#its always matt's cow eyes this and matt's cow eyes that..

[bloodycowboyclub]

#Hangman Adam Page #adam page #aewedit #being the elite #bteedit #bte #hangman page #its always matt's cow eyes this and matt's cow eyes that.. #* #gifs #anyway.

[nancypullen]

Getting a Grip

So I told you I’d been doing a lot of thinking (did anyone smell feathers burning?) , but what I actually did was give myself a good talking to.  I needed it.  I started this blog in 2008 and to used to be such a fun, positive, entertaining space.  I was really proud that my itty bitty corner of the internet was sunshine and cookies.  I always hoped that by sharing my silliness I was skipping through the world with a basket of smiles and handing them out to whoever needed them.  Then.....menopause and Trump came into my life.  I feel like I’ve been ticked off since 2016.  I spent years firing off letters to elected officials, composing nasty tweets to answer the crazy MAGA crowd, and watching people I know happily and willingly fall victim to liars and grifters.   While our country was burning my hormones were playing dodge ball - BAM! You’re hot! BAM! You’re freezing. Bam! Everything irritates you! BAM! You love everyone!  I’ve never been one who suffered from mood swings, never suffered much of anything really.  And if I did, I could see the humor in it and give it a positive spin.  I was and am generally a happy person.  I was dealing with all of it....then the pandemic hit.  Good grief. What we thought might last a month or two lingered and lingered.  Vacations were canceled, we were all isolated, and far, far worse - we lost friends and family to an awful virus.  The same people who fell in with the grifter-in-chief decided that the medical community was one big conspiracy factory and refused to stay home, refused to mask, refused to get vaccinated, and numbers kept soaring.  Thank goodness we now have proven treatments, more people are vaccinated (no, it doesn’t prevent COVID, but like your flu shot can prevent a severe case and hopefully keep you out of the hospital), and there might be a light at the end of the tunnel...someday.  So, country on fire, hormones all over the place, pandemic - hey, we should sell our house.   OHMYGAWD. I’d been the one making noise about moving for years. YEARS. Then suddenly the mister decides NOW is the time, and in the blink of an eye we were closing the door to our Mt. Juliet house for the last time.  We moved and I have been unsettled ever since.  I started feeling guilty because I wasn’t happy here. After all, it was me that wanted to leave Tennessee. But we didn’t move to the prairie, or to a little New England village, we moved to a part of the country where we’d spent a grand total of about four days.  We wanted our grandgirl to know us, we wanted her to have some family nearby, we wanted to see her grow up and not just get glimpses on FaceTime and brief visits.  So I still feel that we did the right thing. But I blew my life up in exchange for that.  I left behind the dearest friends of my life.  I left behind a patch of paradise that had taken me over twenty years to cultivate. Every flowering tree and shrub perfectly positioned to be enjoyed inside and out, a field behind the house that provided glorious sunsets nightly and bird song and deer visitors daily.  We won’t even talk about the conveniences we left behind. Everything from our choice of well-stocked grocery stores to my doctor, dentist, and mammogram in one building just 4 miles from home.  And can we talk about the drive to our house in Mt. Juliet?  Beautiful. Passing ponds and pastures, horses, mama cows and new calves, it was soothing.  So...you understand that I was missing the world I’d created there, and some of the stuff that I didn’t create but appreciated.   We’d spent time and money updating the Mt. Juliet house, I’m not surprised the new owners fell in love with it right away.  So it was a big pill to swallow when I saw this house and its outdated bathrooms, kitchen, etc.  Time and money will also make this house pretty, but I felt like it set us back twenty years.  Know what’ll take your mind off of that sort of thing? COVID. Yep, after two years of being careful I moved here and COVID walked right in the front door.  Three of us had it, Mickey, Matt and me. The Edgewater gang escaped it.  It wasn’t fun.  Mickey and Matt seemed to breeze through it, I had it a little rough.  I wonder if it was because I was the only one with the J&J vaccine?  Anywho, I got over it. Then I got a rebound case. Good times. I honestly didn’t feel like myself for at least another month. Fast forward to the recent surprise of a kidney stone, the removal, and all of that gross stuff and I feel that out of the eight months we’ve been here, I haven’t felt great for a big chunk of that time. So, world on fire, menopause, pandemic, big move and loss (sprinkle some guilt on top of that for feeling ungrateful), illness times two, is it any wonder that I’m not feeling like my normal, chirpy, chipper self?  Honestly, I’m proud of myself for not being behind bars.  I should add to the list that I am Mickey’s cheerleader, therapist, and jester.  When he is stressed at work, mad about work, worried about work I listen, advise, cheer him up, and just absorb all of that negativity.  I felt an enormous amount of guilt recently - after Christmas I had the grandgirl here for a few days, Matt was also here and I was busy, busy, busy keeping a four year old alive and putting three meals a day on the table for a crowd and cleaning up after a crowd. Mickey asked if I’d proofread something for work, I’ve done that plenty in the past (don’t gauge my skills by this blog). I had about three plates spinning at the time and told him to print it out for me and I’d read it at bedtime.  He did and then I forgot all about it.  Worst wife in the world. World on fire, hormones, pandemic, big move and loss, illness times two, negativity ,and guilt.  All of that came together in a perfect storm and made me (I hate to even say it) an unhappy camper.  This just isn’t me.  I don’t want to be this person!  So I’m determined to fix it. That’s what I do. I fix things and mend people.  I’ve mended myself more times than I can count, so I can do it again.  Starting today I am focusing on positives.  As far as politics, I can’t bury my head in the sand but I can roll back my emotional response and still stay informed and active.  Let me share with you a quote that has helped me immensely: “When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it–always.”     ~ Mahatma Gandhi It’s true.  I can’t change the minds of crazy people or keep people from lying, but I can continue to champion for good.  This house isn’t perfect, but oh, it is filled with love and laughter. How lucky am I? I will always miss my friends, but aren’t we fortunate that we can email, FaceTime, and even squeeze in visits?  It wasn’t always that easy. I plan to get more involved with the thriving art community here and hopefully meet some lovely people. I will always miss my peaceful patch on Olivia Court.  We don’t have deer grazing in our backyard, but we do have a little girl who refers to her blow-up pool in our yard as Mermaid Lagoon.  I can create a beautiful sanctuary here - it’s just going to take a lot of work. As for illness, I’m a firm believer that stress and sorrow can make us sick.  I’ve let the last few years wear me down and I intend to remedy that.  Maybe part of it is age - though I didn’t think 59 qualified as decrepit.  I am tired, but I think a morning walk every day in Martinak State Park will revive me.  It will do double duty, providing exercise as well as the nature and bird song I’ve been missing. I’m tossing out the guilt because we’re allowed to feel the way we feel.  I’m not perfect and I don’t know a single perfect person.  I know myself well enough to know that I will conquer this glum feeling. I’m unsinkable. This time next year I’ll check the archives of this blog and say, “See? You made it!” If you’ve made it this far in my public pity party, give yourself a cookie. This has been my long-winded and scattered attempt at an explanation and an apology for the lack of fun content here. Feel free to click on the archives tab and choose any year and month for more entertaining reading.  I’m turning the corner on the final lap of this wild ride.  I’m asking the universe to throw me a bone. I am remembering to be deeply, deeply grateful for everything that is making my life beautiful and letting go of what isn’t.  2023 is a year for blooming.

Thanks for letting me purge. I’ll be back tomorrow to post pics from my walk at the park (pretty state park that’s just over two miles from the house) and that chicken soup recipe that I promised weeks ago. Sending out loads of love tonight. Grab some if you need it. Stay safe, stay well, be good to yourself.

Nancy

[houston66mackenzie]

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[jarofstyles]

Can you guys do a cowboy h check in since we got the snl pics!!! Hopefully some smut... please

Yes 😎 - D

-

“Fuck me.”

Y/N felt hot. There was no other way to describe it. Nothing got her going more than seeing her man out at work.

While Harry did tend to work a lot with the business aspect of the ranch now, he always filled in duties and when it meant working the field and herding the cows, that was no exception. Today though, it was lifting and putting the bales of hay up into the loft with a few of the ranch hands and Matt.

Her eyes were glazed as she sat on the fence, petting one of their older mates who wanted some attention. Harry always looked good, of course. But there was something about him taking off his flannel after hauling heavy stacks of hay up to the loft, sweat dripping down his face and body as he wiped it with the dry bit of his shirt that had him going.

A throb in between her thighs, watching as he leaned his head back and let the cool breeze wash over his body as he finally got a moment to rest. Her mouth watered as she watched his sweat damp hair be finger combed out of his face, a smile on his flushed cheeks as he laughed at some sort of joke being told. The bottle of water in her bag was the perfect excuse to get a better look.

Harry was hot and a bit out of it from the heat he raised, only realizing his pretty girl was coming over when the wind caught a bit of her sweet cherry blossom scent and waved it over. He could recognize it anywhere.

“‘Scuse me. Got to go see what my woman needs.” He murmured, getting a pat on the back as he walked towards the girl. She wore a blue checked sundress today, actually buying into the country look- and god if it didn’t get to him. “There y’are, gorgeous. What are you doin’ out here?” He asked as he approached. She had a bit of a look on her face though, almost like she was drunk? That had him a bit confused.

“Was just walking around. Saying hi to Cinnamon.” She nodded over to the mare. “Was gonna bring yoh a water cause....” her eyes dropped down his body, taking in the droplets of sweat and making her tongue wet. “Y’look like you need it.”

Sometimes he could be oblivious, Harry. He wasn’t unaware of the fact he was attractive. It just wasn’t in the forefront of his mind. It drove her absolutely mad. She felt... he had to know what he was doing. When he took off the cap and dropped his head back, drinking the water up quick and messy, greedy, she almost moaned. The water dripped down his slick chin and her poor cunt... her clit was already swelling and needy, her body soft and ready for the taking. He needed to touch her.

The water was finished and it was sure to say, so was she. Harry watched in a bit of confusion as she approached further, wanting to warm her that he was sweaty and probably not a joy to touch. But his mouth seemed to dry right back up as he watched her glazed over eyes and her hand grab his belt buckle, coming to rest her other hand on his slightly sticky chest.

“Do you know how insane you make me?” She whispered coyly. Their bodies shielded by the truck, she pushed for him to lean against it. “When y’walk around and look the way you do? When you.... sit there and look so fucking sexy doing all that hard work?” She asked, looking nearly frustrated now. Her hand left his belt and tugged his hand between her legs.

“Feel.” She pressed it up against the damp fabric. His mouth dropped open, brows shooting up in surprise after her behavior. They’d been adventurous before and all that. But he was completely taken off guard by her risky move. They’d talked about it but... seeing it happen in practice was something else.

He curled his fingers against the fabric feeling as it was soaked through and hot to the touch. “Did you....” he swallowed, dropping his voice. “Did you get this wet just from watching me work?” His question received a whimpered nod, hips moving slowly against his hand. It was quite a victory for him. He hasn’t done a thing and he had his girl worked up to bits.

His own cock began to thicken at the mere idea of it all. Her leaning against the fence and watching him, thinking about how he got just as sweaty during their more intense sex and how she was probably wanting to bite him.

“Mhm. Yes sir.” She whispered a “just... look so good like that. It’s so sexy when you get all sweaty m’your working, all your muscle and your scruff.... and you fucked me so, so good last night.... I wanted more.” She pressed a peck to the middle of his chest before laying her tongue flat. Licking the slightly salty skin, dragging it up to his neck and ending with a bite on the smooth expanse of it.

Harry groaned, his hand closing around her hair and taking it in a makeshift ponytail. He was about to crash his mouth back on to hers when he heard a call.

“We’re showering and heading to the bar. Meet you there?” It was Matt, and Harry could hear pickup’s starting.

“Yeah. See y’there!” He managed to keep his voice steady as he felt y/n’s mouth lick up behind his ear, his hand working between her legs on its own now and her nails digging slightly into his chest as she pressed herself into him.

As soon as he watched the last of the men roll away? He was tired of waiting. Opening the backseat of his truck, he climbed up and lifted her up with him. Manhandling her and making her straddle his lap.

She giggled, hands going for his belt and trying her best to yank it off before the zipper of his jeans was down.

“Need it. Need you to be inside of me, H. You’re so... fucking hot.” She whimpered, not even taking a moment to take off her panties. As soon as he was fished out of his pants, she began to rub the tip through her folds, tugging the fabric to the side.

“Just can’t help it, can you?” Harry laughed lowly as he felt her hot pussy against his cock. Being dragged through it and feeling it slick him up, it was heavenly. But not as much as when she sank down on him with little warning.

“Oh, fuck me” he moaned, leaning his head back against the glass of the window. The door was still open. It was sundown, meaning everyone was either gone or not in this barn, and he was thankful for it- though he truly wouldn’t give a fuck right now. Not when he was balls deep in his woman.

Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she rolled her hips. So full, so fucking deep and she was feeling what she had been craving. “Yes, yeah. This is what I needed, sir. Needed this thick fucking cock inside of me again. Once a day isn’t enough.” She was on a quite horny streak lately but he couldn’t ever complain about that. Instead, he smirked, sliding his hands under her dress and take control of her ass.

“Mm. I know it is, my dirty girl. I spend all day riding... and now you’re gonna be my pretty baby and ride me?” He cooed. “S’what I thought. Such a sweet cunt, swallows me up and let’s me stretch it out... go on.” He smacked her ass. “Let’s see it bounce.”

Harry when she rode him was something out of a book. She swore it. The attractive arrogance, the way he made her want to work for it and the pure, smug satisfaction he got from it only made her want to prove even more to him. The easy smirk he had on his face, the pleasure he would show he felt, it spurred her on to give him what he needed to fall apart.

She whined, breath hitching as she lifted up to slide back down. Both of them moaned at the feeling, their indecent act being covered by her dress skirt but the danger and thrill was still there. Open car door in the middle of the barn lot. The slick sound of her pussy sliding up and down on his length, their shuddery breaths and moans.

“That’s my good girl, darlin’. Take what you need from me. Ride me. Feels so good to be swallowed up by you.” He exhaled, watching her face as her mouth dropped open in pleasure. Going in and out of her, the little squelch of her slickness costing him and making the job easier. “Have such a greedy pussy.” He kissed her deep, murmuring against her mouth.

“Better believe it’s all mine. Property of H. Hm? My girl’s perfect pussy... and this ass.” He raised one brow and slipped his thumb between the cheeks, making the strangled moan escape her. “Mhm. No one knows my beautiful girl is so utterly filthy. S’why I love her so much.” He pressed the thumb into the rim, making her thighs shake a bit.

“Yeah.... see, that’s it. This is it. You’re riding me in the lot because you got all wet while I worked. Imagine what the people would say? Knowing that you’re a greedy, dirty girl? Wants the most filthy and indecent things.” He watched her as she nodded, leaning her forehead against his.

She was dirty. Y/N was a slut, she would say, but only for Harry. She loved being touched and fucked and used by him. He managed to check every one of her boxes and she was in love with him... so there was no reason not to be her filthiest self with him. It got her off though. Knowing Harry knew these things and got to be the one to experience them. His finger in her ass paired with the need and fullness she felt had her approaching her breaking point.

“Gonna cum. Gonna cum so hard, Sir. Please? Please, please. Can I?” She begged, fingers grabbing his wet hair as she began to fuck herself harder on his cock. The filthy sounds and the heat was getting to the both of them, her thighs sweaty and he could feel it on him. Their skin sticky and her cunt dripping around him, their appeal for both of them was getting to the end.

“Mhm. The first time.” He earned, eyes dark and full of promise. She had awoken the monster bit of him that was ready to go for a few rounds. “Cum for me.” Car sex hadn’t ever been so good. Not with her whimpers and tugging at his hair, this thumb in her ass and her cunt clenching up, sucking him over and over until- she came.

A squeal. She let out the most adorable, sexy squeal as her whole body shook. His jeans wet with her arousal, he held her down on his length as she rocked back and forth frantically to work herself through it, clit getting it’s friction and his thumb pressing in further to make her drop her head.

“Yes! Please please.... oh my god. M’cumming.” Her voice broke as she soaked him, clutching him and her cunt clenching up and keeping him locked in place. Having her sitting on him like this and shivering at the pleasure pulsing through her body only spurred him on more.

This was just the begging.

His hand worked down her back, kissing all over her head as he let her ride it out. It had taken everything in him not to cum the first time, just watching his girl bounce and her tits right in his face- but he had plans for her.

“There she is. My beautiful, good girl. Feels so good... did such an amazing job.” He soothed, letting her catch her breath. As soon as she calmed slightly, he took her mouth and kissed her deeply, tongue messily brushing hers and letting her feel his passion for her.

“Now.... want you over the hood of the pickup.”

#blurb #smut blurb #smut ask #cowbrry #cowboy!harry #ranchrry #rancher!harry #ranch #home on the range #cowboyh!blurb

[teddi-too]

Demon x Gender Neutral Reader (NSFW)

A/N: NSFW, a little long, I kept the reader gender neutral but story does contain specific mentions of various genitalia. 18+

You were sitting on the floor in your living room before you were a dozen lit candles in mismatched votives and a make-shift altar (it’s actually just a cell phone stand) holding a small piece of paper with a sigil drawn on it. The drawing was of the Seal of Gusion, a powerful demon whose symbol you had traced from your copy of the Lesser Keys of Solomon. You said a few quiet words and concentrated on the symbol with all your might until the world around you faded out.

“What are you doing?” asked a voice from behind you. The voice was rich and sounded somewhere between amused and concerned.

“Trying to summon a demon,” you responded absent-mindedly trying not to let your concentration falter. The room was quiet again and you went back to muttering words quietly. Then your heart stopped with a sharp slice you felt from your tensed shoulders to your navel. You lived alone. Who the fuck just asked you what you were doing?

Your body became rigid and warm as you fought with your flight instincts to turn around. You knew you needed to look at what the hell was in your house but fear stopped you.

“Where the hell did you learn to summon a demon?” The same voice asked again. The voice was so rich and electric it seemed to crawl up your back. You shuttered with a chill.

“Um...a YouTube video.” You shrank in on yourself. You didn’t even know who you were talking to but saying that out loud was a bit embarrassing. You felt a slender finger hook under your chin and turn your head towards the larger room.

Looking down at you was a tall, handsome creature with skin such a deep shade of obsidian it nearly obscured its facial features. Plainly set in its face were bright eyes with red speckled irises and a large mouth that stretched nearly from ear to ear.

The creature looked like a man from the waist up. Its skin was smooth and matte with small patches that reflected the candlelight almost like a swath of scales dotted throughout. It’s long trim arms retreated from your direction to sit idly on its hips. Your eyes moved down to its waist where it’s smooth torso melted into soft, thick mottled fur that was black with sapphire highlights. Your eyes traced down further and it took a span of a few seconds for you to realize the creature had goat like legs complete with cloven hooves. Swishing between its legs you saw a tail as thick as your wrist that ended in a tuft of long sapphire fur that reminded you of a cow’s tail.

Holy shit, you thought. Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to make sense of the demon standing before you...had it actually worked? Your thoughts were soon interrupted as the demon crouched down to be more level with your face.

“I see.” The demon drew out its response. “And who were you trying to summon with...this set up?” It asked, waving a hand at your dismal attempt. Your cheeks flushed, a little embarrassed.

“Um, Gusion….is that-are you…” your voice trailed off. The demon burst into a fit of laughter that went on long enough for you to shift from embarrassed to annoyed. The demon wiped a tear from its eye.

“Gusion! You tried to conjure a Duke of Hell with...I-I can’t believe I need to say this but please don’t take summoning advice from a random YouTube video.” The demon reached past you bringing its face close to yours. You let out a shaky breath, you swore you saw the demon smirk at you. It grabbed your crudely drawn symbol off your “altar” and stood back up to examine it.

“Well...you’re here so something must have worked!” You said indignantly, pushing yourself off the floor to stand. The demon was much taller than you, even as you tried to straighten your posture as much as you could. The demon looked at you and flicked the piece of paper to the floor.

“Don’t get too excited. I just happened to be nearby and heard some weird ‘abracadabra’ type nonsense and stopped to check it out.” The demon reached out, cupping your face and traced a soft circle with its thumb on your cheek. “What did you want with that asshole anyway?”

“I don’t know...I just…have always wanted to meet a demon.” You shrugged. More specifically you have always been attracted to darker things and maybe, sort of wanted to fuck a demon but you weren’t sure how your guest would react to that.

The demon cocked its head to the side and let go of your face. As it pulled away, its hand dropped to your shoulder tracing a line across your collarbone before finally grazing your chest. The demon’s touch sent an electric shock straight through your body that settled down into your core. It was such a light touch but it’s potential excited you and you felt your body shift slightly trying to follow the demon's touch.

The demon took in a deep breath through its nose and smiled which allowed you to see just how far its mouth stretched.

“I knew it,” the demon looked down at you with a smug satisfaction. Heat rose to your cheeks once again. “I can smell your arousal little one.” The demon slowly licked its thin wide lips with a deep red forked tongue. It’s eyes suddenly hooded with an intense hunger.

White hot heat dropped into your core again piling on to the sensation that was already swirling in your sex.

“Now...I may not be a duke of hell but I’m not bad to look at, right?” All you could do is nod as you took a shallow breath. Your mind seemed to be five paces behind you and you let your body lead the way. The demon closed the space between you. It’s body was warm. Electricity jumped between your bodies, charging the sexual energy that had filled the room.

The demon grabbed your chin once again and moved your face to look up into its own. Your heartbeat was raging out of control and you stretched yourself up trying to close the distance between your mouths.

The demon's tongue ghosted along your lips causing a whispered moan to escape you. The thin forks of its tongue caressed your lips and it would probably have tickled if your body hadn’t already been swimming in your desire.

“Is that a yes, human?”

“Yes.” A small, timid word was all you could manage. The demon caught your mouth in a hard chaste kiss before stepping away from you. You stood there motionless for a moment unsure what to do next, you looked at the demon. “Human...is this your first time? Devil on high, lead me to your bedroom. Unless this is your preferred surface.” It kicked the leg of your coffee table and stood with its hands on its hips.

You shook your head free of the lusty cobwebs halting your movement and headed down the hall to your bedroom. “Come on, then.” you called back, trying to sound dominant. You are pretty sure you heard the demon snicker behind you.

Once in your bedroom, you sat on the edge of your bed and waited for it to catch up. The demon strode right up to the bed and stood in front of you, jutting its hips forward ever so slightly. You reached out and lightly grabbed its hips. The fur on its hips was so soft and thick, you started running your fingers across its front, playfully stroking the line where its bare torso met its goat-like bottom half. As your hand passed over the center of its pelvis, the demon let out a groan. Your fingers padded through the fur feeling for its sex.

“Eager, aren’t we?” the demon asked in an even tone. It grabbed the back of your head and pressed your face into its abdomen. You opened your mouth and slid your tongue against the demon’s cool, smooth skin. You began kissing the demon along the fur line where your fingers were dancing before. The demon reassuringly ran its fingers through your hair, leaning back just slightly so it could watch your mouth worship its body.

You began pressing your kiss further up the torso, up its stomach, across its chest, catching its hardened nipples in your teeth, teasing them with your tongue. The demon began to crouch down so that you could continue to move up its body without moving from the bed. The more you touched and suckled its body, the tighter your core felt. Your body was begging you to speed things up so you could feel the demon inside you but you were determined to savor this experience.

As you moved up, leaving kisses upon the demon’s neck, the demon let out a gravely moan which sent pulses through your entire body. At its jawline, the demon met its lips with yours and devoured you in a deep passionate kiss, eagerly pawing at your body and pressing you close. You were completely lost in the demon’s kiss, its forked tongue playing at your mouth, nimble and strong.

The demon pulled away and you instinctively hooked your arms around it trying to recapture their warmth.

“Now, now. There’s a point of order here before we can continue.” The demon smiled, two rows of sharp teeth glistening in the dim light of your room. The demon tapped you on the shoulders to motion you to sit back and stepped further away from the bed. “What is your preference little one?” it asked.

The demon moved its hand to its crotch and your eyes followed. It rubbed against its groin deftly with one hand and you soon saw a slender line open up amongst the thick fur. You could see the glistening head of a penis start to push out of its sheath. The head was a deep crimson red and flat on the end with a small spade shaped ridge jutting out of the underside. A line of precum trailed down the flat head of the penis and collected in the spade. The demon grabbed the head of its penis and began stroking itself, coaxing its penis completely out of its protective sheath.

Moments later, the demon’s long, thick member had emerged completely and the demon rested its length in its hand. Aside from the interesting crimson head, the penis also had small ridges along the top side. The color faded to black the closer it got to the base. Your mouth began to salivate taking in the sight of it which must have been at least 11 inches long in addition to its thickness.

“Now,” the demon interrupted your hungry gaze with an equally lust filled command, “do you prefer this or…” it trailed off. The demon let its member drop away from its hand and stretched its hands towards the floor. Spreading its legs just slightly, it doubled over in half and began to push its torso between its legs. You squinted at the demon not sure what was about to happen.

The demon passed its entire torso through its legs and began to move back up the other side as if it were a doll. When the demon was upright again its form had changed. On its chest were full, round breasts and as your eyes trailed lower you saw that its penis was gone. The demon took a step towards you and moved its hands down towards its sex. Its slim fingers parted fur lined lower lips to reveal a glistening, wet pussy. The demon began to stroke its throbbing clit and you saw a shiver run through its body.

“Well, human? What will it be?” the demon asked, smirking. Sitting on the bed, your body ached with want, your sex becoming slick with desire. The demon looked at you, a lazy expression on its face as it continued to pleasure itself.

“Option one, please.” you said breathily and without thinking you began to shed your clothing. The demon grinned ear to ear and dropped its torso towards the ground to begin the change once again.

You turned your back to the demon as you moved to crawl onto the bed. Its arm hooked around your waist and you felt the demon press its body against you. Its hard cock pressing into the back of your thigh. The demon rutted against your leg and leaned down, snaking its forked tongue across your back.

“Get on your knees.” a short, swift command and it made you fall apart. Your heart raced as you climbed on to the bed, positioning yourself on all fours. You felt the weight shift on the bed as the demon crawled up behind you. Its hand firmly pushed between your shoulder blades, pushing your torso down against the bed. Its other hand grabbed your hips, fingers digging in and laying claim to your body. Once you were in position, you felt the demon’s slender tongue lap over your entrance, eager to open you up. The tongue dragged up and down your hole, the hot breath of the demon adding to your growing arousal. You reached your hand towards your pleasure to try and give yourself a little release but you were caught by the wrist.

“Now, now little human. You’ve given yourself to me, your body is mine for now.” The strong hand squeezed your wrist before letting go. You let your hand fall away from your sex and moved it back to brace yourself. You were desperate for more friction and fought to not buck your hips back towards the demon. The demon laughed as it continued to wet your entrance with its tongue. The vibrations of its laughter sent a white hot feeling through your body.

The demon continued to prep your entrance, pushing its tongue into you, working at you steadily. When your sex was wet and swollen from its tongue, the demon began to use its fingers. Rubbing along the edges of your hole in small, steady circles before dipping a finger in. You moaned as the first digit pushed in and you could barely soak in the feeling before another finger stretched you further. The demon’s long fingers moved in and out you, crooking at just the right angle to make you cry out.

You began to move your hips without thought as the demon fucked you open with its fingers. The demon’s hot drool dripped from between its sharp teeth on to your sex adding to the wetness. Lewd, sucking noises filled the room as it worked your hole. You chanced a glance over your shoulder to see the demon pumping its cock, as it worked you.

The demon pulled its fingers out of you and held them in front of its face. Its forked tongue moved all over the fingers licking off all of your taste like the appendage had a mind of its own. The demon shifted and raised itself off its haunches and lined itself up with your entrance. Your body quivered, already overstimulated.

The spade shaped ridge on the underside of its penis slid into your entrance, opening you up so that the large, flat head could push inside you. In an instant your body felt so full. The demon roughly pushed in to you, suddenly uninterested in your comfort--chasing its own need. The demon’s hips snapped against your ass as it seated itself fully into you. Stretching you beyond what you thought was possible. Your entrance pulled and stretched to accommodate its cock and you couldn’t read the line between pleasure and pain. There was a feeling in the pit of your stomach that let you know you hadn’t been full like this before. You breathed deeply, trying to relax your body not wanting the demon to sense any discomfort.

After a brief pause with the demon seated fully inside you, it began to slowly pull itself out. This time you felt what you hadn’t noticed before, the ridges along the top of its cock. They tugged at your sopping wet entrance as its cock pulled out of you. The demon thrusted into you slowly a few more times. You could already feel your orgasm building and didn’t know how much longer you would last.

You nodded your head against your arm, not sure if the demon could see you trying to indicate you were ready for more. You didn’t trust that you could speak. The demon apparently took the hint because it immediately started to move in and out of you at a quick pace. Holding your hips in its hands, the demon hissed and howled as it picked up speed. A white hot feeling started to stretch over your body, oozing out from your core reaching into your legs and arms, all the way up your throat until a loud moan ripped from your mouth. Encouraged by the noise, the demon gripped your hips harder, its sharp nail pressing into your skin. Your body was so hot already you could tell if the heat in your hips was because it broke skin or was just your pleasure mounting.

A nonstop string of moans and guttural noises fell from your mouth as your sex began to clench and spasm, the feeling quickly built then crescendoed as your orgasm tore through you. The demon kept its pace as it worked you through your orgasm--still chasing its own. The demon continued to thrust roughly inside of you as tears stung at the corner of your eyes. A hand grabbed your shoulder as the demon thrust into you impossibly hard somehow hitting you even deeper than before. The demon screeched an unearthly sound as it came and released inside of you, filling you and once again making the room echo with wet, sucking noises as its seed pushed around its girth and out of you. The demon’s release forced another orgasm from your body and you screamed as the overstimulation left you numb and floating.

Finally, the demon slid out of you, its thick cock dropping against its thigh, and it let out a satisfied groan settling back on its haunches. You barely had strength left in your limbs and you fell to your side, taking in deep breaths of air to steady your racing heart. You moved your hands down the backside of your body so you could finger the release covering your ass and thighs. It was thick and heavy and clung to your skin. The demon ran a finger along the flat head of its cock, collecting its own release on its finger tip. It reached out the come covered finger towards you. You opened your mouth, eager to taste the demon’s seed.

You sucked its finger clean of the bitter cream and the demon laid down next to you, satisfied. You laid in silence next to the demon, both of you swimming alone in your senses nothing but the sound of your labored breathing in the room. You were the first to break the silence.

“Can I try option two next time? Can there be a next time?” you said dreamily, rubbing its chest. The demon smiled its wide, sharp grin that bisected its entire face.

“Oh yes, I will definitely be back here again.” the demon reached out, past you and stuck its thumb on your wall. For a brief moment there was a small, black crack in the wall. “So I can find you again.” When you looked again the fissure had disappeared.

Pushing itself off the bed and standing, the demon ran fingers through fur that was matted with both of your fluids. Suddenly, the edges of its body began to look blurry and there was a crackling energy all around it.

“For fuck’s sake...now?...when I’m covered in this mess…” its voice broke off, annoyed. You kept staring as the line of its shoulder seemed to evaporate.

“For your information, this is what it looks like when you summon a demon.” it snorted.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

#monster x reader #monster x human #monster lover #terato #teratophillia #monster fucker #demon x reader #demon fucker

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

#whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #blood tw #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #immortal whumpee #vampire #vampirism #vampire fiction #horror fiction #original fiction #whump writing #chris the strawberry blond romantic #vampire chris au #past torture

[justatidalwaveoffeelings]

Driving in the car

Matt and Rachel- Take turns driving. Rachel doesn't mind driving but Matt likes it. Something about long straight roads that reminds him of home. She always has a hand on his arm or leg. He gives her sweet smiles that ultimately lead to her telling him to keeps his eyes on the road. He points out things like mountain ranges and types of cows in fields. She listens. Than she talked about landmarks and state capitols. They amuse one another. They love their drives together. Unless they get lost, than they fight the rest of the ride home.

Abby and Townsend-

They fight. They fight over who drives. They fight over which interstate to get on.

Left? Right. Wait we are turning Right?! NO I MEAN CORRECT TURN LEFT.

Abigail your sense of direction is worse than your talk- Stop it your just not listening! Abby is a notoriously bad co-pilot. If she's not driving, she'll fall asleep. Townsend doesn't really mind though. He gets to be with her, it's just she's quite. He always looks sideways at her a couple of times and smiles to himself. She is admittedly very cute.

Macey and Preston-

Who drives themselves now? Come on. Its so much easier to lounge in the back of the limo. Well, really they just like to make out in the back of said limo but who really cares.

Rachel and Joe-

Joe drives mostly. He always reaches across to hold her hand, which makes her happy. All of their car rides comftable. They can be filled with laughter and talking. Rachel still talks about landmarks. Joe does stuff like that too though. The radio is normally on but not listen to. Unless Joe listens to Rachel sing, in which case he turns the music up for her. They have much louder car rides with the kids though. Zach and Cammie sit in the back and argue and sing and steal all of their snacks. Rachel and Joe both admit that the sound might be chaos but its so peaceful to be a family. Sometimes there car rides are quite though. Nothing said. Still holding hands but minds drifting. They don't mind that one bit either. Rachel likes it when Joe falls asleep when she's driving. He trusts her and she knows that. It makes her smile.

Abe and Grace-

Cars? Really? No, no, loves they take the tube.

Zach and Cammie-

They like taking drives. Cammie always starts driving but quickly gets bored. So the second that they can stop at a gas station she makes them switch. They use the car to talk. They are highly in demand as CIA operatives. They never stop running around. Cars give them built in sit here and wait time. Zach slowly started to realize that if Cammie is really worked up and doesn't know how to spit it out? He should take her on a drive to no where. She'll talk it out of her system. It works great. The only times he wished in didn't work so great are the two times when she started to cry and there was no convenient spot to pull over. Now he's takes her on back roads only, so that if she needs it, he can just pull the car over and give her a hug.

#gallagher girls #matthew morgan #rachel morgan #abigail cameron #edward townsend #macey mchenry #preston winters #joe solomon #zach goode #cameron morgan #zammie #driving

[thekyraalexandriablog]

Kyra’s Top Albums of 2020 🎧

Despite a tragically hectic year, some of my favorite artists managed to release some phenomenal projects in 2020. Here are my top picks (in no particular order):

Girl Eats Sun—Hope Tala • R&B

Tala’s third EP is a picnic on a Spring evening—breezy and warm. I absolutely adored her first two projects, so it’s been a joy hearing how she’s continued to develop her unique style. On Girl Eats Sun, she masterfully serenades you through the different phases of love from dizzying happiness to aching longing. The little things are what elevate this project, from the strings on the wistful Easy to Love Me to Sky’s high-pitched, flowy vocals on the chorus of Mulholland, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my special appreciation for when Tala’s pitch dips and she’s in that pleasant moment between rapping and singing—hello verse two of All My Girls Like to Fight. Despite the title, Tala’s latest project brings the sunshine out for me every time I listen.

Ungodly Hour—Chloe x Halle • R&B

If you somehow managed to miss Chloe x Halle being the darlings of R&B this year, then please allow me to be your introduction to one of 2020’s few must-listen albums of the year. There’s no other way to describe Ungodly Hour than as a treat for R&B fans: from the variety of tempos (there’s the breathtakingly beautiful ballad Wonder What She Thinks of Me as well as the certified party bop Do It), to the timely range of topics from relationships to self-love (the lyric “I had to learn to love me lately” felt especially pertinent in a year without the usual social distractions); the album takes you on a ride. And of course, the whole time you’re wrapped in the surreal pleasure of their talent for unique harmonizations. If you’ve yet to queue this project on your streaming account, do it.

Holy Cow—All Cows Eat Grass • Electronic

Now here’s a group I’ve missed! ACEG projects always excel at layering dreamy synths with smooth beats, and Holy Cow fits right into the herd. One of their slower projects, tracks like Fly and Pillow Talk would easily fit into a summertime playlist with their simple, fun melodies. There’s also great storytelling in the lyrics of this project from the palpable excitement of the VIP section of a nightclub on About Us to the visceral shock of hearing “thank you” in response to “I love you” in a complicated relationship on Pretty Ladies—ouch. There are so many melodic gems on this 35-minute project; welcome to the pasture.

Ice Cream Clones—ROMderful • R&B

I must admit I was late to the party that is ROMderful’s music. I first encountered ROM last year via Twitter where he would post short clips of miniature duplicates of himself playing the various instruments of the track; the full videos can often be viewed on his YouTube channel. Since then, I’ve been enjoying the pleasant rabbit hole that is his Soundcloud (he’s had releases on Soulection) and production credits (he’s worked with artists like DUCKWRTH and Rayana Jay). A talented multi-instrumentalist, ROM’s music is full of fun sounds and soulful melodies, and his social media presence is just as joyful (his current Twitter name is ROMderTHICC). This project is full of very short tracks with infectious hooks. It’s a quick listen, but one I’ve returned to often.

Rumble Pack—Button • R&B

Button is the collaborative union of Allen Love and Bobby Earth—one of my absolute favorite independent R&B artists, and the reason I gave this project a listen. I’m very glad I did. Rumble Pack is brilliantly bizarre: funky synths, blazing features, all interspersed with random gaming commentary. Fans of The Jet Age of Tomorrow (Pyramid Vritra and the Internet’s Matt Martians) and ROMderful (who has a Rumble Pack feature) will surely appreciate the groovy eccentricity of this one. Thanks to this fun, soulful project, I’ve decided I may be a video game fan after all.

Cosmic Lips—Momocurly • Smooth Jazz

If the phrase ‘easy, breezy, beautiful’ were an album, this would be it! Momocurly is Japanese pianist and vocalist Momo Otani and French guitarist Christophe Pannekoucke. Together the two crafted an exquisitely mellow medley of melodies. Cosmic Lips is everything I enjoy in jazz: relaxing, mid-tempo and smooth. Otani’s voice is unique, high and light, and she glides over the tracks like Pannekoucke’s guitar. This project transports, it’s otherworldly.

with HER - EP—Crush • K*R&B

Because I believe Crush is one of the most talented R&B crooners making music right now, I was completely unsurprised to find that his latest project is smooth and soulful. Only five tracks, it’s a short one, and the concept is incredibly cute—each track is a duet with a different woman vocalist comprising a project of unique love ballads. The different vocalists mean each track has a unique sound and lyrically the project is full of heart-warming quotables and seductive one-liners. with HER is a project to fall in love to.

DPR ARCHIVES—DPR Live, DPR Ian, & DPR Cream • K*Rap/K*R&B

Ahh DPR, the eye candy that makes ear candy. DPR, initialism for Dream Perfect Regime, a South Korea-based art collective, blessed fans with this collection of both new and previously released tracks from DPR Live, DPR Ian, and DPR Cream. Though they collaborate extensively, each artist has a distinct sound that diversifies the collection overall—where I would call DPR Ian a pop artist, I’d call DPR Live a Rap/R&B artist, and then there’s DPR Cream whose contributions are purely instrumentals ranging from smooth and R&B-tinged to piano solos. For fans or those dipping their toes in for the first time, the ARCHIVES offer much to enjoy. (Also watch some DPR videos if you haven’t yet, both the men and the art are exceedingly visually pleasing.)

Peace Is Not a Dream—Senpu & ROMderful • R&B

And ROM makes another appearance! This time on a collaborative project—he has quite a few and I’ve enjoyed them all so far. Senpu, who I am less familiar with, contributes production and vocals to this project. Unlike Ice Cream Clones, these tracks feel more fully fledged out, with a verse or two in addition to the chorus. Between the memorable melodies and vocal harmonizations this project is certainly dreamy.

Rare Changes—Mayer Hawthorne • Soul

If you know anything about me, you know Hawthorne is one of my favorite blue-eyed soul artists, and Rare Changes is a lovely retro addition to his catalog. This album is from the seventies, I’m convinced: from the mid-tempo disco grooves to the doo-wop style background vocals. Rare Changes demonstrates Hawthorne’s adeptness at balancing nostalgia with the best parts of modern music, queue this one for a mellow night of slow dancing and slow sipping.

Honorable Mentions (there’s some bops here, but overall the project didn’t move me):

It Is What It Is—Thundercat • Funk

Whimsical & free-flowing as is his style; lyrically musing & haunting, the last track is an absolute clincher to the project.

The Slow Rush—Tame Impala • Alternative

If age-ripened weariness had a soundtrack you could bop to at a festival; Breathe Deeper instantly brings a smile to my face.

Shabrang—Sevdaliza • Alternative

Sevdaliza is one of the few artists who consistently leaves me breathless—her art is daring, thought-provoking, and absurdly beautiful. Shabrang is no different in its presentation and lyricism, though it is musically more traditional than I might expect.

Sin Miedo—Kali Uchis • Reggaeton

I already think Spanish is a beautiful language but Kali just makes it even more so. I’m not the biggest fan of reggaeton (I’m sorry to say it starts to sound repetitive to me after awhile) but the slower songs on this project are lovely: R&B melodies with her breathy, unique vocals. I definitely enjoyed the listen!

SLINGBAUM ONE—Slingbaum • Experimental Jazz

Voyage-19—Bilal x HighBreedMusic • Experimental Jazz

For fans of experimental jazz, get into SLINGBAUM ONE and Voyage-19, both projects are odd in the best sense: more about vibes and transitions than the traditionally cohesive album—I bought both and I’m still enjoying exploring them.

SAWAYAMA—Rina Sawayama • Pop

Future Nostalgia—Dua Lipa • Pop

Pure pop is not my usual fare, but SAWAYAMA, a fun, dance project is truly special—it is genre melting and Rina’s strong voice transforms to expertly complement each new vibe. Also, PLEASE watch the video for XS, it was one of the few things that energized me this year. And then there’s Future Nostalgia, a fun disco-inspired project. Only a couple of the bass lines & melodies caught my ear, but the visual/aesthetic roll out was spectacular.

The Album—Teyana Taylor • R&B

This was my first time sitting down to try a full Taylor project, and while I overall found the tracks repetitive, The Album has some bass lines I enjoyed and Taylor’s voice is beautiful.

#2020 albums #top albums of 2020 #music blogging #hope tala #chloe x halle #all cows eat grass #romderful #button music #momocurly #crush #dpr live #dpr ian #dpr cream #senpu #Mayer Hawthorne #thundercat #tame impala #sevdaliza #kali uchis #slingbaum #bilal #high breed music #rina sawayama #dua lipa #teyana taylor #r&b #pop #jazz #funk #alternative

[slothgiirl]

the trash pile: alex turner x reader

The cybernetic augmentation juts out from her temple, leading down to her chin, the metal a dull grey. Nothing says belter more than slap job augmentations, Alex thinks as she smiles at him, reaching out with her hand to him.

He takes it.

She's pretty from what he can see from the dim yellow lights in the club. The augmentation somehow complementing her already well formed cheekbones. A mess of bleached blonde hair falling down her shoulders.

And she's already offered, dragging him out onto the floor shamelessly. He'd rather dance with a beautiful woman than stand around drinking and having to listen to all his friends talk about people, things, he's unfamiliar with.

They've moved on.

The floor flashes bright blue to the beat of the music. Too loud to carry a conversation. Too loud to think. Alex can finally stop overthinking, what he's done since he landed on Tranquility base six hours ago.

Her touch is solid and confident, hands on his shoulders as she laughs, one hundred percent in the moment. He doesn't think he's ever been like that. Her ease is as natural as Alexa's charm.

His gaze flickers back to the table they'd been sharing, but they've dispersed into the club. He can't see a trace of any of his friends. Matt had long since left, having a ceremony to wake up for. "Tomorrow," he'd grinned, promising a night of debauchery.

"Hey," Taylor calls into his ear, bringing his attention back to her, blue eyes like the sky back on earth. None of the gaudy recreations of sky broadcasted through the colonies. Mars was said to not even bother, letting it's people grow up with an orange sky.

She smiles, tilting her head, before leaning in.

And wow, Alex really has been alone for too long, as her lips on his send his heart beat into a frenzy. Blood rushing in his ears like a teenage boy all over again. It isn't real, but he thinks in that second he loves her.

Alex always has been a romantic.

They leave the club together. The corridors are still red for the night. The one thing he hadn't missed. Even Ceres had better artificial lighting mods.

"I've got to go to work," Taylor tells him bluntly, "but you should give me your number. I think we could have a lot of fun together." She looks at him with hopeful eyes, biting her lower lip. He wants to kiss her again.

But, he'll be gone the day after tomorrow. The entire base holds too many ghosts for him to feel entirely comfortable. It makes him keep looking over his shoulder, expecting Josh or Julian. Two people he's long since lost touch with.

"I'm actually not staying that long," he admits as she leads them through the corridors. Alex can still recognize the alcoves he and Matt would take smoke breaks in. Which turn would lead them back to the lifts. Another life.

"That's a shame."

He chuckles. Before his mind catches up with his tongue, "wait, did you say you're going to work now?"

"Yeah. Its so fucking boring," Taylor says, stopping besides the lifts. "Coms graveyard shift." She rolls her eyes.

"I don't blame ya," he admits. Alexa had worked the coms. She'd always complained about having to go thirty seven floors below, bundled up in jackets. Since it was less populated, the government enacted more energy saving features.

"Maybe we'll see each other again in the drift," she grins suggestively, right as she steps into the lift.

Alex watches the doors closed, before he turns around, deciding to go find an open store. He could go for some more coffee while he's here. Maybe even stock up on it. It shouldn't be hard. The Base wasn't a residential area. Tourists were coming and going as well as SFN members.

There was the launchpad.

He lets himself wander. Too buzzed to be as tired despite the early call time he has in the morning. It would be just his luck to miss Matt's big promotion because he'd overslept after having traveled a month to be here.

It's not hard to find an open bodega. The open sign flashing green in the dim of the night.

Maybe he should've gotten the night vision implants after all. Miles never shut up about it. How easy it was to make his way about different colonies even during night cycles. And you could only tell if you were looking for the little silver ring around the iris.

Alex slips inside, making a bee line for the food. It's been hours since he last ate. At this point a cup of noodles and instant coffee sound like a dream. He gets the little powdered donuts as well. Then goes for the liquid milk creamer.

Who knows when he'll next have that option. No one had yet to figure out how to increase cows milk production in space. And powdered never tasted the same.

He looks at the fruit. Incredibly overpriced since it's a bodega. But apples and oranges. . .Alex could still remember the taste of fresh squeezed orange juice his mother would make. She'd cut them all open, let him squeeze the juice out before sucking on the pulp.

Alex grabs the smallest oranges.

There's no reason not to splurge. He has the money for it. And work is never hard to come by with his skill set. There's a large market for the skills SFN ensigns have, but most of those ensigns just stay with the navy.

He turns to go pay for his small haul, but the sight of a woman staring out of a faux porthole stops him in his tracks.

Her profile could not hide how beautiful she was, her gaze caught by the live feed of the earth on the other side of the moon. Romantic dark eyes gazing into the side of the bodega, her questionable egg salad sandwich forgotten in her hand. The bump in her prominent nose only served to make her profile more striking.

"That's not actually the earth," Alex starts gently, catching her attention. "Ya know." She turns to him, trying to hide the fact that she'd jumped, startled by his presence. And doing a damn good job at brushing off the surprise.

He was right. She's beautiful. Well formed full lips. Her dark hair tucked a braid, looking better in trousers and patched up hoodie than most people could dressed to the nines. Her shoes stick out from the casual ensemble, patent red leather with a split toe. There's the hint of dark circles under her eyes, probably from a missed nights sleep.

And a scattering of light scars like stars by her left cheekbone.

"I know," she responds, "I just never thought I'd ever be this close to the earth."

"You could take a trip to the other side and see the real thing," he muses, unable to hide the longing in his voice. Alex knew in his bones he'd never step foot on earth again. Never walk the streets in Sheffield or London again. But he couldn't help but wish for a miracle.

She shakes her head, the warmth in her eyes receding as she closes herself off. "Can't. Have to meet with a friend and then go back."

"Must be a good friend if you've come all this way."

She shrugs noncommittally, "He's more of an acquaintance of a friend. I've never actually met the man. But things being as they are," she explains, "it's best done in person."

Alex is now intrigued, a red flag raised in the back of his mind that still flies away information happening in the corner of his eye just in case. It makes him a damn good private investigator. "Mysterious."

"Forgive me for not spilling all my secrets to a stranger," she notes, arching a brow.

He can't help but chuckle. "Ya got me there love. Let's try something else."

"Like what," she asks, the corners of his lips turning up.

"How are you finding our moon?" The moon might not think it was the earth's, and the government sure wasn't, but the moon still spun around the earth the way it had for millions of years.

"Disappointing," she admits, frowning, "Ceres is livelier. And would it kill them to use brighter lighting?"

"Austerity measures," Alex shrugs. It had been the answer for as long as he'd been alive.

"From what," she asks, tilting her head, a smirk forming on her lips, "there's no war or reason for shortages."

"Just repeating the party line," he admits.

"Well," she raises her sandwich like a sad little white flag, "I've got to get going. It was nice meeting you."

"Can I get your number?"

Surprising him, she shakes her head, "No. I doubt we'll ever meet again. I don't plan to stay on the moon for long."

"Lucky for you," he counters, following her to the sales woman, built like a rugby player, "I'm not from the moon. So there's hope yet for our paths to cross."

She snorts, digging around her pockets for money, slowly building up a pile of change to pay with. "Let me guess," she says knowingly, as her eyes look him over, taking in his hair now curling past his ears, the navy blue sweater and white shirt combo that had felt smart earlier but had wrinkled in the course of the night. "you're from earth."

Alex answers bashfully, "born there." He always felt like apologizing for having been born on Earth. For having spent his childhood breathing in air without a care. For not knowing how precious an atmosphere was.

"Well I don't plan to go to earth," she trails off, waving her receipt away.

"Neither do I." He hands the lady a bill too large for what he's bought and follows her out the door, not bothering for his change. "But I take it there's no way I can convince you to give me a number?"

"None."

"How about a name," he offers. Alex had not seen one person that he'd bothered to chase in years. And here she was, indulging him as though he was a stray puppy she had fed once and now followed her around in hopes of more scraps.

"Yours first," she snipes back, not missing a beat.

"Alex." He doesn't ever bring up his last name. Too much weight. A famous family. And an infamous past. Being just Alex was a luxury.

"Tisiphone."

A name fitting for someone born in the jovian system. Maybe even Dione. But Dione, while a newer colony, wasn't bloody awful for someone to want to leave. It had to be-"Titian," he guesses. The wild west of space. SFN cadets hated getting assigned there. Johanna had said the worst part was the perpetual twilight.

Too many crevices to hide in.

"Yes," she responds, "and hopefully never again."

"If we ever meet again," the romantic in him already imagining them crossing paths in a Callisto settlement, planting trees for the rest of their lives and learning to work wood, "can I take you out for a cuppa?"

Tisiphone laughs, smiling tight lipped, "If it happens then I'll say yes earth boy."

** ** ch 2

The ceremony drags on.

They all sit, gathered around the Kennedy Hab, the first large permanent building on the dark side of the moon. The benches are as uncomfortable as ever, as Alex gazes down at a sea of navy uniforms all with various ranks on their right shoulders. He's seated right next to Alexa. The boys down there somewhere with Matt.

It's an SFN event so Alex's paranoia is right for once. The second glances the captains and commanders threw his way were knowing. They recognized him.

It sets his teeth on edge.

Alexa pats his knee, comfortable around him despite their shared history. Johanna besides him with her fiancé. They both keep glancing at each other, infinite in their whispering. He wants that.

"I'll throw hands at anyone who says anything," Alexa reassured him. Looking especially nice in a long red dress. She's not single. But it clearly isn't serious enough if she didn't bring him along to celebrate her friends.

"That would make it worse," Alex responds, keeping his gaze forward, careful to keep his face neutral. It usually wasn't a problem. That being his default expression. But this was bringing up events from his past he's long since buried.

"Derek was supposed to be here," Alexa says to try to distract him, "you would've liked him. Life of the party. Miles and him had a one night stand and now we're all friends."

"Well that's not saying much considering Miles will sleep with anything."

She laughs, "True. But even Nick gets jazzed to hang out with him and you know how hard it is to get close to Nick."

"He's just careful about who his friends are," Alex acknowledges. Unlike Nick, Alex was just terribly bad at opening up.

Nick was just picky. "That says something good about little old me." Alexa twirls her hands over her head. Sticking her nose in the air. "Not such a mess after all."

"You've never been a mess," he tells her, watching as they begin to call up all the newly minted commanders. Matt shouldn't take long. H being closer to the front of the alphabet.

"Yeah but I've never been particularly good at anything but charming my way into things," she shrugs shamelessly. Alexa wasn't the type to lose sleep over her insecurities.

The Admiral present at the ceremony, Marcus Kapoor, speaks clearly over the microphone, "Commander Matthew Helders."

Alexa and Johanna both stand up, yelling, "congrats!" Alex claps as loud as he can for a beat longer than the rest of the room as Matt shakes hands with the Admiral.

Alex remembers his own ceremony seven years ago now. It had been a smaller affair. His entire career accelerated by his talent.

He swallows back the bitter lump that forms in his throat. There's no reason to cry over spilled milk, his father had often told him back on earth.

Try telling that to anyone who doesn't live on earth: most milk is powdered in space.

He finally lets his eyes search through the crowd, trying to spy the man who'd once been his great mentor and friend. But if Julian is present, Alex doesn't see him among the uniforms. He's sure that he'd know Julian anywhere. His hair perpetually sticking out wildly like he'd just woken from a nap, streaks of color running through.

It was a welcome sight from the mandated navy and neutral colors the SFN preferred. Everything was done to keep the SFN neutral, trying to avoid any conflicts between the colonies. And especially between Mars and Earth.

Unable to wait, Alex asks Alexa, "did Julian come?" Julian and Matt had never been as close as Alex had been to the older man, one of the rare people to turn down a promotion. But Alex thinks Julian still would've come and cheered Matt on.

Drinking at bars until morning talking about life and chatting about their mutual obsession with vintage terran music cemented friendship like nothing else.

She frowns, lines forming between her brows. "Captain Casablancas?"

"Yeah," Alex nods, a nervousness creeping into the lining of his stomach. Julian had also been the only person present during the incident that had chosen not to testify. If he had, Alex had agonized long hours over that large IF, he'd probably have been given a far harsher sentence.

And it looked like the man had finally accepted the rank of Captain.

Alexa places her hand on his arm, doe eyes settling on his, before gently attempting to break the news, which given what she was saying, was impossible to break gently. "You haven't heard?"

"No."

"Julian's dead Alex," Alexa explains, her hand anchoring him to reality, even as his world lurches, "some accident with a faulty seal."

Fuck.

What the bloody hell!

Alex clenches his jaw. Julian deserved more than dying in a preventable accident. He was, and remained the only person to have jumped tracks at the SFN, going from maintenance to exploration.

"I'm sorry," she tries, patting his arm with her hand. "I know you two were close. This is sort of the worst way to hear the news isn't it?"

"How long ago," Alex asks in lieu of responding to her. Julian. Alex could hardly call him a friend anymore.

By the time he'd worked up the courage to message the man, Julian hadn't bothered responding at all. A cold message that Alex could understand.

He hadn't tried to contact him again.

"Three weeks."

Alex nods, fixing his gaze on the stage. The names being spoken, called up on stage, meaningless now that Matt had gone.

He'd been traveling to the Base.

No one had bothered to tell him.

They make their way down to Matt, navigating the crowd who are also here to celebrate their relatives and friends. Alexa led the way, cutting through the crowd like a knife through butter.

Jo and her fiancé hold hands. His eyes never leave her form as she leads on.

Alex frowns.

He'd thought. . .he'd thought, when Matt had first met him upon arrival at the base's landing pad, that he could slide back into his old life. Pick up where he'd left off. Maybe get a job here permanently.

Alex hadn't realized how lonely he'd been until he'd sat around and watched all his friends eat and drink. Easily communicating with each other they way only tightly knit groups of friends could. Finishing each other's sentences.

They had once been like that with Alex. But years in between meetings left him out of the loop. It didn't help that he had chosen to self isolate. Choosing to take jobs that left him without a permanent home, spending his free time tucked into various hotel rooms.

"Alexander Turner," a voice calls out.

He turns, faced with a black woman in a sleek khaki green suit, a moon police officer uniform. Her hair is as sleek as the press of her suit. Dark curls dusted with grey hairs.

"Yes," he asks, halting with great hesitation. The last time he'd dealt with the moon police, they were ensuring he was under house arrest during his trial. For his safety they'd told him over and over.

"I'm Major Gabriela Moss," she tells him, sticking her hand out with great formality. "If you'd please come with me," she continues, as he shakes her hand. "There's a job I'd like to discuss with you."

Swallowing any nervousness he has, he nods. How bad could it be? Probably some white collar crime that the police don't want to deal with. Alex could stock up on lots of coffee with the money. "Lead the way."

She takes him to the precinct, located next to the base. Tranquility Base fell under SFN jurisdiction. But the residential areas ringing the building were left to the MP 505 precinct.

Her office is just like every other police office. Bright disorienting lights. Cream walls, with no decor. A desk bolted down to the floor, in case the artificial gravity malfunctions. And a photo of her wife and kids tilted just out of his view.

"What's the job?" Alex wonders if some idiot tried to rob the casino that was right within the base’s building. Trying to steal from SFN was asking for it.

"A man was found murdered in residential bloc 571 this morning," she explains, lighting up her monitor. A photo of an older man with a walrus mustache came up on the screen.

"Isn't homicide your department," Alex asks, twisting his ring around his finger.

"Usually," Major Moss admits, back straight, hands on the desk. "But this man had a false identification bracelet. According to our records he was born on the Moon. But when my officers requested his file from the Bloc listed, nothing appeared."

"You think he was hiding?" Only criminals bothered to falsify ID bands. But why the moon? He could see why a fugitive from the law or a crime boss would come to the moon, but to stay here this long?

Even earth was easier to get lost in, among billions.

"Yes," she surmises, "and for quite a few months. How he's gone undetected this long is a mystery."

"So you'd like to save your skin and sweep this all under the cover." Alex can see a coverup as it happens. The MPs would be humiliated at having let a fugitive run wild for this long.

But, he probably wasn't a criminal if he spent this long without so much as a word. Probably fleeing loan sharks back on some asteroid. Maybe from Titan.

The murder must have landed yesterday. Within the week at most.

"Will you take the job on," Major Moss asks, "there's more information I have if you agree to take on the case."

Alex sighs. He's intrigued. But taking on this case would mean spending more time on the moon which is both a good and bad thing. He hasn't had a proper chat with any of the lads since he last saw Matt on Vesta nearly two years ago now.

But he isn't exactly at ease this close to SFN. At least in the belt, there's lots of stations with little to no navy presence. Callisto's base was generally isolated from the rest of the population due to the way in which the colony on Callisto had developed.

A man's dead.

And from what he can tell, Major Moss would be more than happy for the case to go cold and never have to explain to her superiors how a man went undetected for so long.

But why bother?

Alex can't understand why the man needed to falsify his identity only to sit around. Unless he wasn't a criminal but innocently caught up with the wrong crowd.

It happened easily enough.

"Why me," Alex asked, still considering how suspicious it looked that the MP were giving away a case just because of the implications the man's murder had. The IDB read Sidney Trojan which made Alex laugh a little inside. Whoever had made the ID had a certain sense of humor. "I'm sure you've read my record by now."

Major Moss nods, leaning back in her metal chair, "Mutiny and treason are certainly high charges. But Mr. Turner, If I am being frank, I am more concerned right now with keeping the peace in my precinct. The last thing I want is any belter extremist to start making baseless accusations about how someone who is more than likely one of their own was treated."

"I'm not a belter." Alex had spent enough time among belters to know, no matter how much time he spent on Vesta or Pallas, he'd never be one of them. Being born and raised there was what made you a belter for the rest of your life. Johanna never bothered to hide the augments along her spine, jutting out like filled out ports. Held her chin up proudly despite the harassment she got, and proceeded to destroy them all in combat training.

"But you have spent time among them," the woman argues, revealing how little she knows and understands about belters. Major Moss had probably never left the moon. Never spent time amongst people in the belt, in the places the SFN never went. "My men are mostly from here or earth. You're my best option."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. It didn't seem like a trap to lock him up after all these years. Just a very ignorant MP major trying to do her job. "Alright," Alex nods. "Show me the surveillance tapes."

The older woman smiles, but no warmth reaches her eyes, a picture of cold professionalism, as she ignites the screen. The tapes start playing almost immediately. The night vision casting everything into grayscale in the corridors. The older residential buildings hadn't anticipated the amount of people that would live on the moon, the walkways connected the blocs only fitting three people at a time, a nightmare in an emergency. They were colorless concrete slabs, the metal having long gone dull.

Time stamped to 05:46 am.

A single figure appears, walking into bloc 571, looking like any person would after a long shift. In jeans and a loose hoodie, holding a very sad convenience store sandwich. A profile he wouldn't soon forget, complete with split toe boots.

Tisiphone.

Alex tries to justify her appearance. The death hadn't happened until 7 am. She must've been meeting her friend in one of the habs in the bloc. But he'd never been one to discount a coincidence.

It seemed that they would be having a chat sooner than anticipated under less than favorable circumstances. He just had to track her down.

His eyes watch the screen as the time ticks by, creeping closer to the time of death.

She claimed to be here to visit a friend which could very easily have been a lie to cover up meeting her potential victim. Tisiphone hadn't been here for very long, no one would willingly choose to eat convenience store sandwiches if they'd spent time here to get other food. Alex wasn't discounting the possibility of her commitment to looking inconspicuous at 5 in the morning, but then, if Sidney Trojan had feared for his life there would've been a struggle.

Someone would have heard in those older habs.

The time stamp reads 6:24am.

Tisiphone leaves the bloc, taking the passageway leading back to Tranquility. Mr Trojan would still be alive. Did she have an accomplice? Or is Alex making the wrong connection.

The time stamp reads 7:46 am. Mr Trojan would've been dead by now.

7 am was hardly the time for a murder to be committed. People going to work. So many witnesses. They must have been desperate. But the tapes proved useless to narrow down any suspects. Too many people, a perfect crowd to hide in. So there was that advantage. As well as, "I need all the records of the passenger manifests arriving for the last three days on the dark side of the moon and today's departures."

"Alright," she replies, holding out her hand.

Alex hands over his com. Letting her synch it up to her system and sending the files over.

"Good luck Mr. Turner."

This time, Alex does roll his eyes as he leaves her office.

Tisiphone had claimed to be from Titan, so that's the first thing he checks. Three days sound about right. He also highlights any belter arrivals. But apart from one family two days before, no one has come from the belt.

He finds the name he's looking for. Tisiphone Velazques, arriving from Hygiea the same night he had. Born on Titian twenty two years ago according to her IDB. It said a lot about how pathetic Alex was that he was currently finding a potential date on a suspect list.

She might still be innocent. But she was the only lead.

If she's a criminal, she'll be staying off grid, not wanting to leave her IDB just anywhere. But, being through, Alex checks Tranquility Hotel anyways, sending a message.

Want to surprise my girlfriend T. Velazques. It's our anniversary and I got back from a trip into Tethys four sols early. Has she checked in yet?

People were really stupid and easily fooled. Alex had learned that in the last few years.

Then he checks his messages. Twenty seven texts from his friends. Two missed calls from Matt. Shit. He'd forgotten all about Matt.

** *** ch 3

Matt clasps an arm over his shoulders, "I'm sorry I didn't say anything about Julian. I thought you knew and didn't want to talk about it."

Alex considers coming clean, but decides letting Matt think this is about Julian is easier. "No one tells me anything anymore."

The taller man sighs, "you must think I'm a wanker for not even telling you. Julian always asked me how you were doing you know."

Alex shakes his head. "I tried-It doesn't matter anymore. I just think it's bloody awful to have died so young in an accident of all things."

"The idiot engineers better have been court martialed," Matt comments, as they follow behind their friends to a bar in the casino. They've all been casting looks towards Alex when they think he's not looking, like he's a bomb about to go off.

Things can never go back to the way they were.

They get a few pitchers of beer. Singing Matts praises at every sip, taking the piss about how he's going to be the worst commander ever. Alexa's boyfriend, looking tall, dark and handsome, slips into the conversation with ease while Alex, drinks and checks his phone for a response.

"Alexa's boy toy," Johanna mutters under her breath to Alex. "Does the books for one of the gambling halls."

Alex nods. But finds he doesn't care. All that earlier anxiety about his leftover feelings for Alexa, his first love, gone when he realizes there's no sting as she turns to kiss her boyfriend.

He looks down at his com, refusing a refill of beer when he realizes the hotel's written him back. With a digital key and their congratulations. There goes the supposed privacy and protections hotels were supposed to offer their clients.

But this meant he was now leaning to Tisiphone being innocent. But he could tell she was connected to Mr. Trojan somehow. A gut feeling that t9ld him he was barking up the right tree. She might be able to tell him who would want the old man dead and why.

Alex excuses himself from the celebration, pointedly ignoring Nick's suspicious gaze as he leaves.

He stops and picks up a bottle of wine and a quart of strawberries, each the size of his smallest nail with a hint of red at the tip, just in case anyone in the hotel decides to verify any of his information. He can play the part.

Alex presses the elevator up to floor 10, brings up the key on his com, when the machine asks for verification.

The doors slide shut and Alex tries to formulate a plan.

He can't frighten his only suspect-link to the crime. A man was murdered and if he doesn't solve it, justice will never be served. It's his good conscience that's going to get him in trouble all over again.

The hallway is empty.

A tacky red coat of paint that's made worse by the orange lighting. The crimson hue edging towards black. Hardly a happy atmosphere.

Alex runs his hand over the rail, a vestige from the days before antigravity, as he makes his way to room 1004.

Unlike the lobby, the floor is still metal plates welded together. Shiny compared to the rest of the place.

The casino had seen better days.

And more occupied days.

Hesitating outside the door, he places an ear near the seal, hoping that Tisiphone isn't there. It would give her the advantage if she turns out to be the murder.

Better for her to be out. Gives him a chance to look around.

He takes a deep breath and unlocks the door with the key. It slides open smoothly, revealing mustard walls and a plush navy carpet flecked with gold. There's a small bed on one side of the wall, a black backpack laying carelessly on it.

The small cabinet looks untouched, but Alex still goes through every drawer, making sure he misses nothing, peaking into the bathroom and combing the medicine cupboard.

There's a needle and dental floss. A complimentary bottle of toothbrush tabs laying in its side.

Needle and floss.

For an injury, Alex surmises. Perhaps a fresh one that Mr Trojan had managed to inflict while defending himself? It wasn't the easiest way to treat an injury, but it was the way to go if you didn't want to draw any attention.

He slips back into the small main room, and begins to go through the backpack. It looks standard issue, the fabric a vegetable leather nylon mixture that wouldn't be out of place in an SFN pack. But he doesn't recognize it from any planetary police force.

Inside there's a plasma gun with two full charges. Shrapnel in a jar. An extra shirt along with a lined jacket, also black. And a small copper data box.

He checks the jackets pockets, finding two extra IDBs. Both blank.

It's all very incriminating.

And he didn't think to bring a gun along himself.

Alex removes the charge from the plasma gun, using the pillowcase to ensure he doesn't wipe away any fingerprints, tossing both of the charges into the bottom drawer of the cabinet. And leaves the gun on top of the blanket.

Then he takes a seat and waits.

No one would leave a gun with no plans to come back and get it. Plasma guns were hard to come by. Especially for civilians on the right side of the law.

It was just his luck that the first woman he feels any connection with, ends up tied up in criminal activity.

The whoosh of a door sliding open jolts him out of his thoughts.

Alex sits up straight, deciding he looks less confrontational if he's sitting down. Besides, years of training haven't left. His body still remembers combat maneuvers. He still wakes up at 0600 and goes through basic training like clockwork.

Even when he goes back to sleep right after.

A red boot steps inside.

Tisiphone holds a brand new pair of ear pods, still in their case. The moment she spots him sitting casually in her bed, her almond eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her grip tightens on the case, before she schools her features carefully blank.

In better lighting, the scars marring her cheekbones are more prominent. Flecks of silver against honeyed skin.

"'ello again," Alex says, giving a small wave, strands of his hair falling into his eyes with the movement.

She frowns, crossing her arms defensively in front of her. "Why are you here? Who even let you in?"

"I asked nicely," he explains, "terrible hotel service if you ask me. But as for why I'm here, you wouldn't happen to know who Sidney Trojan is?"

Tisphones lips form a tight line, her stance edging dangerously close to someone expecting a fight. Weight distributed well between her legs. "He's dead isn't he. Someone killed him."

" 'fraid so," Alex nods.

"Who do you work for?" Her eyes scrutinize him, as if waiting for him to strike.

Alex raises both his hands up in the air. "No one. The MP of the precinct where Mr. Trojan lived asked me to take the case on."

She doesn't move. "Earth then? Or some secret division of the SFN?"

It was a popular belief that the SFN held a secret military division. Especially among belters and martians.

"You don't seem surprised to hear he's been murdered," Alex observes, not missing a thing, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"Lots of people wanted him dead."

Tisiphone must have decided he wasn't a threat. She takes a step closer, waking into the bathroom and grabbing the meager supplies, tossing them into her bag, unbothered by Alex's presence right next to her. He's incredibly aware of the small distance between them as her hands make quick work of packing, ignoring the wine and fruit he'd brought: the small distance between her hands and his thigh.

But he doubts that there's a chance in hell she'll go out with him after today. She has the same determined look on her face Johanna had right as she'd punched him day 1 of hand to hand combat. A woman who doesn't take anyone's shit.

Alex snorts, "mind telling me who wanted him dead?"

"SFN. Earth. Mars. The Children of Prometheus. Park Vader's cronies back on Titan. Maybe even Park himself. Take your pick."

"Why," Alex can't help but ask, standing up as she slings her bag over her shoulder. If he lets her walk out now, he'll likely never set eyes on her again. And she has become his only connection to this man's murder.

He can't just let her go.

"He knew too much," Tisiphone shrugs.

"I can't just let you disappear," Alex tells her, sliding between her and the door. It was a dangerous position to be in. He keeps his hands up, trying to reassure her.

"Whoever killed Ivan is going to be after me too," she states, weighing her options.

"Let me help you."

She laughs humorlessly, "I'm long past help. I’ll only drag you down. And you seem like a nice enough man despite everything."

"Despite being born on earth," Alex guesses. War hadn't touched the system in a hundred years, yet there was a lot of bitterness from the colonies over earth. Over the imagined bountiful resources. The air, breathable unlike in so many other places.

He'd lived in enough places in the system to know that it was hard living in every corner of the solarium federation.

"Good bye Alex." Her dark eyes hold his gaze, waiting for Alex to step aside. He isn't sure how long her patience will last.

"If you leave the moon now," Alex threatens, "I'll have no choice but to find you suspect under the circumstances."

Tisiphone glares at him, "are you an officer? Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Then you have no jurisdiction," she counters.

"But I was able to find you. I'm the only person who could've made that connection." Her shoes had given her away. Too distinctive for anyone trying to hide out, Alex notes. "Everyone else would've written you off. You played the part of a tired commuter perfectly. Your face isn't visible enough for facial recognition. And the timing is wrong."

"So you have to know I didn't kill him," Tisiphone observes.

"I do." Alex nods. "And I also know that you came here for a reason. I'm willing to bet it's why Ivan is dead now. Help me catch his killer and get some people off your back."

“Why do you care so much about him? He’s just another nameless belter to you people.”

He shakes his head, “because a man’s dead. He deserves justice.”

"How do I know I can trust you," Tisiphone asks, her knuckles relaxing their grip on her bag.

"I could've arrived here with the MP," Alex states, "but I'm here all on my own. Because I believe you're innocent."

She sighs. "Alright. I'll stay. But only for another twenty four hours. That's all I can give you."

He can work with that.

"Okay now let's get out of here. If I can waltz right in so can whoever killed Trojan."

"Ivan," Tisiphone corrects. "His name was Ivan Schlossberg."

"And is Tisiphone your real name," Alex asks.

She doesn't meet his eyes.

** ** ch 4

His hotel room is on the top floor. A half circle window looks out into the expanse. The grey panorama, flattened by robots, is broken up by the tops of other bloc, jutting out of the landscape like hills. The sun is the only recognizable feature in the sky. All the other stars and planets are too distant to be visible.

But Alex has the map of the system imprinted into the backs of his eyes. He could tell where earth and mars fall, navigating by stars like explorers of old, even with the slight changes that arise depending on where you were in the system.

Tisiphone looks out into space, eyes full of stars, as Alex interrogates her.

"Why would the UN or Mars be after Ivan?"

"I already told you," she responds evenly, her gaze still fixed on outer space, a melancholic quality that held none of the wonder people usually had when staring into the stars, "he knew too much."

"About what," Alex presses. Earlier she had named all the major players in politics. That which all SFN members despised because it made doing their job a nightmare of red tape.

Tisiphone looks over at him, turning her whole head towards him. "He was involved with the children of prometheus. Selling information. And Park doesn't like when his people decide to leave him."

It didn't take a genius to know what kind of information would be of value to the children of prometheus. "And your mutual friend."

She swallows thickly before answering. "Told me to find Ivan. That he could help me. I don't know anything more than that. Ivan was going to leave the moon with me and explain this later."

Alex doesn't believe that for a second. Tisiphone wouldn't have left so easily that morning if Ivan hadn't given her something. But he also knows when to let things go. "And why would they also be after you?" The usual targets for the children of prometheus were high ranking UN members or members of the Martian Presidium: the operating companies on the belt that treated their workers as expendable.

Tisiphone was none of those.

She takes a seat on Alex's current bed, her knuckles white as she grips the covers, studying the much more pleasant purple carpet. Not as matted or stained as the one in her room.

Her now shoeless feet revealing mismatched socks.

"I saw something I shouldn't have seen." She bites her lip as her eyes water. Alex forces himself not to look away, wanting to give her privacy. "Someone killed my friend and covered it up. And now they want to kill me."

He takes a step towards her, kneeling down in front of her seated figure, "I'm going to help you."

"You can't help me." Tisiphone shakes her head, looking straight at him, "you can only buy me time."

She flips through the stations as Alex combs through the flight records once more. He's isn't looking for random thugs. If this is a high profiled cover up the way she is alleging, then he needs to find a slicker cover.

He checks for any terrans that've landed here in the last few days. Any native mooners with no permanent address on record: the types of people that would easily fly under the recons. The least likely to be scrutinized.

Alex finds three profiles that fit the description. Two had arrived together under the IDBs Gemma and Nick Ryan. Siblings on vacation from earth.

They were passingly related, the same brown coloring. But Alex's searching gaze found no similar features. The bone structure was all wrong. Gemma's strong, squared. While Nick had a delicateness to his features that was absent in Gemma's.

They had the look of UN division operatives. A learned blankness that helped them slip from memory.

The third was on a flight from Ceres. An older asian man: Hugh Shen. There was no way he was born on the moon and had no records of living here. Alex knew most people born on the moon didn't chance leaving.

Opening for new immigrants were few and far between.

Then there was an oily quality that reminded him of many UN cogs that surrounded his mother like gnats.

In order to be sure that they are division members, Alex'll have to go to the scene of the crime. He knows the UN’s playbook. The methods that division uses. Growing up around his mother, he couldn't not have learned something.

Though Penelope Turner was an idealist, she was willing to do what was necessary to get the job done. It's why she was such an effective politician.

He coms Major Moss, letting her know he'll need access to Ivan's hab.

"Stay here," he tells Tisiphone. "Help yourself to anything I've got."

"Anything," she asks archly, "because I could run a bath. Never had one of those."

"Then by all means," he shrugs. The water bill was bound to burn a hole in his pocket, but going through life without knowing the laziness that baths inspired was no life at all.

She rolls her eyes, shamelessly combing through Alex's meager possessions As meager as hers really. Though he didn't have the excuse of being in hiding.

Alex takes the plasma charges with him.

Major Moss, along with another woman of medium build and asian descent, meets him at the entrance to bloc 571, the white paint having long since peeled off the metal walls. The orange lights flickered, needing replacement, as he walks beside her into bloc 571. He can hear the pressure seals around the door, as it slides open, letting them inside.

While the oldest blocs on this side of the moon, their shortcomings in cramped corridors were nothing compared to the space of the older habs.

Unlike Tranquility base, and the rest of the blocs on the moon, the lights inside bloc 571 were LED and white, the costliest to maintain. A knot of tension eased up in Alex's shoulders. His mind, despite the years in space, always unconsciously yearned for earth's natural light.

"This is officer Cong Xi," Major Moss says blandly, "she'll be taking you through all our available evidence. We're receiving pressure to wrap things up as quickly as possible. There are lots of people who want to move into a hub as spacious as this."

Alex snorts. That's what they cared about.

Cong nods, smiling warmly at him as she drinks coffee from her hot pink tumbler. "Nice to meet you Alex Turner."

Which meant she'd been briefed and knew all about him. There was probably a non-SFN version of his file on her com as they spoke.

Alex had never gotten the chance to read his file after the trail. His dishonorable discharge had left him without any credentials to ask for his file without heavy redaction if he got any response at all. He'd have asked his parents if he hadn't been a coward and taken the first ship to Vesta, hell bent on drinking himself to death.

"Likewise," he responds, realizing he's waited a beat too long to respond.

With that said, the Major turns on her heel, and leaves.

"Shall we," Cong asks him, waiting for him to follow. How did such a pleasant person end up working for the MP? Had to be an idealist. Or hadn't been working for long.

He nods.

Alex takes in the bloc.

The floors dull from nearly four centuries of feet walking over it. Not a scrap of white paint left. But the walls are covered with green plexiglass, an attempt to make up for the lack of actual greenery that hadn't been planned for in old models. Even Pallas had some weeds growing among the tangle of wires.

Each door is painted a different color, giving the neighborhood character. Ivan's hab is red, with a pattern of florals overlaid.

Officer Cong hands him shoe covers and a pair of gloves, "standard procedure," she tells him with a tinge of apologies interwoven in her voice, before she unlocks the door, letting them both inside.

Like most crime scenes, the place is covered with tape and plastic to preserve the integrity. But Alex can see the coziness that Ivan Schlossberg had built inside his hab. A glass top table with mismatched but colorful plastic chairs. Books covering a side table ranging from subjects like "Bloom: a guide to space plant maintenance," to "Catching Fire."

His desk is covered with bits of computer parts. Motherboards and processor chips. Different size screens, some with cracks.

This was the picture of a man who believed himself to be safe. He wasn't planning on running at the drop of a dime. So how had they found him?

Tisiphone had entered first.

Why not kill them both at once?

Or had they believed them both to be inside and cursed themselves when they realized the girl had gotten away?

As Alex looks about the room, noting no signs of struggle, Officer Cong studies him. Her gaze curious.

The mess of computer equipment makes Alex guess that Ivan tinkered with it to communicate with whatever group he was working with, likely using it to hack information from earth and mars. The rudimentary nature of his devices would have confused the much more advanced systems Earth relied on, massive data banks in the tundra chugging along. Ivan would've also had the flexibility of pulling the system apart and rebuilding it with different bits of code each time.

A waste of time, unless you were an old man with lots of time on your hands.

His collection of parts would've been written off as eccentricity.

"You can ask," Alex finally says, when he gets tired of the awkward silence.

"Are you really the mutineer?"

It was much better than being asked if he was that traitor. Particularly bitter belters had taken the liberty of making his days hell in the beginning, knowing he wasn't about to go get help from the SFN.

He nods, looking back at the door. Division wasn't above using chemical weapons. The seals on older habs built with the care of spaceships, no one outside this hab would've noticed. "The one and only," he finally says.

While there were lots of people who had problems with the SFN, it generally wasn't seen among rank and file members.

Cong hums, slurping her coffee.

Alex peels back the plastic over a particularly large pile of electronics, his eyes searching for something small, like a computer chip or drive that would be overlooked to the untrained eye. Toxic gases needn't be in large doses to pack a punch.

"I remember the trial on the net," she comments, "it was all my parents could talk about. My whole family really . . ."

A glint of copper catches his eye. Alex keeps his face neutral, letting Cong ramble on as he plays at looking at the body outline on the couch, as if he could magically find a guilty dust bunny, slipping the casing into his hand for later.

"-guess I was too young to care about that. Too caught up with boys and the latest hairstyles."

Alex nods, trying to pay attention. But with that casing, he's sure it was division. Certain mixtures created the same symptoms in the body as a heart attack. Given his age, it created the perfect cover.

But why come in and stab him after?

Who were they trying to frame-

They were after Tisiphone.

She had led them to Ivan, Alex's thoughts come together, each piece falling into place. They had watched her since she arrived. Which meant they knew she was headed to the moon, hence the two early dispatched division agents, purposely waiting for her to leave before killing Ivan, making sure she'd be the only suspect.

But their plan had gone to the pits.

They hadn't planned on Major Moss trying to burry the case. Or that Alex would be called on.

Instead of an easy frame job, it was a cold case waiting to happen. An MP officer would've just taken Tisiphone in. Assumed that the time of death was off due to some lab error and closed the case. But their plan had gone sideways.

"Find anything," Cong asks him suddenly, having given up trying to chat when it became obvious he wasn't listening. Though why he would make small talk about the event that had sliced his life into two distinct parts, he didn't have the foggiest idea.

Alex shakes his head, "thought the scene might hold a clue." He stands up straight, faking the appearance of disappointment channeling his mother's face when he'd come home with an F. "Whatever crime boss hired the hit must've hired a couple of top notch lads."

"Oh well them," Cong continues, holding up her com for him to read, "Major Moss needs us to come in. Apparently there's been a new development in the homicide."

Alex's chest tightens. God he hopes they haven't found Tisiphone dead. Or arrested her.

No. There's no way. He'd already be under arrest for harboring a criminal. No amount of goodwill would keep him out of prison this time.

Alex had to continue under the impression that she was fine. Because no one else had linked her to this case. No one had any reason to suspect her of anything at all. "Led the way then love."

Cong, like most girls (and some boys) since Alex had turned sixteen, blushes pink, before stepping around him and leading him back to the precinct--and to Major Moss's office.

The division agents who had landed on Tranquility base as siblings named Gemma and Nick, introduce themselves as, "Agents Barnes and Khan." They're already seated in front of Major Moss, only confirming Alex's conclusion.

The capsule in his pocket feels like a block of lead, weighing him down.

There's no way they know he knows.

Except they've been tailing Tisiphone since she landed. They might already know she's sitting in his room.

He needs to get off the moon. Alex had promised Tisiphone he'd keep her safe. And this case had just gotten much bigger than a homicide.

It was the type of cover up that required a neutral party to uncover. A High ranking SFN member that would do the right thing. Unfortunately Alex had learned the hard way that organizations were never as impartial and righteous as they claimed to be.

Bloody hell.

In between two impossible choices, giving Tisiphone up or calling his old mentor Vice Admiral Homme, he wasn't sure which was worse. Would Josh Homme even care?

Or was the UN's influence great enough to buy Homme's cooperation?

"I understand that Major Moss has made the mistake of handing a homicide to a private investigator," Agent Barnes says, smiling brightly as if she hadn't just flung shit at Major Moss, who to her credit, didn't even flinch.

"I'm the private investigator," Alex responds evenly.

"They've just finished informing me," Major Moss interrupts, smoothing down the lapels of her pants suit, "that they've identified the culprit."

Agent Barnes nods, then proceeds to do the very Earth thing of pulling out an actual paper file from a jacket and displaying it on the desk. "A career criminal from Titan named Tisiphone Velasquez. We believe her employer to be some drug lord that Mr Trojan was a long time customer of. When he got clean and moved to the moon, well. . ." Barnes trails off leaving a dramatic pause before clearing his throat, "Titian didn't forget his debts."

Ivan's hab was not the home of a drug user. Or a recovering drug user. He'd never been to Titan, to the city under the ocean, but he knew enough about drug lords to know that they had more to deal with than a customer with lots of debts on a colony as secure as the moon.

But Alex can see Major Moss eat up the story, her eyes gazing over as there's one less problem for her to deal with.

"Well Mr. Turner," Major Moss turns to him, "It looks like your services are no longer needed. I'll wire you the payment promptly. Meanwhile I'll circulate the perpetrators photo and have my officers be on the lookout."

"We will be taking custody of Miss Velasquez," Agent Barnes interrupts, "she has insider knowledge of a crime ring we have been monitoring for years."

"Of course," Major Moss responds, already typing out the paperwork.

He has to get off the base. He has to take Tisiphone far from here.

Alex turns to leave, reaching the door before he hears Agent Barnes mutter pointedly under her breath, "It's a wonder Ambassador Turner hasn't resigned out of shame. No clue how he can show his face in public."

Agent Khan coughs to hide a snigger.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. It's bait. And an obvious one at that. He has more than a few scars to prove how stupid responding to it would be, but they did just insult his mother.

"What did you just say," Alex asks through clenched teeth, not turning back to look at them, robbing them of the satisfaction. Mentally, he counts to ten.

He's not going to give them an excuse to place him under arrest.

Tisiphone is counting on him.

The fact that they're baiting him instead of just following him back to the hotel room is a good sign they don't know he's hiding Tisiphone. He tries to concentrate on the and not the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Tisiphone.

Her petite figure sitting on his bed, scrutinizing everything with an arched brow. The look in her eyes as she'd stared with a refugee's longing for their ancestral home at the image of earth, the green returning to the land after hundreds of long reclamation projects initiated by the UN.

"Nothing to trouble yourself with Alexander Turner," Agent Barnes replies patronizingly, "There is no further use for your services here."

Alex clenches his jaw, and walks out the door.

He lights a cigarette as he makes his way through the dim corridors, the orange fading into scarlet, stopping only to pick up supplies he imagines needing as they travel to space together. Not all at the same store.

Alex will have to get everything out of her, if he's going to throw in his lot with her and hope they get to the bottom of the conspiracy before they're arrested and killed. Or just killed.

What could be bad enough that the UN felt it necessary to send division agents after a woman?

The problem is the IDB has been made.

He's going to have to hope she can get another one quickly. Tisiphone, whose name is more than likely not Tisiphone as all, wouldn't have survived this long is she was stupid.

Fuck.

He really should just turn her in. Or give her a heads up and be on his way. Alex could be on Pallas in four weeks, having the most questionable weed in the system, laced with the hell knows what. Take a case every now and then. Finally make his way out to Titan.

Logan had been his favorite western growing up. Right after The magnificent Seven. He'd made Matt have stand offs against him for days after seeing it, pretending he could manipulate metal. And Titan was the new wild west of space. And still people flocked out to carve their little piece of real estate.

Humanity is ever expanding.

Alex has to press the lift button twice, cursing and lighting another cigarette when the lift's lighting system dies as he ascends up, connecting with Tranquility's passageways.

More than once, he has to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder, sure he'll see an Agent following him. Hugh Shen had been absent from their little meeting. But that didn't mean he wasn't still skulking about.

Even the air changes from the corridors to the base. It's drastic compared to Ceres where the air quality is shit everywhere you go. The base has crisp clean air that didn't leave you all cotton mouthed for the wrong reasons.

From there it's easy enough to head to his room. Alex is already flicking through the net, looking for tickets to the belt. Or maybe they should go to Callisto. It was famous for being a no extradition zone: refusing to acknowledge any authority other than theirs and SFN's by extension. The relative safety was tempting, but he couldn't plan until Tisiphone told him everything she knew.

Alex wasn't stupid enough to think she wasn't holding something back. Her earlier explanation had been as vague as she could manage given the circumstances. He had no clue who her friend was. What she had seen other than a wrongful death.

There had to be a reason behind the coverup after all.

No government went around coverup murder for no reason. It just wasn't economical.

"You have to tell me everything you know," Alex tells Tisiphone in what he hopes is a commanding voice, as he tosses his bags on the bed, plopping down. His only shortcoming as a commander had been the complete and utter lack of confidence he had when giving orders. "Division has just shown up and thrown you under the bus."

Tisiphone's hair hangs down, damp as she listlessly scrolls through the catalogue of music offered by the hotel. She flinches at his words. "I should've left when I had the chance," she tells him harshly, uncurling from the settee and moving to grab her things. She jams her feet into her boots in one swift motion, clearly having been ready to make a run for it at a moment's notice.

"You're right," Alex tries, taking out the gas casing, ensuring the glint of metal catches her eyes. "It's a coverup."

"Obviously," Tisiphone scowls.

"I'm sure they've circulated your IDB by now," he continues, "they wanted to frame you for Ivan's death. I want to know what you saw so I can help you."

"Why so they can kill you as well," Tisiphone shakes her head, "No. . .no."

"What's so important that Division would risk breaking the treaty of Schiaparelli for," Alex asks, rubbing his temples. He wasn't a politician. The inner workings of government fell to the wayside of his thoughts.

There had been no major battles fought in a hundred years but relations between colonies were always fraught with tension over resources. Those skirmishes were usually fought in the Solarium Federations regulatory body, but Alex wasn't naive enough to discount the darker talk of division--their tendency to enhanced interrogation.

"Why do you want to help me so badly," Tisiphone counters, hands on her hip, glaring down at him as if he was the reason that Division had found her at all.

"Someone should," Alex shrugs, peering up at her. The line of her body fell naturally into a defensive stance, something that could only be so natural if she'd started training when she was very young. Tisiphone wasn't an innocent civilian, but she still didn't deserve to be disposed of. "And if I don't, they'll probably kill you and throw your body in some incinerator."

"Or they'll kill us both," Tisiphone replies archly.

"I'm offering you my help if you want it."

She peers down her nose at him, her lips pressed into a flat line, the slim line of her jaw fitting in perfectly with her feline features: a cat deciding if batting the toy was worth it. Turning on her heel, stepping into the bathroom, Tisiphone orders him to, "strip."

Smart girl.

It doesn't keep the burn from making its way up his neck as she turns the refresher, the low static drowning out any background noise as she takes a seat inside the fogged glass.

Alex kicks off his boots, gratefully that he'd actually kept up with his fitness all these years as he pulls his shirt off. There's still bruising in the crook of his elbow. He doubts she misses it as she stares up at him. It's a rush of relief when he notices the scarlet on her cheeks. This is embarrassing for both of them then, as he unbuttons his trousers, before taking a seat in front of her.

"Division blew up my crew." She starts with, staring at a spot behind him, her eyes welling up with tears. "They launched a missile and it tore their ship apart." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, shaking her head, "I'm sorry I just. . .let me start over."

"It's okay."

"Shut up Alex and let me tell this in a way that makes sense." She swallows thickly. Taking a deep breathe during which she closes her eyes before continuing. "My name is Vera Albaicin. I'm an agent of the Guoanbu. Sixty eight sols ago my crew was handpicked to participate in an interplanetary task force with the UN. It was supposed to be an easy retrieval mission. We met up with the other crew. Everything was normal."

T-Vera closes her eyes, her hands closed tightly by her sides, trying to suppress the shiver that runs down her spine. Alex wants to offer comfort, but he isn't sure there is anything he can do to make things better in this situation.

"I took an EMU suit to-it was a strange ship. More like a capsule or probe. I had just made contact when my ship was hit." She shakes her head, a desperation in her eyes at the helplessness she must keep on feeling. Not having been able to do anything to save her crew. "Space. They died in seconds. The thing is. . .the only people who would've known about the mission were the UN and MPC. Earth and mars."

Alex nods, trying to probe her as gently as possible because there is still one unanswered question, "how did you know to find Ivan."

The UN and MPC must have decided that the knowledge was better off lost after having sent a retrieval team. Something they didn't want anyone to know about it. That fact that mars and earth had cooperated at all was throwing Alex off. Weapons would make sense if it was just mars or earth. But together?

Vera shakes her head slowly, her gaze meeting his, an intense anger to their depth he had not seen before. She was digging because she was fucking mad. This was a woman seeking justice. "I can't."

"Vera," Alex utters, unable to look away, trying her real name out on his tongue. "My name is Alexander Turner. I'm kind of famous for breaking the law," he finished with a self deprecating smile.

Usually, the last thing he wanted a potential date to know was his past.

Her eyes widen, her whole body freezing up as she takes in the new information, pursing her lips in an attempt to suppress a telling gasp. But instead of recoiling in disgust as he expects her to, Vera reaches for her neck, revealing a necklace obscured by her hoodie. It's a cheap metal thing that must be of sentimental value.

She doesn't stop there, thumbing the ring at the end of the chain before meeting his gaze once more. This time there's no hard glint to her cognac eyes, but a woman at last having caught on to a life preserver. "Julian-Captain Casablancas told me to find Ivan. Trust no one-trust no one but Alex Turner," Vera admits, unable to hold his gaze. "He must have known what was coming."

It's a ring he recognizes well, a twin to his own commander ring. The classic exploration insignia: the atom. Every detail identical for Julian and Alex had received their rank at the same ceremony, only Julian had been eight years older. Already the man Alex wanted to be: wanted to be with. The man had inspired camaraderie the way a good leader should, and clearly he had managed it in a martian girl as well if she had come all this way on his word alone.

"Can I," he motions, aware of the closing distance between them. Between him and Vera. Vera. He had to get his head around that one. Same woman, different name.

No. Not the same woman.

This woman was a martian secret intelligence agent. Not some naive little girl.

She nods, closing her fist around the ring before yanking the chain in a quick motion. It snaps off. The sound like the hull of a ship nearing the end of its lifetime, creaking. Then drops the ring into his outstretched palm.

Without Alex having to prompt this time, still caught up in seeing Julian's ring, still warm from Vera's body heat, in his hand. Julian hadn't responded to Alex's messages. He'd assumed it was because of Alex's past, but now he was left to wonder if Julian had wanted to protect him by keeping away from him. Keeping whatever he'd gotten caught up in that had killed him away from Alex. Vera adds, "I was confused why he'd told me that, given me his ring as I got into the EMU suit but. . .Ivan told me that he was just the messenger. He'd worked for so many sides not asking questions. Earth, Solarium, Mars. They were all the same to him. So he decided that the children of prometheus had a point and got in contact with them. Relaid information. Ivan-he was going to tell me more."

But he'd died.

Vera looks at him meaningfully, "but he did manage to give me the coordinates that he was given by his CoP contact. In case he ever needed a safe house or extraction."

"He never-," Alex begins to ask, not taking his eyes off the ring. In his hand was proof that Julian had been killed.

"He never met his contact," Vera confirms. "But they're on Callisto. Some hippie hub." She rolls her eyes and what a martian thing to do. Look down on every colony not hell bent on terraforming.

Alex turns his gaze on her once more, seeing her in a different light for the first time. Trying to spot what made her a martian. As if he could spot in vitro augmentation just by looking her over.

But all he saw was a petite woman with a hollowness under her eyes. Her full lips pressed into a grim line. Hair slowly drying into waves, catching the light like oil on water. Despite Alex's new information about Vera, he was no less drawn to her.

There was no sadistic edge that spoke of oprichnik operatives who the Martian People's council refused to acknowledge existed despite all the mounting evidence about their methods.

His gut was telling him that Vera was telling the truth.

"One thing though," Alex points out, taking off his own ring for the first time since he'd first received command rank, a command long since stripped from him, and sliding Julian's ring on his finger in its place as he stands up. His mind was made up. He was going to help Vera uncover this conspiracy. Clear Julian and Vera's name. And maybe, just maybe, reclaim some respect on his name.

"What?"

"You said earth and mars sent you," he says gently, having encountered enough martians to know how loyal to their colony they were otherwise known as having bought into the propaganda, "but Division killed your crew.. ."

"Yes," Vera nods, tapping her foot on the floor.

"Then wouldn't both earth and mars have sent the missile that killed your crew? Or wouldn't have mars already used this as an excuse to advance their agenda?"

"No," she supplies, refusing to even contemplate the idea that Mars would've been complicit in such an act. "The Guoanbu wouldn't have killed their own. We're-they're not like that."

“Vera," he sighs, "there's nastiness under every corner, no matter how nice everything is on top you know."

She shakes her head again, averting her gaze, There wasn't much to look at on the walls, but she was making due.

"Let's just find ya another IDB and get to Callisto-"

There's a knock at the door.

Alex and Vera trade wide eyed looks, having taken the plunge off the same cliff with nothing but a string of brand new fucking trust between them. A dead man's word to go on.

Fucking hell.

Matt and Nick flank each side of the room's door. Nick's stone face offsets the mixture of parental concern Matt's features contain, sighing at Alex's appearance, sticking his head out the door. Vera hiding next to the door, alert to every word.

He has to wonder how good her hearing is. Martian's always messed with embryos biology, designing the next generation to be fitter. Could she hear down the hall? What the people in the next room were saying?

Matt steps forward, "jesus fuck mate," he shakes his head. "Can't respond to a bloody com now Alex."

"I told you I got a job," he protests, trying to remember if that was true. His friends had fallen to the bottom of his priorities quickly. Alex had a habit of self absorption with whatever obsession came his way. It had made him a terrific ensign, practicing the same maneuver for hours until he could do it with his eyes closed.

"No," Nick corrects, not bothering to move the curls out of his face, watching him carefully, "you didn't."

Alex sighs, but doesn't budge. They mustn't see Vera. Soon her face will be plastered all over the net as a manhunt begins. Her IDB must already be flagged for travel.

He had to make his rightfully concerned friends go away and quickly.

"Al," Matt levels with him, "I asked you to be here because you might as well be my brother. I knew when I did that it would mean coming back to the moon. That it would bring up a load of shit for you."

"We're worried about you mate," Nick explains. "You're still here. You won't talk to any of us."

" 'm fine," Alex mumbles, unable to hold eye contact with either of his friends. He looks at his shoes as he realizes how unfair he's been to them both in the last two days.

This trip was supposed to be about Matt.

He shouldn't be here worried that Alex finally went off the rails.

"Alex," Matt utters, placing his hand on the door frame, leaning in close to Alex. "You know you can talk to me. I don't care what you did or why."

"Really," Alex tries, because as much as he'd like to have this long overdue discussion, finally get to explain why--no one had ever asked him why, they'd just condemned his actions as w r o n g--he has to get Vera off the moon. "I'm fine. Just been in me head."

"That's what I'm worried about," Matt responds, eyes locked onto his, as if Alex could disappear at any moment. "You've always been in your head too much Al. And it didn't matter when I knew you were looking after yourself. Had me and the lads with you but-Alex you looked like utter shit back in Vesta last time I saw you, hopped up on who knows what."

Alex swears internally. They really knew when to pick the worst moments. He was actually doing good. "I know. . .," he tries to find the words that don't require him to have an emotional breakdown in Tranquility Hotel, aware Vera's listening in, "it's been rough. Some days worse than others but Matthew," he whines, "I really am good."

"For how long though," Nick counters, crossing his arms against his chest. It was a good point but Alex really hadn't been in the dark lonely place in months. Maybe closer to a year now. Progress.

Something about waking up missing shoes and jammed into the seediest by corners of an asteroid had lit a fire under his arse about moving on.

He hadn't even hit the agents earlier. They would've deserved it but who gives a shit. Alex will always be a mutineer but at least his hands were clean. His conscience is a white pearl like a meditating bodhisattva.

"Can we just go inside and talk man," Matt pleads, his shoulder resting against the door, clearly seconds away from shoving his way in.

Guilt wells up in his mouth. Despite having every reason to say no, Alex wants to say yes, the word making its way to the tip of his tongue at Matt's insistence.

It was Matt and he was Alex and he couldn't just deny him like this after everything.

Terrans were only allowed one child.

The law didn't keep Matt from being his brother any less.

"I can't," Alex sighs. "I just-you've given me a lot to think about."

Matt rolls his eyes, hurt flashing through his features as he takes a step back, "bullshit."

"Just open up the damn door Alexander," Nick tries, clearly having had it with trying to do things the nice way, realizing Alex wasn't going to budge on his own. "We're ya friends."

"It's been six years Alex," Matt added. "I thought you'd want to talk by now."

Alex shakes his head, "it's not always a straight line."

"Let's have this conversation inside," Nick insists, "who knows when you'll be around next Al. And now Matt has a command. . ."

Matt shoves his way in.

Alex had forgotten how hot headed he could be. The foil to his cool and calm temperament: translating Alex's lit to others. Not that Alex had much trouble verbalizing, necessity being the mother invention. He no longer took hours to get a sentence out of his mouth.

"Matt!"

"Don't Matt me Al," Matt retorts spying Vera in seconds, who's already fallen into a defensive stance.

Matt brings a hand to his face, pinching his nose bridge, before heavily sighing, "You've got to be kidding me Al. You're hiding a murderer now."

"She's no-"

"I didn't kill anyone," she tries, folding into herself, trying to appear smaller and innocent than she actually is. Vera tries to play at being Tisiphone once more. "It's all a misunderstanding!"

"Then turn yourself in," Nick challenges, closing the door behind him.

"Al," Matt says, placing his hands on Alex's shoulders, "what the hell are you thinking mate! They're going to lock you up for this and not even-"

"Matt," he interrupts, "trust me. I'd love to have a nice long chat but things have gotten. . .complicated and-it's safer if ya don't know. Just. . .trust me."

Matt stares back at him, mouth drawn. An entire childhood together on earth, their toes digging into the soil, tracking mud all over the floors. Later a shared adolescence, their accents charming the girls and boys at school, Matt doing all the talking and never leaving a painfully shy Alex behind.

He nods. "You better come back because we're having this talk even if I have to go visit you in prison."

"There are things far worse than prison," Vera unhelpfully points out, tugging on her jacket over her hoodie, the collar lined with actual animal fur. Given the martian rationing system, it was an untold luxury for Vera to own a leather jacket with fur at all. "I'd even take death over enhanced interrogation."

She pretends to tremble with fear, "anything but gravity."

Alex snorts in spite of the dark subject matter. "Not helping."

Ignoring the other two men in the room, Vera hands Alex one of the spare IDB's he'd seen in her bag earlier. Had it really been only hours ago? "Here's your IDB now. Alexander Collins. Born on Pallas. Married to Morgana Collins," she points at herself, already dispatching the old IDB off her wrist and throwing it in her bag. "Came to the moon to get married. Off to Callisto to make a living," she explains calmly.

"Short and sweet," Alex notes, looking down at his own wrist, the IDB a second skin. He hadn't taken it off since he'd left earth. Many colonies like Callisto chose to implant the ID chip.

It was the key to getting on any ship. His passport and last link to earth. His last hope at ever stepping foot on the big blue planet again, however slim.

Visas for foreigners pretty much nonexistent.

Nick hands him a swiss army laser, "I implanted mine." It's news to Alex who hadn't even noticed, Nick having always been a bit chilly, wearing long sleeves year round. " 's nice actually."

Matt dramatically covers his eyes.

Alex slices through the metal, leaving a band of unblemished creamy skin.

It doesn't last long, as Vera easily replaces it.

"You should keep it," she tells him, patting his arm like a parent half heartedly consoling their child after a pet fish dies. "We are planning on fixing things."

"Yeah," Alex answers, running his fingers over the band. He already felt less confident without it.

#trash pile #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #space opera fic i wont finish

[elexica]

Second Chance Christmas: {{ December 25 }}

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832405/chapters/69387498

Christmas Day. *not the last chapter*

Merry Christmas y'all! Thank you for your readership, your comments, your kindness. It means so much to me. Last chapter will be up within 24 hours.

Full chapter after the read more.

Joey was rudely awakened by the thump of his entire son against his chest.  Aforementioned son was practically vibrating as he and his sister continued their complete attack, disrupting the significant quantity of pillows around.  The duvet was bouncing from the combined child-energy.

“It’s Christmaaaaaassss!!!” Atticus shouted before burying his head in a pillow.

Kaiba loomed in the doorway, sipping from a branded mug with a smug look on his face as Joey tried to calm the chaos that was Alexis jumping up and down on their bed.  Kaiba was already dressed for the day in yet another black turtleneck, and was completely devoid of any festive costume.

Shit, Joey thought.  Half the presents weren’t wrapped and should be on full display on his desk… None of them had been placed under the tree when he and Kaiba had gotten distracted and…

“Shall we see if Santa visited?” Kaiba offered.  Joey leveled a frustrated glare before his eyes managed to fix on the desk in the room which was… devoid of any trace.  The wrapping paper and remaining presents were gone.  Even the tape had been restored to its position in the caddy.

It was enough for Joey to believe, for a second, in Christmas magic.

The kids accepted their victory gracefully, scampering from the bed to the stairs and rushing down towards the stockings and the tree.

“Did you…” Joey asked, morning grogginess still sticking to him like sweet molasses.

Kaiba tossed Joey’s bathrobe onto the bed, and smirked into his mug as he stalked out.

The tree was illuminated and so thoroughly surrounded by presents, the kids couldn’t get within a three-foot radius of the base of the tree.  Still, like monsters, they ripped through the presents with alarming speed.  A hurricane of wrapping paper flew across the living room—with no regard for the delicate job of some of them, or the pretty fluffy bows affixed to the gifts.

“A yo-yo?!” Atticus announced, unwrapping a box containing a competition grade yo-yo.  Joey looked on in horror as Kaiba’s smile grew more devious.  “The string isn’t even on?!”

Atticus handed it to Joey, intuitively knowing that it wasn’t the sort of thing Kaiba was going to respond to.

Joey’s face blanched at the weight of the device in his hand.  Like everything else that had happened that week, it was intimately familiar, buried deep in the recesses of his memory, and slightly nausea-inducing.

It was a high quality yo-yo, matte jet black and from the feel of it in his hand, the ball bearings were perfectly aligned.  The crimson string was just waiting to be looped on, which Joey expertly did—carefully unwinding the twists enough to slip them over the yo-yo.  And then, balancing the yo-yo on the string, he rewound the yo-yo by sliding it along the thread.

In his mind, the process took forever, even if only a few seconds had passed.

“Thanks Dad!” Atticus chirped, retrieving the yo-yo from his hand to begin playing with it.

Joey slowly returned to the present, where Kaiba commented, “You should ask your dad to some you some tricks.”

Eventually they had shredded all of the wrappings and the kids were completely occupied with their gifts.  Alexis was tearing open the booster packs and struggling her way through the more complex words on some of the cards.  Atticus had his deck out, too, and he leaned over her shoulder and explained some of the text and card effects patiently.

Joey glanced over at Kaiba, who was smiling the same smile from Mokuba’s wedding photos.

“Remembering what it was like to be a big brother?”  Joey prodded.

Kaiba nodded.  “Things were rarely this peaceful, but when they were… I did not always know how to appreciate it.”

Joey reached a hand to Kaiba’s back and stroked over the soft cashmere of the black turtleneck reassuringly.  “I wish things had been different too.”  And Joey leaned his head onto Kaiba’s shoulder.  “But they’re pretty good right now, huh?”

Kaiba nodded, hair shifting against Joey’s.

Atticus fired up the latest model of the Duel Disk, and the hologram took over half of the room, consuming the Christmas tree and the better part of his sister, who screamed.

Kaiba and Joey were on their feet in an instant—Kaiba showing Atticus how to adjust the settings on the Duel Disk and Joey to rescue Alexis from the belly of a dragon.

. . .

As Kaiba flipped a chocolate chip pancake, he spared a quick glance to a shiny Rolex watch.  Another one of the treasures that Kaiba had left behind years ago, and Joey hadn’t had the nerve to mail back or pawn off.

“What time will your sister be coming by?”

The question was said in an innocent tone of voice, overshadowed by the sizzle of the pancake against the cast iron.  But Joey knew what it meant—the timer on their holiday magic was running low.

The snow of the snow globe was settling on the fantasy of a happy family.  Joey would have to either shake it up again or accept that time had sucked out the hope, like glitter and plastic pooling at the bottom.

Kaiba would do anything to avoid having to face Joey’s sister.  Even after moving to New York, Joey’s mother was not really a part of his life due to a mixture of built up resentment and a genuine lack of connection.  But Serenity was a frequent visitor, and a huge source of love and support—especially during and after the divorce.

As much as it bothered Joey, Kaiba was probably right to try to avoid her.  Serenity wasn’t very pleased with Kaiba after the divorce—or before it—and frankly it was a reasonable act of self-preservation to try and dodge. Joey considered lying, trapping Kaiba right there, letting Serenity lay into him.

Anything to make him stay a little longer.

But Joey had grown into an honest man, unfortunately for him, and he answered with the truth: “She gets off shift at noon.”

Kaiba nodded, plating up the pancakes.  There was something a little magic to seeing Kaiba in the apron, making breakfast.  Joey thought he might be getting used to the sight of Kaiba, surrounded by ingredients, carefully putting together meals.

Joey was inclined to agree with Mokuba, Kaiba was pretty good at the staples.  It’s hard to go wrong with chocolate chip pancakes, but sometimes the chips can get too burnt, and the chocolate chips can get stuck to the pan.

Atticus and Alexis seemed to share the sentiment, as Kaiba continued to flip pancakes for another forty-five minutes to make enough for the family.

Just as Kaiba sat down to his own pancake, his eyes darted away.

Kaiba had a preternatural sense for trouble, honed through the nonstop turmoil of his youth.  Like Spiderman’s extra-sensory perception, Kaiba stared at his untouched breakfast plate and immediately announced, “I’ve got to go,” popping up from the breakfast table.

He didn’t seem to have much packed up, other than a briefcase with his work laptop.  Joey wondered if he was going to keep leaving all of the other shit here.  The traces of Kaiba that the other man hadn’t managed to take back with him, the books, the whiskey, the scar cream, the turtlenecks…

Reminders that Kaiba was here, little touches of his ghost clinging to the bookcase, the end tables, the closets.  Just like dust, Kaiba had settled into the hard-to-reach crevices of his life.

Joey feigned ignorance.  “What?” he asked, “It’s still Christmas.”  As if he didn’t know that whatever magic they had between them had to disappear before another adult saw.  The great Seto Kaiba learning and growing?  No outsiders were allowed to see a travesty like that.

The man was already headed to the door, and Joey had to pursue him.  Serenity’s car was visible from the front hallway.  She had gotten off shift about a half an hour ago, and had made a beeline for the family home.

“As far as the children are concerned, the main events of the holiday have concluded.”  Kaiba pulled out the Mercedes keys.  He had obviously been thinking about his getaway.  The schemer.

“That doesn’t mean you have to go now,” Joey positioned himself between Kaiba and the door.

“Don’t.”  Kaiba said it like a warning, low and serious.  There was a note in his voice that was too harsh.

The entire week had felt like he had been rifling through different versions of Kaiba.  The savage man he used to know, the love of his life, the impermeable shadow who lurked in his study, the father of his kids.

Now, once again, Joey was facing the most intense version of Kaiba—determined, cornered, cruel.

“Come on, it doesn’t have to be, you can just…”  Joey didn’t know what to say, but he did spread his arms out, making a better barrier between his ex-husband and the exit.

Kaiba bowed his head, more threatening, more looming.  “I don’t know what this is, you don’t know what this is.  It’s not fair to the children to have us… so undetermined.  Unstable.  Whatever this armistice was, it was above all temporary.”

Joey was never that easily cowed.  “I don’t remember having that conversation?!” He spat back.

Kaiba stood taller again, reaching past Joey to undo the deadbolt.  “Can you, for once, not make this harder for me than it has to be?”

Joey hesitated.  Maybe Kaiba was right, maybe this was too unstable.  Maybe it just wasn’t fair to the kids.  Darting back and forth from a loving family to practically strangers.  From the soreness in his chest, the anxiety he felt at the thought that Kaiba would vanish from his life again—all that presence, gone in a flash—he knew it wasn’t fair to himself to play the game either.

“If you really want to go that bad, I won’t stop you,” Joey said, finally.

Kaiba passed by Serenity in the driveway.  She wished him a Merry Christmas but he just kept walking.  

. . .

“You did what?!” Serenity choked on her eggnog.  They were watching Atticus and Alexis duel in the snow, holograms bouncing and leaping through the wintry landscape.  The snowflakes disappeared as soon as the reached the holograms, hidden by the solidvision programming.

Joey remembered, somewhat, when Kaiba was first trying to get the software to play nice with foreign particles.  And Joey hated that he was impressed with the result.

“Look, he as here for a week and… he’s different.  I really think he, y’know, he got it.  He understood what he was missing,” Joey said, more into his own eggnog than to his sister.

She shook her head.  “I saw him, he didn’t seem all that different to me,” she paused to sip her eggnog.  “But that’s none of my business.”

“That was… he’s not great with…” Joey could hear himself, hear the excuses rolling off of his tongue.  He hated being in the position of defending the other man’s frustrating decisions and bad attitude.

She put her hand on his shoulder.  “I get it.  I’ve know him a long time, right?  I get that he can be… I don’t know, he has to be warmer with you, right?”

Joey nodded, realizing that tears were pooling in his eyes, the beautiful snowy backyard dissolving into a soft watery mess.

“But I also know he’s driving to the airport now.  And I highly doubt Seto Kaiba waits on the tarmac for long.  If you’ve got something to say to him, maybe you should get out there.  I can watch the kids.”

. . .

Joey flashed whatever fancy looking crap he found in the top drawer of Kaiba’s desk in the study to the airport security checkpoint.  He had no idea which ones went to what at the airport, but no one had stopped him when he had driven, perhaps recklessly, very close to the tarmac.  He only had to jump on fence to be on the asphalt—and it was never difficult to tell which plane belonged to his ex-husband.

No one else who parked their private jets at the Westchester airport had the same fondness for the Blue Eyes White Dragon, that was for sure.

Joey had never felt as insignificant as he did on the tarmac.  Even though Kaiba was only in the jet, the distance between them made him feel like Kaiba was already airborne, and he was the size of an ant—a speck in the map, a pixel.

“Hey.  I got something to say to you!” Joey shouted at the plane.  He assumed Kaiba couldn’t hear him, but the body language would have to be enough—waving his arms, clothed in his bathrobe, thick fabric flapping in the chilling wind.  From his peripheral vision, he could see the airport staff already streaming out to take the civilian off of the dangerous runway.

But instead the stairway descended, and the door opened.  Kaiba’s imposing silhouette cut a nerve-wracking shadow.  Joey was taken back to the days when the man would hang off of helicopter ladders and yell about card games.

“Jounouchi, it is not safe for you to stand in the tarmac!” The outline yelled back.

“Well, I got something to say to you!” Joey screamed over the sounds of another airplane taking off.

Kaiba descended a few steps, but not all the way.  He couldn’t be bothered to touch the same ground as Joey.  Kaiba extended a hand gracefully, wordlessly gesturing for Joey to continue.

“Do you wanna stay?”  Joey asked.  It was a simple question, honest, and more sincerely curious that even he had expected.

“I have work, Jounouchi,” Kaiba turned around and ascended again.

“What do you want?!” Joey yelled at his back.

Kaiba spun back, with a shocking amount of frustration pulling at his face.

“What do you want?” Kaiba shouted down with absolute vitriol.  

What did Joey want?  He wanted him to change, he’d said that in the past, and Kaiba had answered that he couldn’t.

And then he did.

Joey just wanted that—what Kaiba had already become.  All he had to do was say that, right?  Stay. That’s what he wanted.  And, keep trying. And, I want you to want to keep trying.  

But that would be giving in to Kaiba’s demands, right?  Letting him win, letting him off the hook.  All the shitty days, all the half-assed affection, all the last priority moves.  There was a little block there, a clot in the artery between his feelings and a reality that he could accept.  Kaiba never apologized, so he didn’t deserve forgiveness, did he?  Had Kaiba ever even figured out what he had done wrong?

The guards were closing in.

“I want you to apologize.”

If Kaiba could say he was sorry, Joey could say that he wanted him to stay.  To come back for real.

Kaiba looked at him, and all the anger that had made it to his face evaporated.  It melted away to his old mask—a casual disdain for everyone else in the world.

“I will not apologize for who I am.  You should know better than that.  Good bye, Jounouchi.”  He disappeared from Joey’s vision and returned to the cockpit.

Joey could have taken the five security guards, in his heyday.  But he found himself passively wandering back into the airport under their glares.

That wasn’t quite not what he wanted an apology for.  He didn’t need Kaiba to apologize for being a mess of a man, an impatient man, at times uncaring, frequently distant and harsh.  He just wanted Kaiba to apologize for the way he had made Joey feel, and for leaving without even trying.  For leaving again. For being so criminally unwilling to admit his own happiness, capitulate to his own fulfillment.

Really, Joey didn’t want much.  He just wanted enough that he could bear to drive Kaiba back home.

But, maybe Kaiba was right about himself.  Maybe he really didn’t change.  Not enough, maybe even not at all.

#Violetshipping #puppyshipping #seto kaiba #Kaiba Seto #Jounouchi Katsuya #Joey Wheeler #my fic #GOD Y'ALL I FELT GUILTY AS I POSTED IT

[josiebelladonna]

i honestly don’t understand why kim, ben, and matt keep trying when it’s just going to get them into a heap of trouble down the line.

it started with the one-off tribute to chris a couple of years ago (which to me was more hollywood kissing its own ass over showing chris the love he deserved). there’s that godawful collaboration with the pretty reckless (where kim and matt were referred to as “of soundgarden”), and yes, it’s awful and irritating and forgettable: i said what i said. there’s that even worse rendition of searching with my good eye closed with brandi carlile and all the collabs they’re doing with her and her saying she wants to be the new singer for soundgarden.

i already wasn’t that big of a fan of her, either: she’s alright. it might just be me being a fan of older country, but i seriously don’t get the appeal (i do like the highwomen, though, that was real cool) but to see that just puts a bee in my bonnet.

because... read this:

“In an October 2018 interview with Seattle Times, Thayil stated that the Soundgarden band name would be retired. He explained, "I don't know really what kind of thing is possible or what we would consider in the future. It's likely nothing. The four of us were that. There were four of us and now there's three of us, so it's just not likely that there's much to be pursued other than the catalog work at this point." Thayil also stated that while he does not rule out the possibility of working with Cameron and Shepherd in a different capacity, writing or touring under the Soundgarden banner again was unlikely. "No, I don't think that's anything we'd give reasonable consideration to at this point. When I say 'at this point,' I mean perhaps ever."

and knowing how these things go with them (read: chris’ poorly worded tweet new year’s day 2010 launched the reunion), you know it’s bound to happen. and it also doesn’t help that wiki used the word “unlikely” implying there’s a chance.

you know... i let a lot of things with them slide, because they were always in the right with it. or it was just minor stuff, like “hey, everyone makes mistakes from time to time, don’t worry about it.” but the reason why i can’t think about them anymore without getting angry is that aforementioned quote.

you know, at least when layne died, jerry and sean never ended alice in chains, just put it on hiatus (it was jerry’s thing, anyway: he invited layne to sing with them). and then a couple of years time, they crossed paths with will and got the machine rolling again. but they never retired the name.

when scott was fired, rob and dean brought chester into stone temple pilots. and then when scott passed and chester left, they went on hold for a bit until they got the new guy jeff. but they never retired the name.

shit, phil and rex wanted a hologram of dimebag for a pantera reunion, and the former was actually trying to make amends with vinnie, too.

but those three motherfuckers bring that greasy witch in, it’s a genuine nostalgia act from that point onward (and the very thing they dismissed when the reunion took place back in 2010). you become the very thing you were out against this whole time. you become the very thing that you stood up against and showed the world that you were against it where have i seen that before...

maybe it’s just public medium ignorance, but i also don’t understand why people insist on referring to the three of them as soundgarden, especially when it’s been said in writing that the name is retired. jesus, let the legacy rest. let chris rest. don’t be giving the greasy press any more ideas, and if you’re gonna do something with her, fine (i probably won’t listen to it but have at it ‘til the cows come home), but the day they call it soundgarden is the day we’re all fucked. at least when matt had the schedule conflict with pearl jam back in 2014, he came right back for the seattle show for the end of that tour (and i know that because i was there).

sure. live and learn. change your opinions and keep your mind open with the passage of time. that’s something i live by, and something i really wish everyone under the age of 20 would put their heads around already. but when you know in your heart that what kept you going isn’t around anymore, there’s no justification to continue exhuming it, especially - ESPECIALLY - when you know how unkind the press has been towards you in the past with all the zeppelin comparisons and pigeonholing you into the grunge genre (like what henry rollins said once, “don’t you get it yet?)

so, sorry, guys, this whole “we’re gonna do whatever we want and no one’s gonna stop us” turns stale to a point. and the three of you are turning stale, too. it’s kind of sad, really: these three guys, two of whom are pushing 60 (and look terrible, too, sorry) and one i have no words for, hanging out with millennial women in the vein of the “how do you do, fellow kids?” meme. i bet kim and matt are in bed before snl even starts.

and what’s worse? their names only crop up when in conjunction with someone who’s in the spotlight like brandi carlile or the pretty reckless. this almost always happens with people who trying to stay relevant. it’s hard to say because they’re so different from some mega band trying to stay relevant but knowing how soundgarden did in fact grace the covers of magazines back in the 90s, it’s not a bad guess.

#came out way longer than intended but oh well #soundgarden #rant #text

[himbos-hotline]

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting? + 4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral? :)

WEIRD QUESTIONS FOR WRITERS (BECAUSE WRITERS ARE WEIRD)

1 What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

Now I know that this is a hot take or an unpopular opinion. But comic sans. Now I see you look at me like "dude wtf" cuz everyone is like boo comic sans BUT! Actual general wwriters write in comic sans because it helps people write faster and people will write better. its proven to help with productivity AND help people to get out of a writing block. Also, as the local dyslexic author, unlike other type faces- each letter of said comic sans font is different and distinct from the others. A lowercase d isn't just a right flipped p. a captial I isnt just an l without its tail.

It helps me work through my fics and is the this hack is the reason why I have produced more content this year at a faster rate [bar that like two months of writing burnout where it was just me falling out of love with newsies] and to me its better.

What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Love. It can be used in so many different senarios. Love can be out between friends and shown through actual romantic lovers. There can be a love of animals or a favourite food. Characters say I love you to the point it hurts them? People whispering I love you to animals and their pets or just random cows they see when driving? People screaming that they love something because their favourite song comes on the radio

Love is in so many things and places and can either be a word that people paint in gold or a rusted kife plunged into someones back and it makes me so feral when I see the whole concept of being in love being thrown askew.

Hence why I like the idea of the hairtie fic so much. The Idea that kenny loves adam and jay and cole so much that he has to do better than them because the crowd loves him more and then he starts to hurt Adam because of it. Cleaner!Kenny using things that Jay loves like musicals to hurt them because thats what the Cleaner tells him to do. Jay looking Kenny dead in the eye and going "you're not better than Kota. You never will be." Because she knows that Kenny loves Kota more than he will ever love Adam or Cole or even themselves. And Jay has accepted that- soulmates are always destined to be together. Jay knowing that the kenny that they love is still there under the sunglasses and if Jay has to spill blood on a hotel carpet and dig zeir nails into wounds Kenny has stitched closed to drag the Kenny who calls them his "little flour" and falls asleep stroking their hair. Then Jay will damn will do it!

Its also why I love writing Jay so much. Even if it doesnt instantly look like it. Everything they do is driven by love. He steals Adam's alcohol for Danhausen to sell because he loves the cowboy enough that Jay spots the yellowing of his skin when htey cuddle. Jay gets so angry when Cole breaks up their tagteam and carries that resentment until Cole breaks them down slowly because Jay loves him, enough to trust him with hotel rooms and their body and fears and the hurt drives him to hate him because if Jay loves Cole again. Than isnt that hurt going to come back? Fuck he lets Matt do stupid things to his short hair and lets him give zem dented moster cans because Jay knows that there is love in that. There is love in the sharing of energy drinks and boba dates and "I dont think I have ever really had romantic feelings." "Thats okay Matty- Love is different shapes. Your love is just Matt Jackson shaped."

I just think love is neat. Its 7 AM and I MIGHT be slightly emotional. and working on a fic with Jay's reaction and dealing with Regals betrayal.

#mouse has pals #kass the kitten #writers asks #no word count

[letterboxd]

Best of the Fests 2020.

From 17th-century werewolves to WWII gremlins to present-day nomads, the stripped-back, mostly virtual 2020 fall festivals still managed to bring the goods. Our team rounds up the very best titles we saw at TIFF, NYFF, the BFI London Film Festival and beyond.

LISTEN: Gemma Gracewood and Ella Kemp chew over their festival favorites in the latest episode of The Letterboxd Show.

Kudos to the teams at the Toronto, New York and BFI London Film Festivals for pulling excellent hybrid festivals together in extremely weird, not-at-all-ideal circumstances. From the always-excellent conversations (and Cameron Bailey’s always-excellent suits) to the hybrid options for viewing, we left feeling hope for our favorite art form.

We have been keeping track, over on our Twitter account, of the many film festivals going online, and it’s safe to say that virtual film festivals—and the wider accessibility they offer—have been a silver lining to this mostly awful year. Indeed, the 58th NYFF was one of Film at Lincoln Center’s most-attended festivals, with 70,000+ attendees in all 50 states and beyond. (We participated in a NYFF Industry Talk, along with MUBI and Rotten Tomatoes, about the future of online film conversation, moderated by Indiewire’s David Ehrlich.)

Attempting to replicate the extreme fatigue of the real thing, our festival team (Ella Kemp, Aaron Yap, Kambole Campbell, Jack Moulton and Gemma Gracewood and—helping us bridge the geo-locked divide—Canadian TIFF regular Jonathan White) disregarded international date lines and dove right in. We saw many films to love, but by consensus (and a poke around your Letterboxd reactions) these are the ones we’re still thinking about.

Lovers Rock Directed by Steve McQueen, written by McQueen and Courttia Newland. The ‘Small Axe’ anthology will be released on a weekly rollout on Amazon Prime Video beginning November 20 with ‘Mangrove’, then ‘Lovers Rock’, ‘Red, White and Blue’, ‘Alex Wheatle’ and finally ‘Education’. Seen at: NYFF, BFI London Film Festival.

Lovers Rock, the first part of Steve McQueen’s ambitious, multi-part film project Small Axe, feels like a massive stylistic departure for the filmmaker, in a manner that completely transfixes and astounds. It’s no wonder that this one turned heads at multiple festivals, as it’s immediately warmer, more freewheeling and sensual than any other McQueen work. It’s defined by a hypnotic focus on sound and touch, represented in its earliest scenes with a tactile close-up of a heated comb working its way through hair, and later with its focus on hands wrapped around shoulders, moving across shirts and dresses, people joining together and/or colliding through song and dance. Despite being made for television, it’s astounding how little Lover’s Rock feels that way. Often impressionistic and unbound to the kind of urgency or efficiency that naturally comes with having to adhere to a time-slot, it simply rests in the moment. With the seismic protests being undertaken by Black people this year, Lovers Rock feels like more than welcome respite from a hateful populace—visually rich, gorgeously soundtracked Black joy and love. Also, man, those shirts are incredible. —KC

Nomadland Written and directed by Chloé Zhao. In US theaters December 4. Seen at: TIFF, NYFF, BFI London Film Festival.

“I am already convinced that Chloé Zhao deserves the whole world,” writes Jaime of Nomadland, the TIFF People’s Choice winner. Personal security is something we don’t think about on a daily basis. We have shelter, we can buy food, anything else is bonus. But what if those two basic tenets vanish? While the global financial crisis affected all in 2008, it affected retirees more. Supposedly secure retirement investments vanished; security no more. What do you do? Survive. Zhao’s adaptation of Jessica Bruder’s 2017 non-fiction masterpiece Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century is a beacon of human spirit and survival. It may not be pretty, but it’s real. It’s not something to be embarrassed about, it’s something to be proud of. Those that let this happen to good, honest working people should be the ones embarrassed. —JW

Minari Written and directed by Lee Isaac Chung. No release date announced. Seen at: Middleburg Film Festival.

Minari is the medicine for these tough times. It’s a wonderful, wonderful, deeply personal, utterly serene and metaphysical portrait of America—freedom, faith, superstition, forces of nature, and ambition collide with the costs of intoxicating capitalist dreams, but not without a whole lot of heart. This is elegantly crafted, at once organic in its approach and always sweepingly cinematic. The film’s gentle sense of humor ensures that it never takes itself too seriously and allows the weight of its poetic images and juxtapositions to guide the narrative. The brilliant ensemble should grow to join Steven Yeun as household names (well, cinephile households). Youn Yuh-jung and Alan Kim are bright sparks as the latest classic duo of sassy grandma and precocious grandchild, but it’s Han Ye-ri—taking on the surrogate role of director Lee Isaac Chung’s mother—who provides an overlooked and tender sounding board for familial bonds in fraction. Minari is truly one of 2020’s most invaluable and essential pieces of art, living up to the hype built since Sundance. Korea came to the USA for the Oscars earlier this year, and if 2021 shows similar mercy, there’s a chance you’ll see this home-grown Asian-American picture mounting that stage in future. —JM

Wolfwalkers Directed by Tomm Moore and Ross Stewart, written by Will Collins with Moore and Stewart. Recently released in UK theaters; coming to Apple TV+ December 11. Seen at: TIFF, BFI London Film Festival.

The much-anticipated Cartoon Saloon adventure Wolfwalkers was met with only joy around here. A fable about what happens when a colonizing force tries to tame a wild forest, set during Oliver Cromwell’s Siege of Kilkenny, Wolfwalkers builds to “one of the most sensational animated third acts I’ve seen in years,” according to Animatedantic. The film’s themes are embedded in every hand-drawn line and stroke. “It’s not sleek and seamless and modern,” writes Cow Shea. “This is transparently a true work of art where all the work of that art is part of the finished product.” Mebh and Robyn are animated action heroes for the ages, and you’ll hear a lot about ‘Wolfvision’ in the weeks to come—for very good reason. Werewolf films have, for years, tried different ways to put us inside the beast’s mind, but Tomm Moore and Ross Stewart followed their noses and it’s as thrilling as things get. —GG

David Byrne’s American Utopia Directed by Spike Lee. On HBO and HBO Max now. Seen at: TIFF, NYFF, BFI London Film Festival.

David Byrne’s American Utopia is well on track to join Jonathan Demme’s film of another Byrne stage outing, Stop Making Sense (1984), as one of the highest-rated anythings on Letterboxd. We’re still deciding whether this film is sublime because the stage show itself is sublime, or because Spike Lee has sublimely captured the whole joyous thing for us to inject into our eyeballs, time and again, for far less than the price of a Broadway ticket. Let’s be honest: it’s due to both, and more besides. It’s a blessing upon 2020, of that we are certain. As Clint writes, “The phrase ‘this is the film we need right now’ is such a creaky cliché, but there’s an ineffable feeling that, if David Byrne and Spike Lee can’t heal the world with grey suits, bare feet, and some of the most all-encompassing works of music ever written, no one can.” As my colleague says, “will rewatch to death”. —GG

Shiva Baby Written and directed by Emma Seligman. On the festival circuit. Seen at: TIFF, LFF.

A girl walks into a shiva and bumps into her sugar daddy. What sounds like a joke sets up 77 minutes of note-perfect comedy horror in Emma Seligman’s Shiva Baby, her feature debut adapted from her dissertation short of the same name. It’s funny, horrifying, excruciating and so painfully, accurately Jewish. Isaac Feldberg calls it “cruelly hilarious about everything smothering and inevitably miserable about Jewish family gatherings”, but Seligman’s sharp eye for comedy, her affection for her teen hero Danielle (Rachel Sennott, a bona fide star) just figuring her career out and owning her sexuality (Molly Gordon playing Danielle’s overachieving ex-girlfriend Maya is a highlight) cuts straight to the core, however you relate. Matt Neglia points out how Shiva Baby “captures the behaviors of its characters with the same level of dry wit and detail as the Coen Brothers would”. What a thrill for a young, smart, Jewish, bisexual woman to be setting the pace now. Keep an eye on Seligman’s bright, bright future. —EK

Tove Directed by Zaida Bergroth, written by Eeva Putro. Released in Finland; on the festival circuit elsewhere. Seen at: TIFF.

If there was a film swoony enough to fill the Portrait of a Lady on Fire-sized hole in your heart this year, it’s Zaida Bergroth’s Tove, a bewitching biopic of Finnish author and illustrator Tove Jansson, creator of the beloved Moomin cartoon characters. Set in Helsinki during and post-World War II, the film orbits around her boho world, flitting between her creative struggles as a painter and deep sexual awakening with married theater director Vivica Bandler (Krista Kosonen). As Lillian says, “Lesbians and Moomins is such a huge fucking mood I never wanted it to end.” Alma Pöysti shines effortlessly in the lead role. “The film happens on her fantastic face,” writes Hannu. Seth agrees: “a captivating first-class drama about a world-renowned talent in search of her own identity, love and freedom.” A cozy fall-season perfection. —AY

Shadow in the Cloud Co-written and directed by Roseanne Liang. Slated for a summer 2021 release. Seen at: TIFF, AFI Fest.

A proud addition to the “she did that!” canon, the single downside of Roseanne Liang’s genre-perfect, “deliciously fearless” Midnight Madness winner Shadow in the Cloud is that there was no Midnight Madness to experience it at—but thanks to a juicy sale out of TIFF, we can look forward to a premiere next summer. Chloë Grace Moretz is Maude Garrett, a WWII pilot assigned to transport a highly classified package over the Pacific. The all-male crew of the B-17 Flying Fortress banishes her to the lower ball turret, where they harass, gaslight and leer over her—and that is nowhere near the worst part of this bonkers, non-stop hell flight, which Moretz carries like the future action hero she must now become, if the movie goddesses are listening. —GG

Pieces of a Woman Directed by Kornél Mundruczó, written by Kata Wéber. Coming soon to Netflix. Seen at: TIFF, NYFF.

You will be hearing a lot about Vanessa Kirby in the months to come. Pieces of a Woman is an arresting, often taxing watch, but few actors have delivered a performance as utterly overwhelming as Kirby portraying Martha, a grieving mother processing the loss of her baby. The filmmaking team (Mundruczo and Weber share a “film by” credit) zoom in on deep, jagged pain, and tease out some of the most affecting moments put to screen this year. Jack calls the film “an intensely intimate depiction of mental and marital deterioration caused by tragedy” and nods to master Howard Shore’s “subtle yet potent” score. It’s poetry in motion, with stunning turns from Shia LaBeouf, Ellen Burstyn, Sarah Snook and Benny Safdie also. But proceed with caution: “this film will destroy you”, Alisha Tabilin warns. —EK

Underplayed Directed by Stacey Lee. On the festival circuit. Seen at: TIFF. (Also recommended in our music movies round-up.)

Women-in-the-workplace movies aren’t usually this banging. Stacey Lee’s documentary Underplayed focuses on one corner of the still wildly sexist music industry—the dance-music scene—and lays out both the facts and feelings regarding why women still, always, deserve better. A number of key names guide the story—Rezz, Alison Wonderland, Nervo, TokiMonsta—giving the viewer a taste of what we’re missing out on while booking the same old men, over and over. And it’s not just because of the stats or the injustices that this is a must-watch: in times of limited social interaction and when the feeling of an adrenaline-fuelled crowd feels like a foggy memory, Lee captures some truly electric moments of these women thriving, captivating thousands of music lovers at once. “Buy yourself good speakers and turn them up because this movie is fun and it deserves it,” writes Matt Brown, and he’s absolutely correct. Underplayed is essential and exciting. The most entertaining education of the year. —EK

Another Round Directed by Thomas Vinterburg, written by Vinterburg and Tobias Lindholm. Awaiting new UK date due to lockdown. In US cinemas soon. Seen at: TIFF, LFF.

Another Round reunites filmmaker Thomas Vinterberg with his muse Mads Mikkelsen, in a lads-on-tour buddy movie, except the lads are four middle-aged high-school teachers, and the tour features a very casual, very constant level of intoxication each man commits to in the name of a social experiment. What could possibly go wrong, you ask? Plenty, naturally—but Vinterberg marries the slapstick moments of bumbling drunks falling over themselves with more mature, poignant scenes that question just how far you can or should go to feel that little bit more alive. There’s a lot to love here, but if we’re being very precise, it’s “rock-solid proof that Mads Mikkelsen is one of our greatest actors,” says Karen Han. Come for the wise, contemplative study of youth and spontaneity, stay for rock-solid proof that Mads Mikkelsen is also, somehow, one of our greatest contemporary dancers. —EK

One Night in Miami Directed by Regina King, adapted by Kemp Powers from his own stage play. In select US theaters December 25, coming to Amazon Prime Video January 15, 2021. Seen at: TIFF, NYFF.

Ladies and gentleman, Regina King has arrived. The actor wastes nothing in her feature directorial debut, bringing to the screen Kemp Powers’ vivid stage play of the same name with a heavyweight cast of greats. Kingsley Ben-Adir, Eli Goree, Aldis Hodge and Leslie Odom Jr. are Malcolm X, Cassius Clay (before he took the name Muhammad Ali), Jim Brown and Sam Cooke respectively, as the four men celebrate Clay’s victory over Sonny Liston in February 1964, during One Night in Miami. Rachel Wagner notes how “they all feel like friends and have chemistry, but each with a unique perspective”. This chemistry comes from King’s perfect alchemy of mood, design and structure; she lets her men speak, but her voice is never lost. “Queen King never wavers on her vision until every bit of flesh is torn off each man,” Ben notes, admiring a film that shines for all its famous faces, but stands the test of time for its rich, piercing empathy for every other one waiting in the shadows. —EK

Supernova Written and directed by Harry Macqueen. Awaiting UK and Ireland release due to lockdown; in select US theaters January 29, 2021. Seen at: BFI London Film Festival.

Colin Firth at his very best, Stanley Tucci losing his grip on himself, the luscious Lake District and endless cozy, delicious, warm knitwear. Supernova is every bit as beautiful as it sounds, but also packs a major punch when it comes to mapping a lifelong love story, and the cost of loyalty and pride when you’re fighting against pain nobody can control. As Sam and Tusker, devoted to one another for decades, come to terms with Tusker’s diagnosis of early on-set dementia, there is as much care and sadness as is to be expected, but it still feels brand new and cuts deep. Every good love story is its own. Director Harry Macqueen and his two shining stars understand this better than anyone. —EK

French Exit Directed by Azazel Jacobs, written by Patrick DeWitt. Scheduled for US release January 21, 2021. Seen at NYFF.

Armed with acerbic wit and sharpened claws, Michelle Pfeiffer delivers a vulnerable close-to-career-best performance in French Exit as a mother free-falling from wealth and reconciling with her son, an expertly cold Lucas Hedges. What appears to be formal and dry (“rich white-people stuff”, blegh) is actually wonderfully weird and surprisingly spiritual. There’s a divisive scene at the half-way point that instantly unroots the movie from any grounding we assumed it had established. In any other film, it would open up an entire world of possibilities, but French Exit decidedly treats it as matter-of-fact in order to focus on the emotional journey. It’s the decisive moment—you’re on its wavelength, or you’re overboard—and the rewards for staying aboard are plentiful. Patrick DeWitt’s adaptation of his own novel is in good hands with director Azazel Jacobs. —JM

Still Processing Directed by Sophy Romvari. On the festival circuit. Seen at: TIFF.

A final, honorable mention for Sophy Romvari’s Still Processing, the highest-rated short film out of TIFF, and an excavation of grief like no other. “You’ve got to watch this one twice,” writes Martyn. “First viewing to just weep every two to three minutes. Second viewing to really appreciate how great it is.”

#tiff #tiff20 #tiff2020 #toronto international film festival #nomadland #chloe zhao #wolfwalkers #cartoon saloon #bfi #bfi london film festival #nyff #nyff2020 #filmlinc #film at lincoln center #New York Film Festival #film festival #best of 2020 #2020 best #best films of 2020 #letterboxd

[clairebeauchampfan]

It’s all a conspiracy, I tell ya. TBTB, The powers that be, are actually lizards, aren’t they?

These quotes from a recent over-excited post by three ‘fans’ . I’ve taken off the names to spare them the blushes when Caitriona and Tony’s Wedding Certificate comes out. But hey, that’ll be ‘faked’ too, won’t it? (my emphases) 

‘Fan A’

 Remember when this came out and Sam was Glamour’s no. 63 in their top 100 sexiest men. Selling the Highland warrior... one who obviously dates but is not in a committed relationship or about to get married, so women feel he’s available. We don’t see this quite so much now I guess given many people are onto the Fantasy man deal. Cait of course gets a mention here so it totally supports the opinion that the ONLY woman that could EVER threaten the sexy Highland warrior image is Caitriona. It was necessary to EXCLUDE her from the equation (imo FvF career carrot) as a sister who had a remarkable ‘wedding’ that the Highland warrior attended as a guest. Cait’s out, Sam’s obsession’s safe. No brainer. What’s interesting is that Sam never used to sell this well but since his meeting at Disney with Parnell and MIK got a gig, he’s now on board publicly running any connection to Cait under a bus. He’s backing the total burial of his own identity as a partner or family man which we’ve never seen before. As I’ve mentioned a number of times whatever Sam had in the pipeline to push him to do this must he big. Not sure how he’ll be with Cait in public...now she’s a sister...but he used to continually single her out as an important person in his life. The thing is...the universe kept them on side and supported their love for the way he did that imo. You start verbalising and the universe starts hearing...just sayin Sam. Of course the fly in the ointment in all this is if Sam has some little people in his life that look like him. Man, they’d certainly have those little rascals hidden away now and God forbid if anyone’s onto that! They’d be attacked and defamed for sure! I mean, we already know SC have their barrels locked and loaded incase shit hits the fan. Sam’s bullying letter and the evidence of killer-stalker grannies intruding on them is already there for any pissed off, played, Sam obsessed women to turn their anger onto Shippers and away from them. It’s there in place all ready to go. Sam and Cait can sit back and watch the onslaught of online bullying in their name from afar. It’s not going to be pretty but we know it’s coming. And let’s face it, they needed an out and we always knew it would be us. They can’t exactly turn around and run TPTB under a bus....they needed an exit strategy ready to go. The one thing they DON’T want is for the Sam obsessed to cotton on to the game before the pigs at the trough have had their fill...that everyone is satisfied and things have been ‘worth their while’. It’s not rocket science. Pandemic or not the sexy Highland warrior needs protecting as does the ‘exit strategy’.... Interestingly articles like this are becoming increasingly harder to find...I can see why....makes the whole game pretty obvious doesn’t it? Can’t have the Sam obsessed reading too many of these now they’ve been played for 6 years. What they are counting on is for those played women to be pretty dumb and latch onto the hooks in the exit strategy provided. I hope for their sake they’re right....they’ll already have enough pain from the years of lost moments and lies to haunt them...that’s if the universe continues to be on their side...and unfortunately the truth always has a way of coming out no matter how hard anyone tries to stop it...I mean...shared trailers and all...right Matt? Right Sam?? I say just come out already and get it over with before this happens!

‘Fan’ B

This post is the brutal truth.  But there is one more vector in this rocket ride from the galaxy to the garbage dump....the quality of the Series itself.  Like the “6-year lie....the show’s “real creative director” is driving the Series from “excellence” to the garbage dump as well.  Start watching the Series from Season 1 and continue through Season 5....it plunges downward from excellence to a Season 4 flop...then gives us a little blip upward in Season 5.  This downward trajectory matches identically with the lie about their private lives.  As the lie became more ridiculous with time....so did the Series.  How do the people in charge of this circus keep their jobs????  Who knows....maybe the virus will be the real killer of this misery.  But I especially like this part of the post......” Of course the fly in the ointment in all this is if Sam has some little people in his life that look like him.”

FAN C

Well said, Fan A and Fan B  Since its inception, this ‘fake narrative’ has become more and more unbelievable and ridiculous.   I thought adding the ‘fauxgagement’ hit the all time low, but then add the ‘fauxmarriage’ to someone who could not swing his ‘bat’ in the direction of a woman if he wanted to.  He as well as Caitriona look like they swallowed a glass of sour milk when they are ‘forced’ to stand within 3 feet of each other.   Then add in the list of ‘hot sexy girlfriend’s’ that supposedly shared Sam’s bed and you have a runaway locomotive that’s going to soon hit a brick wall.  Sam’s calling Caitriona his ‘we are together AND we work together’ significant other to his ‘sister’ has caused this narrative to hit rock bottom.   I really don’t think it can go any lower....but then I never thought Sam would call Caitriona, the mother of his children, his ‘sister’.  I fully believe that all would have gone on as it’s always done....just beat the dead horse again and the ‘newbie’s’ will never know that it’s all a ‘shit show, UNTIL COVID19 hit the world with the Pandemic. Not only did it implode Hawaiigate, it’s now gotten into the Hollywood Hills with ‘social distancing’ guidelines. And we all know that Sex and Violence are the Hollywood $$$$$$$ makers.  Put that into Outlander language, Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe, who play Jamie and Claire Fraser will NOT BE ALLOWED TO TOUCH, KISS, OR HAVE HOT SMOLDERING SEX WITHIN SEASON 6.   OMG, and I thought Season 4 was bad...this will be the downfall of the series. Subscriptions with STARZ will cancel like flies on shit.  If by chance they do produce a Season 6, the ratings would plummet.  Who wants to watch Jamie and Claire have ‘fucking eye sex’, 6 feet from each other. Remember, no touching and you must wear a mask.   UNLESS, THE TIME HAS FINALLY COME TO TEAR DOWN THAT WALL OF LIES, SAVE THE SERIES, SAM AND CAITRIONA ARE MARRIED!   Because as a married couple, they can touch, kiss and have mind blowing sex within a scene....because “THEY ARE MARRIED”!    What’s it going to be Parnell? Who IMO, has his balls wedged between a vice with the prospect of losing Sony/STARZ/LG’s top ‘cash cow’...are you willing to sacrifice the Outlander, Season 6 and possibly more?   Or are you a smart businessman (cough, cough) and you and Hirsch will give your ‘ok’ to let the ‘Cait’ out of the bag and announce that Sam and Caitriona are married and have been since late 2015.  The balls in your court Parnell....and for once, use your brains instead of your mini balls to make the right decision.   I think your job and your career depend on it!

SEE ! Photographic proof!That’s Parnell standing right next to the Queen!

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2016/apr/07/conspiracy-theory-paranoia-aliens-illuminati-beyonce-vaccines-cliven-bundy-jfk

#samcait samand cait

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 98

98

   It was weird to have slow weeks again with all the excitement Keith had brought into his life. Keith had called to update him on things in Platt which weren’t exactly good. A scuffle had broken out between three vampire clans, so Lotor, and his generals, were now calling VOLTRON home for the foreseeable future. Asking far too much over Lance for Keith’s comfort. Keith and Shiro were both back in with Blades after the failure of a mission, though Keith was two weeks out of loop, so he’d had to work extra time to catch up on everything he’d missed. Then the last two weeks August had seemed to disappear into thin air, without seeing Keith. Lance honestly didn’t know where they’d gone, only that they were wankers for leaving him without Keith for so long.

  Filled in far too much, Sendak seemed to be the cause of the recent vampire fighting. The four clans suffering heavy casualties, which meant pretty much every night hunters and Blades were on the look out of for potential vampires turning humans to bolster their numbers. Plus they had to deal with werewolves getting all uppity with their mangy noses out of joint. Two murders had made their way into the news, the reports on the details varied differently with between each printed news report. Someone had brought up the question of it being related to the theft he and Keith committed, with that particular story disappearing within 6 hours of making it to socials. The Blades could make anything disappear, maybe even him if they got sick of all these vampire drama. Lance didn’t envy Keith at all. He knew his boyfriend was working hard, even harder as he tried to avoid his approaching birthday weekend... despite how freakin’ long it was until their holiday. The broody anger loaf as as bad at him over birthdays. He could have easily pushed it to the back of his mind, but instead he wanted all the information and considered hiking it ahead of time so they wouldn’t get lost.

  Lance was working in his own way. Pidge found them a “case” a few towns over. Lance didn’t want to go. He felt wiped from his heat. Pidge had no pity for him after a “romantic week away”, Lance ending up going. Matt coming along for the night and succeeding in pissing off Pidge by explaining away phenomenons with science. He was kind of right. There wasn’t the feeling of death in the building despite its age, nor any annoying shadows to ignore. Hunk saved them all from Pidge’s bad mood by suggesting the turn the video into a “debunk” video for the watchers. It was nice to have part of his old life back. He felt as if things were finally settling down for the Garrison Trio, and that they’d worked past his whole “vampire” issue. A new video landed him a couple of new clients seeking advice, giving him a chance to feel helpful in a different way from tagging along because Lotor wanted it.

  Vegged out on the sofa, their new family member mooed loudly from outside. Yeah. They’d kept the damn cow. Three weeks seemed too long to now be going out and finding the owner seeing she hadn’t been reported missing. They’d even named her Kaltenecker. Blue wasn’t fond of her. Her Royal Highness was sulking as it was. She and Kosmo had gotten pretty close, Lance feeling she missed the hyperactive pup as much as he missed Keith. She’d tried to be friendly with Kaltenecker, but was out the moment Kalternecker’s long slobbery tongue passed over her head. He didn’t like to admit that he slept with one of Keith’s shirts over his pillow these days, because it felt kind of stalkerish and really rather lame. He couldn’t help that he slept better with Keith’s scent close to him, despite the fact he felt a 45 year old man should probably have grown out of nightmares long ago.

  Matt and Rieva both tried to help with his nightmares. Lance appreciated the thought, but his dreams had been so weird lately that he had no idea what to make of them. Sometimes they were about him being turned. Sometimes he’d turned Keith in them and they were having the weirdest adventures. He’d had one dream where he was pregnant and Keith was on a quest to find him shorts... though, the worst dream he’d had was when Nyma and Rolo had kidnapped Keith and he’d come home to find his boyfriend dead. It took calling Keith to calm him down from that one.

  There was also one big change in the house that made Lance happy. Curtis had moved back in. When he’d come to check on him at the hotel, they’d talked, entertaining the idea of finding an apartment in Platt, only to decide that it was more practical if Curtis lived there. It was nice to have him back. Curtis felt as lost as he did over not being able to be in the field with Keith and Shiro. Having found a home outside VOLTRON, where his curse wasn’t such a big deal, Lance fully supported Curtis moving in and having fresh air and freedom. Plus, it helped to have someone get as emotional over soap operas as he did. Matt forced to watch the pair of them make fools of themselves as they’d yell at the TV over the script.

  With Rieva at her waitressing job, Lance having cleaned through the house, and nothing much to do, Lance was curled up against Curtis, Christmas shopping for their friends group, and trying to ignore the feelings of anxiety that came with waiting for Keith to check in with him. Seeing he was giving Keith a twin set of blades for his birthday, Lance was facing he dilemma of “Did he buy Keith another blade” or “Should be he buy him camera equipment without knowing anything about cameras”. His boyfriend really did get excited at the idea of stabbing things... Maybe too excited so he shouldn’t give him a potential murder weapon?

  He could always gift Keith a voucher to a camera equipment store, but he didn’t want to spend too much on the voucher and have Keith feel guilty over the cost of the gift. He could probably pick up a vintage camera as a gift...

  Then again, he’d seen some amazing antique blades. As well as custom jobs that seemed to scream Keith’s name at him. It was hard containing himself. Huge gifts would be nice, he’d spoil Keith rotten for every single bad birthday memory he had, yet a heartfelt gift was worth more than spending thousands. That’s why he loved that he had a small selection of Keith’s photos. His photography so super personal that the vampire felt kind of honoured. He adored it. He adored the photos of them all, the photos of the caves, but his favourite was of Keith and Kosmo cuddled up together, even more so of the ones where he was kissing Keith’s cheek. Now he was missing his boyfriend again. God. Okay. No more swords. Time to move on to Shiro and who better to ask than his boyfriend?

  “Hey, Curtis. What are you getting Shiro for Christmas?”

“I’m not going through this again”

Tilting his head back, Lance frowned up at Curtis

“What does that mean?”

Curtis sighed at him

“It means Keith nearly had a mental breakdown trying to decide on your gift. I will not go through that again”

Lance blinked at him, a warm feeling in his belly that his boyfriend cared that much. He didn’t blame Curtis for not wanting to go through that again, a stressed Keith could be very bossy and uncooperative

“No, I’m being literal here. I don’t want to get him the same thing as you. I’m tossing up between getting Keith another blade, or some camera equipment. I thought I’d move onto Shiro”

“Oh. I was sure you were edging into asking what you should purchase for Keith. He was quite the wreck the morning of your birthday. 5 cups of coffee, all in different cups. Pacing nonstop. Freaking out because he hadn’t purchased a present and it had to be just right and in no way lame”

  Lance huffed at Curtis. He really wanted to call Keith now... Their camping trip seemed so long away... 52 days. Every day counting down was being marked off on his office calendar and his friend calendar

“I am trying not to think about how much I miss my boyfriend. What should I get Shiro?”

Shiro was filled with “Dad” vibes. Sometimes it felt he was the only mature one around them

“You could get us matching T-shirts. I’m with stupid pointing to him, and his saying “I am stupid””

“Dude, that seems more like something you should give him. Maybe I’ll skip him for now”

“You could get him an ugly sweater?”

Lance hummed. Shiro was a closet nerd. He’d seen the bobble head collection... and the movie collection...

“That could work. Maybe some socks to make it feel like a dad present. Thanks for the idea. What are you getting him?”

“I’m thinking I should get him an ugly sweater now”

Lance rolled his eyes

“That’s what you told me to get him”

“But it’s such a good idea. Why don’t we all get him ugly sweaters?”

“Because you’re the one who’s going to have to live with the consequences”

“I don’t mind”

“Fiiiiine. But you better gift him something else to make up for it, or he’s really going to think we don’t like him”

“I think I’ll manage. Why are you shopping now?”

“So it’s all out the way. Postage gets hectic around Christmas and if there’s going to be delays than I want the extra time”

  He was letting his age show. But with two months to go before everyone started going mental for Chris, he wanted things all organised so he didn’t have the last minute rush to deal with. He had his eye on a nice outdoor setting as his birthday gift to himself, a little late, but if he timed it right he couldn’t always say it was an early Christmas present. He wanted something bigger to fit them all comfortably, once he’d extended the brickwork... maybe built a pen for Kaltenecker... ohhh... Kaltenecker could have her own stall near the house. They could build a doggy training course for Kosmo... and Matt...

“Curtis, do you know anything about construction”

“Not particularly. Dismantling measures... Explosives. Survival measures”

“Do you want to try building a cow pen with me?”

“No. And you will not be building one either. Go back to your Christmas shopping”

  Lance pouted. Not liking being told not to do something. It wasn’t an ego thing. It was something he’d heard so many times in his life. No matter how good he’d been, he wasn’t good enough

“I did all the repairs on the house for like the most part, and things are still standing”

“So you did the electrics, the plumbing, reroofing...?”

Well... no. The walls had to come down to tackle the mould and... his ego didn’t like what Curtis was saying

“I pulled down the walls and replaced them once I got rid of the mould”

“Great. You broke stuff. Speaking of broken stuff, Matt and Rieva broke the bed again”

“I heard. Maybe it’s time to get them another bed for that room? Instead of two singles pushed together?”

“Weren’t they planning on moving out once their probation ended?”

“That’s beside the point...”

  He really liked having them there. Not just because he’d become friends with them, but for the added security of having two werewolves in the off chance of things going south

“You’re acting delusional. Maybe it’s the stress of Christmas shopping?”

“I’m not stressed. And before you ask, I’ve already ordered your present”

“I know. I’ve been on your laptop”

“Dude! Privacy! I’ve got confidential client... you’re an arsehole”

Curtis started laughing as he snapped at him

“You should have seen your face”

“You should see what I’m going to do to yours”

Curtis brushed his hair back from his horn

“It’s because I’m horny, isn’t it? You wouldn’t hit a horny man”

Lance choked on air. Curtis laughing at him as he spluttered. Part of Curtis’s Christmas present might have to go missing in revenge. Sulkily, Lance snapped his laptop closed. His friend was a dick. He was a raisin cookie pretending to be filled with chocolate goodness

“I’m going to go make lunch while you think about your actions”

And check in on Matt who was doing “Top Secret Research”

“Oh, good. Food and free entertainment. This really is the life”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #klance #mpreg #bottomlance #top keith #vampire lance #ashratherose

[whumpookies]

Embedding knifes in the doorframe, knights banned from the kitchen and a cook on the warpath..Just what are they up to this time...

Sharing is caring reblogging is better!!!

The cook of Camelot

"Which way do you think it is?" Matthew asked as the two sat on the round table, the meeting long since ended leaving the hall quiet, "which way what?" Talia questioned her feet crossed on the table as she fetched arrows, "the cook, does she have it in for them, or do they start it?" She stopped her brow creased lips tightened "what brought this on?"

"Leon being chased out the kitchen, then a knife flying out the door embedding into the door frame"

"huh, lucky they ducked then"

"Percival was running with a chicken in his arms"

"Really?!"

"Leon, Percival and Gwaine are barred from the kitchen I heard from Lancelot"

"They ain't the brightest candle that's for sure" she muttered in disbelief.

"So? Do you think they start it or what?"

"hum well only one way to find out?"

"Oh no, How…" Matthew asked in a worried tone "we attempt to either befriend the cook or she chases us with a sword?"

"How we going to do that?!" Finishing her fletchling she grabbed her quiver and dropped down to the floor "ha, leave that to me".

"No" "why?" Talia hissed at Matthew both leaned against the wall opposite the kitchen, the bustle of the hall as servants passed hurrying to duties not bothering the two at all, "no way am I going in there! She threw a knife at them!"

"Just ask for an...an apple!"

"She'll run me through with a..a spatula!" Rolling her eyes she huffed, "really?!"

"Yes"

"fine I'll do it!"

"By all means go for it!" She stood quick to dodge the servants as she entered the kitchen, she was quick to spot the head cook, the broad shoulders and no mess features easy not that it was hard to spot "well, what do you want!" Talia unshaken back by the briskness internally grinning, voice instantly softening her features became more innocent something she was trained well-to-do thank you very much "mam, I was wondering if I could have an apple?"

The cook studied the young lady before her before huffing "Just one" the cook looked away as Talia was quick to grab the apple and leave.

"So just what did that achieve?" Matthew asked as he munched away on the apple after leaving the hallway and sat on a window, "that was step one of the study"

"which was?"

"How scary is the cook"

"and?"

"All bark, no bite, but handy with sharp objects!"

"ah so now what?"

"step two, getting in the good books"

"How are we doing that?"

"Pheasants"

" Oh! I like your style".

"The hunt leaves tomorrow I'll have pheasants in a plenty" Arthur reassuringly bellowed as he barged into the kitchens, not even a by your leave as he did "don't bother!" The cook shouted over the plucking and chattering, before Arthur's very eyes laid upon the large work tables was fifty pheasants and most of the kitchen staff plucking away, "what? how?!" "Wouldn't you like to know, now out!" Talia smirked as she leaned against the door as a perplexed Arthur trundled past an annoyed looked graced his features "stage two complete?"

"Oh yes, now for stage three"

"what's stage three?"

"Sweet treats"

"huh?"

"Apples, we'll need Merlin for this"

"We're going to die, have you met the orchard farmer!"

"Don't be dramatic" she laughed grabbing Matthew by his collar dragging the protesting protector with her..

Three heads popped over the wall staring at the orchard, "why?" "Why what?" Talia asked looking to Merlin as they studied the apple orchard "the apples"

"call it an experiment"

"just what are they for?" Matthew laughed softly looking to Merlin "don't ask Merlin trust me, when Talia's like this you don't ask"

"are you two finished?" Both sharply looked over nodding silently "good, now before the farmer comes back, Merlin can you shake them trees?"

"Those three"

"yep"

"then what" Talia grinned holding up the cloth bags " easy Merlin, grab them and run!"

"I don't want to know what there for do I?" Talia laughed as both her and Matthew readied to jump the wall, within moment three tree fulls of apples tumbled to the ground, "now" Talia laughed as the three jumped the wall, quick as a whip the three set to work grabbing the apples throwing them into cloth bags "oi!!!"

"Crap Run!"

"The cook has them Sire" Leon explained as before the round table of knights and future king stood a very angry orchard farmer, with a large round bruise upon his forehead!

Arthur felt a headache coming already "how?" "The cook won't say, just that she's using the apples"

"three whole bloody trees worth!?" The farmer butted in his face red as the same apples that were.. Commandeered, "aruelis, I'll get to the bottom of this you have my word"

"you best! Those are my prized apples they are!"

"Happy now?" Matthew asked lowly attempting to not grin as they stood out the way allowing the shadows of the hall to hide them "nope, but lucky Merlin was with us"

"lucky your aim is ace as well"

"I didn't mean to knock him out! How was I supposed to know apples could pack a punch!" "Oh and I suppose your blame Merlin for levitating the apple first?"

"What do you think!?"

Rolling his eyes they both watched the farmer storm out, "so now what Talia?"

"Sweet treats part two"

"why do I get a feeling this will be interesting"

"we'll need mellow flowers, dry cow dung and a catcher!"

"Huh?"

"Come on, we'll need Gwaine for this one".

"So you want me to..what?" Talia rolled her eyes as she looked up at the beehive as she rubbed mallow flower on her arms "catch the beehive"

"why?"

"Because I don't want it to smash?" She reasoned huffing as she readied her bow "what about the bees?"

"Matt will smoke then into a stupor" Matthew stood with a smoking branch of dried cow dung waving it around grinning "and your?"

"Shooting down the beehive"

"right..why?"

"Because, it's honey?"

"Good point!"

"You sure you don't want mellow flowers Gwaine?"

"I'm not rubbing flowers on my arms, now shoot!"

"Okay, don't say I didn't warn you, ready!" Arrow nooked it quickly flew up to the branch breaking the hive from its safety of the tree, it fell with ease twisting and turning as it fell from a height, buzzing with angry occupants before landing hard into Gwaine's awaiting arms..

"What happened to Gwaine?" Lancelot asked as he cornered Talia on the training field "why, what happened to him?"

"I know you to well"

"two months Lancelot"

"yet it seems longer"

"so it does" both now sat on the rampant looking out at world before them Lancelot grinned shaking his head, he would get to the bottom of this one way or the other, even if it was for his own amusement "so Gwaine?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because he is with Giaus, being treated for a lot bee stings"

"really?"

"And the cook seems to be making honey cakes though she won't say who for"

"you don't say"

"Talia what are you up to?" She grinned looking up slightly to Lancelot "ask me no questions I'll tell no lies"

"I'm beginning to think that's your motto" he smiled as he leaned closer their lips met for a moment but that moment was worth it, it was pure and simple like the spirits themselves approved, when they broke away, a smile graced Talia's lips as her eyes traced Lancelot's own "just be careful, Arthur won't be impressed if you injure the knights" he murmured softly as she rolled her eyes "no promises, but let's seal it with a kiss just in case"

"your in-courageable"

"what's new?" She grinned…

"Honey cakes" Talia whipped around quickly coming face to face with the head cook, the burly woman smiled..fondly..at the young woman for in her arms was a basket of warm honey cakes! "Thank you" Talia smiled brightly as she took the bundle from the woman "my pleasure, your such a dear, pheasants, apples and honey, always polite..how prince Arthur didn't knight you I have no idea, but don't you worry we'll look after you" she reassured before patting Talia's arm and waltzing off towards the kitchens,

"bloody hell" Matthew muttered in surprise as he swiped a honey cake "indeed"

"so, what have we actually learned?"

"Apparently kindness goes along way..but cunning-ness is even better! Specially if it involves pheasants, apples and fresh honey"

"Wonder what she'd give us if we get a deer?!"

"I'll get the bows"..

To be continued?

#lancelot #lancelot deserved better #merlin #fanfiction #fanfiction writer