room. That area became the core of the preparations, the talks, the planning.  

Shortly after the Snakes got comfortable, you began sharing your idea. Summing Taeil’s, Doyoung’s and your own ideas, you drew up the problems that you stand against – and how you should solve them. The attitude you should adjust to. When you finished with the problem-solution speech, you went quiet, waiting to see if they followed you, to see if they understood.  

After a beat of silence, Yukhei’s head shot up.  

“You’re gonna suggest we talk to the Shenanigans?”  

Taeyong’s eyes widened. Winwin let out a sound that might have been called a whimper. Jeno and Jisung grinned.  

You nodded.  

“I say we talk to the Shenanigans. Listen, if anyone knows the Underworld and its dealings better than us and other gangs, it’s them,” you ran your eyes over the members.  

“They are so disrespectful,” Doyoung whined.  

“What do you expect from a bunch of outcast kids?” Jeno shot back before looking at you and Jisung, who hasn’t said anything the entire time.  

“I like Z’s idea. I’m in. And you know what guys? You old people won’t even need to see them. Jisung and I can go talk with them, we are the same age anyways.”  

You let out an impressed hum and swung your legs over into Yukhei’s lap.  

“The two of you is not enough. You need more people, so maybe you should take Yukhei as well. They seemed to like him last time,” Taeyong tilted his head, “maybe you could bring the young royals with you too.”  

“Okay no need to go overboard now – “Kun spoke up, but you interrupted him.  

“Wicked. I like it. And maybe one elder for added authority and to show it’s a serious case.”  

“No more adults though. Yukhei and an older royal is borderline intolerable for the Devil’s spawns,” Doyoung drawled as he ran through a hand through his hair.  

Everyone looked at Taeyong, waiting to see what he says. Jeno and Jisung exchanged a quick glance and Yukhei played with the nail polish on your toes. You could see your leader mulling over the exchanged ideas and propositions, saw him weigh each of them.  

“We will need to execute these things as quickly and as quietly as we can,” he murmured then, drawing his cut eyebrow up. Kun and Taeil agreed with grunts of their own.  

“Then we will need to divide ourselves and the royals up. One team goes to the Viper’s Pit to recruit more Snakes, the other team goes with the young princes to talk to the Shenanigans,” you jerked your head towards Jeno and Jisung.  

Taeyong straightened up and said, “okay,” before heading towards the phone on the nightstand by the bed.  

Before you knew it, you were on your way to Prince Johnny’s suite with Taeyong and Doyoung flagging either side of you. Following the eldest prince’s instructions, you ducked into a hidden pathway that connected all the wings of the palace and was kept a secret even from most of the servants. It is the safest mean of travel for all of us from now on, he said.  

You chuckled to yourself as you listened to the loud echoes of your breaths with your leader and your fellow hitman. When exactly did you get to the point where you were allowed to visit the private suite of the Crown Prince? And exactly when did the royals stop worrying about the fact that with a single movement you could hurt them in unimaginable ways? You wanted to add ‘without feeling remorse’ but…that would have been a blatant lie.  You wiped the thoughts out of your brain.  

“Did you tell him to get the princes together?” Doyoung whispered over your head to Taeyong, who nodded in response.  

The walls around you were painted hastily in old fashion, and because of the damp, it started to fall off in some places.  

“Ceremonious,” Doyoung groaned as he inched sideways into a corner, so that he wouldn’t touch the blight, “is this really the means by which we’re gonna have to move around in the palace?”  

“Since when are you such a diva?” Taeyong murmured and you snickered.  

“He’s always been like this. How can you forget it?” you countered, then shuddered when a cold breeze kissed the back of your neck. Placing your hands in the pockets of Yukhei’s hoodie, you hurried your steps.  

“It’s getting colder here. Let’s hurry.”  

In about five minutes you arrived at the Crown Prince’s suite and as soon as Doyoung lifted his hand to knock, the door swung open. Johnny had a slightly dishevelled look, but you didn’t have time to observe him because he ushered you inside with hurried, frantic movements. With a frown, all three of you stepped inside the –  

You had no words.  

You had gone speechless.  

You doubted you had the appropriate vocabulary to describe the eldest prince’s suite.  

Staring, you took in the spotless interior. The walls were ivory white, and the entire place had a theme of black and white. The entrance led to a small foyer, where there was a spacious closet in which you could place your shoes and coats. He then led you into the living room and as you walked inside you could feel your feet sinking into the soft, white carpet that covered the entirety of the room. You wanted this material at your place too. You were going to have to Taeyong about it later on. The living space was huge. Enormous.  

There was a spacious kitchen to your right, as you stepped inside, and to your left – half of the living room was sunken into the floor, with a circle of black velvet couches, providing an intimate and cosy atmosphere to the people sitting there.  

It was so luxurious and clean, you felt reluctant to touch anything so you wouldn’t smear …. yourself on it. This was ridiculous.  

There are people on the street, you thought, who are starving and begging for money every day and these people have half their living room sunken inside the floor?  

You heard a low scoff beside you and concluded that Doyoung must have had similar thoughts.  

“Do you think the toilet flushes itself here?” he murmured into your ear and you had to clamp your hand to your mouth, so you don’t snort out loud.  

“Make yourselves at home,” Johnny said then and gestured towards the couches, “The others are here.”  

Indeed, the princes were scattered around the circle, wearing casual clothes. Yet again, you were glad that you wore a hoodie and sneakers instead of a full body tunic and heels. It would have been a little overkill. Placing your hands back inside the pockets, you stalked towards the royals, Tae and Doyoung following.  

Yuta, who had his back to you, turned around then, and glared your way.  

“We do have things to do, you know. You can’t just order us around to your conveniences.”  

Doyoung glared right back.  

“If it concerns your survival, damn yes we can order you around Highness. Unless, you find pompous meetings with ass-lickers more important than your skin, you are obliged to do nothing of course.”  

You clamped your mouth shut when you saw the expression on Yuta’s face. But he didn’t say anything else. That was perhaps the courtesy of Jaehyun, who placed his hand on his brother’s arm. You noted that his face was grimmer than usual and the skin under his eyes were a shade darker than usual. Not that you’ve observed him before.  

The other princes were sitting seemingly relaxed, chatting casually, but you caught their eyes following your every movement. Oh well. Turns out you generalised the thought that they began trusting you. Putting a light swagger in your step you flashed them a grin.  

The three of you sat on a segment that was left empty by the princes.  

You caught Jaemin’s eyes and he gave you an eye-smile.  

“So, what is the reason for this emergency call-together?” Johnny asked as he leaned forward.  

“We came to share an idea and plan we just came up with. We thought it was an emergency because it is important that we take action as soon as we can,” Taeyong said with authority in his voice. He smoothed his flaming hair out of his forehead and ran his eyes over the royals, “we will need to involve Your Highnesses in the implementation of the next task.”  

Jungwoo tilted his head, “which would be?”  

Doyoung took over.  

“Our team will have to be divided into two. We know that the previous missions resulted in more failure than success because how little men and information we had.”  

“One of the teams will have the task of heading to the Diamond Snake headquarters, the Viper’s Pit, and the other team will have to take a small trip outside the city to talk with the Shenanigans,” you explained, placing your chin on the back of your hand. You fought the urge to cringe from having all the princes’ eyes fixated on you. Especially now, after you spilled so many things from your past. Ten was right. You shouldn’t have said so much. The last thing you needed from them was their pity.

“Who are the Shenanigans?” Mark piped up, pushing his circular glasses up on his nose.  

Doyoung hissed, “A group of little fu – “  

“The Shenanigans are a group of boys,” you interrupted him with a pointed look in his direction, “they are a fairly young group who were outcasts. I wouldn’t say they are a gang or mafia because they don’t do dealings or jobs for higher class people. But they know how the Underworld works, where you can find gangs, mafias, how you can get to them. They know how to get information without anyone noticing, they are exceptional at blending in and working their ways through crowds and events.”  

“What is our role?” a low baritone voice spoke up then, sending chills down your spine. You glanced in Jaehyun’s direction but avoided eye contact. Taeyong took over.  

“We would divide both our inner circle and You Highnesses. The younger ones – Princes Mark, Renjun, Jaemin, Donghyuck and Chenle would be accompanied by Prince Jaehyun and Yukhei, Jeno and Jisung from our team. It is known that the Shenanigans don’t take too much liking to older people. We are certain that they have taken a liking to Jeno and Jisung because they are the same age, and also Yukhei who is…Yukhei, and he is liked by anyone. We thought to add Prince Jaehyun as well to take extra caution. One adult wouldn’t hurt anyone. That is, if it is alright with Your Highness,” your leader finished with a long breath.  

Jaehyun thought for a while and glanced at Johnny. There was a wordless conversation between them – something most siblings shared. You knew the feeling well.  

“Alright,” he said then, “I will go with them.”  

The young princes nodded vehemently. Their eyes shone brightly, and it made you believe that they were enthusiastic about having a chance to go on a mission and not staying in the shadow of their older brothers. You smiled at Jaemin who returned it with a wide grin of his own.  

Taeyong inclined his head.  

“Prince Jaehyun and our Jeno will then join the other team at the Viper’s Pit. We will be heading to the headquarters, as we mentioned earlier, to talk with the rest of the Diamond Snake members and recruit people who are trustworthy and fit for the job. The people going there will be Z, Kun, Ten, Princes Johnny, Jungwoo, Yuta and myself. We will need to stay there for a couple of days to make sure everything goes smoothly and without complications.”  

“What about the rest of your gang?” Yuta drawled.  

“I will need to stay here, as I am the Taeyong’s Second,” Doyoung answered, unfazed by Yuta’s icy tone, “Winwin will monitor everything from his computers and Taeil will assist me in sorting through materials for the next mission and other precautions we will need to take.”  

“Precautions?” Johnny asked. Taeyong nodded.  

“We were not careful enough previously. No mistake like that will happen ever again.” his voice held solid authority, even when he apologised. In his own way.  

The princes were quiet for a while, each deep in his own thought and the three of you waited patiently. Somewhat. Doyoung kept playing with the embroidery on one of the pillows until you slapped his hand away. He was this close to tearing it.  

Then to your surprise, Yuta spoke up.  

“When are we leaving?”  

The following morning’s cold breeze sent shivers down Jaehyun’s spine. He groaned as he pulled the covers further up on himself, so it was only his eyebrows and the top of his ruffled hair that was visible. Yuta had stayed in his suite for a long time the day before and honestly, now he wished he had kicked his brother out sooner than three in the morning. He gave himself three more minutes of snoozing, though he was everything but relaxed. Jaehyun knew that if he actually relaxes in that time period, he’s going back to sleep for the next couple of hours.  

With another groan he fought the covers back and sat up. He was not a morning person, and on some days, he was thankful that he was a prince with duties, otherwise he would have wasted his entire life lying in bed all day. It was 7.35 by the time he flung his jacket over his black button-up and left to join his brothers and the three Snakes at the circular driveway of the castle.  

He saw that his younger brothers had taken up on his advice the previous night - that wearing something casual but elegant might be the golden middle way, to stay true to themselves without offending the Shenanigans – who openly judged adults and lived life by their own rules. Unapologetically. He’s done all the research he could last night with Yuta, but this was all he could find online, in the darkest pits of the internet. He will have to interrogate Jeno more on who exactly they were going to see.  

The youngsters set a great tone, his brothers were joking around with the Snakes, and as he headed over to them, occasionally he heard Chenle’s high-pitched giggles and Yukhei’s boisterous laughter. There were only three bulletproof-ed cars waiting for them, not a police car or motorbike could be seen anywhere near them. Interesting. The first one to notice him was Mark. The younger one tilted his head to the side, so his light brown locks fell over his brows.  

“Brother,” he said as a way of greeting, “we were waiting for you. I thought we agreed to meet at 7.30?” his voice was not accusatory, only confused. Jaehyun sighed as he raked his fingers through his hair and glanced back at the castle.  

“Yuta came over to mine at ten.”  

Mark’s mouth shaped a silent ‘o’ and he nodded understandingly. He knew that if Yuta visited someone…it led to a discussion that went on for hours at least.  

Jeno stalked over and Jaehyun had to fight down the urge to wince. The Snake’s steps were near silent, even on the pebbles of the driveway, and he moved with serpentine grace. It sent chills down Jaehyun’s spine.  

“Are we ready to go?” he asked and cast an eye-smile at Jaehyun, “I just told your brothers that we will be divided into three, so we fit into the cars. Princes Jaemin and Donghyuck will be with Yukhei. Mark and Renjun will be going with our Jisung and Your Highnesses Jaehyun and Chenle are with me.”  

Mark and Jaehyun nodded and a quiet voice in the back of Jaehyun’s mind told him that he should consider himself to be lucky – one Snake in one car, and two Royals with them. If it came to anything unfortunate…no. It is not the time to think about betrayals or conspiracies. The Snakes were there to protect them. Not to divert the cars and crash.  

So, he followed Jeno to the car at the very front and with a reluctant gaze, he waited until all his brothers were inside. And then he got in.  

“I’m really excited,” Chenle said as soon as he buckled himself in, “I have heard more about the Shenanigans after yesterday.”  

Jaehyun flicked his eyebrows up and looked at Jeno who was sitting at the passenger seat. The motor whirred into life underneath them.  

“You have?” he asked his youngest brother. Chenle grinned at him, his eyes narrowing into cheerful slits.  

“Yeah! Jeno, do you want to tell Jaehyun more about the Shenanigans?” he grabbed the seat in front of him and leaned as far as his belt allowed him. Jeno shifted so he was sitting sideways and could look at them both.  

“What has Your Highness heard so far?” his voice was casual but his ebony gaze penetrated Jaehyun. The prince shrugged.  

“Not much. I have done a little research. The only thing I know from the internet is that the Shenanigans are rather young, and they don’t take kindly to adults.”  

Jeno nodded.  

“They are known as outcasts, kids who had nowhere to go because no one wanted to take them in, but that is a false myth. They have taken up the role of outcasts on their own will. The boys who join the Shenanigans were once abused by their families. Parents, mostly,” he’d glanced at Jaehyun who forced a mask of calm on his features, “many young people know about the Shenanigans, some consider them a legend, a myth, though. Too good to be true. The ones who were able to stand up to their parents and leave – or get away one way or another, searched for the group. But they were never successful. Instead it was the Shenanigans who found them.”  

Chenle squirmed in his seat but Jaehyun tried to hide his astonishment. To be able to stand up to abusive parents…and leave. How brave does one have to be? How bad does the abuse have to be in order to make teenagers flee their home? Jaehyun shuddered.  

“The Shenanigans are the modern Robin Hoods for the young generation that has lost hope and are scared to stand up for themselves. They embody freedom and independence. Defiance. Us, the gangs and mafias…we are tied down by our businesses, by deals and bets.”  

Jaehyun placed his elbow on the windowsill as he listened to the young spy. He felt like he was beating around the bush.  

“What is it that they do?” Jaehyun asked and Jeno’s eyes cut to him as he gave him an eerie grin.

“They do many things. Firstly, they defy the gangs. They refuse to swear loyalty to any of them other than themselves. Secondly, they steal. They steal from the higher ups. Lastly, they gather information about everyone and everything. Nothing misses their eyes and when I say all the gangs have been trouble figuring out how they do it, I don’t exaggerate. It is impossible to get a hold of them.”  

There was pride in Jeno’s voice and maybe a little longing. Jaehyun wasn’t exactly sure. Chenle looked at him with bright eyes.  

“Aren’t they terrific? Donghyuck and Jaemin and the others think so too.”  

The eldest frowned.  

“Why do they steal? And what do they do with the money?”  

The spy shrugged and laughed quietly.  

“I have absolutely no idea,” he mused, “it is their business. We haven’t tried figuring it out.”  

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, neither of them talking. Jaehyun caught Chenle smiling softly as he stared out through the windows and it didn’t take him a lot of work to figure out why. The last thing we need is a national scandal that the youngest prince has joined a bunch of thieves, he thought bitterly.  

He had to admit, the Shenanigans did sound appealing to a certain extent. To be free of all duties, to swear loyalty for no one but your family and friends…to be independent from it all. Curiosity burned in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to know more. He wanted to see it all. See how mafias operated, the deals, the missions – even the assassinations, as morbid as it sounded.  

His thoughts screeched to a halt and changed directions. Assassins… he thought of her, with teeth made of razors and eyes like simmering embers. Was she abused as well? Did she have to run away? Or was she born into it all? He thought of the times he watched her train – the way she moved. The sharpness and the precision – the same serpentine grace he saw and still sees in the other members of the Diamond Snake. But it was training – he longed to see it all in action. He longed to see her lunge and twist and stab and – why the fuck was he thinking about all this? Since when did he want to see someone end lives?  

But a voice whispered to him; she is not all edge and defiance.  

He thought of the look on her face when she saw the Black Spade conman with Chenle in the middle of the dancefloor that night…remembered his own rage and how he was glued to the floor, unable to move, to think. How he lost control and went with the flow. Got lost in it. And how she did not. He remembered the way her eyebrows spiked up in that pure, horrified expression. And the way it cleared out in the span of a single second, morphing into a look of murderous calm and arrogance. How she did not let go of his youngest brother’s hand until they were out of sight.

As he stared at splotches of green, orange and yellow passing by, he realised he knew nothing.  

That there was more underneath it all. Hearing her story about the conman and the intertwined history of the two biggest rivalling gangs of the country showed them all, him and his brothers, that there was so much more to these criminals.  

That there is a reason for why things happen. How people turn out to be.  

And how wrong they were for judging them.  

But then again, what if they chose this path…?  

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Jeno looked back with a surprised look.  

“Something wrong?”  

Jaehyun shook his head and sighed.  

“Just…there’s a lot on my mind,” a blatant understatement. The spy tilted his head as he continued to look at him with calmly. Calculating. Wondering. Jaehyun avoided his gaze. Tried not to cringe when Jeno smirked.  

“We are almost there,” was all he said before turning back.  

“Where are we meeting them?” Chenle piped up and leaned forward.  

“Outside the capital. That is all you need to know,” he looked back at the eldest from the corner of his eyes, “you can trust us. There is no conspiracy. If that’s why your head is so heavy, Your Highness.”  

Jaehyun didn’t know whether to feel insulted or amused.  

The warehouse by which they stopped, was gigantic, and isolated. Both irked Prince Jaehyun. It was ran-down, rusty and almost fell apart and he saw nothing or no one that would have indicated that the Shenanigans were there, waiting for them.  

As he stepped out of the car, a breeze of the early autumn air ruffled his hair. He took a deep breath. It has been a long while since he visited the outskirts of the capital – or the countryside, and he needed to take a moment to take in the solemnity and quietness of it all.  

“Oi, Chenle, I got fucking chills!”  

As soon as Donghyuck’s voice got to him, Jaehyun’s eyes snapped open. In the span of seconds, ten forms of irritation ran through his brain as he swirled in his brother’s direction. Then froze as he saw the way Donghyuck bounced in his youngest brother’s and Jeno’s direction – and threw his arms around both of them. Jaemin joined him from Jeno’s side. In the friendliest of manners. Without hesitation. Jaehyun could only gape as he looked around for someone who could be as outraged as him but…  

Mark got out of the third car along with Renjun and both of them were listening intently to something Jisung was murmuring to them. Nothing on their faces other than concentration and fascination as clear as the pond nearby.  

His eyes found Yukhei’s, and found the arsonist already looking at him. Yukhei gave him a challenging grin.  

Look what happens when status and prejudice doesn’t get in the way.

Jaehyun felt his ears warm up and he cleared his throat.  

Their steps were quick as they neared the doorless entrance of the warehouse, the younger ones leaving Jaehyun and Yukhei behind. The Snake had long, lazy steps, as if he was never in a hurry, had all the time in the world. Jaehyun, on the other hand, was tense as always when it came to a sudden meeting with a bunch of criminals. He had just started getting used to the Diamond Snake. He had to get his mind off this.  

“It’s curious,” he turned to Yukhei, “how you and my brother Mark are almost the same age, yet he doesn’t count as an elder like you do.”  

Yukhei shrugged and his eyes widened with a mischievous glint.  

“I guess it counts a little different. Your brother is seen mostly around the young ones and they seem to give off a really harmonised vibe, if Your Highness gets what I mean. Meanwhile I am a part of the inner circle, the oldest and most trusted part of the Diamond Snake gang. I guess that puts a little more to my age.”  

Yukhei glanced at the prince who watched him carefully.  

“Y’know, there is more to age than just numbers. Our family prefers not to distinguish based on age. That barely gives you valuable assets. Look at our Jisung. He’s a teenager, like Jeno, they would still be in high school… but they’ve been through things, Prince. Terrible things. And that makes them cautious, makes them listen and work hard so they do not have to endure those things again.”  

Jaehyun swallowed and had the same chill run down his spine when he heard the story of the Shenanigans. He dared not to ask what the two youngest members of the inner circle went through. He stayed silent and gave an understanding nod to Yukhei.  

The arsonist gave him an encouraging grin and lifted his arm, as if he wanted to slap Jaehyun in the back but he decided otherwise and dropped it. A pang of disappointment hit the prince.  

As they stepped through the eerie opening of the warehouse, many things came into Jaehyun’s mind. The first being that the warehouse was actually not empty and abandoned; it was filled with iron containers of many sizes, having gods know what inside them. The second was the stuffy smell, nearing on mouldy, and suddenly he did not want to know what was inside those containers.  

The third was that other than the two people sitting by a table in the middle of the main paved way through the containers, there was no one else.  

As Jaehyun looked closer, there were a bunch of chairs in front of the single table, Jeno and Jisung leading his brothers straight for them. He opened his mouth to object but Yukhei placed a hand on his shoulder.  

They stopped a few feet away from the chairs, giving Jaehyun time and space to take in the two figures waiting for them.  

The one who was sitting on a wooden chair was clad in a leather jacket, jeans and black combat boots. His hair was a tousled, curly mess of dark blond and his mouth was quirked in a pleasant, almost welcoming smile. His head was tilted, watching them carefully.  

Jaehyun fought his eyebrow so it doesn’t shoot up in the skies.  

The other person, the one who perched on the edge of the table, gave off a more mysterious and serious aura – this one reminded Jaehyun of the Snakes. The man – boy? – was not smiling like his partner, he had his eyes set dead on the princes entering. His arms were crossed tightly, but his legs were hanging loosely on the edge of the weathered table. He was clad in black, similarly to the other person, even his hair, which was so dark it was almost blue. His fingers were adorned with rings, all silver, all capable of leaving a nasty mark if he was to punch someone. He was not smiling. There was nothing on his face other than…boredom? He seemed bored out of his mind, even as his eyes zig zagged between the younger princes.

Only two? I thought there were more people in the Shenanigans’ group. Did they just send representatives?  

Yukhei must have noticed Jaehyun’s confused glare because after nudging him, he nodded his head around them, towards the top of the containers. Following his nod, Jaehyun looked and his heart almost stopped.  

From the shadows and darkness, without a sound, figures emerged.  

They were everywhere, scattered around the warehouse, on tops of the containers, between them, hiding out in the shadows. They stood still. They only watched. But it gave Jaehyun the impression that if he was to do anything reckless, they would not hesitate to lunge down, up onto him. He placed his hands deep into his pockets so he wouldn’t loosen his shirt that suddenly felt a bit too tight.  

Then the blond one spoke up, with a voice surprisingly soft and pleasant.  

“Jeno,” he said, “it has been a while. You got us all worried with your absence.”  

The spy smiled and his eyes scrunched up into their usual moon slits. He lifted his hand slightly to stop the younger princes a step away from the chair laid out. Yukhei and Jaehyun did not go nearer, and there was a container’s length left between them and the others.  

“You out of everyone should know, that it is way too difficult to get a hold of you, Chan.”  

Chan laughed, his plump lips widening.  

“I would have thought that the infamous Diamond Snake spies would at least try. We might have let you, right Minho?” he glanced up at his partner. The boy, Minho, only gave Chan a quick glance before continuing to observe them, but his arms loosened a bit.  

“How rude of me,” Chan continued as he finally stood up, and waved at the chairs, “please, guests, sit down.”  

Then, for the first time, Jaehyun thought, he looked over at the eldest prince and Yukhei. After giving a quick nod and a flash of a smile to Yukhei, Chan’s eyes settled on Jaehyun.  

“I’m afraid we have no more chairs. I hope that is not taken as personal insult to the throne,” his eyes did not leave Jaehyun’s and his voice suddenly took on a mocking, challenging tone. Jaehyun did not break his look away from his.

“By all means,” he said coolly, “pretend I am not here. I have no role in this meeting other than being an elder brother.”  

Chan held his gaze for a second and then his smile went back to warm.  

“Perfect. Now, let me introduce myself and my boys,” he sat back down and casually waved his hand around, “My name is Chan and I am the leader of the Shenanigans. I welcome you princes, Snakes.”  

His eyes ran through the boys perching on the chairs. Jaehyun could swear Chenle and Donghyuck shook slightly from excitement.  

“This here is Minho, my Second and my advisor,” he continued, “and soon, if the situation demands, I’ll call the others forward. But that’s it for now.”  

Jeno grinned and Jisung smirked at Chan, who leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.  

“Now tell me,” he breathed, “the reason why you called us together.”  

#dangerously #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct mafia #nct royal #nct smut #royal jaehyun #mafia yn #mafia fanfiction #royal fanfiction #NCT 127 #nct dream #nct u

[thetravelerwrites]

Arkag (Orc) MLM

Rating: Mature Relationship: Male Human/Male Orc Additional Tags: Exophilia, Male Reader, Reader Insert, Orc Boyfriend, MLM Content Warnings: Missing Limb, PSTD, Flashbacks Words: 3415

Another commission for @severedreamerbeard​! A young man encounters a mysterious, secretive orc who lives on the outskirts of his village. During a sudden storm, the orc has a violent flashback to the day he lost his arm, and the reader helps him cope. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

There was a bit of a legend in your town about the woodcutter that lived outside the village borders. He’d lived there since before you moved to the village and he was an orc, that much you knew, but there was precious little else anyone could tell you that wasn’t speculation or rumors.

Some said he was a war criminal who’d committed heinous crimes and was cast out of his stronghold. Some said he was being hunted for desertion by his clan. Some said he was a smuggler who was using his work in the village as a front. A few folks wanted to run him out of town for fear that he’d bring the wrath of whatever he was escaping from down on townspeople’s heads, though he was so large that few people seemed to be willing to follow through. Besides, he didn’t technically live in town, so it wasn’t as if he was really bothering anyone.

All you knew was that he supplied the town with firewood, which he would drop off on every person’s doorsteps in the dead of night when most people were sleeping. He had a dislike for people or being seen, so he did most of his work when it was dark and he could be alone.

The most unusual thing about him was something you’d seen with your own eyes but no one had mentioned: he only had one arm.

You had gotten up one night when you were ill with food poisoning and gone out to get sick at the edge of the field near your house. During a brief respite, while you were gasping for air, you saw the figure of the orc step silently out of the woods on the footpath, the hand cart he pulled behind him as quiet as he was. You watched in the dim light of the moon as he stopped at your door, let go of the hand cart, picked up a bundle of wood wrapped in twine, dropped it on your doorstep, and continued on his way. All one handed.

His entire left arm was missing and the left sleeve of his tunic was sewn shut unevenly. His ill-fitting clothes were plain and worn, likely the cheapest he could buy if he hadn’t scavenged them from somewhere. It hurt your pride a little as a tailor to see him wearing such rags. He wasn’t wearing a coat either, despite the chill of the autumn night, and his boots looked pretty beat up.

He was as big as everyone said he was, though he looked thinner than you expected, almost lanky. His hair was cut short, rough and jagged, looking as though he’d done it himself somehow, but you couldn’t determine its color in this light.  

You’d almost forgotten that you were sick for a few minutes as you watched from the shadows as he made his way down the block and dropped off the wood at each door. Did he get paid for this service? You’d never paid him before, and most people in town were terrified of him, so you didn’t think they went out of their way to make sure he got his due for the work. Did he do it for free? Why?

After a moment of watching and pondering, your body abruptly remembered that it had eaten some bad eggs and you hurled what was left in your stomach into the brush. You tried to be quiet about it, but it’s hard to make a distressed belly obey or mask the wet splashing of sick in the dewy grass. The force and pressure of heaving actually caused you to black out.

When you awoke, you were inside your home, lying on your bed, and you saw someone moving around in the dark.

“Who’s there?” You croaked roughly, your throat raw from vomiting.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” A deep male voice responded. A cup of water was pressed into your hand. “Drink this. I saw you pass out. Sick as you are, you’d likely have caught a killing fever if I left you there.”

You took a sip dutifully. A match was struck and a candle lit near the door, illuminating the face of the thin orc woodcutter.

“Oh, it’s you,” You said.

“Yeah. It’s me,” He replied flatly. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.” He raked up the coals in the fireplace of your room and threw in a few logs, bringing the fire back to life. In this light, you could see his hair was a soft brown color, and his eyes matched. His skin wasn’t green, like most orcs you’d seen, but an dark red ochre color. You tried hard not to stare at his missing arm.

“Thank you,” you rasped, taking another cautious sip of water. “What’s your name?”

“Arkag,” He said. “Not that it matters. We likely won’t speak again.”

“Why not?” You asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” He said. “I need to go soon. I have to finish the deliveries before sun up.”

“Why?”

“I make people nervous,” He said simply. “It’s best if no one sees me.”

“I see…” You said sadly. He sounded detached and resigned. You felt terrible for him and had to wonder what led him to living such a solitary life. You were almost certain it had to do with his arm, but you couldn’t dig up the courage to ask him about it. “Well, let me repay you for your kindness.”

“No need,” He said.

“Really, I insist. I’m a tanner and a tailor. I could make you a coat! You need one; it’s going to get colder soo--”

“No!” Arkag shouted. “I don’t need your charity and I’m not looking to make friends. Don’t make me regret helping you.” He stalked out of your room and to the front door and left without another word.

You grimaced and grumbled. You didn’t care what he’d said. This wasn’t about charity; it was entirely possible that he saved your life. A coat was the least you could do to repay him.

Once you’d recovered from your illness, you hired a hunter to bring you back as big a pelt as they could find. You knew you’d need a big animal to clothe Arkag and you wanted it to be all one piece. Nothing you had currently in your stock was adequate.

It took you more than two months to tan the leather, and then another two weeks to waterproof it. Sewing the coat took less a few days. By the time the coat was finished, it was well into winter and the snowfall was getting heavy. You wished you’d had the chance to start this project this sooner. Either way, it was done, and you went out during the day to find Arkag’s house.

You followed the beaten footpath deep into the forest and eventually found a small cottage in a circular clearing. The cottage seemed to be a single well-built room made of grey stone thatched with dry reeds and clay. It had a small garden in the front, though it was mostly empty currently, save for a few winter vegetables. You didn’t see him anywhere, and there was no smoke in the chimney, so you assumed he was out working. You left the coat, folded and wrapped in waxed parchment, on the stoop of his front door and left.

That night in the early hours, you were awoken by a loud banging on your door.

“Open up!” You heard Arkag growl.

Aggravated, you wrapped your blanket around you and went and flung the front door open.

“And what time do you call this?” You snapped.

Arkag had the coat clutched in his fist and threw it at you. “I told you I didn’t want your charity!”

“It’s not charity!” You yelled back. “I wanted to make it! I’m just repaying you for helping me!”

“I don’t want anything from you! I don’t want anything from anyone! Leave me alone!” He spun and stomped off.

You huffed and slammed your door. Months of careful work gone to waste because of one stubborn ass. The coat had been made for Arkag and it wouldn’t fit anyone else. You sighed forcefully and put the coat back on the body form.

The next day you went out to hunt. You could catch small game just fine; anything bigger than a deer, though, and you usually either went with a party or hired a more experienced hunter. You were low on meat and thought a small boar would last you a good month or so, if you dried and salted it properly. Plus, you wanted to make yourself some new soft boots for spring.

As you shrugged on your quiver, Arkag’s coat caught your eye. On impulse, you snatched it from the body form and folded it, stowing it in your satchel. You weren’t sure why you did, but maybe you could talk some sense into that block-headed orc.

A few hours tracking had produced nothing, and you were wondering if you shouldn’t just settled for a few rabbits when you felt the air electrify and the small hairs on your neck stand on end. Looking up, you saw that the clouds were darkening and decided to give up the hunt for today. A storm was coming.

You heard thunder in the distance and you hastened your steps. Thunder and lightning during snow storms was unusual, especially in the middle of winter. You had a feeling this one would be bad.

Just as you were coming to the place where the trees opened up a bit, you heard the crack of lightning hitting a tree, startling you. What startled you even more was the blood-curdling scream that followed. You broke into a run and followed the sound with your heart in your throat.

The snow was falling as you stumbled into the clearing that housed Arkag’s cottage. Arkag was on his knees next to his chopping block, an axe lying nearby, wailing as though he were in pain, though you couldn’t immediately see any wound. There was a smoldering tree nearby that must have been struck by the bolt.

“Arkag!” You shouted, running to him. “Arkag! Are you alright?”

“My arm!” He cried. “My arm!”

You looked at his right arm and inspected it frantically for injuries. “It’s alright! You’re arm’s fine! Arkag, you’re fine!”

“My arm! Oh gods, my arm!”

“Arkag, you’re arm isn’t hurt! You’re--” You realized then that his right hand was grasping for his missing left arm. Arkag was shaking violently and sobbing, his eyes wide and unseeing. You wanted to help him, but you weren’t sure what you could do. You were leery of touching him, concerned you would make it worse or that he’d lash out.

The only thing you could think of was the coat. He was only wearing his beat up boots, ill-fitting trousers, and the messily sewn tunic. Perhaps orcs had a higher cold tolerance than humans, but he still had to be feeling this weather. Shaking your head, you took out the coat and lay it over his shoulders carefully, trying not to jostle or alarm him.

The thunder continued to roll and the snow continued to fall as you knelt next to Arkag, keeping watch over him until this… flashback, you guessed, passed. Slowly, ever so slowly, Arkag seemed to come back to himself as the snow collected on both of you. This close, you could see that one of his tusks was cracked down the middle and rather grey in color compared to its twin, which was the normal yellow-white.

“Arkag,” You said softly. “We need to get inside before we freeze. The snow is going to get worse and it’ll be dark soon.”

Arkag blinked rapidly and wiped his face. He’d stopped crying but was still shivering. “Go ahead,” Arkag said in a low, brusque tone. “You can make fun of me now.”

Your head rocked back. “Why on earth would I make fun of you?”

He scoffed. “Forget it,” Arkag growled, attempting to stand but stumbling.

You rushed to catch him. “Here, let me--”

Arkag pushed you away, and you fell backward on your butt.

“What was that for?” You asked indignantly.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Arkag said, falling back to a knee. “Leave me alone.”

“Would you stop being stubborn?” You said, shoving yourself to a standing position and taking his arm. “Do you want to freeze?”

“I don’t care!” He shouted at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Stop being dramatic and let me help you, you idiot!”

He attempted to shake you, but the episode had left him weakened. After a moment of trying to fend you off, you eventually got him to his feet and steered him toward his cottage.

Inside was simple and undecorated. There was a fire pit in the center of the single room that was lit, over which was a spit and a grate where a kettle or pan could be placed. There was no bed; instead there was a padded mat covered in furs that he likely slept on. There was a cabinet with jars of food, shelves with random knick-knacks, and a table with a single chair.

Strangely, though there wasn’t much actually in the cottage, it was very cluttered. There were various bones from previous meals thrown into a corner. There was an open trunk with clothes spilling out of it, both washed and unwashed. There were dirty dishes in a basin. The floor was unswept and straw-strewn. You got the feeling that he wasn’t necessarily a slob, he just didn’t care to pick up after himself.

You led him to the chair and he fell heavily into it.

“Where’s your kettle?” You asked.

He pointed at the basin and you went over, finding the kettle underneath a wash cloth. It was rusted and beat up, but it seemed mostly clean. You filled it with water from a barrel near the table and set the kettle on the grate over the fire. You found a clean mug and a canister with tea leaves.

“I don’t want tea,” He said churlishly. “I want ale. Or whiskey.”

“You need tea,” You replied firmly. “We need to raise your body temperature. It’s your own fault for gallivanting around without a coat.”

“Alcohol warms me better,” He grumbled.

“That’s actually a myth,” You told him as you warmed your hands by the fire, waiting for the water to boil. “Alcohol doesn’t make you warmer, it just makes you feel like you are. You’re more likely to freeze to death because you feel like you’ve warmed up when you really haven’t.”

“Still want it,” Arkag said sourly.

“Drink the tea first, then we’ll see,” You said sternly. You stole furtive glances at him as you bustled around his small cottage, getting tea ready. At first, he simply sat there, staring at nothing, though over time, he looked down at the coat, touching it tentatively.

“You really made this?” He asked.

“Sure did,” You replied. “Took me two months to tan that moose skin.”

“Huh,” He hummed. “I used to be able to do things like this. Well, not this; I couldn’t sew even when I had both arms. But I did a bit of skinning and tanning back in my day.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked neutrally.

“Not particularly,” He said.

You sifted some tea leaves into his mug and poured the water in, letting it steep for a moment before pushing the mug over to him and leaning against the wall.

“What about today? What happened today?”

Arkag stared at the mug distantly, wrapping his large hand around it to warm his fingers.

“The sound,” He whispered. “The sound of the tree cracking and snapping. It brought me right back to the day… this…” He waved vaguely at the missing arm. “The day this happened. My body locked up and I couldn’t move. I barely remember most of it. I heard your voice… but from far away. And I couldn’t see you. Why were you even here? The coat?”

“No, I heard you screaming.”

He looked up at you. “Was I screaming?”

You frowned in concern. “Does this happen often?”

“Not anymore,” He replied. “It did when I was younger. It’s why I left in the first place. I was mocked relentlessly by the clan. They didn’t understand that I couldn’t control it.” He took a large gulp of his tea and grimaced at the bitterness of it. “I’ve been alright for awhile now, but… the lightning… when it hit the tree… the sound it made… it just… caught me off guard, I guess.”

“I understand,” You said. “It scared you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He huffed a mirthless laugh. “You don’t know much about orcs, then.”

You laughed, too. “I’m afraid I don’t. I’ve hunted with a few, and I’ve had a couple in my shop, but I’ve never had an actual conversation with one.”

“Not surprising,” Arkag said. “Orcs keep to themselves. We’re a rowdy bunch, but only in places we feel comfortable, and that’s usually around other orcs. Outside of strongholds, we tend to be tight lipped and reserved. They teach us to be cautious around outsiders.”

“Aren’t you an outsider now?”

He shrugged. “Technically. If I wanted to, I could go back. But I don’t want to. I’m comfortable being alone.”

“Are you?” You asked, folding your arms.

He looked up and squinted at you, but didn’t answer.

A strange, heavy silence fell, and you looked out of the window that was next to your head. The thunder and lightning had ceased, but the storm was still in full swing. The snow was falling heavily and the wind was picking up. It was also getting dark.

“Well,” You said with a sigh. “If you’re alright, I should get going. If I don’t go now, I won’t get home before nightfall, and I don’t want to get stuck in this weather after dark.”

Arkag cleared his throat, but when you looked at him, he didn’t say anything.

“Yes?”

“Well…” He said slowly. “It’s… late. I suppose it’s safer for you to stay here until morning, at least. I don’t have much to offer, though.” He waved vaguely around the cottage.

“Oh,” You said in surprise. “Thanks. I don’t need much, just a space on the floor to sleep. As long as we keep the fire up, I’ll be plenty comfortable.” You eyed him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” He said, not meeting your eye. “You… you did help me. And you made me this nice coat.” He brushed a hand over the leather. “This is moose, you said? Awfully soft for moose.”

“I have a special ingredient for tougher leathers,” You told him. “Softens it but the material stays strong and lasts years. Take care of that coat and it’ll last a good decade and a half, at least.”

He seemed impressed. “Not bad.” He looked up at you, then away. “Thanks. For the coat. And… for not being an ass about… you know… earlier.”

“Are you really going to accept the coat?” You asked.

He sneered at you. “You want it back?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” You said. “I meant…” You shrugged lamely, shaking your head.“‘You’re welcome’.”

“Good,” He said, and you swore you almost saw a smile.

He offered you some dried meat and a jar of preserves for dinner, and the both of you turned in. You laid out your coat and rested your head on your satchel on the other end of the cottage while Arkag settled on his mat, using his new coat as a blanket.

You were comfortable but restless, thinking back on Arkag’s wild, terrified eyes and the anguished screaming. What could have caused such fear in him? What had he gone through that made him leave his clan and family behind? How long ago had it been? How long had he been dealing with it alone?

You watched him toss and turn in his sleep, mumbling and groaning. You wondered what dreams were visiting him, if he was reliving his personal nightmare right now. If they haunted him every night. If there was anything that gave him comfort. Looking around his cottage, you didn’t see anything particularly comforting.

With your thoughts in a roil, you turned over and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#exophilia #orc #mlm

[bassdaily]

100 followers!

Somehow? I wanted to do something special for this landmark, but I can't draw and sprites go over like a fart in church. So instead, let's have some fun stats! 

(And maybe a playlist. Tomorrow. Or next week. Maybe.)

The most impressive one, of course, would have to be you yourselves. Thanks for being here! Astonishingly... I can hardly believe it... it looks like each and every one of you is a real person. (That might not sound like much, but like 70% of my followers over on my personal blog are actually bots of ill repute. 😜) If you're an artist with Bass or Forte content, I've tried to get you onto the schedule. If I missed your work, my apologies.

General

These stats are as of 12/1/20, with a nice even 500 posts. Of those 500: 8 I'm supposed to delete and haven't yet, 3 are meta but not slated for deletion, and 3 are "not about that bass" (two of Treble, one of Piano). There are 82 of Forte.exe. I need to start posting more Forte.exe, he's only getting a whopping 16% total exposure here.

The most frequently used silly tag is for all music-based puns, with 19 posts. As you may guess, most of them are involve dubstep: "drop the bass". Meanwhile, the f-bomb has only been dropped 18 times: "only I didn't say 'fudge'".

Hair

There are 42 posts tagged "hairstyles", and 15 as "human au". There's some overlap between them... I'm inconsistent about the human au tag. Excluding duplicates, they break down like this:

16 are blond

21 are black or brunet

9 are purple

5 unknown

If it was lineart but the artist always uses a certain hair color, I went with that. If it was multi-color, I went with the largest portion (or the mohawk itself, for mohawks). Speaking of styles, there were 11 with long hair, 5 with curly hair, 4 with mohawks, 2 with braids, 1 bald. Most of the short haired Basses have the semi-canonical swept-back style... but not all. For those that are, half have bangs, and half don't.

Friends and Family

We have Mega Man: 115, Proto Man: 90, Roll: 54, which sounds about right. Mega Man is a little artificially inflated, since his tag is also used for the series itself (on the rare occasions I post New Content™). Treble: only 72? Dang. I should reblog more Treble, too.

Out of Zero's 41 posts, 36% are positive interactions, 24% are negative interactions, the rest neutral.

Out of Wily's 39 posts, 28% are positive interactions, 49% are negative interactions, the rest neutral.

A nice trend of happy Wily Bros art (...I don’t think I’ve posted any “cataclysm theory” stuff yet 🤔). And a disturbing trend for Bass and Wily’s dysfunctional father-son relationship. There might be some moderator bias there, but I think it reflects the fan art that’s out there.

Shipping

43 posts are tagged "shippy", which is a modest 8.6% of all posts. I kind of feel like I should post more ship content just because... well... there's so much of it. But I like keeping it restricted to once a month or less for the big three outside of ship weeks. Shipping posts breakdown as such:

“BassBlues” 39% [17 posts]

“BassRock” 35% [15 posts]

“Rollass” 32% [14 posts]

“Forte/Serenade” 7% [3 posts]

That gulf will get wider with time, as I've got about 200 each of BassBlues and BassRock on my spreadsheet, but only ~80 of Rollass. (Rollass shippers get on top of this! Chop chop!) I’ve yet to do any really minor ships yet, partially because I didn’t get to do an “other ships” week, which will be happening next year.

In closing

Is there anything you guys would like to see more of? Less of? Ideas for theme weeks? Asks are always open and I don’t bite.

Just kidding. But don’t worry— I’ve had my rabies shots.

Flash fact! The “only I didn’t say ‘fudge’” tag is actually there so it can be blocked to make this blog SFW or PG-13. I’ll never reblog stronger curse words than that, and I figured lesser ones would be too much work to tag are still mild enough to get by with a PG-13 rating.

#meta

[weevil-wallflower]

Theodore’s self-appointed mission

Warnings: Drugging, murder, suicide mention, a lil bit of gore.

Wordcount: 3,498

A/N: To say goodbye to October, I decided to write a little story for the last day of Goretober with the prompts: serial killer + drugged + nightmare + bleeding out + death. All the characters that I used are my own. I didn’t do a good job of describing them so you can see what two of my main OC’s look like below.

Left is Zinnia & right is Theodore. Enjoy the story uwu.

Her body was wracked with shivers as she tried to lock the barn doors. But alas, her hands shook so badly that she gave up, and instead, hid in the further back corner in the darkness, behind the haystack and hoped her date wouldn’t find her. Was this punishment for what she did...?

The barn doors whipped back and forth due to the howling wind outside. The resultant banging reverberated in the barn. The woman clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her frightened whimpers and blindly stepped backwards. Her back came in contact with something solid which she thought was the wall at first. But the rational part of her mind reasoned that she was nowhere near the wall. She knew this barn like the back of her hand. Her mind kept screaming at her to run but her body was frozen in fear. She had only managed to turn around and pleadingly glance up at him when her life flashed before her eyes.

-- A FEW HOURS EARLIER --

“Oh my God, Zinnia I swear I will kill you if you--”

“--Oops. Too late!” Zinnia cut her boyfriend off when she scored a win in the multiplayer video game, they both were playing. “Can’t kill me when you’re dead, Teddy.” She couldn’t help but tease, especially when Theodore, or Teddy as she liked to call him, pulled such a cute face whenever he lost. Her smile dimmed quite a bit when she watched him pull out his phone and stare intently at the screen. She knew what it meant.

“I’m so sorry, luv. But I have to go to work in a bit.” He looked at her apologetically, which did nothing to stop her disappointment.

“But you said you’d spend the entire day with me! Do you know how rare that is?” She whined and sprawled on his lap with that pout he always found so adorable. And rare it was indeed, considering both of them had fulltime jobs.

“I know honey, but you know how working in a hospital can be…” Her boyfriend looked down at her, gently combing his fingers through her long hair. “I can spare an hour if it’s any consolation. How about a cup of tea? I could seriously use one after that horrible defeat.”

“You just need an excuse to drink tea,” Zinnia giggled as she got off of him, which turned into full-blown laughter at the look of mock annoyance he shot back at her while walking towards the kitchen, “Don’t get sassy with me you tiny little pixie!”

Very soon, Theodore returned with two cups of tea and handed her one before sitting down next to her. “Six teaspoons of honey, just as you like it Milady.”

“You know me so well,” She happily accepted the cup and they both sat there, in comfortable silence, drinking their tea.

After she’d drank more than half of her tea, her cup was midway to her lips for another sip when a feeling of intense drowsiness washed over her. She reached over to place her cup on the table, the little movement enough to make her head spin. She frowned and clutched at her forehead, her eyes screwed shut.

“What’s wrong?” Theodore immediately looked concerned as he placed down his cup and directed all his attention towards her.

“I-I don’t kn-know. I feel tired and d-…dizzy a-all of a sudden,” she replied in a slurred voice, “m-maybe I…need to lie d-down.” She tried to stand with the intention to walk to her room, but it aggravated her dizziness even more. Her lashes fluttered as she felt faint. She would’ve fallen if not for her boyfriend.

“Hey, easy there,” he steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll take you to your room. I told you that you haven’t been getting enough rest…” he chided.

She barely managed to nod before losing consciousness. Her limp body slumped against his. But Theodore did not appear to be worried about her sudden loss of consciousness one bit. Instead, he placed his arms around her and gently picked her up, holding her close to his body. He entered her room and lowered her into the bed. He tucked the blanket around her securely and leaned down, kissing her on the forehead before leaving the house.

His mind was still focused on Zinnia while he drove to his destination. He knew very well what he did was wrong. He drugged her tea. But he had to. What he was about to do was extremely risky. Not risky in a sense that he was afraid of doing it or afraid of being caught. Oh no, never that. He had been doing this for many years. He had an entire decade of experience on his hands. What he truly feared was Zinnia finding out what he does. What he has been doing all these years before he met here. Because if she somehow did, it would scare her away. And he would lose her. That is what he was truly afraid of. Which was a very new feeling to him. Never before had he ever been worried about someone finding out his secret. He would simply dispose of those who did. But not Zinnia. She was different, despite him mistaking her for being like those other women when he first met her. The more he got to know her over the past year, he realised just how different she is and how much he loves her. He didn’t know what he would do if he ever lost her. Thus because of what he’s about to do, he had to find a way to make sure she would not be even remotely suspicious of him. He would be gone the entire day and hoped the drug would keep her under during that time. He would be able to do his job efficiently without having to worry about her.

~

Theodore met with his “date” Tiffany, at her family’s farmhouse. The blonde woman insisted that their first one be in someplace intimate. He inwardly scoffed in disgust. An “intimate” dinner with him despite her having a fiancé and knowing that he has a girlfriend. Women like her, those willing to betray their partners, whether it be for wealth or sex, they clearly did not deserve the life they were given. They only end up hurting their loved ones. And for Tiffany, it was the former. Seeing how much money he earned as a neurosurgeon, she was willing to deceive her loving fiancé just for the sake of that. She first met him in the hospital he’s employed in when she visited her ill mother. He rejected her advances at first, even telling her that he has a girlfriend. But that did nothing except make her more determined. So here he was, sitting at a table across from her, having a “very lovely” dinner date at her family’s farmhouse. He was already starting to miss Zinnia. He felt utterly miserable and just wanted to go home and cuddle his sweet girlfriend…

“Theodore? Hellooo!” He was snapped out of his thoughts by Tiffany waving a hand in front of his face, her blue eyes stared at him a bit suspiciously. “You there?”

“Oh of course. Where else would I be?” He tried at a convincing smile, despite how forced it felt. It was convincing enough though, as Tiffany just giggled and said, “You looked a bit lost there. Anyway--”

“--Oh, looks like we need more wine. Let me go and fetch it for you.” He did not wait for her response before leaving his seat and striding towards the kitchen. He could not bear this any longer. He had to finish it.

Once there, he pulled out a pair of elbow-length nitrile gloves from his trousers pocket and proceeded to put them on before grabbing the largest chef knife he could find. But he was hasty, unfortunately, and didn’t think about the fact that Tiffany could’ve followed him, which she did, evident by the shocked gasp he heard from the door’s direction. “Theodore…what are you doing?”

No point in denying now. “I’m sorry, Tiffany. But I must do this.” With that, he started to walk towards her, the knife held threateningly in his hand.

The woman’s flight or fight response kicked in and she fled. In her panicked stated, she made the biggest mistake of her life, one that will cost her. She left her phone lying on the dining table where they both previously had dinner, as she dashed out of the farmhouse, heading towards the barn. ‘Maybe I can hide there…’

As soon as Tiffany hid behind the haystack in the far back, she inwardly cursed as she realised, she had left her phone back at the house. Nor did she have the keys to her car. She had no way to call for help and wouldn’t be able to escape on foot. ‘Not without him chasing me down,’ she shuddered. All she could do was hide and hope he won’t be able to find her. She had no way of predicting that Theodore of all people could turn out to be a psychopathic murderer. He appeared so normal.

 ~

Theodore cursed and gave chase when she ran away. It was his own fault. He was too careless. Too impatient. But perhaps it would turn out to be a good challenge. He noticed her phone on the table while exiting the house. Perfect.

As soon as he stepped out into the porch, he spied an axe not too far away, innocently sitting among a pile of chopped wood. That suited him well. ‘Much better than the knife,’ The man thought as he replaced his knife with the axe. ‘Now where could she have run off to?’ He looked around, inspecting his surroundings. The farmhouse was quite isolated. No sign of life aside from the farm animals. She couldn’t have gone far without him noticing. There was a barn not too far from the house. He had a feeling that’s where she ran off to.

 ~

Tiffany had no idea how long she had been waiting. It had been some time, considering her eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness within the barn. Her body shook with fright and each passing minute made her more distressed. The howling wind outside did nothing to calm her nerves. She didn’t know what to do! She couldn’t decide whether she should make a run for it or continue to hide here. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see nor hear Theodore come up behind her with an axe until it was too late. She had only managed to turn around and let out a scream when he swung the axe at her and managed to strike her in the neck, severing her carotid artery. Almost instantly, blood gushed out of the gaping wound. Tiffany collapsed on the crimson pool her blood had created. As she lay there, her blood continued to gush out in time with the beating of her heart. At first, it came thick and strong, flowing through her fingers as they clasped the ripped flesh of her neck but no matter the pressure she applied, the blood still seeped between her fingers and oozed under her hand. After a few moments more, the blood still continued to flow out of her rapidly paling flesh, but the pulses were slower, weaker. She gurgled, trying to call out for help but alas, her breathing became slower with each passing second until it stopped completely. Her blood-soaked hand fell limp and her eyes stared vacantly up at the roof.

During that entire time, Theodore stood over her, keeping his eyes on her to make certain that she doesn’t survive. Not that there were any chances of her surviving after sustaining a fatal injury like that, but he liked to be thorough. He finally looked down and took notice of the blood splatters on his clothes. ‘Great. Just brilliant. I’ll have to dispose of this suit as well.’

“Tiff, you here?” A man’s voice called out from the barn entrance. “You’re not in the house, I guessed you’d be here…”

Theodore whipped his head towards his direction. ‘Damnit!’ He quickly but silently moved towards the other side of the barn, taking cover behind the hay bales. He spied a barn rope conveniently hanging from a beam which gave him an idea. ‘I just might be able to pull this off.’ The lack of any light inside the barn helped to keep him hidden as well. Glancing from around the corner, he spotted Jesse, Tiffany’s fiancé. He’d met the man a few times when he came along with Tiffany to visit her mother at the hospital.

“Tiff, you…” Jesse stepped deeper into the barn and shined his phone’s flashlight on the woman’s gory body. A chocked gasp escaped him. “T-Tiff…” His body trembled and his hands went slack from the shock causing him to drop his phone. That was when Theodore attacked. He stealthily walked behind Jesse and used the barn rope as a garrotte by twisting it around his neck, cutting off his air supply. Jesse’s mouth fell open, a strangled scream escaping him before he was rendered silent as the other man tightened the rope even further. Eyes wide with fear, he flailed his legs and struggled wildly but Theodore’s grip was too strong to escape from. Not to say that Jesse wasn’t a strong man himself. Standing at well over 6’2”, he would’ve successfully escaped if Theodore didn’t have the element of surprise and over a decade of experience on his hands.

Jesse clawed his fingers at the rope uselessly, his thrashing becoming more frantic, more desperate as his lungs started to ache for air. His movements slowly turned sluggish and his mind grew hazy, the edge of his vision going dark. Soon enough, his breathing stopped completely, and his body went limp. Theodore lowered him into the ground and wasted no time as he went about tying a noose around his neck. He threw the other end of the rope over one of the hanging beams and pulled until Jesse’s body hung at a reasonable height, finishing off with securely tying that end of the rope around one of the wooden pillars. Of course, he also moved one of the wooden stools under his hanging body to complete the whole “suicide scene”. And finally, he picked up the axe and forced Jesse’s limp hands to curl around its handle before placing it back next to Tiffany’s corpse. Now whenever the police would conduct their investigation, they would have enough “evidence” to conclude that Jesse murdered his fiancé before committing suicide. It was brilliant.

 ~

Zinnia was lost. Wherever she looked, she could only see a vast, grassy field. She had been walking for so long, but nothing changed. After what felt like hours of aimlessly wandering around, she was relieved to see a familiar figure in the distance. It was Theodore, standing still with his back to her. She started in his direction called out to him, but he remained silent and unmoving. When she stood right behind him, one hand reached up and held his shoulder to gently make him turn around. What she saw made her gasp and take a step back, shocked to silence. Theodore stood in front of her, holding out a human heart in his blood-soaked hand as if offering it to her. It was his own heard, bloody and still beating as steadily as ever. The gaping hole in the centre of his chest, gushing out copious amounts of blood was evidence of that. It spilt to the ground, staining the grass a deep crimson.

“W-What…what…is this…?” As soon as she began to speak, her lips trembled, and tears stung her eyes. It was a horrible sight, but no matter how much she wanted, she couldn’t look away.

Theodore stared at her so intensely, it felt like he was looking into her soul. He spoke up in a monotonous voice. “You’re the one, Zinnia. You did what no one else could. You stole my heart.”

“N-No one else…?” The young woman shook her head in confusion. She had no idea what he was talking about. Her added confusion wasn’t helping with her rising anxiety. “What d-do…what do you--”

--At that moment, she happened to glance down, unable to maintain eye contact with his unblinking gaze any longer. Instead of the grassy field, they both stood upon a (bed of corpses? Or something). Whimpering in fright, everywhere she turned, she could see nothing but dead bodies. Bloody and torn up, some missing limbs. Of the few she was able to identify, most were women; some men.

“They all failed…”

Theodore’s voice faded in the distance as Zinnia’s eyes snapped open. Heart pounding, she noticed she was laying in her bed, which she did not remember doing so in the first place. Slowly, she sat up in a sitting position and hazily looked around the dark room feeling as though she was still in a dream. Her body shook and her breathing was shallow. Whilst she tried to calm herself, she slowly lifted a hand to see why her cheeks felt wet. It was tears. She had woken up crying.

‘Teddy!’ She was fully awake now, filled with worry for her boyfriend as she remembered the horrifying image, she saw in her nightmare. He wasn’t in her room and one glance out the window confirmed it was night-time now. She scrambled to get out of bed as fast as she could to look for him. ‘He’s gotta be okay!’ Her mind kept chanting as she searched for him all over her house. But with every minute that passed, her anxiety increased. She couldn’t find him anywhere! He should’ve been back from work by now. Zinnia’s dream had left her feeling worried about her boyfriend and now she was full-on panicking. Her body trembled, and her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest. She felt like she was suffocating. She slumped against the wall where she stood and just dropped down to the floor and curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head over them with her eyes closed tightly.

The young woman took deep breaths to try and calm herself down, when she heard a flutter close by, followed by a chirp, “Zee!”

Zinnia lifted up her tear-stained face and turned her head to see her cockatoo right next to her on the floor, looking up at her with a tilted head as if to see if she was okay. “Oh Tweety…” Having a familiar face close to her, even if it was her bird, helped her calm down.

She continued to sit there for the next few minutes, gently stroking Tweety’s soft feathers from time to time. Finally, she stood up and did what she would’ve done initially if she wasn’t so distraught and panic-stricken. She got her phone and called Theodore.

 ~

Just as Theodore was done setting up the “murder-suicide” scene, his phone went off. Frowning, he checked and to his surprise, it was Zinnia. The drug must’ve worn off. It took him a bit longer than expected due to a minor setback, aka, the fiancé. But it all worked out in the end. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, the adrenalin still rushing through his blood, before accepting her call. “Hey, luv! Ho--”

“--Theodore, hi! I-I must’ve dozed off and I c-can’t believe it’s been the whole day! I woke up and you weren’t there. I just…I just got worried…” She chose not to mention her nightmare.

‘She really is worried.’ He couldn’t help but smile. She only called him “Theodore” when she was either serious or worried. “Honey, I’m alright. I’m so sorry for making you worry. There was a minor setback during the surgery but I’m making my way back home now.” He replied in a soft, soothing voice, a huge contradiction to what he did mere minutes earlier.

Zinnia breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, okay…good. I’ll make dinner the--"

“--Oh no, dinner’s on me tonight. It’s the least I can do after making you worry.”

“Yeah…I’d like that. I’ll be waiting, Teddy.”

Ah, there was that sweet smile in her voice. It automatically made him smile as well. “I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

“Love you too!”

After the phone call was over, he glanced at his blood-splattered clothes for a second time. That wouldn’t do. He can’t go to his girlfriend looking like this. He will have to drive to his house first to get cleaned up. And without wasting any more time, he left soon after disposing of any evidence that he was here. After all, she was expecting him for dinner.

~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed uwu

Credit for the pictures goes to these wonderful picrews: Link 1 & Link 2

#goretober #goretober 2020 #my writing #original writing #story #drugged tw #suicide mention tw #murder tw #blood tw #gore tw #death tw #violence tw #choking tw #yandere tw #possibly? #don't know how else to describe Theo's behaviour #horror #original characters #oc: theo #oc: zinnia #oc: tiffany #oc: jesse

[jessefandomunited]

Alternate reality (part 2)

spencer reid X OC Piper

….

I woke up early still curled up next to Spencer, I smiled at his sleeping form and decided I needed to walk around here to test the waters. I transported home first to get what I called my ass kicking outfit on over sized t shirt black, shorts, fishnets, boots,  and my snap-back. I warped onto the street outside Spencer's apartment. I felt bad for just up and leaving but I really needed to scope out the town , it was  Zugzwang today and If something went wrong i’d be in grave danger. I could just skip it but I had a bad feeling something terrible would happen regardless, I just needed to find out what it was first. “ Excuse me miss can you,” I jumped at the sound of a man asking me a question. He looked innocent enough but I didn’t trust anyone in this show. I backed up and went the other way keeping him in my peripherals and that’s when everything went dark.

I came to in a poorly lit shack it wasn’t an apartment like where Maeve was shot in but I still wasn’t very hopeful. I tried to grab for my watch but I noticed it was gone, panic set in and I quickly looked around the area. There wasn’t much there was a door that was bolted shut, no windows but a single crack that filled the room with an eairy glow . I seemed to be ducktape handcuffed to a wooden beam that was in the center of the room and finally there seemed to be a table that once I eased my way to my feet I saw a tone of sharp objects including my watch. I sighed in relief ,i just needed to find a way to get that back and i’d be out of here. The door suddenly swung open and tall lumberjack looking man walked in with an arm full of chopped wood. “ Good, you’re awake, I wondered if I hit you too hard,” He said chuckling to himself. “ Well I am doing just phenomenal,” I said sarcastically, “ I absolutely love surprises.” He turned and fixed me with a puzzled yet angry glare, “why aren’t you screaming?” “ do you want the long or short answer, long, good . You were smart enough to distract me with the one guy before making your attack, i’m assuming that guy works with you. You kidnap girls or maybe you watched me , maybe you know who I am, though i’m not sure about that. You take them somewhere secluded like a farm or the woods or a plot of extensive land you happen to own so even if they do scream no one will hear them. But listen to me and listen to me good, i’m tougher, stronger and smarter than you were bargaining for. I’m sure you can tell by the bruises I have all over me I do love a good fight, but only when they are fair. I don’t expect you to give me a fair fight though because you’re a coward and judging by your extensive selection of knives you’re probably impotent too am. I . getting. Warm?” My chest was heaving , I was already done with this guy. He looked stunned, then furious. “ YOU BITCH,” He yelled and punched square in the jaw. I slid back down to the floor  and moved my jaw around, “ not bad , not bad at all.” He had fire in his eye, “ you’re mine now, whatever you think now, you will be trained, and I like a good challenge, but i’ll need to mark you first.”  I shook my head, “ i’d rather you not.” He chuckled and went behind a partition I didn’t even know was there. My stomach dropped and I allowed myself some time to be terrified and yank at my bonds. Then I composed myself and began to profile him. He seemed to want to keep girls as pets and once they were fully “ trained “ he’d kill them or do who knows what with them. I couldn’t remember any case like this in the episodes that aired, but if I wanted to keep him interested enough to keep me i’d have to not be too submissive right away. He said he likes a fight, but If I go too overboard he might think i’m not worth the trouble and kill me anyways. So a little sour patch kids action was in order ,sour then a hint of sweet before right back to sour and continue till Spencer comes to the rescue. He had to come, he just had to. “ You know the other girls were quite easy to subdue ,” I heard him reminisce, “ they practically killed themselves at the end, and i’m sure you will be no different you’ll just need some extra correcting.” “ good luck with that really, I hope that all goes super well for you,” I spat. I heard a bang which made me jump. He slowly walked back into the room holding a glowing red rod with a circle on top , “ as I said, I need to mark my prizes first .” I shook my head, “ get that thing away from me I don’t want anything to do with that.” “ i’m gonna put it right there on your stomach,” He chuckled I slowly got to my feet and tried to maneuver my way around the pole but he grabbed my arms and pulled them painfully up behind my bad till I fell to my knees , gritting my teeth . He kicked me back against the beam making my vision blur and before I knew what was happening he yanked up my shirt and pressed the red hot brand into my skin. I refused to cry out and bit my lip instead till I tasted blood. I gasped and realized that the rod was gone. “ I’m impressed so far,” He said in a condescending way, “ really.” I worked up a gob of spit and blood and aimed it at his shoe, bullseye. He glared at me and kicked me right where he had just branded me. “ SON OF A BITCH, DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN THE BAU COMES HERE AND NAILS YOUR ASS TO THE GROUND, THAT’S RIGHT, DEATH ROW BOY,” I was so mad at this guy I couldn’t keep it to just another snide comment, and I wanted to get some emotions out. “ The BAU you say,” He hummed placing the brand on the table, “ I remember them well, they caught a few friends of mine, they were incredibly artists, now it’s just me. You know i’ve never broadcast one of my shows before and I feel like you are the perfect one to do that with hu?Do you have some good friends there, maybe a boyfriend?” “ You don’t know anything,” I hissed. His smile widened , “ a boyfriend, i’m sure of it. I’m sure he’ll love this I usually only film the deaths but the process will be all the more delicious.” He went over to the patrician again and I began to panic, I couldn’t let Spencer watch me like this after what I told him about Maeve I just couldn’t. “ he came back with a chair and a laptop and set it next to the door so it took in the whole room. The webpage seemed like a normal streaming platform with a chat but she doubted it was anything innocent. He grabbed a white face mask that was sitting on the table and put it on. “ Wow , massive improvement really,” I snapped, “ you definitely weren’t doing yourself any favors with that ugly mug of yours.”He turned around quickly and punched me again. “ tell me your friends email at the BAU,” He whispered gruffly. On one hand I didn’t want Spencer to worry but on the other I could probably get a message to them once I learned enough. I couldn’t make it easy on him though. “ go to HELL,” I growled. He punched me again and I tried my best to stay upright but he pushed my face into the filthy wood floor, “ email, now.” I slowly recited Garcia's email through clenched teeth. “If I don’t get an email back in an hour, we are going to have to have another talk,” He said. “ I like listening to people taking when someone is saying something interesting but you’ve said absolutely nothing of value this entire time and I am sure the chat agrees,” I laughed . He pressed the send button with quite a lot of force and began talking to the camera, “ now I know this isn’t a normal video typically I just show the results of my work, but this fine young lady is just the perfect example of an ill trained woman.” “ WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT IF ANYONE IS UNTRAINED IT’S YOU BITCH,” I hollered with a smug grin. He shook his head, “ it’s time to begin.” He got up and went to the table and grabbed a collar with an electronic devise on it, a shock collar. “ Come here dear.” “ Call me dear again and I will make sure I vomit in your direction,” I fumed trying to move far away from him. “ Hey if you guys are watching please please don’t let a certain genius watch, please,” I begged. A crooked smile grew on his face , “ oh, is that him?” “ Shut UP,” I seethed . He grabbed me by the neck and lifted me off the floor. I gasped for air and kicked my bound feet uselessly I couldn’t do anything . I gasped and coughed and that was when he dropped me. I had no strength and he put on the collar with ease . “ I let you win that round,” I coughed. He picked up the remote, “ sure you did.” He pressed a button and I felt the shock run through my entire body. I didn’t scream but I did hit my head on the beam again. Come on guys hurry.

#spencer x oc #spencer reid #criminal minds

[chobit92]

Home: Jacob Seed/OC Chapter 40

Sorry it has taken me so long to update this. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Sex, Swearing, Drug use, Alcoholism, Pregnancy, Attempted suicide.

(1 Week Later: John, Joseph and Faith are in the kitchen at John’s ranch. They are all cooking together for Sunday dinner.). John: Is Mara coming? Faith: I think so. She said she was. John: I didn’t see her at the sermon. Faith: She overslept. She said she was tired. John: Tired? Do I need to mark her with Sloth now too? Faith: No silly. She has been doing so much around the compound and for me and Lexi. I think we can forgive her for being a bit exhausted. John: Hm. (Akers enters the kitchen.). Akers: Mara’s here. Faith: Oh. (Faith goes to the lounge. Mara is sitting on the sofa. Jacob is sitting in the armchair flicking through one of John’s books.). Faith: Sis! (Faith rushes over and hugs her.). Mara: Hey. Faith: Are you okay? Mara: Yeah. Great. (She’s wearing black leggings and her long baggy black top that hangs off her shoulder. She is also wearing a large grey cardigan that has been knitted for her by Evelyn. Mara doesn’t mind that it’s too big as it hides her body. Not that she has much to hide right now. But she soon will. She curls up on the sofa and rests her head on her arm.). Faith: Are you still tired? Mara: I’m exhausted sis. Faith: Have you still been struggling to sleep? Mara: Nope. I seem to be sleeping a lot. Faith: Hm. Maybe you should see the doctor. Mara: Let’s not. Faith: Sis there is something wrong with you. We’ve all noticed you know? Mara: Noticed what? 

(Mara’s heart starts to race. She is aware of Jacob sitting there looking at them from over the top of the book.). Faith: You’ve been sleeping in for one. You don’t usually. You’ve also been eating more at breakfast then at dinner you don’t want anything. Mara: What are you talking about? You’re doing my fucking head in sis! I think there’s something wrong with you! (Mara gets up and leaves slamming the front door behind her. Faith looks confused.). Faith: I don’t understand. Why is she mad at me? Jacob: I don’t know. (John walks in.). John: Who keeps slamming my door? Faith: That would be my sister. She’s in a mood again. John: Want me to talk to her? Faith: Would you? John: Of course. (John leaves the chalet. He looks around as he walks around the grounds. He sees Mara over by the shed sitting on one of the sun loungers. He goes over to her and sits down on the other one. She is smoking a cigarette.). John: Now where did you get that from? Mara: Lonny. John: Really? Mara: Yep. I caught him drinking whiskey and I told him that I’d keep my mouth shut if he gave me some smokes. John: I see. So he’s still drinking? Mara: Everybody’s addicted to something. Everyone needs something. John: Hm. Why are you angry with your sister? Mara: I’m not. She just keeps banging on asking what’s wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with me I’m just tired. It annoys me when people keep asking the same fucking question. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Are you okay?’ Uh it does my head in. (He chuckles.). John: Little Miss Wrath. Mara: You make it sound cute when you say it like that. John: It is cute. Like you. (He smiles at her. She smiles back.). Mara: Really? Thanks I guess. (There is silence for a moment. Mara thinks about telling John. He is the one who everyone confesses to after all. He listens to all. But would he understand? Would he help her? Would he look after her? She also wonders if Joseph would look after her. Because she knows Jacob isn’t going to. Suddenly she has tears rolling down her cheeks before she can stop them. John looks at her frowning before reaching over and taking hold of her hand.). John: Hey. What’s wrong? Mara: Nothing. John: Tell me. (She pulls her hand away from his and wipes her eyes.). Mara: Okay. But you have to promise not to laugh. John: I promise. Mara: You won’t laugh? John: I won’t laugh. Mara: It’s...That time of the month. I’ve got it really bad this time. They’re sometimes like that. That’s why I’ve been so tired this past week and I’ve been moody and hormonal and snapping at everyone like an alligator. Then randomly I just find myself crying over nothing like a complete mad woman. (John chuckles. She smacks him playfully.). Mara: You promised not to laugh you dickhead. (But she is laughing too. He chuckles.). Mara: You know what would help? (She smiles at him and takes hold of his hand again. He raises his eyebrows and grins.). John: Oh? Mara: Nothing like that you saucy git. (He chuckles.). John: How do you know I was thinking about something saucy? Mara: Because I know you. You are insatiable Jonny Appleseed. (He glares at her.). Mara: No don’t be like that I told you that’s your nickname now. Like mine is Little Miss Wrath. It’s our little thing now. John: Is it? Mara: Yep. (She squeezes his hand. He smiles and raises their hands to his lips pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand.). Mara: What are you doing? John: Kissing your hand. Like a true gent. Which I am obviously. (She laughs. He grins like a child.). Mara: Oh I love you. (She laughs again. He raises his eyebrows.). John: What was that now? Mara: No. Nothing. John: You just told me that you loved me. Mara: No. No I didn’t. I said no such thing. (He leans over placing his lips close to her ear.). John: Yes you did. You loooove me. (She giggles.). Mara: It’s my hormones you see. John: Oh yeah? Mara: Yeah it is. Honest. John: Um. (Their lips are inches apart now. His eyes travel down to her lips then back up again.). Mara: You gonna try and kiss me again? Coz you remember what happened last time. John: Um. It was worth it though. To feel the softness of those beautiful lips. (Mara’s heart clenches tight and she feels a flutter in her abdomen. She wishes that Jacob could be like that. Showering her in compliments and holding her hand like John is. Though last time she spent the night with Jacob he did call her beautiful.). Mara: Uh huh. John: But I am dangerously close to sinning now and I must stop myself before I go too far. (He moves away from her and lets go of her hand.). John: So what was it that would help you with your awful menstrual cycle. (She laughs.). Mara: The way you said that. Most people call them periods you know? I could go into detail if you like. John: Oh? (He chuckles.). John: I think I know how it works. Mara: Well I was just thinking that after dinner and after the others have gone I could use your bathroom coz you have a proper bathtub and I haven’t had a proper bath in ages. I could have a nice hot bath which would help with the cramps and this constant feeling of being filthy that I have. I could also get a very good night’s sleep in that cosy spare room of yours. I usually sleep in a barn with a wall missing and five other people two of which snore loudly. Stop me if I’m being cheeky or taking the piss. John: Hm. You want to stay here the night and have a nice hot bath? Mara: That...Would be nice. Look forget I asked okay? It’s fine. (She throws the cigarette butt on the ground and gets up. He gets up and grabs her arm.). John: Hey. You can stay. Just as long as you don’t leave cigarette butts all over my lovely garden. Mara: Thanks. (She bends down and picks up the cigarette butt. John stares at her ass. Damn.). Mara: I’ll put it in the bin. Promise. (She smiles then wraps her arms around him.). Mara: I do love you, you know? You’re a good friend. John: Thank you. (She laughs.). Mara: You’re meant to say love you too. Dickhead. (She laughs and smacks him playfully. He grins.). John: Love you too dickhead. (She laughs harder. He chuckles. They go back inside and Mara goes to the kitchen putting her cigarette butt in the bin. She goes over to Faith and wraps her arms around her. She whispers in her ear.). Mara: I’m sorry I got all stressed out with you sis. I’ve got my monthly and it’s bad this time. It’s made me feel really ill and I’ve been moody and snappy and not feeling like eating and I’ve felt all hormonal and the slightest thing makes me cry seriously. I feel like a mad woman. I’m sorry sis. Faith: Why didn’t you just tell me that? Mara: Coz I’m an idiot and hormonal and snappy like an alligator. I just told John all about it and he didn’t even seem embarrassed you know? I couldn’t imagine explaining to Joe why I’m hormonal and moody. (Faith laughs.). Faith: Sis you do make me laugh. (Mara laughs.). Mara: Glad to be of assistance. Faith: You can start chopping the vegetables if you like. Mara: Oh yes let the raging hormonal moody cow use a knife. (Faith giggles. Mara smiles and starts chopping the vegetables. Joseph suddenly stands up from the table and goes over to Mara.). Mara: Joe seriously how long have you been sat there and why didn’t I see you? Wizard see? He’s got an invisibility cloak like Harry Potter. Faith: What? (Faith is giggling.). Mara: Joe’s a wizard. Joseph: I am not a wizard. Mara: You are. Just accept it Joe. (She smiles at him. He is wearing a white shirt with a black waistcoat.). Mara: I like that waistcoat by the way. It suits you. Joseph: Thank you. Are you unhappy Mara? Mara: What do you mean? Joseph: You seem to be unhappy I just wondered why that was. Mara: It’s...Hormones. Really not something a young girl speaks to her father about. (Faith giggles again.). Faith: Oh sis stop it! You’re making me spill water everywhere. Mara: Don’t be so clumsy then. Joseph: I see. Hormones. Mara: Yes us women are forever cursed with this thing called a period Joe. Gods way of taking the piss out of us women I’m sure. It makes us snappy, moody, hormonal and we feel like crying one minute and screaming the next. Joseph: I see. (Joseph decides to ignore the way she spoke about the lord. He really has no clue what to say to that anyway.). Faith: Lexi says that they are your bodies way of reminding you to hurry up and get pregnant. (Mara freezes.). Mara: What? Hurry up and get pregnant? Oh I see coz we’re women we have to pop out a few kids do we? Damn it’s like we don’t even get a fucking choice anymore. Faith: What are you on about now? Mara: Well don’t you ever feel like that sis? That being a woman is bloody hard in today’s society. Apparently we’re lower than the men, weaker than them and are only good for popping out kids. Makes me wish I hadn’t been born sometimes. Or that I’d been born a boy. (Faith is looking at Mara with a funny face.). Faith: Just ignore her Father. Hormones. (Mara giggles.). Mara: What it’s true. That’s how I feel. That because I am unfortunate enough to be a woman that means I have to have kids. Faith: You don’t have to have kids sis. Mara: Too right I fucking don’t. I won’t either. I’d need to find a man that wanted me first. (Mara laughs, Faith giggles and shakes her head.). Faith: Ah sis you are so strange and random. Mara: Oh thanks. Hear that Joe? I’m strange now. John: What on earth did you have in that cigarette Mara? (John has appeared in the doorway.). Mara: It must run in the family this wizardry. (John frowns.). John: What? Mara: The way you and your brothers just seem to appear out of nowhere. I think Joe is a wizard. (John laughs.). John: Seriously what was in that cigarette? Faith: You’re smoking again? Mara: What do you mean again sis? I never stopped smoking I just ran out of smokes. Faith: Where did you get them from? Mara: Lonny. Faith: Lonny gave you cigarettes? Mara: Yep. I caught him with whiskey so I said I’d keep my mouth shut if he gave me his smokes and he did. Though I haven’t kept my mouth shut so I am a tell tale and a liar. I’m doing so well today aren’t I? John: You were right to tell me about Lonny’s continued drinking. It must be addressed. Joseph: He continues to disappoint himself and the rest of us. Mara: Look I know he can be a dickhead but go easy on him okay? I know how hard it can be to change. How hard it can be to let go. I smoke coz it’s something to do and something to keep me sane. I think that I need a cigarette when really it’s just the addiction to the nicotine talking. Like Lonny with the booze. It’s really hard to quit something when you’ve depended on it and been addicted to it so long you know? John: Yes. It is. (Mara finishes chopping the vegetables and puts them in the pot.). Faith: Thanks sis. (Mara boils the kettle and makes herself a tea. She usually likes coffee but lately it’s been making her want to gag. She suddenly can’t stand the smell or the taste of coffee.). Mara: Anyone else having a hot drink? John: I’ll have coffee. Joseph: Tea will be fine. Mara: No sugar right Joe? Coz you’re sweet enough? Joseph: Yes. John: Are you trying to flirt with my brother Mara? (Faith tuts.). Mara: No. It’s just something people say innit? (Mara makes the drinks trying her best not to inhale the scent of coffee. She then picks up her tea and goes to the lounge. Jacob is still sat flicking through the book. He is sitting on the sofa now though. She sits down next to him and watches as he scratches at his chin. She sees a rash there.). Mara: Scratching it will make it worse you know? (He grunts.). Mara: You need some Sudocreme. Jacob: Don’t need nothing. Mara: Stubborn. What are you reading? Jacob: You can read can’t you? (He shows her the cover. She feels her cheeks turning red. She smiles.). Mara: Alright. You be all moody. Jacob: Hm. This coming from you. You’ve been in a mood since you got here. (She looks at the floor. She really wants to tell him. Maybe she should do it now. He can’t get mad and beat her if his brothers are here can he? If her sister is here? They wouldn’t allow it would they? Who is she kidding? Like that would matter to Jacob. Maybe she has him all wrong. Maybe if she simply tells him, if she simply talks to the guy he’d be alright with it. Maybe he’d accept it. Or maybe he’d just tell her he didn’t want nothing to do with it and that would be that. Maybe he wouldn’t get all mad and violent like she thinks he would.). Jacob: What’s up with you? You’ve gone really pale. Mara: I’m fine. Jacob: You’re a terrible liar. (Tell him. Just fucking tell him. But she’s so fucking scared.). Mara: I’m scared. (Jacob blinks at her.). Jacob: Fear is a weakness. Mara: You don’t understand. (Tell him! Just tell him now is your chance.). Mara: Jacob...I’m- (Joseph and John walk in. John is laughing.). John: Faith wants you to lay the table Mara. Mara: Yeah...Sure. (Jacob frowns staring at Mara. She looks so sad and defeated all of a sudden. Mara gets up and goes to the kitchen. She returns with cutlery and plates which she starts setting out on the table. Jacob gets up and puts the book back on the shelf where he found it and watches Mara lay the table. He watches as she wipes a tear from her eye. He frowns. She then straightens up and turns pulling the large grey cardigan around her. She smiles at him. John walks over.). John: That’s my best cutlery. We are not using my best cutlery for a Sunday dinner. Mara: Then when are we meant to use it? John: You’re not. Mara: Then what’s the point in it? John: That is a three thousand dollar cutlery set. Mara: What? Well they saw you coming didn’t they? I reckon you’ve been had. John: No I have not been had. Joseph: That’s enough John. They are only knives and forks. John: Yes Joseph. (John returns to the kitchen.). Mara: It’s so sad that he thinks he has to have all this expensive stuff to make himself happy. He thinks he has to always be better because he isn’t good enough and yet he is just fine the way he is. (Joseph regards Mara before smiling slightly.). Mara: What? Did I say something wrong? I’d just ignore me Joe I’m probably chatting a load of shit with all these hormones I’ve got raging away in me. Joseph: No. You said it just about right actually. Mara: Oh? Well that’s a first for me. (Faith comes in holding plates of food. John follows her and they both put plates on the table filled with meat, vegetables, potatoes and Yorkshire puddings. Faith then brings in a dish filled with stuffing. Once the table is set John brings in a jug of water. Mara finishes her tea and takes her mug to the kitchen. When she returns the others have sat down at the table. Faith has moved some of the plates and cutlery around. Joseph sits at the head of the table. Jacob sits to his right, John to his left. Faith sits next to John. She indicates the chair next to Jacob and Mara sits down next to him. Joseph then takes his brothers hands. Faith holds John’s hand then reaches over the table and takes Mara’s hand. Jacob places his hand on the table palm up and Mara places her hand on his. Joseph then says grace and they start to eat. Faith keeps glancing at Mara. She frowns as she watches Mara put stuffing inside her Yorkshire pudding then dip it in mince sauce before eating it. Mara sees Faith looking at her funny.). Mara: What? Faith: Nothing. Was that actually nice? Mara: What? Faith: The Yorkshire pudding, stuffing, mince sauce sandwich. Mara: Yep. (Faith then watches as Mara dips just about everything in the mince sauce before eating it including her carrots and potatoes.). Faith: You like mince sauce don’t you sis? (Mara shrugs. Once they have finished eating Faith takes the plates and cutlery to the kitchen. She returns with a strawberry cake and some ice cream.). John: What’s this? Faith: Dessert. John: We never have dessert. Faith: I learned how to bake. I’ve been practising so I thought I would make something as a treat. John: Hm. (Faith cuts the cake and places a slice on each of the small plates. Mara has never really liked cake. The look of it now makes her feel sick. Then she wishes that she had some mint ice cream instead of the vanilla that Faith has got. She suddenly really wants mint ice cream. She suddenly feels light headed and she really needs to pee. She constantly feels like she needs to pee lately. She sighs.). Mara: Excuse me. (She gets up and leaves the room going upstairs to the bathroom. She uses the loo then washes her hands. She then splashes water on her face before drying it with the towel. She sighs and stands in front of the mirror staring at herself. She has no idea what to do. She has thought about leaving. Disappearing. But that would mean abandoning her sister. She can’t do that. She lets out a sob and lifts her top staring at her stomach. She then stands side on. She looks bloated. Her breasts are falling out of the top of the bra. Her bras are all too small now. They were a little small on her to start with as they were Franky’s old bras. Her breasts are killing her. It doesn’t help that her bra is now cutting into her skin. She decides to just take her bra off. As soon as she does she lets out a small sigh of relief. That feels so much better. She drapes her bra over the towel rail before going back downstairs. She gets herself a glass of water and returns to the dining table. She sits back down next to Jacob.). Faith: Are you alright sis? Mara: I’m fine. Faith: I know you don’t like cake which is why I got the ice cream. Mara: Thanks sis. (Mara eats two small scoops of ice cream.). Joseph: Thank you for a lovely meal Faith. John: Thank you Faith. Mara: Thanks sis. (Jacob grunts and gets up leaving the room. Mara hears his thudding footsteps going upstairs.). Mara: Do you want me to help you with the washing up sis? Faith: Yes. Mara: I think John should help too though. Seeing as it’s his precious cutlery. (John glares at Mara.). Mara: What? This is your house so you should help with the washing up. Come on we’ll all do it it’ll be fun. (Mara gets up and picks up the plates and spoons taking them to the kitchen. Faith grabs the rest and joins her. John sighs before going to the kitchen. Mara fills the sink and grabs the sponge. Once the sink is full Mara dips her hand in it and splashes John.). John: Hey! (Faith giggles. Mara smiles. John steps forward. He grabs Mara and shoves her into the side. She cries out and grabs her stomach. Faith frowns.). Faith: Sis are you okay? You don’t need to be so rough John she was only messing around. John: So was I. I hardly touched her. Mara: I’m okay. Just...Be careful. (Faith frowns.). Faith: Sis are you hurt? Mara: What? No. I would have been the way he was shoving me into the counter. John: I hardly touched you. (Mara glares at him before splashing him with water again. She laughs before reaching up and spiking some of his hair up.). John: Hey! Off the hair! Mara: But it looks so good like that don’t it sis? Faith: I don’t know. Mara: Oh come on. (Faith giggles.). Mara: Spiky hair. (Jacob comes down the stairs to see John with his arms around Mara pushing her against the counter. She is giggling and messing with his hair. John starts laughing as Mara starts tickling him. Poking him in the ribs.). John: No. Stop. Stop it! (John laughs harder. Jacob has never seen his brother laugh like that. He feels weird though. Seeing John with his hands on Mara makes him feel weird. He has no idea why, it makes no logical sense to him. He isn’t interested in her. She was just a fuck. So why does he feel weird? Jacob clears his throat. John turns to him.). Mara: Jakey Baby. (John raises his eyebrows.). John: Jakey baby? How come he gets a nickname like that and I get...Johnny Appleseed? (Faith laughs. Mara smiles.). Mara: Coz he’s better looking than you. Faith: Oh! John: What? What? I don’t think so. Mara: I do. John: What has Jacob done to you? You can tell me. Did he pay you to say that? Did he threaten you? Mara: Jacob threaten me? (She laughs.). Mara: I’d like to see that. John: Oh. Brother she is asking for it. (Mara smiles at Jacob. His lips twitch slightly. Mara then turns back to the sink and starts washing up. A minute later she splashes John with water again.). John: Hey! I won’t let you stay. Mara: Oh. You want me to stay. John: I won’t let you if you keep ruining my clothes. Mara: What? They’re not ruined. It’s only water. You need more chill John. (Faith giggles. Mara continues washing up. Suddenly John walks up behind Mara and dunks her head in the sink. Faith gasps.). Faith: John! (John chuckles and lets go of Mara who straightens up coughing. She wipes her face on the tea towel then turns to John.). Mara: Dickhead! (John laughs harder. Mara finds herself laughing too. Jacob chuckles and shakes his head. Faith giggles. Joseph enters the kitchen and John immediately stops laughing.). Joseph: What is all the ruckus? Mara: We were just having a water fight. Well not really a fight. I kept splashing John with water and he got all annoyed so he dunked my head in the sink. John: Washing away some more of those sins. (Mara laughs before continuing to wash up while Faith dries. Jacob makes himself a cup of coffee. He feels weird again at the thought of Mara staying here with John. He can’t describe the feeling nor does he know what it means. He doesn’t even care about her. At all. So why would he be bothered? He feels someone poke him and turns to see Mara gazing up at him.). Mara: You okay handsome? (Jacob grunts and picks up his coffee before returning to the lounge. Mara shrugs and finishes washing up before drying her hands. Joseph walks over to Mara and lightly touches her arm. His fingers soft and gentle against her skin.). Mara: Why are you feeling me up? Faith: Sis! Mara: What? (Mara pulls away from him and Joseph sees how uncomfortable she is.). Joseph: Can we talk? Mara: If you like. Joseph: Outside. Mara: Okay. (Mara goes outside with Joseph following her. She takes a cigarette out of the pocket of her cardigan and lights it. Joseph regards her sternly.). Joseph: You should quit that awful habit. Mara: Um. Should. But I won’t coz I’m me. Lonny should quit drinking. But he won’t. That’s people for you Joe. Always doing shit that’s no good for us. (She walks across the grass then sits down on the ground cross legged. He does the same sitting opposite her.). Joseph: Put the cigarette out my child. Mara: You gonna spank me if I don’t? (He grits his teeth.). Joseph: There is always attitude with you. Mara: No there isn’t. That’s just how you see it Joe. It was a joke. Jeez you have no sense of humour. (She sighs.). Mara: Everyone is so serious. Joseph: The collapse isn’t a joke. We must prepare not waste time fooling around. Mara: But if you don’t have a laugh you’ll end up going mad. Everyone needs to crack a joke now and then. Everyone needs to laugh too it’s good for you. Maybe that’s why you and your brothers have such sad eyes. All you’ve had is drama and rubbish. You need fun and laughter for a change. Joseph: I have a purpose as do we all. The lords will must be done and those that can be saved must be saved. Mara: I’m sure the lord would understand if you took some time for yourself. To relax. After all I do think it slightly cheeky of him to ask this of you in the first place. I mean it isn’t exactly fair to ask one man to save the world not really. If God wants it saved so badly why doesn’t he help? Because he just doesn’t care not really. Joseph: You are not a believer? Mara: Not in God. I mean okay he exists but I don’t believe in him. I think the only person you can truly believe in is yourself. Coz everyone else just lets you down. Joseph: That is why we have faith. Mara: Must be nice. To be so sure of everything. To be sure everything will work out. (She takes another drag of the cigarette.). Joseph: It will. You will see. Mara: What is it you wanted to talk about anyway? Joseph: I wanted to talk about you. Mara: Me? Why? I think I’d bore you pretty fast Joe. (She smiles. He gazes at her and she feels like he is reading her mind again. She wonders if she should just tell him now while they are alone.). Joseph: I find you interesting. Mara: Really? No one’s ever interested in me. Joseph: Faith told me that you showed true faith. Mara: I did what? Joseph: You took the leap of faith. Mara: You mean when she drugged me again? Joseph: The Bliss is useful. Mara: It’s drugs. All drugs do is destroy. You lecture me on cigarettes and booze yet you want me doped up on some hallucinogenic? Joseph: Attitude. Mara: I’m just saying it like it is Joe. I don’t understand how you can have a problem with me smoking but not have a problem with drugs. Joseph: The Bliss is useful. It is more than just a drug. It is a path to the garden. It soothes those that are afraid. That are unsure. Mara: Ah you mean brainwashing now. Joseph: No. Merely making them see. Mara: Yeah well I’d rather not use it if it’s all the same to you. It just makes me very ill for days on end. Joseph: It effects everyone differently. Though I was pleased to hear that you showed faith in me. Mara: Should I have faith in you? Joseph: Yes. Mara: Can I trust you to look after me? Or are you just going to abandon me like all the others? Joseph: A father does not abandon his children. (She finds herself looking at the tattoo on his arm. It is of a pretty dark haired woman. She slowly reaches out and lifts his arm turning it slightly to see the tattoo better.). Joseph: She’s beautiful isn’t she? (Mara pulls her hand away. She wonders if a man would ever talk about her like that. What it would feel like if they did.). Joseph: She was my wife. (Whoa! She never would have guessed that this guy was married. This surprises her.). Mara: Did she leave you? Joseph: She died. In a car accident. Mara: Sorry. Has Jacob ever been married? (The question is out of her mouth before she can think. Joseph looks a little surprised.). Joseph: No. He hasn’t. Mara: Hm. He isn’t really the social type. Joseph: Jacob brought many demons home with him from the war. Mara: He told me. About some of it. Joseph: He did? Mara: Yeah. (She stares at the floor as she finishes the cigarette before putting it out in the grass.). Joseph: I am surprised he told you anything. He is usually a private person. Quiet. Mara: Very guarded you mean? Yeah I got that from him. He doesn’t do emotions either. It’s like he has no feelings for anyone or anything. The word nihilist comes to mind when I think about Jacob. I think he only told me stuff coz he was...Never mind. Joseph: What? Mara: Nothing. Joseph: Was he drunk by any chance? (She smiles at him.). Mara: See? You can read minds Joe. Wizard. (His lips twitch.). Joseph: I just know my brother. Mara: There’s nothing wrong with alcohol as long as you don’t drink too much too often. Otherwise it becomes a problem. Joseph: It should not be drunk at all. (She shrugs.). Joseph: Have you read my bible yet? (She is silent.). Mara: Not yet. Joseph: I am disappointed in you my child. Mara: Told you so. (He frowns.). Mara: What? I told you that I’m no good at anything. That I’m useless. That you wouldn’t want me. That it wouldn’t be long before you got rid of me. You didn’t listen. Joseph: Because that isn’t true my child. You just don’t help yourself. You must read it. You must understand. You must know your purpose. I fear that you won’t be saved if you continue to ignore what is coming. Mara: I’m not ignoring it. (She gets up.). Mara: Nice talk. (She walks off heading back to the chalet. Joseph sighs and follows her. Everyone is sitting in the lounge. Mara sits in the armchair. Joseph goes upstairs to use the bathroom. As he is leaving he notices the black lacy bra hanging on the towel rail. He frowns staring at it. Then he feels the familiar disappointment creep through him. John. He sighs and picks up the bra before returning downstairs. John is sitting with his arm draped around Mara and they are laughing together.). Mara: No seriously that’s how it goes! John: I don’t believe you. Mara: It does. (Faith giggles.). Joseph: John? John: Yes Joseph? (Joseph holds up the bra. Mara stares at it and she feels her cheeks turning red.). Joseph: Who’s is this? (John frowns looking confused.). John: I don’t know. Joseph: Is it Holly’s? John: Holly’s? Why would it be hers? Joseph: I know you have spent quite a few nights with her I am not blind John. John: It was a long time ago. I have been doing well. I am sin free I swear. I’m doing everything you want me to. Joseph: Then what is this doing in your bathroom? Do not lie to me brother. Who’s is it? (Mara’s face is burning. She sighs.). Mara: Mine. It’s mine. (Faith gasps. Joseph stares at her.). Joseph: Yours? Mara: Yeah. Now do you mind not waving it around? Jeez embarrass me much. (Mara gets up and snatches the bra off of Joseph.). Mara: Then I guess that’s what fathers are meant to do. Embarrass their daughters. Joseph: This is not a joke Mara. You must atone for your actions. Mara: What actions? Taking my bra off coz it’s too fucking small coz I can’t afford clothes that fit? It was cutting into my skin and my tits are already sore so I took it off. I left it in the bathroom coz I didn’t exactly want to carry it around the house with me. (There is silence. Mara sighs and shakes her head.). Mara: It’s always gonna be like this innit? I just constantly get accused of shit. Coz I must be up to no good at all times right? Joseph: I apologise. I made the wrong assumption. Mara: Yeah you did. Big time. To think that you go on at Holly for jumping to conclusions! Hypocrite! (Mara goes upstairs. Joseph goes after her. He sees her go into the bathroom and he follows her.). Joseph: Do not walk away from me my child. (He stands in the doorway staring at her.). Mara: Sorry. It was just...Embarrassing. I wasn’t expecting removing my bra would cause drama. Joseph: I apologise. Mara: It’s okay. You know it looked kinda funny. You standing there waving this bra around. (He stares at her.). Mara: You never smile Joe. Why do you never smile? (He smiles at her. She smiles back.). Mara: That’s better. Joseph: You should smile more often too. You always look so unhappy my child. Are you not happy with us? Mara: I guess I’m just waiting for it all to be ripped away. Everyone I get close to either dies or leaves me. So... (She shrugs.). Joseph: Nobody is leaving you. You are part of our family now. A part of us. You have a purpose here. You have been saved. You will join us in the new world. In the new Eden. (She wonders what he would think if he knew she had been fucking his brother. If he knew her secret.). Joseph: You look like you don’t have much faith. Mara: I guess not right now. I’m new at this...Trusting people thing. Having a family coz I’ve never had one before except for Bonnie and my sister. I’m just scared that you’re going to realise one day that you don’t want me after all. Then I’ll be alone on the streets again. (He wraps his arms around her pulling her close to him.). Joseph: Have faith. That is not going to happen. You are wanted here. You are welcome here. You have given up your sin and been cleansed. You have given yourself to me. To us. To the church. I have not forgotten how you protected us against that attack. Mara: That’s what you do for family isn’t it? (He smiles at her before pressing a kiss to her forehead. He then turns and leaves the bathroom. She hears his footsteps fade down the hall then the stairs. She closes the door and uses the loo before splashing water on her face. It’s so hard to know what to believe. The people in town telling her that these people are evil. Joseph doesn’t seem evil. He seems...Kind, calm and caring even. But then she remembers that men are the best manipulators. Her own father managed to hide the fact that he was a drug dealer for years. That priest hid the fact that he was a paedophile. She then remembers how John enjoyed hurting her. How he enjoyed every slice he made into her skin. How he nearly drowned her in the river. The pieces of human skin stapled to the wall. Jacob and the cages with people in them. She can see why some would call this family evil. But it’s so hard to see just one side. Especially when her sister is one of them. Then she reminds herself that she is one of them now too. She has defended them, fought for them, given herself to them. She sighs and goes back downstairs. Joseph and the others are saying goodbye to John. Mara hugs her sister.). Faith: What’s this for? Mara: You’re going aren’t you? Faith: Yes. Aren’t you coming too? Mara: No. Faith: Why? Mara: I need to speak to John about something. Faith: Is everything alright? Mara: Yeah course it is. (Mara smiles. Faith smiles back.). Faith: Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. You could bring the truck over to my bunker from the compound. Steve’s loaded up some supplies for me. Mara: Um...I’ll try. Faith: What do you mean silly? (Mara looks embarrassed and awkward.). Mara: I’ve never driven a car before much less a truck. Faith: Oh. Well maybe you could take Steve with you and he could give you a driving lesson on the way over. It’s easy sis. Mara: That sounds awesome. Faith: Great. See you tomorrow. Mara: You will. (Joseph smiles at Mara. She smiles back before going to the kitchen. Jacob looks after her frowning not failing to notice how she was avoiding looking at him. Not that he cares. He then remembers that she was going to tell him something earlier before the others came in. He doubts it was anything important. He turns and leaves the chalet with Joseph and Faith. John closes the door behind them and goes to the kitchen. Mara has made herself a cup of tea.). Mara: Do you want a hot drink? John: I’ll have a tea. (She makes another cup of tea in his plane mug.). John: So...What did you want to talk me about? Mara: What? (She looks confused.). John: You told Faith that you needed to speak to me about something. Mara: Oh. No I just said that to shut her up. John: What do you mean? Mara: Well if I’d have said oh I’m staying here for the night they might have accused us of sleeping together again so I thought if I told her I just needed to talk to you it would sound less weird. John: I see. But you don’t need to lie Mara. We have nothing to hide. Mara: I know. But you know what people are like. Gossip. Gossip. Gossip. Jon: Oh yes. They do. Mara: It doesn’t help when Holly is constantly stirring. You know she accused me of sleeping with Jacob too? Right in front of Joseph. (Though Holly was right about that one. Oh if only she knew.). John: Did she? Mara: Yeah. I don’t know what her problem is John. I don’t understand how someone I barely know can hate me so much. John: She doesn’t hate you. Her sin is envy. She thinks that we are more than what we are. So she doesn’t like it that you and I have been spending time together. Mara: She’s in love with you. John: No. Mara: Why else would she be so bothered? She clearly cares for you John. I know the other night she waited up nearly all night for you to get back to the compound after going to find Lonny. She waited for you to get back so that she knew you were safe. Because she cares about you. John: It was...Just sex. Mara: For you maybe. That’s what you men don’t seem to realise. For you it’s just sex but for all you know for the woman it’s much more than that. We have feelings you know? John: I know that. But I believe I made it clear that we were not serious. Mara: I wasn’t blaming you for anything or trying to say you did anything wrong. You don’t need to explain to yourself to me John. It’s fine. It’s your business. I’m just saying that sometimes...Even when it starts as just sex...It can lead to more. One person starts to develop feelings and... (She shrugs. He frowns at her.). John: You sound like you are speaking from experience. Mara: Me? No. Nobody’s ever...No...Not me. I am not the girl that gets the guy. (She lets out a small laugh before picking up her mug and going to the lounge. He follows her and sits down.). John: I find that hard to believe you know? Mara: Well it’s the truth. There was only really Alex. I didn’t know any other guys and the one’s I did were...Not very nice. I thought Alex was nice and I thought he liked me. He gave me that impression you know? He genuinely acted like he liked me. But it was a joke. To him it was a joke. He found it funny when he kissed me and I thought...It hurt. (She shrugs.). Mara: So that’s what I am. Just the joke. You know I often wonder what it would be like to have someone that loved me. Someone that thought I was beautiful. John: I think you’re beautiful. (She looks at him and he can see that she looks so sad. He frowns.). Mara: Thanks. (She takes a sip of her tea.). John: Is that why you are sad? Because you want someone? Mara: Doesn’t everyone? I mean that’s life isn’t it? Everyone else seems to meet someone and get married and have...Kids. I just wonder if...That’ll ever be me. What if...There isn’t anyone for me? What if I never find that one person I am meant to share my life with? Or worse what if I meet him and he doesn’t want me? John: How would he not want you? He would be foolish not to want you. (She sips her tea and looks at the floor.). John: Besides you don’t need to worry about things like that. You don’t need a man...Or have lustful thoughts entered your mind? Mara: No. It would just be nice to have someone that loved me. Haven’t you ever wondered if you would ever get married? (He smiles and lets out a breath.). John: Marriage? Oh I don’t know. I hardly think it’s in the cards for me. I am far too busy helping my brother with the project. Mara: But do you want to get married? To find that someone who loves you and completes you and makes you happy. It must get lonely in this big house all by yourself. John: Yes I suppose it does at times. But marriage...I don’t know. It’s a big commitment. Mara: Not if it’s the right person. I don’t get people who talk about it like it’s awful and a chore. It tells me that they have married the wrong person. If two people love each other and make each other happy they will do anything for them, they wouldn’t see it as a chore would they? (He smiles.). John: You’ve been giving this a lot of thought. Is that what this is, a marriage proposal? (He chuckles.). Mara: No. Just forget I said anything. Must be the hormones. John: Ah yes. Blame them for everything. Mara: I will. (He chuckles. She finishes her tea and puts her mug on the side table. She then leans back and closes her eyes.). John: Tired? Mara: Yeah. John: I thought you wanted a bath. Mara: Is that okay? John: Of course. Mara: Thanks. (She gets up and goes upstairs. He takes the mugs to the kitchen and puts them in the sink. He then goes upstairs and into his study. He sits down at the desk and picks up a small paintbrush and finishes painting his latest finished plane model. 

---Mara lies in the bath with her eyes closed trying to just relax for one minute. But she can’t. Because she knows she can’t hide this for long. She doesn’t know how to tell anyone, she doesn’t know what to say. She could see one of the doctors and just tell them to sort it for her. But then they might tell Joseph. Maybe she could go to Missoula and see a doctor there. She looks down at her stomach then places a hand on it. Tears fill her eyes. Maybe she should just tell Jacob. She suddenly finds herself imagining him smiling at her then kneeling down and pressing a kiss to her stomach. A sob escapes her throat. She knows it wouldn’t happen like that. She isn’t stupid she knows the kind of man Jacob is. Angry, broken and deranged. Locking people in cages and...Killing. Why did she have to like him?! She curses the day she met him. There has to be something wrong with her for her to like a man like that. But when she lay in his arms she felt safe and warm. It was nice. She liked it. She sighs as she tries to think of some plan but she has none. Would people even understand how she feels about Jacob? Would they think her mad for liking a man like that? Because she does have feelings for him. She’s only known him for three months but she’s somehow managed to develop feelings for him. She lies there sobbing. She finds herself thinking for a moment about just sliding under the bath water and staying there. She wouldn’t have to worry about anything. It will all be over. 

---John has finished painting the plane. He leaves it to dry and gets up going down the hall. He passes the bathroom and sees the door wide open. He frowns. Mara must be in his en suite. He goes into the bedroom and knocks on the bathroom door. There is no reply. He knocks again.). John: Mara? (Still no answer. He knocks again.). John: Mara? Have you fallen asleep in there again? (Still no answer. He tries to open the door but it’s locked. He bangs on the door hard.). John: Mara! (He stands there for a moment then he sighs angrily and kicks the door open. The lock falls to the floor and part of the frame splinters. He steps into the bathroom.). John: Wake up! You’ve made me break my door now! (He freezes as he sees Mara lying in the bath under the water. Her eyes are closed and she isn’t moving.). John: Mara! (He yanks her out of the bathtub and lies her on the bathroom floor. He then starts pumping her chest before giving her mouth to mouth.). John: Come on. Come on. (He continues to pump her chest before giving her mouth to mouth again. Just as he thinks all is lost she coughs and splutters. He rolls her onto her side and grabs a towel draping it over her. He can’t help but notice her naked body. He has seen everything now. He has seen all of her. His jeans are suddenly way too tight in the groin area and he reprimands himself for having such thoughts and feelings. This is really not the time. Mara moans as she lies there gasping.). John: Mara? Mara: Um? John: Are you okay? (She lies there then rolls onto her back. She blinks up at him frowning.). Mara: What are you doing in here? (She realises she is naked and sits up pulling the towel around her.). John: I had to kick the door in. Mara: What? Why? John: You wouldn’t answer me. It was lucky I did. You nearly drowned. Mara: What made you kick the door in? John: I told you. You wouldn’t answer me. I wanted to use my bathroom. My toothbrush and shower gel is in here. You were lucky I did. You could have died. Mara: I guess. I must have fallen asleep and slid under. John: You really need to stop falling asleep in bathtubs. It’s actually quite dangerous. Mara: So it would seem. Well...I’m gonna get dressed now. (She gets up and coughs again. He pats her on the back and wraps his arms around her.). John: Are you sure you’re okay? I can get a doctor. Mara: No. I’ll be fine. John: You know you could still drown. It happens. Someone nearly drowns and they say they are fine but then later they are found dead. All it takes is some water in your lungs and- Mara: I’m fine okay. You can stop worrying. (She starts to dry herself off. John stares as he watches her...Her large breasts, the curve of her hips. Her bare ass. He swallows hard.). John: What are you doing? Mara: Getting dressed. John: Showing me your naked body...Teasing me again. Mara: I’m not teasing you. You’ve already seen everything now so there’s no point trying to cover it up is there? (She throws the towel on the floor before putting her knickers and leggings on followed by her baggy black top and the cardigan. She sounded annoyed.). John: You are beautiful. (She freezes staring at the wall. Oh how she wants to hear Jacob say that to her.). Mara: Stop being an idiot. John: But I am not an idiot. Mara: Whatever you say. John: Aren’t you going to thank me for saving your life? Mara: Yeah great. Thanks. (She empties the bathwater then looks at herself in the mirror. She then picks the towel back up and starts drying her hair. It’s so long it always takes her ages to dry it even with a hairdryer.). Mara: Do you have a hairdryer? John: Yes. (He opens the cupboard under the sink and takes out a hairdryer. He plugs it into the wall socket.). Mara: Thanks. John: Are you going to be long? I need to take a shower. Mara: It takes ages to dry my hair. Can’t you use the other bathroom? John: This is my bathroom like I told you. I want to use this one. Mara: Okay. Have your shower. (She switches on the hairdryer and starts drying her hair. He stares at her frowning.). John: I said I’m going to have a shower! (He has to shout over the noise of the hairdryer. Mara turns it off.). Mara: Yeah I heard you the first time. Have your shower then. Don’t let me stop you. (He stares at her.). Mara: Oh I see. So it’s okay for you to have seen my entire body in all its horror but you won’t get undressed with me in the room coz you’re what? Shy? Seriously I ain’t even looking at you. I’m drying my hair. (She switches the dryer back on and turns away from him. He stands there for a moment then he smirks slightly. He then removes his shoes and socks, then his jeans and waistcoat. He then removes his shirt and his boxers. He stands there naked staring at Mara but she isn’t looking at him. He turns and opens the shower door and turns on the water. He closes the door and looks at Mara through the glass. She still hasn’t looked over at him. He shouldn’t even be doing this. If Joseph knew they were in the bathroom...Like this. It isn’t like they’ve done anything but he doubts his brother would see it that way. He sighs. He needs to stop these thoughts. He looks down at his erection before making the water colder. A cry leaves his lips as the ice cold water hits him. He stands there shivering willing himself to stop thinking about Mara’s breasts. The problem is now that he has seen them...Now that he has seen all of her...It is now twice as hard to resist her. He can still hear the hairdryer. He looks through the glass at Mara. She isn’t looking in his direction. She’s too busy drying her hair. He sighs and picks up his shower gel before making the water warmer. He then showers and washes his hair before switching off the water and stepping out of the shower. He grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist. Mara is still drying her hair. He supposes it’s so long it must take ages for it to dry. Her hair almost reaches her backside. He leans against the counter. She turns and looks at him before laughing and turning away. He frowns.). John: What’s funny? (She switches off the hairdryer and still laughing turns to him.). John: What? Mara: Your hair. (She laughs again.). John: What about it? Mara: You look kinda cute with your hair all stuck to your head like that. (He grins like the Cheshire cat.). John: You think I’m cute? I believe you have called me that before. Mara: Have I? I don’t remember. John: I am pretty sure you have. Mara: Whatever. Let me guess you are now going to tell me that you need the hairdryer. John: Yes actually I do. Mara: Help me dry my damn hair then. It’s so fucking long it’s unreal. (He chuckles.). John: You could always cut it. Mara: Cut it? No. I always regret it when I cut it. Besides how could you cut my hair? Look at it it’s so long and lovely. John: Hm. (She hands him the hairdryer and he takes it from her. She then turns around.). Mara: I think it’s only really the ends that still need drying. (He stands there for a moment. She wants him to finish drying her hair? He has his own hair to dry. But then he realises that he has the perfect excuse to run his hands through it. He smiles to himself before switching on the dryer and taking some of her hair in his hand as he dries it. Once he is done he switches the dryer off and puts it down. He then runs his fingers through her soft silky hair.). John: There. All done my dear. Mara: Thanks. (She turns to him and smiles. He leans against the counter.). John: So...What do you think? Mara: About what? John: About me. Mara: What do you mean? John: Well now that you have seen me naked what do you think? Mara: You what? I haven’t seen you naked you idiot. John: Alright. Fine. Mara: Are you worried about how you look or something is that it? I don’t think anyone is happy with how they look. I know I ain’t. I hate my body. It disgusts me. John: What? Why? There is nothing wrong with you. I have told you that you are beautiful. Mara: Only you seem to think so. John: I’m sure that’s not true. Mara: There’s nothing wrong with how you look either. So if you’re worried don’t be. Anyway haven’t you had like a hundred women? Surely that must tell you something. John: A hundred women? Who told you that? Mara: Everyone talks about you like you’re some womanizer always fucking everything that moves so... John: I see. So you are listening to rumours. Mara: It’s not a rumour if it’s true though is it? John: I suppose not. But it wasn’t a hundred! Mara: Okay. John: Actually it was probably more than that. (She sighs and shakes her head.). Mara: You are terrible. (He chuckles.). John: I was. I’m different now. Joseph has saved me. He has helped me see. Mara: So you are no longer taking drugs? John: No. Mara: Drinking? John: No. Mara: Fucking everything that moves? John: No. Mara: Holly begs to differ. John: I admit that yes I have...Slipped a little but... Mara: Hey it’s okay. It really doesn’t bother me. You do what you want. I do. (She shrugs. He raises his eyebrows at her.). Mara: What? You gonna get dressed or what? John: I don’t have to. (She stares at him then sighs and shakes her head.). Mara: You know...For someone who goes on about sin- John: No you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Mara: Look...I’m sure that one day you’re going to meet a woman and she’s going to love you and you’re going to love her. (She smiles at him.). Mara: Sometimes you just have to be patient. John: You think so? Mara: Yes. Bonnie always used to tell me that one day I would meet the right person and it would be right and good. I don’t know if I believe it though. Doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards for me. John: Hm. Mara: You should get dressed John. I’ll go and make you hot chocolate. (She leaves the bathroom. He sighs and dries himself off and dries his hair with the hairdryer. He then goes into his bedroom and opens a drawer. He takes out a pair of dark blue silk pyjama bottoms. He slips them on not bothering about underwear before going downstairs to the kitchen. It’s empty. He goes to the lounge and sees Mara lying on the sofa with her eyes closed. He walks over and nudges her.). Mara: Um? John: Tired? Mara: Yeah. (He sees the mug of hot chocolate on the table and picks it up sipping it. She moves so that he can sit down. She leans against him. He chuckles.). John: You are very confusing. Mara: How am I confusing? John: You try to tell me that you have no interest in me and yet...You keep getting close to me and wanting to stay over. (He smirks.). Mara: I don’t fancy you. I just...I like being with you coz you’re my friend. It’s been years since I’ve had a friend. My sister calls you her brother so I guess I kind of see you as a brother now too. John: Hm. Yes. We are all brothers and sisters here. Mara: Can I tell you something? John: You can tell me anything. Do you have a confession to make? Mara: I guess. (He looks down at her. She slides her arm through his and takes hold of his hand. He puts his hot chocolate down before putting his arm around her so that her head rests on his chest.). John: Tell me. (Her eyes fill with tears.). Mara: When you found me in the bath... John: Yes? Mara: I didn’t fall asleep in the bath. (He frowns.). John: What do you mean? (He thinks he already knows though.). Mara: I didn’t fall asleep in the bath John. (There is silence for a moment.). Mara: It wasn’t an accident. John: You tried to drown yourself? Why would you do that? Why would you throw away this gift we have given you? Mara: What gift? John: The gift of a new life. You have been saved. You have been given the Fathers blessing. You have been welcomed with open arms into our family. Why would you turn your back on that? Mara: I didn’t do it because of you silly. John: Why did you do it? Mara: Because I am unhappy. I am lost. I feel like I’m drowning all the time actually. John: Why? You are throwing away a great gift. You are turning your back on the Father and his teachings. You are turning your back on your sister. Does all this mean so little to you? Mara: No. I’m just a coward. But... (She looks up at him and their noses are almost touching she is so close to him. His breath catches in his throat. He can see her eyelashes and the tears rolling down her cheeks.). Mara: Clearly you were meant to save me from myself...Again. I never really thanked you did I? (He gazes at her. He can smell alcohol on her breath. Then she kisses him softly on the lips. He closes his eyes and kisses her back. Then she pulls away from him and stares at him.). Mara: I’m gonna go to bed. Don’t stay up too late. (She stands up.). Mara: Thank you...For saving me. Again. Night John. (She leaves the room. He sits there staring into the fire sipping his hot chocolate. She says she doesn’t fancy him yet she kisses him. She is very confusing. He finishes his hot chocolate and takes his mug to the kitchen. He then makes himself a coffee and returns to the lounge. He picks up a book and sits back down. He sits reading for a good few hours before his eyes become too heavy to continue. He puts the book down and takes the empty mug to the kitchen putting it in the sink. He then returns to the lounge and puts out the fire before going upstairs. He walks down the hall. Several of his spare bedrooms have their doors wide open except for one. He stops at the door staring at it. He then slowly opens it. Mara is lying in the double bed asleep. Her clothes are on the floor next to bed along with her shoes. He stands in the doorway staring at her before he closes it again and goes down the hall to his bedroom. He really needs to stop this. He goes into his bathroom and yanks his pyjama bottoms down before wrapping his hand tightly around his hard cock. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back as he starts pumping furiously.).

#Far Cry 5 #Home #Jacob Seed #Jacob Seed x Mara Jessop #Mara Jessop #Faiths sister #Faith Seed #John Seed #Joseph Seed #original character #Writing #My Writing

[martianarctic]

Devin’s Playlist -2010s Part 1

This is an unfinished retrospective look at what I listened to during the 2010s. This decade was exceptional for me, as it was the first decade where, for almost all of it, I was not a musician myself. 

Being a musician forces you to listen to music like a musician, and being free of that, and able to listen as a listener alone, really made this a spectacular decade for me. I found dozens of incredible albums that were released during the decade, many of which received no significant recognition.

This was a very large project, and I did not finish it. I made it through Retrowave, Shoegaze, and Post punk. If anybody cares, I will finish the entire project, which will add Dreampop (the largest category), Vaporwave, and Dark Ambient.

Retrowave: Retrowave is electronic music that, at first listen, sounds like it may be from the 80s or 90s, mostly because the synths it uses to generate the music are either retro-inspired or literally retro equipment in some of the more extreme cases. It generally features original compositions, often, but not always, is instrumental. Rough vocals would impede the tightness and angularity of the music, so when vocals are used they are often pop produced and highly melodic. This genre gained significant exposure from Nicolas Winding Refn’s 2011 masterpiece, “Drive”.

Galactic Melt (2011) Com Truise

Electronic artist Com Truise rose to prominence off of this fantastic record, which rallies around the undeniable electro anthem of 2012, “Brokendate”. Starting with some found audio (chopped and screwed found audio becomes a big deal later on in Vaporwave) and then dropping in an absolutely thick beat we’re met with a song that eventually, as layers are dropped on, ends up being meditative, romantic, and melancholy. Emotions to that point, not well associated with dance music, but definitely would come to color the entire decade.

Era Extraña (2011) Neon Indian

Electronic solo bedroom pop was pretty cool at the end of the 00s being pushed hard by guys like Twin Shadow. I am not sure how I got ahold of Neon Indian but this album was, in a lot of ways, the true start of my musical decade. I had not been so excited and enthusiastic about a record since I had retired from making music. It really gives you a new perspective to not feel like you’re in competition with everything and trying to learn from everything- just as a listener, I was enthralled with this entire record.

Visitors (2012) Lazerhawk

I did not get into dark retrowave until after 2013 and thus discovered Lazerhawk and this record after the fact. Visitors is, in my opinion, the best dark retrowave album ever made, more consistent and listenable than competitors such as mega drive or carpenter brut. Also. This album absolutely sticks the landing with the street-strutting powerhouse “Arrival”.

I am the Night (2012) Perturbator

Made famous by soundtracking the indie game hit Hotline Miami (one of the best games of the decade), Perturbator carved a niche for himself with fast, brutal, high energy dark electronic music and absolutely bonkers live shows. Perturbator has a large catalog of content- I am the Night is definitely the starter kit. Starting off with a thick minor chord, a church bell, and a sample of Peter Finch’s speech from “Network” you immediately know what’s in store- dark, dystopian and undeniably French electronic dance music, complete with breathtaking beat breaks, big bass synths, and complex compositions.

Innerworld (2014) Electric Youth

I had mentioned that Drive was a major popularizer of retrowave- and one song in particular, a collaboration between another retrowave artist named College, who created the low fi, catchy bassline for the song “A Real Hero”, and the vocals and lyrics, created by an artist called Electric Youth. Their record, 2014’s “Innerworld”, is one of the best retrowave efforts, with the second track, “Runaway”, even better than the song that made them famous. The pop chorus “Maybe we could just run away for good/cuz we’re both mis understood” soaring over thick, atmospheric synth pads will have you slapping the roof of your car, as you race through the freeways of LA at 3AM.

Atlas (2016) FM-84

Speaking of roof-slapping bangers, “Running in the Night” is probably retrowave’s most popular anthem, boasting one of my absolute favorite vocal performances of the decade. A group claiming rock and roll city San Francisco as their home base (despite being both British), FM-84’s Atlas is absolutely packed with a mixture of the atmospheric instrumental Miami Vice type music suggested by the red and purple setting sun cover as well as vocal driven pop songs such as the single mentioned above.

Hardwired (2018) Mitch Murder

Mitch Murder is a retrowave institution, having made the soundtrack to the viral youtube movie Kung Fury, and also, I suspect, the original music used by twitch personality Dr. Disrespect. However, he almost entirely releases 3-5 song Eps, making it tough to pick out a standout. However that all changed in 2018 with the release of Hardwired, the most accomplished mitch murder release to date. Starting off with the Jan Hammer style “Altered State”, it stays on brand throughout but tells a very unified instrumental story of cyberpunk dystopian adventure. Vangelis-style synths bring in the closer track, “Revision Control”, one of Mitch Murder’s greatest tracks. Evolving through different moods, different scenes, we can imagine the “human” protagonist confronting his cyborg nemesis he has been tasked to execute.

Retrowave Album of the Decade:

Dark All Day (2018) Gunship

As the decade wore on, retro wave slowed down for me. I thought it might be over but- without warning, Gunship, an artist I had listened to but not been completely impressed by, released what is probably the most accomplished album in the genre. Spanning various tempos and musical themes, utilizing several guest vocalists, the scope of “Dark All Day” keeps you listening to the record again and again. This record represents an evolution in a format that was at risk of being just a fad. “Come on lost boys, lets stay alive” over a ripping saxophone lead suggests mere 80s fetishism, but there is more substance than just that. The following track, “When you Grow Up, Your Heart Dies”, takes an upbeat electro jam, and really goes for emotional impact with a series of samples of characters from pop culture saying inspirational things, my favorite being “Everything worth doing is hard” which I think is just Teddy Roosevelt. My favorite track of the record, the slow ballad “Artemis & Parzival”, begins with swooning, Vangelis-style pads and then into guest vocalist Stella Le Page’s gorgeous vocals. This track definitely belongs on anybody’s make out playlist. “Were all gonna die that’s just how it is, there’s no escaping the future, nobody gets what they want in this world, even for you and me” is one of the greatest lyrics of the decade.

 Nugaze/Shoegaze-Adjacent: Shoegaze is a genre of music that features highly layered guitar effects (often run through 10 or more effects, creating a signature “vacuum cleaner” sound with a ton of distortion and white noise) and breathy vocals. Relying heavily on the depth of character of the sound, shoegaze guitar tone and production is a major creative point and almost all of these records are self-produced. Vocal themes are usually depression-inspired and lovelorn meditations, the music sounds, to most, dull and dreary, but to some, it speaks deeply to their feelings about the past and future. Shoegaze is often mixed with other guitar genres on this list, from Post Hardcore(Nothing, Title Fight), Black Metal(Deafheaven), and Thrash Metal (Astronoid).

Road Eyes (2010) Amusement Parks on Fire

Around 2010, I was promoted at my job to a new role that would require a bunch of travel. I was not a big fan of riding on airplanes. Also around that time, my brother had moved into my apartment, then out of it, and I only had a few months left on the lease. My favorite shoegaze band of the 2000s, Amusement Parks on Fire, played a gig at 330 Ritch, a club in san Francisco. I had a fantastic time at the show, and particularly loved their new material, which made it onto a record they called Road Eyes. 2 months later I moved out of my apartment in San Francisco and never would go back to living as a single dude.

Anyways, the travelling. The opening and title track to the record came to symbolize change for me. And it also was the song I would listen to every time my plane would take off. It helped me deal with the fear that something might happen- no matter how insignificant the chance – and if it did, while that song was on, it would be okay. Indeed, this was, and I will warn you I am not qualified to treat mental illness, but this actually really made flying much easier for me and it is a ritual I continue to do to this day, whenever possible.

Pipe Dreams(2013), Sway(2014), Feels like You (2019) Whirr

San Francisco nugaze/dronegaze band Whirr, large and complex, problematic, aggressive, are behind some of my favorite music of the decade. Their three album career reflects to me upon the primary feelings of youth: euphoria, anger, and sadness.

Pipe Dreams is a blissful set of jams, meditative, energetic uptempo and with almost totally co-ed vocals. Noisy production casts a hydrocarbon haze over the songs, raw vocal melodies reach out of the fuzz and suck you in. “Junebouvier” and “Toss” capture the euphoric and  youthful energy of a summer in San Francisco: starting off with breakups May thru July, and hot hookups until September or October when people settle into relationships. Two hungry eyes emerging from straight-bangs to make eye contact with you, and hold it- the exhilaration of touching somebody new.

Sway, the band’s masterwork, starts off with a heavily muff-distorted major 7th chord suspending us until the massive drums, now a hallmark of the band’s sound, kick off the beat into the opening rocker Press. The band switches up rhythms between drums, guitars, and bass to bring rock and roll-type turnarounds and breaks that really keep you on your toes and engaged. The lead guitar is classic legato shoegaze, using delay to achieve a long, sustained scream. Compositions are key on this record- not following just simple A/B patterns there’s some thought to the structure of the songs and record. “Dry”, in particular, demonstrates some of these ideas. A/B sections, underscored with “Drown me everytime… Dry”, give way to breaks, ethereal echo guitar solos, giving a hint of the powerful ending. A 4 chord progression accented by breathtaking drum fills finaly flourishes into a screaming cymbal-laden guitar finish.

Feels like You, the bands purported final album, starts off with some quiet echo piano. The melancholy major 7 chords the band has leaned on throughout their music are laid bare as we press play on the record. Add guitar. At a little after 90 seconds the band jumps in after with a thick blanket of lonesome self-reflection and chemical depression. The bands penchant for composition remains to the end, with changes keeping you engaged as the noise soothes your heart. “Younger than You” is one of the band’s greatest tracks, starting with an almost Smashing Pumpkins/Silversun Pickups esque clean unison guitar/bass into distorted and layered noise, ending with a drum-guided, rock and roll style outro.

 Guilty of Everything (2014) Nothing

One of the things I mention in my preface to this is, for me, the 2010s were the first decade of my life that ended with me not being a musician. And it opened some doors for me, creatively, to be able to hear music and think about it purely as a listener and a person. Something others have frequently described to me, that I had never really done, was just spend an entire weekend listening to an album.

I saw Nothing on KEXP 5 years ago when Guilty of Everything was out and they were on tour. I’ve seen them twice in person since them and bought every one of their records. The weekend that I got Guilty, I was attending a close friend’s sisters wedding, and pretty much was in a hotel room drunk in overcast-as-fuck santa cruz all weekend. And you know what was being played through headphones at practically all times.

Nothing is mostly the musical project of a guy named Dominic Palermo, a punk from the Philly scene that had spent more than a year in prison for a stabbing. He isn’t much of a vocalist or guitarist, but he is a fantastic artist, writer, photographer, and visionary, and the creative force behind what is now a rotating cast of other musicians.

Guilty of Everything is definitely their best record, opening with the massive meditation Hymn to the Pillory, into the definitive single Bent Nail, a perfect marriage of hardcore punk and shoegaze elements, falling apart into the 90mph crash, into a wall, final outro chorus “If you feel like/letting go…” repeated over and over over pure drone guitars, seamlessly flowing into the romantic slow jam “Endlessly” The closing title track is one of the best closers of the decade, perfectly sticking the landing on this brilliant lyric: “My hands are up, I’m on my knees I don’t have a gun, you can search me please. I’ve given up, but you shoot me anyway, I’m guilty of everything. I’m guilty of everything”.

Hyperview (2015) Title Fight

Nothing wasn’t the only Pennsylvanian post-hardcore band to bend their sound a bit shoegaze. Title Fight also sneaks onto this list with their outstanding record Hyperview from 2015. Appealing compositions and melodies combine with harmonized vocals, even some 16 beats on the hats- things we expect from post hardcore, but slowed down and smeared out a bit into the shoegaze aesthetic. My favorite track from the record, “Hypernight”, combines some screamo hype man chorus, math rock inspired guitar and bass lines, and is just all in all one of the most unique tracks to come out of the decade. “I don’t want to see things differently, its what I am taught myself to believe”.

Grandfeathered (2016) Pinkshinyultrablast

I admit that I bounced off of Russian electro-shoegazers Pinkshinyultrablast the first time I listened to them a few years ago. There was just too much going on and I didn’t really have the inclination to jump in and grab on. Operatic female vocals, noisy djenty guitar, shimmery, clean guitar, all swirl together in what is undoubtably a great record for having a tinder date IF, and I say IF, you’re willing to run a musicological acid test on them.

Whether it was listening to a bunch more music, particularly ambient music, or just changing taste now I can’t get enough of this band. They do slam from idea to idea in a song, but it’s a controlled speed- it’s not pleasant to a lot of people, but once you get yourself situated, you’ll wonder how you ever missed this band to begin with, if you’re not one of the people reading this and thinking, naw dude, I got this shit RIGHT AWAY.

The compositions on the record are, in fact, carefully considered and composed, combining noise rock with clean ambience deftly and changing up styles repeatedly throughout each song and the record. Everybody knows we can no longer control dynamics via volume in today’s world of headphone/device listening,  ultramaximizing mastering, laptop speakers, etc. So Pinkshinyultrablast controls it with style. This record is definitely the more guitar-driven of the albums from this decade, with their release 2 years later being more electronic and vocal focused.

Slowdive (2017) Slowdive/My Bloody Valentine (2013) mbv

There are two bands that are credited with creating and or popularizing the Shoegaze movement during the late 80s and early 90s. Those bands are My Bloody Valentine, and Slowdive. Both of whom released albums during the 2010s. And frankly, both records are damn good for two bands that have been basically on hiatus for 20 years. Neither has really stood the test of time for me, although I listened to both exhaustively upon release. 

The opening tracks of both records are absolutely mesmerizing, this slow, sexy intro is clearly the part of them that became stronger with age. The manic rock energy of their more upbeat tracks however is absent or at least forced, and I think is what keeps these from being really what I’d call strong records. Nevertheless, both albums belong on any shoegazer’s playlists both for the quality of the music as well as the nod to the progenators of the genre we love so much.

Time n Place (2018) Kero Kero Bonito

KKB was already one of the biggest indie rock groups in the world when they released this their second full-length album. Making a big move sound-wise from super squeaky clean hip hop style production to sloppy shoegaze guitars and drums, they alienated a lot of fans with Time n Place, but I don’t see how. For me, coming in for Time n Place and then going back in the catalogue to Bonito Generation, I see it as a very natural progression. As the artists become more confident and mature, it’s natural they should explore some other emotions and moods.

That said I am not the usual KKB fan. Actually at their show in San Francisco in 2018 I was probably in the top 95 percentile of being an old fart. Around me, mostly twentysomethings on the first half decade, casually doing key bumps right on the show floor, something scared old gen Xers like me, still remembering their friend’s divorced dads in cigarette boats they sold for coke in the 80s, are still too paranoid to do. The crowd definitely starting pogo jumping at the chorus to “Only Acting” a grungy, poppy metaphor between acting on stage, and being young and in love.

Right after that, “Flyaway“ is the upbeat shoegazey manic anthem that really got me sucked into the band to begin with. Combining fuzzy guitars that are more reminiscent of Japanese rock bands of the 00s than shoegaze with a crystalline clear melodic vocal line from Sarah, this is the track where I grab a handful of dirt from my dying hill, and say if you don’t like this song, you don’t like the band, the record, or my musical taste.

Miserable Miracles (2018) Pinkshinyultrablast

Reinventing themselves record by record, Pinkshinyultrablast keeps on the cutting edge and doesn’t make a habit of anything. Miserable Miracles is more electronics driven, lead and pad synthesizers bringing in the music with their trademark soaring, operatic vocals. Guitars are present as well, but heavily stretched with cathedral reverb and long delay. A smoother sound than Grandfeathered, but well-poised to issue a majestic, meditative prayer such as “Find your Saint”, my favorite track. Like walking into a Germanic church on Sunday, the vocals rise to the ceiling forcing you to look up at the light breaking in through stained glass synthesizers. At about 100 seconds, all of the pieces drop in together to lift you into wherever it is you are going. “I used to talk- about it” brings the heavenly outro to bear, one of the most powerful musical moments of the decade.

Astronoid (2019) Astronoid

I am part of a few music groups on Facebook, and one of them mentioned this band, calling them “Dream Thrash”- a combination of dreampop and thrash metal. I’d say its more thrashgaze, with heavy effects/djenty guitar and the more whispery vocals than are a hallmark of the shoegaze genre, not the clear pop produced vocals that are the hallmark of dreampop.

That out of the way, this is possibly my favorite record of 2019. The opening track, “A New Color”, brims with energy and hopeful optimism and replaced Road Eyes as my airplane take off song. Right around 3 minutes in, when the plane is airborne and gaining climbing u to cruise, when we’re often breaking through the clouds, comes in possibly my favorite guitar solo of all time. On this record, Astronoid are unquestionably uptempo metal yet somehow at the same time being slow-changing enough to carry the emotional weight of shoegaze. The second track, “Dream in Lines”, is an aggressive, more metal-informed rocker, and the third is a power ballad that absolutely sealed the deal for me in terms of loving this album.

Other high points include the uptempo thrash jam “Breathe” and “Water”. Again infusing the metal, djenty mute strum guitar with soaring vocals and heavy backing harmonics, this record continues again and again to deliver head-banging jams that touch and heal a deep sadness in the soul. “Water” is a darker exploration, starting with a heavy chunky two-guitar & bass instrumental, virtuous breaks, and expansive echo and reverb. The band sounds like they are playing in the middle of an interstellar arena, fists human and alien in the sky.

The album sticks the landing with the penultimate track “Beyond the Scope”. This incredible song starts slowly, but upon reaching a turn, goes double-time as the melody and music climbs in pitch at 100 seconds in. This transition takes us into a greater urgency, with sustained, over-flying guitar notes keeping the harmony rich and complex.

Then, the beat drops out and a single guitar chord rings- “My hands are on my ears/They won’t stop ringing” smashes into your brain and your heart. Then again, the building section- “Feeble-minded/I can not decide/in my world, now I know/there’s no such thing as dying/so leave with a goodbye” and into another build and back to the chorus-

“My hands are on my ears/they won’t stop ringing”. I don’t think any lyric can better express the decade than that. If it were somehow possible for this album to end on this song, it would be at the head of this category.

Everything Starts to Be a Reminder (2019) Echodrone

As a former musician, I have a lot of friends who are musicians. I am very brutally honest about my feelings in music and that can make it awkward to have to comment on a friend’s hard work. Echodrone’s latest record made this very easy- the record is simply amazing. Echodrone’s earlier records bounced off of me a bit, but this one has just the right mixture of drone-drenched empty space, ethereal vocals, emotional anguish and euphoria, and a strong connection to the last 10 years in my mind. The tracks are named after the four seasons, starting with Winter and ending with Autumn. Interestingly, the tracks do not really stand out as being separate in my mind, much like how you cannot easily separate a season from another season in the same year.

“Winter” explodes with an epic, cymbal-laden meditation, that continues to grow and grow and expand, then finally becomes quieter, more melodic, and less drony in the second half of the 18 ½ minute song.

“Spring” features a finger-pick echo guitar interspersed with a beautiful co-ed vocal line guiding us down a pathway of different melodic and harmonic ideas. It then enters into a several-minutes long jammy contemplation that is utterly ecstatic to me- synths layered with effects-laden bass and more echo guitar into a full stop.

The best song on the record, “Summer”, begins with a vocal sample into a more or less straight-ahead rock and roll jam. This gives way to a downtempo effects section, then at right after 4 ½ minutes, gives way to a sound I can only call Olympian in hugeness. Fuzz bass, echoing guitars, and multilayered female vocals create this trance-like atmosphere that is rarefied and deeply marked with potent and everchanging imagery at the same time, like cream on top of coffee.

The sound continues to change and becomes quiet again once again with echo guitars carrying the music through. Back to a rhythmic return at 12 ¾ minutes. A synth flute melody flies over the whispered vocals, complex drum patterns- an opine to the end of life’s summer, the bitter sweetness of being old enough to not be hurt anymore by unlikely things failing to fly.

 Shoegaze Album of the Decade:

Sunbather (2013) Deafheaven

A single distorted guitar chord progression holding several notes through the chords for changing harmonics, exploding into double kick and even more guitars, into black metal screaming- this is the unmistakable beginning of Sunbather by San Francisco black metal band Deafheaven.

Due to its downtempo sections, overall distorted and layered production, and emotional scope, this album is loved not just by black metal fans but also by shoegaze fans such as myself. It is a perfect example of a successful crossover- not anticipated or forced in any way by the creators- but it just happens to work on so many different levels.

There are really only four songs on this record, the tracks in between them are much needed interludes. Something all Deafheaven songs do very well is compositioning. These tracks play out, in a way, like classical pieces, with many different sections, transitions, themes, changes, openings, closings, callbacks- it’s so incredibly dense and accomplished that you can listen to this album for weeks on end and still be surprised.

“Dream House” is the blazing opener of the record and puts on display everything we love about every song on here. To make this song the first track is insane, simply because of how over-the-top insanely powerful it is. After a brief interlude of just picked echo guitar, a single chord strum, the entire band comes back in a beat later, and this isn’t even the most emotional part of the song. That’s going to be at 7 minutes, 20 seconds in “I watched/It die!!!” screeches the vocalist as a guitar ostinado plays over the key notes that have been presented throughout the song in brutal crystal clarity. Then at 8 minutes- the vocalist and guitar break down, screaming and double picking guitar notes. It is difficult not to cry at this ending- and this is only the first song on the record.

“Sunbather” is both the title track and the album’s dark heart. Thrumming with a complex beat from the start, the other instruments are layered over this like a tangle of vines across an iron fence. Skillful use of double kick and drum fills keeps the band on target as we get to the breaks and turnarounds. The cymbals and guitars swirl creating complex patterns. Listening to this song from far away with extremely poor speakers would sound like static- similar to how Jupiter looks like a pale gold smear- turn up the volume a little, get a little closer, and you see the rich, threatening complexity of the swirling clouds of music and emotion. The song ends with a slow section about ¾ of the way through the 10 minute piece. An unforgettable echo guitar line plays sparsely over drums- invoking a Cure-like gothic sensibility. Then the band comes back in, playing the same melody and expanding upon it, a lighting bolt magnified to a thousand forks and twists going in all directions. It is the melodies at the end of Sunbather that were stuck in my head, unforgettable, after listening to this record. Unlike Dream House, this song ends on a down note, a question- the rest of the album is to give an answer, and incredibly, you will not be disappointed.

“Vertigo” is the longest song on the record at 14 ½ minutes, a blazing, minor key rocker that is meant to emotionally drag us down as far as we can go after Sunbather. The ending of the song invokes the Beatles “She’s So Heavy” before heading into “Windows” an ambient and spoken word piece featuring a drug deal gone bad- unquestionably a node to The Tenderloin, one of the more drug-laden districts in San Francisco and likely location of the band’s rehearsal studios.

Into “The Pecan Tree”, a song that has an seemingly impossible task: To somehow stick the landing of an extremely powerful and emotional record. We are looking for something coming into this track, but we are not totally sure what it is. We need something, but we can only follow the lights. The song opens up with insane double-kick guitar madness, 2 step rhythm, and then at 1:20 we see a glimpse through the storm, a hole of blue, that we can make it to, if we keep on going. Keep on going. Keep on walking. Smashing, swirling guitars and screams return, our view obstructed. Everything seems to be going at maximum at the end of this first section of the song.

At just after 3 minutes, the sonic assault finally begins to slow down, a march tempo into double kick continuous cymbals, back to march tempo, then, at 4 minutes 19 seconds, only picked echo guitar heralds us into the second section. The star of this section is a piano ostinato combined with the echo guitar, with a second guitar playing playful melodies over it. This is the starry night we can now see that the storm has cleared- this is the most optimistic and life affirming music on the record. A found audio recording of a detuned radio signals the ending of this section.

Eventually, this music fades just before four metal beats brings us to the conclusion- an octave-fingering guitar line and screeching vocal that is in my view one of the most awesome emotional turnarounds that I have ever experienced musically. The remaining outro sums up the entire record- life is big, difficult, unknowable, chaotic. Great albums stick the landing- and this ending does so, with incredible energy, on a record that did not even need it. Sunbather. One of the greatest rock records of all time and one of the very few of those albums to come out now, just about half a century after the 60s.

Post Punk Revivalists: The king of indie rock genres in the 00s, post punk was largely set down at the end of the decade with the major acts of the decade releasing milquetoast or downright laughable fare (are we human, or are we dancer?). However, post punk exploded back onto the scene in 2012 with The Money Store by Death Grips. Some returning groups from the 00s did end up releasing fantastic records, Roma 79 and Daughters being my favorites.

Cardinal Star (2014) Roma 79

I discovered north San Francisco bay area band Roma 79 through their single from the 00s, “Gold”, a sort of heavy, post-punk rocker with a few-thousand views on Youtube. I was very surprised when they reunited and recorded this followup album, which was one of my favorite records of 2014. Featuring a good amount of synth and dreampoppy guitar lines, the main standouts are the vocals and the brilliant drumming, which is a hallmark of great post-punk records of the 00s such as Fever to Tell or Turn On the Bright Lights. The strongest single on the record, “Seventeen”, features a complex drum lines, interlaced with vocals and synths. The song slowly builds up in emotional intensity and drops in layers of vaguely Phil Collins-esque drums and backing vocals, blossoming into a powerful meditative love song. “I’ll wait for it with you.” The final song on the record, is almost an answer to this track, closing the record on a strong point.

You Won’t Get What You Want (2018) Daughters

Daughters is another post-punk band that returned to release a followup nearly 10 years later with 2018’s “You Won’t Get What You Want”. Like all great post punk records, there are a number of characters in this room, and they all can be heard, each having their moments in the spotlight and their moments in the shadows.

One such character is the drums. A crushing combination of live and multitracking effects create a rhythm that provides both the constant heartbeat required by driving rock and roll based music, but also the texture, the complexity, that we seek out in the genre. Lots of tom toms used to keep the beat as opposed to cymbals, practically no hat. Invoking Killing Joke, except when they don’t want to right away, but bring it in later.

Another character is the vocals. Spoken word/sing song type delivery, where the mood and the words and more important than the melody. Lyrics invoke isolation, depression, contraction, abandonment, decline. It would almost be enough with just that, these drums and vocals- but this will also be added by another character, the music. The music seems to be generated mostly by guitar and bass, but there are clearly some synthesizer elements as well, used sparingly and to great effect. I can’t really describe the guitar tone, I would say, it shimmers, but not in an enlightening way. It’s like flashes in the dark, disorienting more than illuminating. The sound is like wood coming off a circular saw. It’s definitely this guitar sound that draws people into this record. All elements are moody, dark, aggressive, but it’s the guitar that really lays down flashes over the blackness.

“Satan in the Wait”, one of the best single tracks on the record, features an off-balance drum beat, carried by toms, and an air-raid siren like guitar sound. A throbbing, distorted bassline in time with the kick drum. At 1:30 in we are given a guitar riff that is beautiful and invoking of a banjo, lending a sensation of urban, southern gothic emotions. Horror film soundtracks come to mind, a combination of unsettling ambience and clear, unforgettable melodies. “Their Bodies are open” the chorus goes, making me think of world-ending events, a transformational death as seen in Arthur C. Clarkes Childhood’s End.

Another of my favorite tracks, “Daughter”, begins with a “bela legosi is dead” kick and snare rim drum beat, possibly electronic, along with a shimmery, surf-rock toned guitar riff. As the song proceeds, more elements are dropped in, and the drums are of particular note here, at 1:23 or so, they drop into a complex beat involving toms, cymbals, and snare. At 2:05 they drop in a clear guitar riff on top of raw noise, building to a climax with the vocal “There’s a war!” At this point, the noise drops out, just a clear guitar riff reminiscent of “Satan in the Wait”, drums coming in at 3:15 or so are particularly impactful.

The final track, “Guest House”, opens on a nearly unbearable sonic assault, the lyrics invoking somebody trapped outside of a bomb shelter during an apocalypse. Once again the gap between unbearable noise and beautiful melody is bridged, as the final dissonant chords give way to deep, harmonic, peaceful orchestra swells.

Post Punk Album of the Decade:

The Money Store (2012) Death Grips

The first time somebody played “Get Got” for me, it was during a really chillwave phase in my music taste and I was completely lost, and didn’t really understand what people saw in Death Grips. I was intrigued enough though, and circled back on some tracks from Exmilitary, their prior record. The more laid back tone and empty space present in tracks such as “Culture Shock” kept me interested enough to give The Money Store another shot a year or so later.

As my interest in chillwave started to fade, and I sought more emotional substance to my music, I returned to the Money Store, and was hooked. Each track is a relentless blast of aggressive drum beats, synthesizer driven melodies, and of course the unmistakable rap vocals of MC Ride.

A strong comparison for me, is between this record, and Joy Division’s second and final record, “Closer”. Relentless beats, but never getting boring, always inventing new rhythms to cast a texture over the musical landscape. Short, fast songs, transitioning from one beat and tempo to the other, never giving you a chance to catch your breath.

The music is highly influenced by hip hop, appearing to be a chopped and cut style, with synthesizers combined with production on the vocals, adding vocals, filter sweeps, reverses, etc- so much energy and craft went into creating what is on its surface very simple music- drums, vocals, and production. Standout track “Hustle Bones” does a fantastic job of expressing what is so great about every song on this record. Everything barely makes sense, but then it all comes together in a singular moment that anybody can nod their head to.

MC Ride’s best is on display in the classic hit, “I’ve Seen Footage”. In his relentless, attacking rap style, he tells us the story of watching gore or wtf videos from reddit or 4chan (or Stile Project if you’re really old like me)-  describing what he’s seen, and then underscoring that with the chorus, “I stay noided”- the character Ride creates is deeply anxious and paranoid, while at the same time being insatiable in the quest for knowing more, something I believe is nearly universal to the experience of the internet-informed human, a phenomenon that would later in the decade lead to diseases thought dead brought back by anti-vax movements, and the election of conspiracy theorist and popularizer Donald Trump as president of the united states.

And that’s the formula to each track on Money Store- working around something more or less literal, Ride’s poetry brings us into the dark state the world was only beginning to enter at the start of the decade.

Closing track “Hacker” opens with a recording of Ride, yelling, presumably at a concert “No ins and outs!!! You come out, your shit is GONE”, then into a 4-on the floor dance beat to end the record on an absolute banger. The music, carried by the beat and Ride’s systematic delivery, is left to its own devices, with glitchy, cut-off synth arpeggios, everything getting out of the way of the beat. “Having conversations with your car alarm”, “you speak with us in certain circles, you will be dethroned or detained”, and “Gaga can’t handle this shit” are some of the lyrical gems that Ride has saved for last here, closing out a post punk record that stands alongside Closer or Turn on the Bright Lights as one of the best of all time.

#music postpunk shoegaze retrowave vaporwave ambient darkambient dreampop nothingmusic whirr deafheaven astronoid deathgrips

[daisyxbuckley]

Afterlife//Mitch Rapp Series

A/N: This is like the SHORTEST chapter you will ever see me write for a series. Like for real. Instead of my usual 10 pages, this was like 4 so ill hopefully have the next part up tonight lol. Anyways enjoy! 

Description: It’s been six months since Mitch and Ophelia took down Ghost. Six months since Ophelia had to kill someone that she thought she once loved. Now a new threat is back and the only question is…with they both make it out alive?

@cxddlyash @dylan-obrien-fanblog @stiles-o-dylan24 @xceafh

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4 Months Later 

Mitch slammed the hotel room door shut and threw his bag on the table. Shrugging his shirt off, he kicked his shoes to the side and went into the bathroom. Scrubbing his face, Mitch looked up at the face that was glaring back at him. His eyes were sunken and his skin was a bit paler. The shine that he had started getting back was gone and he hadn’t smiled since that night. Sighing he walked out and rummage through his bag and pulled out a clean shirt. Grabbing a beer from the mini fridge, he popped the top off before he sat down on the couch and sat in front of the computer. 

“Come on O, where are you?” He said to himself, staring at the screen. He was somewhere in Paris. Or maybe it was Russia ...Mitch had no clue at this point. 

The moment Mitch had woken up in that cabin he called Stan. He was frantic and spent most of the night looking for her, but if Ophelia didn’t want to be found then she wouldn’t be. It broke Mitch’s heart that she felt like she had to run away. 

Mitch brought up the security footage that Adam had sent over to him. The second Ophelia went missing, he put a hit on all the facial recognition software. She hadn’t been popping up but they knew that she was alive. Men had been showing up all over Europe that had her signature all over them. There were pictures of her spread around the room, most of them taken within the first three weeks she was gone. After that she had vanished and he hadn’t seen her since. 

Adam’s videos were probably a bust but he took a swig of his beer and pressed play anyways. It was taken from a market that was full of vendors. His eyes scanned the screen looking for her. Taking another swig from the bottle he noticed something on the right of the screen. 

The figure was wearing black skinny jeans tucked into black boots that went up to her calves. The jacket she wore showed the dark grey tank top that was tucked into the waistband of her jeans and when she adjusted her jacket, he saw the firearm that was tucked in the small of her back. But what caught Mitch’s eye were the healing fingernails on her left hand. Leaning closer, Mitch’s eyes narrowed when she turned around. Ophelia looked up where the camera was like she knew it was there. The look on her face was cold and calculated, her hair had grown out into waves down her back. Her bangs were chopped just above her eyes, framing her face. The brown hair that he used to know had been lightened with blonde highlights. It was almost as if she knew he would be watching. 

Mitch quickly checked the time and date. It was from the day before at market in Kiev. Grabbing his phone he instantly called Stan waiting for him to pick up. 

“What.” The voice answered gruffly. 

“I found her. She was in Kiev, Ukraine yesterday.” Mitch said. The video had been paused with her face staring at him. Stan was silent on the phone as he thought about what these meant. 

“She wanted to be found.” 

“I know sir. I can be there tomorrow.”

“Rapp, don’t spook her.” Stan said lowly. “She is still with him and we don’t want shit going south.” 

“Sir..what is the mission.” Mitch asked quietly. The question hung in the air between them. Mitch knew that neither of them had any clue if Ophelia was even on their side anymore. 

“Extract her. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.” Stan said before hanging up. 

Mitch quickly shut his laptop and shoved it into the bag along with the files and the rest of his stuff. Booking a ticket on his phone, he quickly checked out of the hotel and caught a cab to the airport. Three hours later he was landing at the airport in Kiev and heading to the closest hotel. Setting up in a room under an alias, Mitch got settled in and realized that it was almost three in the morning and as much as he wanted to go searching for her, he knew that he needed some sleep. Sighing he laid back on the couch and closed his eyes. 

His dreams were always about her. The last time he saw her, how she had looked at him in sadness. Mitch sighed and opened his eyes looking at the clock. Groaning he realized he managed to sleep for about four hours. Getting up he threw some water on his face and put a clean shirt on. Grabbing his gun, he checked the clip and put it in the waistband of his jeans while grabbing his jacket. Shrugging it on he grabbed his things and walked out the door. 

The cold October air was crisp as Mitch walked quickly through the streets. His breath came out in short puffs as he kept his head down and tried to steer clear of everyone. Dipping into a cafe, he ordered a coffee and smiled at the girl as she made it for him. After asking for some directions, he walked out the door. The same market that Ophelia had been seen in was a few blocks away so he figured that he would stay there and look around. 

The market was already crowded for the early hours and it made Mitch uncomfortable. He sat down at a table that allowed him to see everything around him. He sipped his coffee and tried to figure out what the hell Ophelia was doing in the Ukraine. He and Stan had already come to the conclusion that she was working for Kiernan, but they had no clue why. Stan threw out, one drunken night, that maybe she was brainwashed. But as much as Mitch wanted to believe that was the case, he knew that Ophelia was too strong for that. 

Mitch sat in the same spot for about five hours. He studied every person that was in the market that day. He looked for Ophelia in every girl her age, hoping that it would be her and she would reappear. But she never did. Sighing, he finally got up to head back to the hotel room when he heard it. 

Her voice.

Mitch started scanning the market. He saw her from following someone that was walking next to her. She casually brought her hand to her mouth, like she was scratching her cheek, but Mitch knew that she was talking to someone. He quickly started following after them. He recognized Kiernan standing next to her and his blood started boiling when he touched her lower back and Ophelia just let him. Mitch stayed hidden until the group got to a black sedan. He watched as Ophelia looked around before Kiernin stepped into the car. Once he was in, she hit the hood and watched it drive off before going the other way. 

Mitch let a little distance between them as she continued into the crowd. The last thing he needed was for her to run. He watched as she pulled out her ipod and put her headphones in but he knew she wasn’t really zoned out. She knew everything going on around her. He followed her for about twenty minutes before he saw her go down a side street. Mitch took a left and cursed when he realized she wasn’t there anymore. 

“God Damnit!” He yelled as he ran a hand through his hair. Hearing the safety of a gun click off, Mitch tensed up before turning around slowly with his hands up. Ophelia stood across from him, her gun was raised and a hard look on her face. Mitch felt his own gun in the waistband of his jeans and knew that he could reach it in time, but he wouldn’t do that to her. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked with no emotion. Mitch was surprised that she spoke to him like she didn’t care.

“Ophelia...what the hell is going on? “ He asked slowly. “What are you doing.” 

“You shouldn’t be here.” Was all she said, never lowering her gun. She hated that this was the position she was in, but she knew that this was how it had to be to save him. 

“I shouldn’t be here?” Mitch yelled. “Ophelia you shouldn’t be here.” he said stepping forward. He didn’t care that sh was pointing a gun at his chest. He just wanted her home.

“Mitch...you need to leave.” Ophelia whispered. She hated feeling like this, she wanted nothing more than to just pull him close and run away with him. But she couldn’t. 

“I’m not going anywhere without you. O, we haven’t stopped looking for you.” He said placing a hand on the gun trying to lower it. Mitch refused to take his eyes off hers as he slowly lowered it to her side. They stood there staring at each other for a second and Mitch could see the wall fall in her eyes and knew that he was getting through to her. “O, please. I need you.” Mitch pleased. Before she could react, he had pressed her up against the wall. His lips had latched onto hers as his hands found her waist wrapping around it. Her arms reached up instinctively and wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Ophelia’s hands moved up through his hair and Mitch moaned as her hails scraped across his scalp. He nipped at her lip as he pulled away and started kissing down her neck. He had missed the taste of her skin and wasn’t going to stop till she broke and came home with him. 

“Mitch.” Ophelia gasped as she tried to get her bearings again. She shouldn’t be doing this..if anyone saw them he would be in danger. “Stop!” She yelled pushing him back. “You need to go. Now.” Ophelia said scooping up the gun she dropped and placing it in the small of her back. 

“Why did you let me catch you if you weren’t planning on coming home?” Mitch asked with a frustrated look on his face. “You’ve been gone for four fucking months, O. Why bother with showing me you were still alive if you didn’t want me going after you?”

“Because I wanted you to move on!” Ophelia yelled. “I wanted you to know I was alive so you would stop worrying about me and move on.” She was so close to spilling the tears that were welling up in her eyes but she refused. Ophelia ran a hand through her hair as she chewed on her bottom lip and Mitch had to physically restrain himself from shoving her against the wall and kissing her again. 

“We aren’t just going to leave you Ophelia. Let us help you...please.” Mitch said carefully stepping forward “We just want you to come home.” 

Shaking her head, Ophelia slowly looked away. “Go home Mitch, forget about me.” She whispered. Before he could reply, Ophelia had taken off down the alleyway and back out onto the street. It took Mitch about five seconds to chase after her but he got out to the street right as he saw her taking off on her red sports bike vanishing from sight. 

“FUCK!” He yelled attracting stares and glaring at everyone. Quickly taking off in the direction of his hotel, Mitch pulled his phone out to dial Stan. 

He was going to get Ophelia back even if it killed him. 

#mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp #mitch rapp fanfic #mitch rapp imagines #mitch rapp x you #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski x you #afterlife series

[afinepricklypear]

Mother’s Day and Mental Health Awareness Month

**Warning - This post talks about depression, mental disorder, and an attempted suicide. Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics. The events described here are real and true to the best of my memory.**

I went to make a post May 1st and Tumblr was kind enough to inform me that May is Mental Health Awareness month. It isn’t without irony for me that Mental Health Awareness month occurs the same month as Mother’s Day.

My relationship with my mother is a difficult topic, it’s usually only one I can talk about with my sisters, but it’s this time of year that people most want to talk about moms. When I was younger, I didn’t know what to say when people brought up their moms and mom-like behavior in general, mostly foreign concepts to me. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned I don’t have to say anything at all, like in my work meeting this morning when our supervisor reminded us all to call our mom’s this weekend, you know, “if they’re still alive”, since most of our department are near retiring age, but I don’t always know how to feel. Here comes the guilt: do I call, do I text, do I take the risk that she’ll be in a good mood or will she turn it around, again, like the year I sent her a gift and she used my gesture as ammo to attack my “ungrateful” older sister that’s still trying to untangle her own complicated relationship with our mother. I’m ten again, twelve again, sixteen again, walking on eggshells around a house where the air is so thick with the constant fog of her misery, I can’t see farther than a minute into my future.

There were good moments, of course, like any home. She was always the more encouraging parent when it came to my writing, my father would pick it all apart – in the long run, both approaches helped me become a better writer. There was the time she was given two tickets to see Mama Mia at the casino where she dealt, and she chose to take me. We got dressed up, she leant me this white faux fur jacket and some of her jewelry, curled my hair and did my make-up, she was riding high on her emotions. She took me to a fancy dinner at the Hard Rock Café before the show. We didn’t get spoiled often, and to this day, Mama Mia and ABBA hold a special place in my heart. I always think of her singing along to the radio in the car, she has a nice voice, and maybe in another life, she could’ve been a singer.

There were moments when she was trying to be sweet and it still leaves me with conflicted emotions. Like the time the German shepherd she took off the hands of a coworker who was afraid of him violently attacked me. She bandaged me up, laid in bed with me and comforted me, it’s the most motherly I ever remember her being. She kept the dog for a while after that, I still have scars on both my arms from the attack, I’ll have them the rest of my life, just like my little sister will still have her scars from when it attacked her, and my friend who came to visit will still have the scar it gave her…my older sister was only lucky that it was muzzled when it went for her face. My mother was convinced she had a special connection with this dog, that in his heart of hearts he believed he was protecting her, so I get it, she didn’t want to get rid of something that she felt loved her unconditionally.

Sometimes it’s hard to conjure these kinder memories, they become overwhelmed with the harder, darker ones that feel infinitely more numerous. There are the moments that seem innocuous, when you could say I was acting a spoiled child, like the time I was in middle school and I wanted to keep my hair long, but my mother decided I needed bangs. My dad tried to stop it, but she had made up her mind. I cried and pleaded with her but she commanded the reluctant stylist to chop the hair off. Armed with a brush and blow-dryer, she attempted to show me “it was cute” that night and things escalated to the point my dad and older sister were stepping in, arguing with my mom to let me be. I went back to that same hair stylist with my friend who was getting her hair cut the next day, and the stylist apologized, confessed that she didn’t want to cut my hair, told me it was so healthy and beautiful too, and she felt terrible doing it. Years later, when I was an adult and decided to cut my hair short with sideswept bangs, my mother would throw this memory back in my face, “sure, now you want bangs”, still incapable of understanding that it wasn’t about her, but about me wanting to define my own body and style. She did the same to my older sister in high school, dyed her hair blonde – it took so much bleach to lighten her naturally dark hair color that the hair looked fried afterwards and we were all amazed it didn’t fall out. Never mind that my older sister never wanted blonde hair to begin with, it was antithetical to her personality, and she won’t even go near the hair dye aisle now.

There are the moments where my mom was so unreasonable that everyone felt helpless, like the day I was alone in my room, my sisters in the living room talking and watching television – doing I don’t know what – and my mom was sleeping in her room because she worked graveyard shift at this time. Suddenly, inexplicably, my mom came into my room in a rage, “how dare you call your little sister stupid,” she scolded me, she continued to berate me for being cruel and mean, even as I told her, baffled, I didn’t know what she was talking about, even as my sisters argued with her, “no one called anyone stupid. She wasn’t even in the room with us.” My mother wouldn’t listen, she knew what she heard, she grounded me and, matter settled, left back to bed. My dad got home from work not long after, and I was in my room still bawling, inconsolable and unable to work out what I’d done wrong. He asked my sisters why I was crying and they explained, and, again, my mom comes storming in my room yelling, “how dare you tattle on me to your dad!” I don’t remember much of what happened from there, my dad stepped in, they argued the rest of the night, and he would later assure me I wasn’t grounded. It was the only thing he could undo from that day.

There are other, harder to define moments. The nights my mom would argue with my dad, we’d be in bed, school in the morning, and she’d turn on all our bedroom lights, rip the covers off our beds, and scream at us to get out of her house, that she was putting us all out on the streets and it was our father’s fault. I remember vividly the fight between my parents that happened in the day, everyone awake in the house, I collapsed in the kitchen as my mother ranted that we all hated her so she should leave and we won’t have to deal with her anymore, and I cried and trembled, overwhelmed with the thought, I don’t want anyone to leave, I don’t want to lose my family. I had to get out, so I did, walked right out of the house, not sure where I’d go, and my mother panicked and raced after me, put an arm over my shoulders, coaxed me back to the house. The moment the door closed; she was yelling at us again for not loving her enough and I realized I couldn’t leave, I was trapped. There was the gambling addiction, every Christmas we would be prepared, “mom lost a lot of money at the casino last night, we might not have a Christmas this year” – we had learned not to expect anything anyways and that every gift came with a quid pro quo and years of ‘remember I did this for you’. My older sister and her then-boyfriend, now-husband, watched my mom gamble away more than a month’s mortgage and spend the entire night chasing it back.

I’m thinking about all of this more recently, I think, since I started writing some fanfics for the Bungou Stray Dogs community. One of the main characters of the show is named after and inspired by author, Dazai Osamu, a man that died prematurely from a double suicide. This is treated tongue-and-cheek by the anime and its original manga through Dazai’s many failed suicide attempts and his odd flirtation strategy of asking ladies to commit double suicide with him. I kind of like this approach to the topic, it might on the surface seem insensitive to make a joke of something so serious as depression, but humor can be therapeutic and give us an easier way to broach otherwise difficult subjects.

I was in high school when my older sister and I were allowed to be in on the conversations about my mother’s mental disorder, both undiagnosed and untreated. We’d all speculate, my father and his sister, my mother’s sister, my sisters and I, the favorite theory was bipolar disorder, but we may never know. My mom refused then and refuses to this day to seek help. There were little things about her past before marrying my dad that we were allowed to know as we got older, too. Like, how she’d been put in a hospital that wanted to keep her there for further treatment – they knew something was wrong but didn’t know what, this was during a time when bipolar disorder was unheard of and they called similar diagnoses ‘manic depression’ – and she had to threaten legal action to get released. When she was eighteen, she had married a man knowing he had a terminal illness in order to help him get his green card, he died two years later, and she still considers him the great love of her life. We’re told by the media, movies like A Walk to Remember, that this is romantic, but in reality, it’s an unhealthy fixation on a relationship that was doomed from the start. She idolizes the memory of it, puts it on a pedestal as the standard for all of her other relationships to compare to, but it isn’t realistic. It was a relationship with a known expiration date, it wasn’t a real commitment, nothing had to matter because it would all come to an end soon, and they never reached the hard parts of a marriage – children, growing old, changing bodies, financial struggles, loss and disagreement. She went through a deep depression after he died and it reached a point that her sister had her placed on a suicide watch and thus began her long and sordid history of depression.

There are a lot of fanfics in the BSD community that explore a darker tone to Dazai’s depression, to varying degrees of accuracy. I mostly steer clear of them. There is one writer in the community that I won’t name, they’re an amazing writer with beautiful technical skill, and they do an impeccable job of showing depression exactly as it is for those who live it and those who live with a person that suffers from it. I left a one-word comment on one of their stories, the only positive thing I could say, and I couldn’t write anymore without the comment turning into an emotional lecture, I don’t know that author’s personal emotional state, but I also won’t read any more from them. It wasn’t the accurate depiction of depression that turned me off from the story, but the depiction of Dazai’s depression being known by all the characters in the story, including himself, but he won’t seek treatment for it, and all of the characters are shown to enable his depression and put up with his abuses that stem from his disorder. In the story he was placed in an intimate relationship with the character, Chuuya, and Chuuya is painted as the patron saint of boyfriends, willing to overlook Dazai’s every episode, draw him back from the ledge and bandage up his scars with an endless patience and gentleness. I couldn’t move passed the romanticizing of this relationship dynamic. Chuuya is shown to be noble and celebrated for his self-sacrifice and unconditional love that compels him to stay beside Dazai despite everything Dazai inflicts upon himself and Chuuya, and more importantly, despite Dazai’s refusal to get treatment.  

My mother’s emotional state was constantly our responsibility growing up. She was sad because we didn’t love her. She was angry because we were ungrateful. She was miserable because we couldn’t see all that she did for us. If she hurt us with her words, if she lashed out at us irrationally, it was our fault, because we didn’t do everything right. Never mind that what was right could change within a minute in a day. Too often when someone in your life is suffering from a mental disorder, you’re made to shoulder the blame, either unintentionally by them as they suffer from their illness or intentionally by well-meaning individuals outside of the situation that don’t know better: you just need to give them love. If they take their own life, it’s your fault, you didn’t love them enough.

It was the Friday before Mother’s Day, I was in my early twenties, finishing up my degree in Anthropology (after changing my major, I don’t know how many times). My parents were long since divorced and my mom lived alone in the house where I grew up, still shrouded in all of those dark memories. My mother’s sister had recently left town after a short visit, she had called me a few days earlier to let me know my mother lost her job  that week and was struggling to get out of the depression. In retrospect, she’d been sinking for a while now, after the violent dog and so many other incidents like it left us all with too many scars to overlook and we didn’t know how to walk back into that house, how to feel safe there. She’d covered herself in tattoos, cut her hair short, wore different wigs to work every day, she’d gained a lot of weight and was chain smoking so much there was a permanent haze in the house. None of these things should be thought of as red flags for everyone, it should be taken on an individual basis, but for my mother they were all signs that she was spiraling. She didn’t like who she saw in the mirror and was desperately trying to cover it up, find someone she did like. I had promised her I would come over, make her a dinner for Mother’s Day, and I would take her to see a movie. I was on my phone with my aunt when I pulled up, snowballing ideas for what to do if things got serious and if we needed to think about placing her on a suicide watch, how that would work. I rang the doorbell; it was outside of the gate she put around the front yard for her dogs to go in the front yard.

No answer.

Rang it again.

Still no answer.

She knew I was coming over.

I opened the gate, went to the door, the door was cracked open, my aunt was on the phone in my ear, “what’s going on?” I opened the door fully and my mom’s dogs came to greet me. The house was in disarray, furniture toppled over, papers scattered across the floor, so many of the details are blurred out of memory, I remember distinctly a ceramic statue broken on the floor but I couldn’t tell you what it was a statue of. I could hear a low intermittent moan coming from farther in the house. I followed it down the hall to my mother’s room, into her bathroom, where she was collapsed, naked, on the floor of her shower.

I told my aunt I had to go, I hung up and dialed 911. In the moment, I didn’t know how panicked I really was, my voice unnaturally high, my body warm and shaking and electric with adrenaline. That feeling hits me again, sometimes, when I don’t expect it. There was white like foam around my mother’s mouth, her eyes stared wide and blank at the ceiling, her every breath was that guttural moan as she attempted to draw air in, an autonomic action, she was completely unresponsive. Her body was on autopilot, and so was mine. I’d been rehearsing for a long time what to do in that situation, it’s the only way I made it through everything that needed to be done. I gave the dispatcher the address, answered her questions, “I think she did something to herself but I don’t know what…no, there’s no pills nearby…no, I don’t see anything in the trash…she’s been severely depressed…she has a history of depression…”, between pleading with my mom, “please don’t leave me, please stay with me, mom,” and wrestling her dogs into the front yard and out of the house. The dispatcher told me the ambulance was on its way and asked if I wanted her to stay on the line and I begged her not to hang up, not to leave me with nothing but the moans of my dying mother, she didn’t say anything during that time, was just silently present as I talked to my mom and waited for the paramedics. They couldn’t come in until I got the dogs out back, I cursed and screamed at the unruly mongrels and felt an irrational anger that my mom never got them properly trained.

I took a seat in the kitchen, let the paramedics work and my brain shut down. I called my aunt back, told her what happened. The paramedics came to ask me questions, I tried to answer them but I didn’t know and my aunt was correcting me over the phone, so I handed her over and let her talk to them. They took my mother away to the hospital and I was alone, in that childhood house, that held so many horrible memories of my mother’s untreated disorder, and every aspect of our lives that it colored and perverted. Every Mother’s Day was always fraught with anxiety, I think it was my mother’s least favorite day, her mood was always sour, and no matter what we gave her or tried to do for her, it wasn’t enough. Even the year before, the Mother’s Day when she told us exactly what to get her. She was so happy with her present, a sterling silver ring with our birthstones imbedded that cost us all a pretty penny – I was paying my own way through college, my older sister was paying rent on a Starbucks salary, and my little sister didn’t have a job – but a week later we were ungrateful brats again. There was one Mother’s Day when I was maybe ten or eleven, we’d set her up roses and two cards – one from my father and one from her daughters. I was watching television and waiting for her to come home from work to wish her a happy Mother’s Day. She came in and years of practice had taught me to recognize she was in a dark mood, a cigarette on her lip, her posture tense, muttering under her breath about how nobody loved her, nobody cared. She stalked to the desk, ripped the cards in half without opening them and threw them on the ground in front of me without sparing me one glance or word, and stormed to her room, slammed the door behind her.

We would later find out that my mother drank antifreeze, a method that has about a 5% survival rate. She was in a coma for about a month. It was another few weeks before they took the respirator tube out and her throat recovered enough that she could talk in small sentences, and not without effort and pain. She told us she filled a cup with the antifreeze, showed us with her fingers set apart how high she’d put it in the glass, when she finished, she washed the cup and stuck it in the dishwasher, hiding the evidence. She’d always heard antifreeze was flavorless but it tasted awful – they add flavoring to antifreeze to deter people from accidentally ingesting it. She’d thought it would be quick, but it’s really an excruciatingly painful and long, drawn out way to die. She’d stripped in her deliria and taken a shower because her body felt so awful, feverish and almost on fire, as it was shutting down and her nerves fried from the chemical reaction. I wrestled for a long time with the ethical delimma of my choices in that moment after finding her, and there was a thought that stuck with me through it all: What did I get my mother for Mother’s Day? I saved her life, and it was still the wrong gift.

It isn’t noble or romantic to stay with someone who refuses to get professional treatment for their mental disorder. There is no amount of love or patience or understanding that will heal them. In most situations, the harder and braver thing to do is walk away. None of us is a perfect person and none of us should have to bear the burden of another person’s unwillingness to get help when they need it. It took me a long time to come to terms with the notion that there is no one to blame in this situation. It isn’t my fault that I can’t give my mother the love she craves. It isn’t my mother’s fault that she can’t see the love that her daughters wanted to give her. But it is her responsibility to get help. If she refuses help, no one can force it on her.

It’s been years now since this happened. My mother is now as recovered as she’ll ever be. Her mind isn’t as sharp, and she struggles with controlling her muscles and the devastating damage to her nervous system that will never fully heal. She remains undiagnosed and is not receiving any kind of professional guidance or treatment. There have been new, dark memories, added to the old ones, in those times when we tried to be supportive and “there for her” during her recovery. Episodes that remind us she doesn’t want to change and she never will. So, we keep our interactions to a minimum, answer when she texts, try to help her when she asks for it, check in every so often. She lives on the other side of the country with two cats and goes regularly to the neighborhood karaoke bar. In a weird way, she seems happier with this set up, this distance between her and all of the pain that my sisters and I seemed to bring her, that constant demand for love that we couldn’t fulfill, maybe it really was all our fault and we were the ones to blame, or maybe it’s because I’m not living with her depression anymore.

I don’t know if I’ll call my mother on Mother’s Day, but for anyone else out there with a complicated relationship with their mother, it’s okay if you decide not to call your mother either.

[adorasbiceps]

I had to write about my brotp at some point and this idea just came to me so, in light of all the recent discourse that’s been going on, enjoy these two dorks:

"Oh ho, there she is!" Violet stops in the doorway of the piano room. Louis was sitting at his piano, as he always was, just playing a soft melody that Violet didn't recognise - it must be new. She doesn't say anything, that was kind of their dynamic, Louis did the talking and the jokes and the over the top dramatics and Violet kept his ego in check with her witty comebacks and glares. "Have you come to chop my piano into firewood?" He asks and Violet rolls her eyes which only makes Louis grin more. She enters the room, coming to stand by the edge of the piano, she still hadn't said anything but Louis didn't really need words from her. Violet wasn't too sure she should speak anyway, given what just happened on the roof. "You look flushed my dear Violet," Louis notes, he's looking at the keys of his piano. "does that mean my teasing of Clem's unrequited love wasn't actually unrequited?" He asks quietly. He's still playing that song. "Lou..." Violet almost whispers, she sighs and sits down beside him on the piano stool watching his hands drift over the keys - or tickle the ivories as she'd heard Louis annoyingly refer to it as. Violet and Louis had talked about this, they'd made a pinkie promise on it too, they both liked Clementine, a lot, but their friendship was also extremely important to them, they weren't willing to risk that, not for anyone, even the cute new girl, so when they'd accidentally gushed about Clem to one another and said "Hey, wait a minute" and admitted they both liked her, well, that couldn't come between them - nothing could anymore. "All is fair in love and war right?" He asks and he has his smile and joking exterior but Violet sees right through that bullshit. She knows Louis must have been hoping Clementine meant him during the game of truth or dare, when she admitted she had feelings for someone, as much as Violet had been hoping it was her - and it had been her! Violet nudges his shoulder, she feels dumb doing it, feelings aren't her forte, but Louis is important to her and she knows this has to suck on some level. "I'm sorry Vi, about how I've been acting the past couple weeks." Louis says, his hands stilling finally. "It's fine," Violet shrugs. "Marlon was your best friend." She may not understand why Marlon did what he did, she didn't know how to feel about him either, not after Clem revealed the truth, but it's more complicated for Louis. "I'm sorry too for, you know, speaking ill of the dead I guess." She'd said some bad things about Marlon, some of them true, some of them, well, harsh but maybe not untrue. She just couldn't believe Marlon did that, any grief she felt about his death got swallowed up by the red hot ball of anger she felt in her chest. "What Marlon did... it was fucked up." Louis says. "But hey, it's you and me against the world." Not entirely true but Violet got what Louis was trying to say. She may not like to admit it, but Louis was very important to her, she'd give her life to protect him and she knew Louis would do the same for her. Weirdly, other than maybe Tenn, and with the exception of Clementine (obviously), Louis was who she was closest to, he was her best friend, even if he was outrageously annoying. Violet sees him grinning and she just rolls her eyes at him which seems to make him grin even wider. "So, what happened with Clementine?" He asks, turning back to the piano instead of looking at Violet. She could tell he'd tuned the thing, now it didn't sound like he was banging a bag of cats against a wall. "Oh, uh, um-" Violet stutters, she felt her heart rate pick up a little, even now when she wasn't even in the presence of Clementine, she felt nervous, like a thousand butterflies were set loose in her stomach, and she was just talking about her - she wasn't even here! - god, she's a fucking mess. "Dude, you're blushing!" Louis says with a big goofy grin. "I am not!" Violet protests, scowling at him. "You so are." He retorts. "Screw you." Violet grumbles. Louis just chuckles and shakes his head. It wasn't just that Violet was hesitant to talk about Clementine with Louis but she just didn't want to hurt him. "Come on Vi, cat got your tongue?" He asks, bumping his shoulder against her's and Violet glares back at him, though she is slightly amused, not that she'd let him know that, their entire relationship relied on Violet bringing Louis' ego down not up. "We pinky swore on it, it's cool, I swear." He puts his hand on his chest, where his heart was. Violet raises an eyebrow in slight hesitation but Louis just nods his head so she thinks what the hell, if she wasn't going to tell Louis then she wasn't going to tell anyone and what then? Besides, this might be their last night together, what if the raider assholes showed up and Violet never got to have a heart to heart with her best friend, plus she just had to tell someone, Louis was the only person she wanted to tell. "She kissed me." Violet confesses and she can't help the smile that pulls at the edges of her lips. "Holy shit!" Louis says and Violet smiles softly. "That's what I said!"

#twdg #twdg clementine #clementine #Clem #violentine #Violet #violetine #twdg violet #violet twdg #Clementine twdg #clementine x violet #TWDG spoilers #twdg s4 #twdg season 4 #twd #The Walking Dead #the walking dead game #Telltale The Walking Dead #the walking dead game spoilers #Telltale #telltale games #ttg #skybound #skybound games #louis #clouis #louistine #louisentine #twdg louis #louis twdg

[marvelgiirls]

► GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: jean elaine grey NICKNAME(S): marvel girl, jeannie, red, phoenix, little jean, bb jean CURRENT TEAM(S): x-men: blue AGE: 20 DATE OF BIRTH: june 23rd, 1993 GENDER IDENTITY: cisgendered female SEXUALITY:  heterosexual NATIONALITY: american ETHNICITY: caucasian

► APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: sophie turner HEIGHT: 5′4″ RECOGNIZABLE FEATURES: pink energy when using powers HAIR COLOR: red EYE COLOR: blue ACCENT: american SCARS: none TATTOOS: none

► BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: annadale-on-hudson, new york CURRENT HOME: krakoa FINANCIAL STATUS: sustained by krakoa EDUCATION LEVEL: xavier’s institute CONVICTION(S): intergalactic crimes as the phoenix including mass murder SPOKEN LANGUAGE(S): english PAST OCCUPATION: original x-men, phoenix host, x-men: blue leader CURRENT OCCUPATION: x-men: blye RELIGION: non-denominational christian SNAP STATUS: snapped

► RELATIONS

FATHER: john grey ( deceased ) MOTHER: elise grey ( deceased ) SIBLING(S): sarah grey bailey ( deceased ), madelyne pryor ( clone ) PARTNER(S): scott summers ( ex-bf / complicated ), jimmy hudson ( kinda bf ) CHILDREN: nate summers ( step / by proxy ), rachel grey ( alt.reality ), nate grey ( alt.reality ) BEST FRIEND: scott summers ADVERSARY: phoenix force

► EXTRA INFORMATION

HOROSCOPE: cancer JUNG TYPE: entj ( the commander ) ENNEAGRAM: 3 ( achiever ) MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful neutral SIN: pride VIRTUE: charity MOTTO: the wars in my head do not define me THEME SONG: walk through fire - zayde wolf

► PERSONALITY

POSITIVE TRAITS: intelligence, balanced, charismatic, clever NEGATIVE TRAITS: overwhelmed, hot headed, destructive, impulsive

► HEADCANONS/FUN FACTS

jean is the only mutant in her family, but her parents always accepted her. they immediately reached out to charles xavier when they realized she was a mutant and were willing to do whatever it took to ensure their daughter was going to be okay

jean was the only girl on the x-men for a while and she actually enjoyed it. she was the first recruit but the last to join the team.

jean had a brief thing with warren when she thought scott wasn’t into her but realized she and warren worked better as friends. hank was also into her.

for some reason, all males are into her. it’s one of earth’s unexplained phenomenas.

the first time she experienced her powers was when she was ten and jean felt her friend annie die. that was the first time she felt death and it was the one that scared her the most, leaving her less afraid of dying

jean would ask someone to kill her if she thought the phoenix was going to take over. when the phoenix did take over she was killed, only to be resurrected.

when charles first entered her mind he set up walls to hold the phoenix back but when they broke jean didn’t know how to handle it, leaving her to resent him slightly as he left her so ill-prepared

jean was supposed to get her telekinesis long before her telepathy but being pulled from time ruined that and she was given both at once, leading to her being overwhelmed and the mental barriers slipping enough for the phoenix to be introduced early

when the institute was getting crowded, jean had a shining image she wanted to keep up and be the perfect mutant and student since she had always been so capable. this fantasy has long been forgotten and jean is embarrassed how far she’s fallen at times

while jean originally tried to stay out of the minds at others she now finds herself reading them more freely

she’s a firm believer that the third movies in a trilogy are trash

she does archery as a way to relax but only at the institute

jean is, of course, a class five omega mutant and there is no current way to determine why or how the phoenix chose her

she never grew out of her nightmares which shake buildings and levitate objects around her

charles death had a huge impact on her and jean tried to fill his shoes in some senses though she knew she’d fail. now he’s back but their relationship is more tense.

leading x-men: blue just felt natural and it’s allowed her to help mutants even outside the school

she doesn’t hate emma. maybe older jean did but this jean has nothing against her expect the fact that she makes jean feel inferior / young

she was drawn once to older scott is hot but he turned her down -- as he should have

big jean haunted her for a while

at first she was scared of her older self but now she loves jean like a sister even though she isn’t sure how she became so intelligent and composed

she hasn’t quite picked up the whole forgiveness thing yet

jean and scott were dating before coming to the future. when they saw the future they got scared and ended up pushing each other away. he joined the champions and jean ended up doing her own thing.

she’s been tentatively with jimmy. she’s not trying to replace scott but they have trust to rebuild and jimmy has been stable. she needs that.

following her death as the dark phoenix jean chopped her hair off and how has a bob with bangs

erik is a father like figure to jean. she’s been in his head and knows him well. as of right now it’s tense because of his actions during avengers v x-men but she loves him and wants to fix things

jean knows scott is her true-love deep down but she’s afraid she feels like she has to love him because of their history

► WANTED CONNECTIONS

warren worthington iii

hank mccoy

#prompt #tdocm #ic questionnaire

[demethinkstoomuch]

Learning To Read, Pt 2: B is For Book

Chapters: 2/26 Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem Series Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro Characters: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Dedue Molinaro, Gustave Dominic, Original Characters, Rufus Blaiddyd Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Grief, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Tragedy of Duscur, Racism, Developing Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Blue-Lions Typical Mental Illness

Summary:

A series of 26 alphabetically-titled vignettes examining the period where, in the wake of The Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri taught Dedue to read: a time in which they learned about each other, and the rules of their relationship, perhaps more than about books.

Read on AO3!

A is For Ambiguity

The library of Fhirdiad’s castle smelled of dust and old glue, looked slightly amber from its oakwood shelves and warm leather book-spines basking in the golden light of windows and covered lamps, felt the slight warmth of its hearth. Most of the library’s chairs were crowded around it, even as spring was beginning to blend into summer. This kept the eyes of the librarians on their books or on the fire –  and off Dedue. Strangers’ gazes had scraped him to the bone since his arrival, worse than any look he’d endured before. At times where the faint shuffle of others was audible, but there were no accusing stares, Dedue felt a weight off of his shoulders. 

Dimitri hurried back to the table where they’d set up their materials –  scrap paper, an inkwell, and a few quill pens. He’d asked Dedue wait a moment, and had vanished amid the bookshelves to return with a book in hand. Dedue stood up just a little too quickly, the chair banging against the ground on its way out from underneath him.

“If you needed something, I could have carried it.”

“I’m perfectly fine on my own. If I had a stack of books, I’m sure I’d ask for help,” answered the wholly unapologetic prince. To display his point, he waved it in the grip of his uninjured right arm. “This arm is fine; I hardly think it can be harmed by one little book.”

It was true. The book was not even a big one; its pages were larger than normal, but it was much thinner. Its back cover might have been thicker than the pages inside. Dimitri set it down on the table to one side before taking his seat. Dedue teased out what he wanted to say, tongue on the roof of his mouth, checking if his meaning was right, and avoiding words he simply didn’t know in Fodalni.

“...Still. Please know I do not mind,” Dedue insisted, when the words had found themselves.They were not the right ones, they were not Please, let me be useful. Let me thank you. There was nothing more to be said about it –  the book was here. Instead, Dedue considered the task at hand with anticipation. For one, there was a lot he didn’t know –  didn’t even know how to begin understanding – about his new circumstances. Duscur didn’t even have the word for a prince – while every town had at least a famous family, what Fodlan might call nobles, you either were an Alderman as the senior member of one of those families, or you were not –  and the foreign title lacked the functional clarity of “King.” All he’d known of princes before this point were foreign children’s stories from travelling entertainers. Placing Dimitri in that role worked perfectly at first blush. In the capital of a foreign land, that simple, romantic hero was… not enough, to explain the place of someone waiting to be king. Or what Dedue could do to do right by him.

  For another, how long had it been since he’d really had a task at hand besides trying to patch his clothes? (He wasn’t going to lose that shirt. He could push everything down, lock it in a box until it stopped hurting, but he was not going to make what he’d been wearing that day into scraps. Making new shirts to keep up with him had gotten impractical, even if he’d always been large, and he was grateful for that: it let him have his father’s shirt, even now.) His efforts to make Dimitri some token of gratitude had stalled –  no materials and little tools. So having something to do besides bury a past that was dead now or fret for a future that he hung onto with fingertips? He hungered for it.

 “I’m ready.”

“Ah! Right, then.” Dimitri’s hands hovered over one of the pens, brushing up against its grey and white vanes so the tufts of feathers broke and clung to one another, before resting on a metal grip that reinforced it near the nib. Dimitri froze thoughtfully.

There was a long silence.

“Ah, right?” A cautious prompt.

“Yes.. I’m sorry...I have no idea how to begin this, if I’m being candid.” Dimitri’s voice tensed, letting words escape uneasily. “It’s not something I’ve thought about explaining.”

“If you do not know, then how would I?” The two of them looked at each other for a long moment before Dimitri looking a little worried. A shame; that had been some small attempt at humor. “I am not sure if it is important where you start. If you say something I don’t understand, I will ask.”

“Of course. Let’s begin, then.” Dimitri picked up one of the quills carefully, his fingers barely touching it –  as if a feather could only be touched by a feather. Once he’d gotten his grip, though, his hand relaxed enough to hold it merely loosely. Into the ink went the nib. The quill’s tip scratched across a larger scrap of paper, drawing (writing) a series of isolated fragments. The ink bled slightly into the worn-out paper, but they were clear enough. “Fodlan’s script is made up of 26 letters, each of which… sort of represents a sound, I suppose.”

“Sort of?” He’d learnt solid Fodlani in the past –  it was common enough, closely related enough to Duscurian, and he’d been considering the family tradition of spending some time in Faerghus as a journeyman, if the situation had allowed. The result was just enough to converse at a level only somewhat lower than his normal. It had not adequately prepared him for phrases like ‘sort of.’ 

“Well, can be multiple sounds, depending on the word, and some stand for different sounds when they’re paired with other letters.” He sighed. “I’m not a scholar, so I don’t understand the reasons precisely... I suppose we’ll start with one sound a letter, and branch out,” Dimitri sounded unsure. “If that’s fine to you.”

It was. With Dedue’s nod, the drills began, with Dimitri reciting a name and sound for each letter he’d written out. When the list was done, then Dedue would repeat them back –  and that was where they ran into struggles. When Dimitri was saying them, Dedue was sure he was committing them to memory – but when the time came to repeat, he’d slip after the first few. This had happened a few times, not getting much further consistently than D, before they both came to a pause.

Dimitri made a huffy little grunt as he brought his hand to his chin. The library’s windows had the full blast of the late afternoon sun bursting through them, bathing their table in a perfect gold streak.

“There must be an easier way to do this…” Dimitri grumbled, eyes narrowed down at the page. Dedue hung his head sheepishly. Frustration was a low growl in the back of his head –  but there was worse. To be so stalled right away… Embarrassing. He’d had one thing he’d needed to do, after all this time. But Dimitri continued on, “I suppose I’m not a very good teacher. I wish I remembered how I learned better.”

Dedue’s head lifted. Regardless of how Dimitri had learned this, there was how Dedue learned things. Recipes that were just recited to him weren’t as real as the hours he’d spent chopping vegetables, refining technique, the fall of spice into his hand for inspection stuck more than his mother’s declaration of its name and quantity. (The memories came at him like a cold snap, a sudden shock to the heart that bore familiar scents. There was no sense remembering that now!)

“...Maybe if I made the shape of the letter, I would remember it more easily.” He reached for one of the quills. It would be practice for writing them out as well, and an easy way to prevent distraction.

“That certainly makes sense; it’ll let us spend more time on each, and it’s better to study while you move, isn’t it?” Dimitri brightened, and Dedue smiled just a fraction in relief that his thoughts were matched. Dedue’s grip on the pen made it wobble as he traced an inkless line over the A to test it. Dimitri reached out with his one good hand for Dedue’s. He paused just over Dedue’s skin. 

“May I make a small correction and show you? I understand if you don’t want me to.”

“I would like that. I’m... sorry for the trouble,” Dedue said, surrendering his right hand to Dimitri’s efforts.

Dedue’s hands were rough things, calloused from working the bellows, used to carrying metal or casts to and from the forge. From working this end to that of the house and garden, knives and shears and shovels, dirt and vegetables, from when he was very young. They liked usefulness, could move peacefully and fluidly from one task to another, were surprisingly deft at things like engraving metal –  a shame the Molinaros were not goldsmiths, people said when they saw the earring he’d made to mark the start of his journey into adulthood. Dedue couldn’t remember his hands ever being small or soft things, even if, surely, they must have been smaller, must have been softer, once upon a time. They’d grown with him, ahead of him, waiting for him to catch up. He wondered if he had – if the world demanded hardness for hardness, his loss made calluses for calluses. They were iron, and he needed the iron in him.

 But Dimitri’s fingertips, surprisingly tough, touched his hand as if it was made of fine gold filigree. It almost tickled like a breath over the back of his palm and fingers. Dedue handled flowers like this, wafting, soft-petaled beauties. Nothing could be further from his hands, and that indescribable gap caught his breath inside him –  flimsy, delicate. Dedue tore his eyes from that touch to try and see the face to accompany it, what sort of mockery or what sort of smile could go with it. But he found his gaze unanswered, and Dimitri’s face very serious and thoughtfully caught on their fingers.

It was only after a moment that Dimitri’s touch on his hand became a hold. Dimitri pressed his fingers into the sides until Dedue’s flesh yielded –  then he stopped adjusting his grip and guided Dedue’s fingers around the pen.

Dimitri looked up to see Dedue staring at him, and he almost immediately let go as if Dedue’s hand were a hot coal.

“Oh, that was too much, wasn’t it?” If Dedue’s face was flushed, his skin masked the change in color if someone wasn’t used to it. Dimitri’s was transparently turning pink –  and, Dedue suspected, for far less puzzling reasons. “I’m sorry.”

“Too much?” Dedue blinked. He had no idea what Dimitri was talking about now –  they’d been too close, maybe? “It was not. I was only...surprised.”

That made sense, anyway. Surprised enough that he was not quite done being surprised when Dimitri took his hand again, with the hold he’d had before he let go.

“So, then, this isn’t too rough? Please be sure to tell me if I make a mistake.” It was not a mistake, though, so Dimitri directed Dedue’s hand to trace over the strokes of the A, gliding up its incline and down, dashing back over its middle. And while hand moved over hand and letter formed over letter, they worked over the sound, one at a time, a strange harmony stirring the library’s air as the dimming light slipped off of the table once more. 

And then the library door opened, and Dimitri slowly let go of Dedue’s hand for real this time.

“Your Highness, it’s time to prepare for dinner,” said the maid who stepped into the room, her words dipping with her body into a curtsey.

“Oh! I’m sorry, the time escaped us. We’ll be just a moment; we have to put some things away,” answered Dimitri with a polite nod as he rose up. Dedue picked up and stowed away the paper they’d been working with for review. While Dimitri worked on picking up pens and the rest of the scrap paper in one swoop, Dedue hurriedly grabbed the book to avoid a repeat of their previous conversation. Dimitri stopped when he noticed and pursed his lips.  Eventually, he simply said, “Let me show you where that goes.”  

The two of them moved into the dusky shadows. The firelight seemed brighter than it had before, but it was only in little slivers between the tall shelves. 

“You did good work today, but I suppose picking out a book was a little over-ambitious of me,” Dimitri commented, with a tone that strained to sound amused rather than regretful. It was a strain, Dedue thought, that might call for a response.

“Perhaps.” That seemed a little insufficient. In that waiting silence, he felt strange and out of place; the flipside to that anticipation from before. Even if they’d made progress, Dedue couldn’t help but feel a long way away. “What is the book about?”

“It’s a book of fables; I thought it wasn’t very hard, since it’s for children, and might be good practice…” Dimitri paused. His hair shifted over part of his face, catching some last golden bit of light and blazing, as he tilted his head to one side. “My father used to read it to me. Not often, exactly.” he was hurrying through his words a little, trying to disguise the little cracks and shifts just by saying more. “But when he could find the time. There were stories of animals, and of knights... I saw my father in its heroes, and the sort of man I wished to be. It was so comforting.“

Part of Dedue, a part he could not like, wished Dimitri would stop speaking of his father. Just stop .  The accusation of regicide brushed against him like spines; the reminder of his own father twisted something in his heart; the inability to just focus on where his next footstep would land was a nightmare. But Dimitri just went on, speaking through a gritted smile that another, lonely part of Dedue wished he could do something for. 

“But I need strength now, nothing else.  I suppose I shouldn’t hold onto nostalgia or sentiment like that.”

Yes, Dedue thought. It’s much easier for you if you do not. When Dimitri motioned to a shelf, Dedue went and slide the book up towards it. It was only then he noticed its front cover. It had been coated in layers of a protective clear gloss that now, with time, was beginning to grow just a little dingy. And so what had once been a bright spring green faded to summer’s beleaguered shades, so the armor on its knights was tinged with black, and so too the white horse had been stained faintly cream –  no longer quite the white horse of the prince. 

So Dimitri had heard that sort of story, too. Of course he had; after all, where else would the travellers have gotten them, but lands like Faerghus? But when that thought hit him, that wasn’t what he meant. It felt like a thread, between his past and his future. Stories like these echoed the heroes of his hero, who saw it with such a wounded set of eyes as it slotted back into its place amid rows and rows of books. Above any objections he might ever have, a wave rose up in him, a heartsore feeling that lifted its way into his throat. He didn’t really want Dimitri to put something like that away, to separate himself from the prince that had reached his hand, his heart, his battered and gashed body through the abyss. He couldn’t look away from that person.

“Please, don’t let go. I think it sounds very nice.” Dedue patted its spine, ensuring its safety there with the other books. “I’d like to try to read this book, someday.” Dimitri’s smile lost its rueful edge, relaxed into something more like a real expression.

“We’ll have to keep working hard for that to happen soon,” Dimitri’s voice had none of the doubt that perhaps ought to have been there. Dedue nodded as they turned to leave the library, making plans for their return as they exited. They were solid, tangible, and Dedue thought they, too, were worth holding onto.

#fire emblem #fire emblem: three houses spoilers #fire emblem: three houses #Dimidue #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dedue molinaro #Fanfic #My Writing #Learning to Read #Warning: Contains Hand-Holding