#wants no one working to the bone. which is admirable! the streaming service was a bad idea but they're not the literal devil like some thin

[lumiereswig]

I'm still seeing a lot of angry takes in the tags about how excessive Watcher's current costs are and how all fans really want, apparently, is "just shane and ryan sitting in a basement" back again. While I do think Watcher is probably spending over budget and that's a real issue, a lot of the takes I'm seeing show a fundamental misunderstanding of how video production works and where costs actually lie. So a few quick things that I just keep seeing that are bothering me:

It was never just Shane and Ryan in a basement. BFU did a great job selling that conceit and making sure you never saw anyone beyond them and maybe TJ, but they absolutely had other crew members with them on ghost hunts and they didn't do all the work on BFU themselves. This Q&A from Season 2 lists 36 people on staff for Buzzfeed Unsolved. It's fair to make arguments that Watcher may or may not need 25 people, but those arguments should not be coming from a place of "before it was just Shane and Ryan and nobody else."

If you don't know how many people are needed to make a professional video from a TV/film standpoint, you will not have a reasonable grasp of why Watcher wants to keep 25 people on staff. Sure, some YouTubers get by with a ring light and a contracted editor. The Watcher team have stated repeatedly that they do not want to work as just YouTubers and see themselves more as a production studio—so why do people keep referencing the YouTube model to understand their business? This is like asking the local shake shop why it doesn't function like the kids' lemonade stand down the block. The item category is similar but they're not trying for the same products or process.

The "gold dusted food" is not the big budget sink you think it is. On most TV shows I've worked on it's normal to partner with businesses that are shown onscreen and work out a deal where the price of the product (in this case the gold food) is reduced or eliminated in exchange for the free publicity. Watcher very likely made a deal with every restaurant it worked with to make the Korea trip affordable for the company. The real budget spends are on things you're probably not seeing but that still matter: camera and lighting equipment is expensive, insurance for that equipment is expensive, business overhead and paying your staff are expensive. So again—it's fine to critique Watcher for the streaming plan and the perceived budgetary issues, but go into this knowing the costs might not be coming from the things you see onscreen.

My source is that I work in TV and film and actually have a clue on how the industry functions. Again, 36 people worked on Unsolved (and those were the people mention in Season 2—who knows how big the team blew up past that in later seasons). Entertainment work is real work, and demands decent equipment, competent staff, and the same types of business and budget problems you'd find in any other business (overhead, staffing, etc.). Feel free to critique Watcher's business model, but first try to understand where that model is coming from and what goals it's attempting to serve.

#watcher #watcher entertainment #rant! sorry! couldn't see another take from someone who clearly thinks video work is just fun and games because “it's entertainment right” #funny how people expect normal business costs and problems for any other career but if it's involved with production they think everything #just magically happens and is made entirely by the onscreen talent. nutso #anyway i think watcher is probably trying its best; maybe got too overexcited; but cares about quality of life for its employees and #wants no one working to the bone. which is admirable! the streaming service was a bad idea but they're not the literal devil like some thin #they're 3 self described idiots doing this for the first time. they backpedaled. i don't see this as the death of the company & i'm gonna #keep supporting them :)

[undead-notunreasonable]

HAPPY DRAC-O-WEEN || PART 6 OF 31 🎃🦇 ||

For days and nights the time was gone from Dracula’s mind, the complete & total darkness of the blind fold, the random hours of visitation & feeding, who knew what time of day it was. Was it morning, noon, or evening? Was there ever even a morning? All he came to know in that darkened state was that his hearing had improved threefold. Not only could he hear the soft steps of Elizabeth when she came inside but their humming conversation from the floorboards. The sound raising into the air in waves like a radiator newly turned on, causing curtains to flow beneath them. Head rolled to the left. There was no sound of a city, not one of his beloved Whitechapel, the thrum of the underground or howl of emergency services rushing through the streets. Birdsong was prominent however. He must be in the countryside, the lack of city sounds filling the room was evident. But how did they get him here that fast? It couldn’t be anywhere too far from London, which direction he hadn’t a clue since Whitechapel were rather deep into the city centre. How did they even transport him so far without being seen in the first place? “Count Dracula, where have you gone? Why are you not obeying my wishes? Why are you not joining me?” the voice hissed, swirling all different directions, as though it were searching in different pipelines for him, searching an entire city for his follower. Dracula noted the voice had grown fainter the past few days. Elizabeth’s plan was working. He only felt the smallest of pulls that could be mistaken for a small annoyance such as a twitching muscle & nothing more. The blood he’d been fed led him to learn so much about those strangers. Where they’d worked, who they’d met that day, what coffee orders they had & were never satisfied with, the miserable marriage they were trapped in & the person they were having an affair with. Better than the telly box that humans consumed far too much of, never enriched them. 

God, he stank. The smell of stale sweat from being starved days at a time, feeling his body detox, shiver & shake until he were filled with a rage that made him swelter even more in the strain that was his weakened state. Not to mention the blood that dribbled down his face that Elizabeth never washed away after feeding him. In the beginning it’s remaining odour teased at his hunger, making him hunger for more, which in turn caused him to yell out painfully for more feeding. He’d almost convinced Lucy to bring him sustenance but she somehow broke out of it. How unkind she’d become. But now the stench was becoming putrid, crude, almost sinking into his skin to stain. The almost metallic scent had now dried into some form of sharp odour that stung the nose, breathing it in would just burn the back of the throat, you could vomit it up & have the smell linger inside the mouth unable to wash it out, just utterly consumed by it. 

The light slapping of feet entered the room, followed by a gentle sigh. Dracula had aged a little under her care. A few wrinkles, the odd grey hair streaming through the black. He didn’t look too bad with a little age on him she thought. “I’m going to have to trust your word.” Elizabeth announced in a flat word “Don’t make me regret it. You know how handy I can be with a whip when I punish liars.” a tone of flirtation lingered in her words but she still remained serious. “Have you been hearing any more voices? Apart from myself & Lucy. No doubt you’ve been having riveting conversations with yourself--” “--He’s fading.” Dracula interrupted his confession almost desperately, wanting his hands unbound, wanting himself cleaned up & in fresh clothing. It wasn’t arrogant to be clean. “His voice is trailing around, but it’s fading out. He can’t find me. Please, Elizabeth, let me down, let me bathe, keep me bound in you must but please..” his voice wavered & trembled in his desperation. 

A coy smile played at her lips as she thought his request over “Very well. I’ll let you down. Besides, you know how I love when you beg for my mercy.” fingers slide smoothly onto the wall, followed by those bare feet, crawling & scaling up the wall like a spider until she reached the bed, she straddled him once again, more so for grip rather than anything sexual. “When I untie your legs, I’m going to bring them around my waist one by one, the same with arms. You’re weak but do your best to hold on, understand me?” she admired him under her cuffs one last time. When the Count agreed, she reached back, clicking the chain free. Immediately she caught at his ankle, flipping back with the gravity, stopping it from going too far to hurt him even more. The freedom of movement of just one leg was heaven for the Count, letting out a satisfied groan. He’d developed sores on his skin, but she knew those would heal after he’d eaten. Slowly, she curled his leg around her waist, himself letting out little mews of pain at the alien movement Another leg, another catch, another fold. “I would keep you locked up more often if I knew you’d be making such cute noises, Omor.” Elizabeth whispered cheekily, letting her hair tickle at his skin. She reached up above his head, clicking one cuff free, and carefully bringing his arm to her shoulder, followed by the other, a vice like grip holding the pair of them onto the bed. “Hold tight.” she instructed, allowing the pair of them to fall gracefully toward the ground, a hard thud as their combined weight me the hard wood floor. Like a folding chair, Elizabeth unwrapped the man from her body, his feet wobbling under the sudden force of gravity. He hadn’t felt so mortal in so long. He hadn’t felt so weak in centuries, feet barely able to greet the ground as he attempted to walk. It was a good thing that Elizabeth possessed the strength of a vampire since she seemed to manage to carry them both even with how fragile she looked. A good distraction. The blind fold remained however, he wondered why but he hadn’t the energy anymore to ask, just wanting fresh food, company, and clean clothing. Dusty wooden floor turned to frozen cold stone step, small stones stabbing at the soles of his feet as he trudged down once more, like tiny daggers torturing at him. They both stopped short suddenly, and heard the rumbling of a door handle to his right, then creak followed by a flooding of warmth. The air was muggy & heavy, sitting low on his chest. A scraping of a chair from ahead a short ways, guided down, and then suddenly a burst of light. “Gah!” he groaned out, hands rushing to his eyes. Those burned like he imagined hell would & instantly removed them, tormented with a way to cope with the shock of light. He only kept his eyes closed for a moment longer before blinking himself awake. It wasn’t even a full light, everything was soft candlelight. He carefully cracked his neck from side to side as he looked, then spotted the bath, filled almost to the brim with steaming water. 

“It’s called a bath.” Elizabeth chimed, going to another candle that hadn’t been lit, lighting it with another. “Quite frankly, Dracula, you stink of death. I mean of literal death. I’m not having that in my home, especially when I spent another mans loose change on Yankee Candle that even I don’t think will cut through your stench. They’re worth it, believe me.” a playful grin as she walked toward a cabinet to take out a towel. When she saw he hadn’t undressed she scoffed “Don’t tell me locking you up has made you all shy about being nude? I’ve seen you naked, Omor. We used to have amazing sex back in Italy. I taught you everything I know, be glad I’m not asking for credit.”

The Count followed her order, wobbling hands fumbled at the buttons, one by shaking one. He didn’t posses the strength or care to fold the bloodied clothes neatly. The trousers were a little bit more of a struggle, and Elizabeth knew they would be. Like a good nurse, she unbuttoned them, helping him slide out, and over towards the bath. She made a once over of his body, but surprisingly didn’t make a rude comment. Instead, she gave him a nod & made her way toward the door, promising that a cup of dinner will be with him soon and that he should focus on cleaning up in the meantime. Alone in a dimmed bathroom, Dracula carefully eased his fragile body into the steaming water, already feeling it working its magic on his stiff bones. He noticed the age spots on his hands, the small greys that painted his chest. How long had he been out for?

#gif credit charlesdances #ITS FINALLY HERE #sorry i was painting and bleaching everrryyyttthhhiiinnnggg #just have a lil bloody nakey bitey boi #BBC Dracula #Dracula #Drac-O-Ween #Claes Bang #Dracula fanfiction #Dracula Fanfic #horror #halloween #horror fanfic #horror fiction #horror fanfiction #halloween fiction #halloween fanfiction

[heartxofxthra]

Sooo, I wrote a little piece for Tavra, most of this was born on a very boring train ride, but I had the idea bouncing around in my head for a while. 

Since this is technically not an RP, feel free to reblog if you like it :D

Under the cut cause it's quite long.

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

Journal entry The wind carries the scent of the storm again. It's warm, humid, dangerous... but tempting. 

It reminds me of that night... How could I ever forget it, after all? A storm was rolling in then too, I'd just come back from patrol, soaked to the bone after we'd all pulled double duty securing everything that wasn't nailed down in place already, and getting the few villagers that stupidly found themselves out in the middle of the storm seen safely back to their homes before it got worse. Oh how I longed for the warm comfort of a bed that night... I thought I was so close to it, but I was wrong. 

I was summoned to the great hall by order of my mother. I thought that was unusual, she'd usually call me to her chambers this late at night, but nonetheless I answered, trudging down the hall in wet boots I hadn't yet had a chance to change. 

As I got closer and closer, the halls started reverberating with raised voices. Accusations, slander, insults. 

I didn't know what I was walking in on until my palm touched against the ornate stained glass of the door, and every sense I had screamed danger. The scent of the storm was still pulsing against my nostrils. When I pushed the doors open, I found myself scrutinized by a room of sharp eyes. The Sifan maudra, her Elders, the Vapran court, my sister Seladon, and the sharpest stare of them all belonged to my mother herself. I thought I'd been careful with my escapades, but someone had found out and told on me. One of the Paladins, hoping to gain the All-maudra's favor. He didn't earn hers, and he'd lost mine. I never quite trusted them the same after that night... 

They hadn't dared to follow me too far, hadn't known who I was seeing, nor had they been able to recognize their ship, and for a moment I felt relief. But the moment didn't last. 

My mother was furious at my affair. I denied it, but she wouldn't have any of it. She never believed me, not even all those times I was innocent, why would she start now? With the entire reputation of the maudren house on the line? She warned the Sifan maudra of keeping her clan in check, almost threatened her at that. To find the "responsible" and punish them, repercussions promised otherwise. And then all were dismissed. 

Save for me. My name never felt more painful rolled off her lips than on that night.

I felt their footsteps leaving as if they were treading upon my very soul, the echoing of the chamber mimicking the thoughts colliding inside my head, in tune with the pattering of rain on the windows. I felt their scowls burn the back of my head. Their helping of scorn and humiliation was my fault, after all, and I did not blame them. I bowed my head and avoided their glances. And yet, even then, I knew that they would not keep their promise.

The Sifa's priorities had never been to punish one of their own kind for something as trivial as this. They would feign and stall until the interest was lost, and then have it be lost forever like a trinket sunk beneath the waves. Never would they hand over one of their own willingly to the wrath of the All-maudra. I admired them for that. The Vapra had always been eager to sell each other out for influence, or less. 

I never understood why my mother had always held such bad blood for the Sifa. Many knew there was something buried deep, but if anyone held more knowledge than I did, they refused to tell. From where I was standing, it seemed like a petty feud that would see generations of scorn until someone, like her, would dare look past the curtain.

I dreaded when the hall was left empty. All of my instincts were clawing at me to get away. The silence felt like a mountain upon my shoulders.

I had seen this coming, somehow it had always been at the back of my mind, a lone thought coming and going like the bounce of an echo off the mountains, you'd hear it once and it would drift off again. 

I was left alone with my mother and sister. She had to witness this, after all, save she would ever think of doing the same. I hadn't managed uttering a word before her palm connected to my cheek. It rattled my teeth and my thoughts. I barely looked up, that another came. The second time I didn't look up again. She said I'd brought shame to her name, to our legacy, that I muddied it. How she thought she'd raised me better than this. How I'd betrayed her, and her trust. How she'd have to bow her head in disgrace because of me. How it would take trine upon trine to repair the damage I'd so recklessly caused. I was called foolish, selfish, perverted, my lover slandered as if she had been a mere trinket of pleasure I'd chased just to spite her, because in the end it was always about mother.

I couldn’t understand how someone could speak so foul of a person they hadn’t even laid eyes upon. When they didn’t know just how much warmth their crystalline laughs brought Tavra, how she’d feel her heart skip a beat when her hair twirled around right before their eyes would meet. How her touch brought feeling where Tavra had once thought it all stamped out. Haunting thoughts quieted by Onica’s wisdom, and night terrors soothed by her mere voice... 

Onica... 

My mind and my heart drifted to her like a windsifter on a warm current, even as my mother's harsh words bounced off my ears. I knew in that moment that home was not there. Home was far away, on salt-stained skirts, auburn curls, and sun-kissed skin. Home was on the rocking waves under a ship, curled up in warm arms that had so reluctantly let me go, even despite my promises that I'd return soon. 

For the first time, I understood what home really meant. Before, I had thought it was just an empty word that people threw around. I never grasped any of it, never could relate to those stories and feelings. But as humiliation tore out bits of my soul, they knew well where they wanted to fly off to. 

And so did I. 

Tears began to run down my cheeks, tentatively at first, then pouring. They stung after a while, and it was wonderful. They were happy, and it felt as if every tear was less of a weight on my heart.

I looked up, and my eyes fell on Seladon. I had never seen her more torn in my life than she looked now, desperately keeping her tongue. I wished I could tell her to be brave. My mother's glare softened. She took my tears for repentance, and when I said I was sorry, she accepted it with pride. 

In truth, I was sorry for never being enough. Sorry for always being wrong, for being a disappointment. I was sorry for ever putting my doubts between me and Onica. I was sorry I ever dared to say my mother could be better than the resentment which consumed her. I was sorry I ever dared to believe she would understand, that it would bridge the chasm between our people, and that she would be capable of putting her own feelings aside for just a moment. I was sorry that I believed and I was wrong. I was sorry I was still sat there, knelt before her, when I knew I was truly loved and wanted elsewhere. She thought she was teaching me a lesson, but in truth... She only taught me I didn't belong with her. 

Mother punished me, of course. My rank was stripped away, and I would be put into grunt service again. I would eat, sleep, and dress like a commoner, so I would appreciate my place better. 

The captain was given orders to keep me under lock and key at nights, guarded so that I wouldn't even think of running off again. But if she'd ever truly listened to me, she'd have known the guards were prone to getting drunk, on Sifan liquor nonetheless. She would have also known I had learned to pick locks. 

I'd never flown with such abandonment before, the storm didn't scare me any longer. It carried me like a feather, with my wings feeling every ripple and vibration in the current as if I had been born on it. I was laughing as the rain was splashing my face and trickling through my shirt, like a kind forest stream. 

When Onica saw me, she was furious. She couldn't believe I had flown there in such a storm. I kissed her like my life depended on it, for it did. Her warm, smooth lips breathed life into me like I felt I was experiencing for the first time. 

I made love to her that night, I gave myself fully onto her with every inch of my being, no shame or fear or boundary. I worshipped her in our bed, showed her just how much I loved her, and oh how she loved me in return... I told her everything that happened, and told her that I wasn't going back. That I didn't want to hide anymore. 

I don't know if it was sorcery, or if my heart just learned to hear her wisdom clearly, but she convinced me to go back. That a fugitive's life was not something that I wanted, and it would not let our love live as we would want to, reminded me that my sisters were left behind, and that they still needed me. Perhaps... though the bile it brought to think about it, I was being selfish too. She is truly an Elder her people would be fortunate to follow. 

I thanked her, and kissed her sweetly, and for a few more hours, we sat together, bodies wrapped around each other like one, talking dreams to each other. Dreams that didn't seem so impossible now that I wasn't afraid of them. 

Morning found me back in confines, door locked as if it had never even been opened. I worked diligently through mud and muck to earn my place again, never a protest or complaint. I accepted the humiliation willingly, because I knew this was not my fate, but simply a cover I was striving for. Mother thought I was reformed, thought she'd taught me a lesson. In truth, she'd only made it clear I needed to hide better and nothing more, and that's just what I did. 

I received back my crown and my rank with back straight and chin high. My mother was proud. I was too. 

They wouldn't catch me ever again.

#the muses: tavra #finally got my wits together enough to clean this up and post it #my writing

[t0th3nin3s]

The Damned | M

NEX7 - Fan Chengcheng

M- Mafia theme/ language, violence & some smut

Chapter. Two

It was an easy task: Stay away. Protect yourself as much as you can.

But life had other plans.

“And you got vip because?” You question Yuqi, who only smiles and pats the couch next to her. A week later and you were both back at the same bar/ lounge area , enjoying bottle service as a reward for Yuqi’s terrible work week. Along with some of her other friends and coworkers.

“Oh stop with the 21 questions and enjoy yourself, no one can bother us here.” Yuqi confesses later on in the night, needing to bring about the sour reality of who you met last week at that exact place. Ignoring the red flags , you go along with it. Living in the moment , till you felt the need to head to the restroom. Alone.

The walk towards the ladies room was fine , until you began walking back and was blocked by a six foot tall frame - which seemed to smell like peppermint and oak mixed together. Glancing up the dark suit, you were once again met with two dark orbs. The same ones who have been tormenting your lonely nights.

“I knew you’d be back,” he smiled wide, his eyes shinning with pure happiness as you stood before him. But , you were shocked. He looked ... handsome as ever. Standing taller than you remembered, and his broad frame made you feel smaller. He was huge. Everything about him was... larger than life itself and at some point it was a bit overwhelming.

Fearing the worst. You tried to side step him, trying your best to leave him behind but who were you kidding , your smaller frame could never outrun a big man like him.

“Can you please let me pass?” maybe it was in the amount of drinks you’ve had that made you somewhat brave , or the fact that this asshole was really pushing your limits, that you finally broke.

Chengcheng stood firm, cocking his head to the side as he took in your words. Surprised , to say the least that a foreigner like yourself wanted nothing to do with him. But as the cocky bastard that he was.. he teased some more.

“Tsk tsk, I’m not that easy baby. I need something in return,” he spoke as a wicked grin grew on his face, his brows lifted in a way that made you roll your eyes. There was no way you could bypass him, as much as Yuqi warned you about him , he seemed like every other jerk you’ve met. Nothing special.

“What is it?” You replied sharply, your hands going to your hip in a sign of protest to his idiocies. You expected vulgar language, a demeaning demand coming from his lips but instead, he smiled again.

“What’s your name?”

His hands, back in his pockets, he watched you curiously as your eyes grew. Your jaw almost dropped hearing his simple demand , was he serious? But after a few beats, he remained unmoved.

“Oh, Uh... y/n.” Your voice shook a bit as you admired his features, he seemed to be pleased in himself as he side stepped and let you go. It was strange, honestly. The way he asked for nothing else but your name , but as you walked past him going towards your vip area, you couldn’t help but glance back. It was quick... actually, since he was gone immediately.

You let that bubble inside you head. Wondering every second why he only asked you a question and disappeared. It was truly bothering you , and who were you going to tell if your best friend forbid you from talking to him in the first place and at that point in the night she was closer to drunk than sober.

Again, your mind was a mess making you leave the comfort zone of the vip and approach the bar area , needing a different kind of drink. Something stronger with a little more burn.

“Anything with Tequila, please.” You begged the bartender, getting a short smile and a nod from him as he rummaged through the bottles behind him. You stood , waiting patiently as your drink was being made when , once again, the crowded bar suddenly felt empty.

“You know , apart from being ridiculously beautiful you are extremely rude.” His voice entered your ears and sat within your soul the longer you stood frozen besides him.

Chengcheng made himself comfortable next to you on the bar, suddenly making everyone around you seem to evaporate into thin air.

“What?” You ask, lifting your head up to reach his eyes on his tall frame.

“You never seemed to ask for my name, would that be because you already know it?” The grin which grew on his face , his fair skin shinning as the lights bounced around the bar- hitting the glass making colors come alive all around you. It was beautiful, to put it lightly, this man was getting to you. And as you swallowed your despair, you let the moment sink in.

“Fan Chengcheng.”

You spoke his name like it was cursed , whispering it softly. Every letter seeming to roll off of your tongue , tasting almost deliciously. He smiled, taking the seat next to you, bringing you between his large legs to keep you closer. You glanced around once you woke from the hazy realization, needing to run away. But before you were able to say or do anything, your drink was placed in front of you. Chengcheng waving the bartender away, leaving your cash still in your hand, unable to pay for it. Trying your best to avoid all contact , you watched him from the corner of your eye.

“Dont worry about money whenever I’m around,” he stated as calmly as ever. His eyes glanced around, finally ending on you. The slight twinkle in his eyes made you choke back your urge to scream into the oblivion, your skin soon prickling with anticipation or something close to wanting to peel away from your exterior self and disappear. But yet, on the other hand, you enjoyed basking in his presence. His aura strong yet gentle enough to stay around a little longer.

“Well, thank you.” You shyly say as you taste your drink. It was a bit stronger than usual, but that slight burn was more than welcome.

“You can call me Adam, by the way.”

He said as he scooted closer, you stood frozen between his thighs now. Feeling his warmth almost immediately, his cologne hitting your nose making you take a deep intake. Savoring him slyly. But letting his words reach your mind, you cocked your head.

“Adam?” You question , finally turning to watch him. Almost gasping at his proximity. He was closer than you thought, but with such a close connection, your eyes couldn’t help but wander. Falling onto those two perfectly placed moles on his neck, making your imagination soar with unwanted thoughts. His black button up was open slightly, letting his collar bone make an appearance too.

“It’s my American name, plus, it tends to be easier for foreigners.” He scoffs, not pleased with his own words. But you knew what he meant, it wasn’t new. But something in the way he was speaking to you, made it seem like you knew him. Like as if in your past life , he was someone of importance to you.

“I like Chengcheng better.” You confess, going to take another sip of your drink. That was brave of you , but something about it made you seem powerful. Blame it on the alcohol, if you will, but the way his brow lifted at your words , made you seem like the greatest woman ever. He was intrigued, casually biting his bottom lip in needs to stop himself from whatever his mind is demanding. But as you straighten yourself, finishing off your drink, you notice Chengcheng get closer.

“I like you.” He bluntly states. Making your skin heat up by the way his voice seemed to drop a few octaves , crawling into your blood stream and straight to your soul. You stood frozen. Unable to process his words , but you felt him inch closer. His large frame towering over you once again, the club behind him disappearing into thin air as you took a deep breath of his aroma. So strong. So sexy. So powerful.

“I don’t care,” you shyly reply , avoiding his glare but something in the moment made you feel weak. Weaker than usual, so you slowly tilted your head up, admiring the way his lips looked when he smiled but more importantly, the way his eyes seem to shine once you stopped to take in his beauty, it was breathtaking.

“I highly doubt that. Because ever since you first stepped foot into my bar, you haven’t been able to keep your eyes and thoughts off of me.” He huffed. Bringing out the cocky fuck he was , but as he spoke, his arm gently took you in. Encasing you in his world. The shiver which ran up your spine made you realize your mistake , he was untouchable and yet, all you wanted to do was touch him.

Your eyes wavered, but Chengcheng already knew he had you on the palm of his hand , all he needed to do was make his final move.

“Come with me,” his slow but sensual tone was the final straw for your overly heated physique to come crashing down. The battle in your head was coming to terms with this man, every second you stood there. In his arms. Admiring his brown eyes. It seemed to make sense , how could you possibly deny such power? Everything about him was ethereal, his expensive clothing to his fancy cologne which seemed to be imported. Of course. Only the finest things for such a filthy monster.

“No.”

His eyes grew. Shocked with your answer, heck, even you were taken back with your own voice. It didn’t sound like you , but maybe something deep within your subconscious was brave enough to deny him.

“I mean you no harm.” He added , taking a step back to give you space. You scoffed to his words , not believing his genuine statement. Chengcheng was baffled. No one has acted in such a way towards him. To say , this was new to him was putting it lightly. He didn’t like it , not one bit. And as he placed his hands in his pockets , you knew it was over. He glared at you , taking in your expression before turning around and walking away. Once he was a few feet off, you couldn’t help but finally take a deep breath. He was intoxicating and you couldn’t handle it. Whenever he was close it was like he had full control of your mind , body and soul. You glanced around , watching as your friend continued to party, unaware of your mistake that almost set you back.

But that’s what happened.

And for a while , he kept his distance. Avoiding that bar as much as you could. Yuqi would randomly ask you about Chengcheng, wondering why he wasn’t trying anything anymore and you would only shrug. You didn’t know what happened. Maybe he got the hint to leave you alone. But even though you were pleased by that , something inside of you wanted him around once more. Having his attention was nice. For once in your life , you felt wanted.

You thought that would last longer till one fateful night. As you and Yuqi walked out of a bar on the other side of town, a strange matte black Audi was parked right outside. For some odd reason, you felt like you knew that car. It was too lavish to be parked in this part of town, and for it to be randomly parked right in front of the bar was ... weird. Too soon we’re your thoughts interrupt as the driver slowly steps out. A silver business suit hugged his large frame effortlessly as he rounded the car and stood before you. A scowl clear on his face as he watched you try to balance yourself and Yuqi, who was blacked out drunk.

“You won’t go to my bar anymore but you’ll risk your safety in this shit place. Get in my car.” Chengcheng harshly whispered. His face sat in an unwanted bored expression as he signaled for the passenger side. Through the hazy drunk mess you were in , everything seemed to go in slow motion. Having one of his men carry Yuqi off into another car as Chengcheng guided you to his. It was all a blur till you woke from that , seeing as you sat next to him as he sped down the freeway. Your senses heightened. Red flags were everywhere as you glanced around his clean fancy car.

“Yuqi. What did you do to Yuqi, that’s my friend. Where is my friend.” Your voice shook as fear set into your bones. Chengcheng seemed to be calm. His left hand gripping the steering wheel as his right hand rested on the gearshift. And even if your mind was on high alert , you couldn’t help but take in the man who sat before you.

“She was disgustingly intoxicated, I had my men take her to the hospital to get some fluids and maybe sober her up. You know, that’s very dangerous how much the both of you drink and the fact that you roam the streets while in that drunk state is unacceptable. Do you know the dangers you could face?”

He lectures you causing your head to hurt as a pounding began. But most of all, you were surprised by his words.

“What are you ... my father? I can take care of myself , so stop acting like you don’t drink.” You spat back, going to massage your temples as the pain kept growing. Chengcheng noticed and reached behind his seat, bringing forward a water bottle and handing it to you.

“I don’t. It’s a nasty habit which I stay away from.” He casually confesses making you come to a pause in your drinking. The water was fresh and somewhat chill and even though it tasted delicious, a sour taste lingered in your mouth. Chengcheng’s words were something you were not expecting, he doesn’t drink. At all?

“But, you own a bar?” Confused as ever , you state. To which he only chuckles.

“And? That is a business which I’m really proud of , that says nothing about the type of man I am. Or , does it? Were you already judging me without even giving me a chance?” He accuses , seeming hurt as he turns to watch you. Out of the freeway, the first red light gave him the opportunity to look at your dumbfounded expression. Not even realizing, he was driving you into a fairly gorgeous side of town, buildings towering closer to the clouds than you could ever imagine. And yet, you sat bewildered by this man was said to be a conniving thug. An evil son of a bitch. A monster of the streets.

“N-No, no. I just-”

“Assumed? And here I thought you were different,” he shakes his head , a slight smile daring to appear as he proceeds to drive down the empty streets. You felt dumb , you felt like a jerk for thinking worse of him but what were you supposed to think? The knowledge of those around you have done nothing but scare you with false words about him.

“I’m sorry.” You peep. Suddenly shy, you drop your head unable to look at him anymore. Embarrassed.

“It doesn’t matter, that happens to me a lot. I don’t care what people have to say about me though, as long as those who are close to me can respect my space, then I’m alright in this world.” He spoke with such conviction , it was hard not to look up and admire him once more.

He was sitting back in his seat, his body seeming as relaxed as ever as he watched you intently. His eyes turned hooded and dark the longer the both of you sat quietly in his car, just letting the moment get hotter by the second. It’s as if the temperature kept rising the longer you were in his presence, and something deep within you wanted him ... craved him.

“Come on, I’ll make you some coffee so you can sober up.” He finally spoke, breaking the intense atmosphere as he opened his door to head out. You glanced around , finally noticing he had parked in an underground garage. Have you been that out of it , that you haven’t been paying attention to your surroundings?

“Where are we?” You quietly question as you follow him into an elevator, standing at opposite ends needing to be as far away from him as you can. The doors closed and it began to ascend, making your stomach tighten in an unknown emotion.

“My home.” He confidently answers just as the double doors open, revealing a long white hallway and a black door at the end.

And as you followed , you thought: he’s only helping , right? What could possibly go wrong?

#fan chengcheng #fan chengcheng fanfic #nine percent chengcheng #nex7 chengcheng #nex7 fanfic #nex7 cpop #nine percent cpop

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

What if Star Wars had tanked?

May 1977, 20th Century Fox distributes a really WEIRD movie.  It’s a science fiction fantasy story about medieval knight samurais in space with laser swords and fighter pilots.  Nobody expected it to be a hit, it seemed to be such a niche movie, one that would garner a small cult following then be swept under the rug by the other summer tent poles like “Smokey and the Bandit” or “The Spy Who Loved Me.”  To everyone’s surprise, it became an instant success, rocketing no name George Lucas from a no-name bush-league indie director into the echelon of A-list Blockbusters.  His idea for a decade spanning six part saga (two sequels, three prequels) was greenlit then and there, and the budget for Star Wars 2, now called Star Wars 5, was double what he was given for the original.  Star Wars 1, nor 4, was given the subtitle “A New Hope” to let audiences know it was just the beginning of a series, and the rest is history.

But in 1977, George Lucas was not as confident in his vision as he would soon become.  He figured, as every producer did, that his film would be a flash in the pan genre piece, something that would play in theaters just long enough to make it’s budget back, then disappear into obscurity.  In 1976, he planned for the worst.

Star Wars, like many other films of the day, was being given a novelization.  Before home media became ubiquitous, the only way people could experience the film was to see it in theaters or buy the book version.  Lucas hired a ghostwriter, Alan Dean Foster, to write the novelization of Star Wars 1, AND to create a tentative Star Wars 2 that could be adapted to the screen if the original film failed to meet his high expectations.  Star Wars 2, titled “Splinter of the Minds Eye,” was written to be as low budget as possible; no big set pieces, and for that matter no big sets.  Every scene had to take place in a set that the studio already owned, and couldn’t include any major space battles because there was no guarantee that the special effects would fit into the budget.  On top of that, it meant that none of the characters played by big name actors would be included; no Harrison Ford, no Alec Guinness.  Splinter was a bare bones story set entirely on what would essentially become Dagobah, and would have taken the franchise in an entirely different direction.  None of the story elements from Lucas’ dream sequel were included, and none of the plot twists either; there is no connection between “Splinter of the Mind’s Eye” and “Empire Strikes Back,” and in fact, once Empire was released, Splinter was relegated to secondary canon because the official sequel had overidden it so the story no longer made sense.

But if Star Wars 1 had flopped, Splinter of the Mind’s Eye would have been made into the official sequel, and the story would have had to pick up where it left off; Lucas didn’t plot out a low budget version of Star Wars 3, so we can only speculate as to what may have happened.

In Splinter, Luke and Leia are going on a diplomatic mission to convince some neutral star systems to join the rebellion.  Their ship crash lands on a backwater swamp planet (called Mimban, a name eventually used for the World War I trench planet in the Disney movie Solo), which is roughly analogous to the Dagobah we saw in Empire.  Stranded on the swamp planet, Luke and Leia find their way to an imperial mining colony, get into a scuffle, and escape with the help of a Jedi witch named Halla.  The titular “splinter of the mind’s eye” is a broken fragment of a magical crystal, because this was the 1970s and crystals were a big thing in fantasy (the splinter was called the kaiburr crystal; this name would later be re-purposed in canon as the crystals used for lightsaber and Death Star laser construction).  The splinter is said to focus the force, allowing the wielder to become more powerful or something; it’s a MacGuffin, the book is vague as to what it actually physically does.  After a confrontation with locals, and a duel with none other than Darth Vader (in which Leia wields a lightsaber and Luke cuts off Vader’s whole arm), Halla takes over the role of Luke’s mentor to train him in the ways of the Force.

At this point in the series, Luke and Leia were never intended to be brother and sister.  It was clearly supposed to be a chivalric romance between a knight errant and his courtly love.  He is the royal bodyguard to the Queen of Alderaan (the entire Royal Family was destroyed in Star Wars 1, so Princess Leia should by all rights have been coronated as Queen Leia).  George Lucas added the twist that they were brother and sister well into production of Empire; in fact, in Empire he shot two scenes of Leia kissing Luke (one was to make Han jealous, the other was near the end, right after she rescued Luke from cloud city; I’m glad they cut the second one, because it undermines the fact that she literally just told Han that she loves him).  Han Solo himself is mentioned in passing, not even by name, just as some pirate Luke used to know who took his reward money from the first movie and went to pay off some debts.  If this movie had been made instead of Empire, there’s no guarantee that a Star Wars 3 would even be greenlit.

But if it had been, here’s what would have happened.

Darth Vader is not Luke’s father in this version; that too was a twist Lucas invented after the series took off.  So, in this version of Star wars 3, which I will call “Revenge of the Jedi,” Luke goes on a quest to slay the evil Emperor.  It’s a fantasy movie, in any other setting the point of the franchise would be to kill the main bad guy; imagine if Lord of the Rings had ended without the heroes destroying the ring and defeating Sauron, that would have made no sense.  In this version of the story, Darth Vader is just the archetypal Black Knight; tying back into the Japanese influence on the series, he is an evil Shogun, appointed by the Emperor to be the military dictator.  There would be more emphasis on fight choreography in this version, drawing influence from the works of Akira Kurosawa.  The word Jedi comes from the word for the Japanese film genre Jidaigeki, meaning ‘period piece,’ featuring samuri and ronin (for western audiences, “Ronin” are nomadic heroes, like Clint Eastwood’s man with no name, or the Road Warrior).

Revenge of the Jedi would end with a climactic fight scene in the Emperor’s palace, with Luke battling his way through the many levels, defeating wave after wave of imperial soldiers and those red guards fans love to care about even though they do literally nothing on screen.  The prequels we got in canon were bogged down with boring politics about trade federations and unions and guilds and alliances, but politics can be interesting if done well (and written by someone who isn’t George Lucas; the original trilogy we got was good DESPITE him, not BECAUSE of him).  Revenge of the Jedi would see Leia building an army, the rebellion becoming an actual superpower in the galaxy; the New Republic wouldn’t just be restored after the Empire was defeated, it would be restored during the war with the express intent of rallying neutral systems behind an actual government body against the Emperor.

Darth Vader betrayed and murdered Luke’s father, but more importantly he committed genocide against Leia’s people, the survivors of which now live in diaspora.  Sound familiar?  “The Rebellion” isn’t a great name, but “the Alliance” is perfect because it evokes the Allies of World War II and shows that it is a galaxy-wide phenomena, not just a single splinter cell as depicted in the films in our timeline.  Luke wants to avenge his father, but if you’re insistent that the good guy isn’t allowed to kill the bad guy, you could have Vader go out the way he did in “Return of the Jedi,” turning back to the light side and sacrificing his life to kill the Emperor.  Everyone loves a redemption story, but Darth Vader really was a piece of shit and didn’t deserve to just get a free pass into Jedi Ghost Heaven because he decided to stop being evil five minutes before he died.

Maybe in this version of Star Wars 3, Harrison Ford returns for a cameo as a favor to George Lucas.  If so, he dies; Ford wanted Han to die in “Return of the Jedi,” and only agreed to do “The Force Awakens” if they finally killed him off then.  If he returns for “Star Wars 3: Revenge of the Jedi,” he will sacrifice himself for the Alliance, going out as a hero.  After the Emperor is defeated, the threat doesn’t just go away; suddenly there’s a power vacuum, with all the admirals and regional governor’s vying to replace him.  In both pre- and post-Disney Star Wars, the Emperor had a son (Triclops in Legends continuity, and Rey’s dad in Canon), so he would be heir to his father’s throne; perhaps he is propped up as a puppet for the military leaders, or maybe he surrenders to the Alliance and allows his Empire to be balkanized into dozens of independent powers, as with the fall of every great Empire; Rome (East and West), Mongolia, China, Austria-Hungary, Britain, the USSR, the list goes on.

This Star Wars trilogy would not be the enormous franchise we know today, it would still be a very niche series with a cult following.  It would be a step up from the Planet of the Apes series; sure, people have heard of it, and there have been attempts to revive it in the modern day, but it’s not even close to being a tent pole of the modern cultural zeitgeist.  Nobody looks forward to the new Planet of the Apes movie every year, it’s not a multi-billion dollar multi-media enterprise, there’s no dedicated “Planet of the Apes Celebration,” no cartoons, no streaming service shows that everyone geeks out about online, no triple-a video games, nothing.  This version of Star Wars would be just another weird artifact of the 1970s.  Maybe there would be a push to release a sequel, Star Wars 4, in like 2007, but that would be closer to Rambo IV or Superman Returns or Tron Legacy.

There are dedicated fans, but it’s not the biggest movie of the year.

Star Wars (1977)

Star Wars 2: Splinter of the Mind’s Eye (1979)

Star Wars 3: Revenge of the Jedi (1982)

Star Wars: Journal of the Whills (2011, a prequel set during the Clone Wars mentioned in the first movie)

#star wars #star wars 1 #star wars 2 #star wars 3 #a new hope #the empire strikes back #return of the jedi #splinter of the mind's eye #revenge of the jedi #star wars series #star wars franchise #star wars expanded universe #expanded universe #canon #legends #star wars legends #disney #lucasfilm #original trilogy #fanon #fan fiction

[weecb1983]

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation…

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation…

 O would, or I had seen the day

That treason thus could sell us,

My auld gray head had lien in clay,

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!

But pith and power, till my last hour,

I'll mak' this declaration;

We're bought and sold for English gold -

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

 Interpretation of poetry has never been my strong point, but I’d hazard a guess that The Bard was pretty pissed off when he wrote these words.  More than 200 years later, I have to wonder – are we still a “parcel of rogues in a nation”?

 I started off 2019 with two resolutions:

1.     Don’t worry about things until they happen

2.    Stop tweeting

 I lasted until the 2nd of January before I came across a tweet from the Scotsman…”End indyref2 talk in 2019, campaigners TELL @NicolaSturgeon” and felt compelled to retweet with a sarcastic comment and a bemused emoji. Fast forward a few hours and I’m awake at 3am, anxious about the state of the country and a Brexit that hasn’t happened yet.

Earlier in the year, to relieve my anxiety, the “other half” begrudgingly agreed to me stockpiling food.  So I set about compiling a “Brexit Cupboard” filled with pasta, rice and other staples from the continent such as olive oil and sundried tomatoes that may be hard to come by in the even a no-deal Brexit scenario.  I received a lot of stick for this from friends and family, who suggested that I was catastrophising and perhaps I had too much time on my hands, being on maternity leave at the time.  It was time I went back to work.

 Brexit cupboard ready to go, I still find myself awake at stupid o’clock in the morning, so in another attempt to get a decent night’s sleep I thought I’d try to take the thoughts that are troubling me and put them down on paper….

 Back in 2014 when Scotland voted No, I was heartbroken but I understood and accepted the result.  I don’t blame my friends and family who voted No (openly).  Initially, my gut reaction was No.  It was a risk, but I decided that since it was such a serious decision, I should partake in some research.  I had never been interested in politics before and, prior to 2013, wasn’t even registered to vote.  Coming from a predominantly socialist family, I was conscious that my vote should be an informed decision and not based on what those around me thought.  The more I read, the more convinced I was that Scotland should be independent, and the more incensed I became that we weren’t already.

 I joined Twitter, entered into discussion with “Unionists”, asking questions and looking for a reason as to why Scotland should remain as part of the UK. I am still looking.  For one single reason.  Instead I have received nothing but condescending replies, questioning my intelligence and level of education, or lack thereof.  One lovely chap asking, “not very bright are you?”. Regarding the ever divisive topic of Scottish Independence, polite discourse quickly descends into “sharing and pooling” and “fiscal transfer” and “go away, you don’t understand”.  I’ve tried with GERS.  I really have, and I don’t think it’s that GERS figures are beyond the comprehension of the average “cybernat”.  Just that they are far too dull to hold the attention of all but the most dogged “Britnat”, who would rather see Scotland burn to the ground than be independent (they might get their wish come April).  They wait eagerly for “GERS-figures day” every year and, like a dog with a bone, rip them to shreds and shout “See!  They are your own government’s figures and they show that Scotland is too wee, too poor!  Get back in your box”.  From what I can understand, these figures are based on Scotland being part of the so-called “United” Kingdom and can’t be used to predict what an independent Scotland would look like so I really don’t see what all the hoo-hah is about to be honest.

 Sometimes I think, in an alternative universe, where Scotland voted Yes four years ago, what would my unionist friends and family think if the country was in the state that it is now?  I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be biting their tongue, going by the continuous loop of “SNP-bad” rhetoric that still prevails, despite none of this current shit-show being of their doing.

 Looking at the state of affairs, it is extremely disturbing to see what people will accept nowadays.  If you had told me four years ago that the UK would be stockpiling food and medicine, preparing the army for civil unrest and that Schrödinger’s drones would cause Gatwick airport to grind to a halt, I would have said, no one in their right mind would vote for that….but then again, they didn’t put that on the big red bus.

 Credit where it’s due to the Westminster establishment, they have been extremely clever in this respect.  Of course it would never have worked to put “Vote for martial law” on the bus!  Instead, over two years they have, little by little, gone from “£350 million for the NHS!” to “a no-deal scenario wouldn’t be the end of the world” with Westminster’s very own resident hobbit Michael Gove kindly suggesting that we allow people to scavenge on rubbish heaps.  Even better, it will give us a chance to go back to the good old days of the Blitz when everyone pulled together.  To anyone who says that, I say, get yourself down a trench during the Battle of the Somme in 1916.  I visited the WW1 battlefields in 2015 after 97 years of peace, and it was traumatising enough.

 To anyone who is (even now!) unsure about whether Brexit is all bad, I simply say, look at who supports it…for the love of God!  Imagine, stumbling across a party and looking around to see Boris Johnson, Hobbit Gove, Nigel Farage, Andrea Leadsom, Dominic Raab, Priti Patel, John Redwood, Vladimir Putin and last but by no means least, the smiling assassin, Jacob Rees-Mogg and his fellow Dickensian panto-villain Julia Hartley-Brewer (never trust anyone with a double-barrelled surname).  I would be turning on my heel and getting out of that place before they started burning £50 notes (or as it will be known post-brexit…$5,000,000).

 I happen to think Theresa May herself would also be at that party.  I am not for a minute buying that she was ever a Remainer.  I reckon her husband (senior executive at an investment fund that profits from tax-avoiding companies) would stand to lose a pretty penny from the EU’s Anti Tax Avoidance Directive which was presented on 28th January 2016 (!) and requires its member states to apply these measures as of 1st January 2019…3 months before the Brexit deadline.  Coincidence?  No deal has always been the end goal and who better to run down the clock than the cringe-worthy curtseying Theresa May who campaigned so emphatically for Remain? Theresa May, who is trying to broker a deal that is best for the WHOLE country and one that supports the democratic vote…the last democratic vote you’ll ever have, by the way.  Because now democracy means that when you voted once, based on an illegal campaign that no-one has been held accountable for, you are no longer entitled to change your mind because that is what democracy means now. Is Theresa May the Keyser Söze of Westminster?  Albeit her daft walk at the end is to the tune of Abba?  Is she that clever and forward-thinking to have orchestrated this whole clusterbourach?

 No, she is merely a puppet and her strings are being pulled by disaster capitalists who know exactly what they are doing.  They will have prepared for every eventuality.

 Panto villain Mogg has been popping his polite, well-spoken, over-privileged and under-achieving head up recently to air his views whenever he can on the main-stream media.  I noted that he voiced his support of the late Margaret Thatcher featuring on the new £50 note.  Margaret Thatcher, who was a known admirer of General Pinochet.

 This is a quote from Naomi Klein’s book, The Shock Doctrine:

 “The British prime minister was well acquainted with what she called “the remarkable success of the Chilean economy”, describing it as a “striking example of economic reform from which we can learn many lessons”.  Yet despite her admiration for Pinochet, when Hayek first suggested that she emulate his shock therapy policies, Thatcher was far from convinced.  In February 1982, the prime minister bluntly explained the problem in a private letter to her intellectual guru.  “I am sure you will agree that, in Britain with our democratic institutions and the need for a high degree of consent, some of the measures adopted in Chile are quite unacceptable.  Our reform must be in line with our traditions and our Constitution.  At times the process may seem painfully slow.”

 I wonder if 30 odd years is slow enough and I think by “quite unacceptable”, she means this…

 https://www.independent.co.uk/news/the-pinochet-affair-i-saw-them-herded-to-their-death-i-heard-the-gunfire-as-they-died-1179543.html

Make no mistake, this is a right-wing coup.  It’s just that it’s being carried out in an orderly fashion – the British way.

 No one wants to talk about Brexit anymore.  The majority of the people in my life are completely ignorant about the consequences of a no-deal scenario, blissfully so, and encourage me to join them. The apathy shown towards the biggest political disaster to happen to this country in living memory is beyond my comprehension.  So half the country is sleepwalking and half have just about reached Brexit saturation point and all the time we are being nudged, slowly towards the edge of the cliff. ….and when we’re pushed over the edge, there will be Sajid Javid waiting on an armed boat shouting “CRISIS! - NO MIGRANTS ALLOWED!”.  The neoliberals stand to make a tidy profit while the country is reeling from the chaos that would inevitably ensue from a No-deal. We can look forward to the swift privatisation of our Health Service, abolition of the welfare state, chlorinated chicken, etc.

 In 2014, Scottish independence was about hope and the ability to control our own affairs.  Now, it’s about the survival of our democracy.  If Scotland is not independent come March 29th 2019, I predict that, freed from the burden of EU laws, Westminster will adopt Henry VIII powers to abolish the devolved parliaments.  It has already shown what it is capable of, and its contempt of the Scottish parliament, by taking them to court over the Continuity Bill.  Scotland has barely been mentioned throughout the Brexit “negotiations” and has been disregarded and disrespected at every turn.  We are absolutely not, as was promised, “Better Together”. Independence is the only option now and I, for one, hope to begin 2020 as part of an independent Scotland with my human rights still intact.

 However, if anyone is reading this in a post-Brexit version of “The Handmaid’s Tale”….nothing to see here!  All left-wing views out the window.  God save the Queen.

#Brexit IndyRef2 StopBrexit

[bangtan]

Inside BTS-mania: A Day in the Life of the K-Pop Superstars

The screaming begins just beyond baggage claim, when the first bob of purple-gray hair peeks up over the security wall separating the biggest Korean pop band in the world, in history, from its fans. Amid shrill hysteria, the seven soft-faced men of BTS stride through Los Angeles International Airport flanked by human trains of burly people in yellow “Event Staff” shirts. The boys smile, wave and, with the efficiency of British royals, slip past a few hundred young women and teen girls into black Escalades, their portal to the heart of the American mainstream. It’s mid-November and BTS have flown here from South Korea, propelled by the fervor of their admirers, a diverse group that calls itself ARMY (short for “Adorable Representative M.C for Youth”). The band is here for a string of high-profile TV appearances: They go from the airport to James Corden; Jimmy Kimmel the next day; then they’ll meet Ellen Degeneres, who’ll compare their U.S. arrival to that of the Beatles in 1964. But BTS are mainly in town to perform their hit song “DNA” at the American Music Awards – a performance that will make them Google’s top trending topic and set a Guinness record for Twitter engagement. Group leader RM (short for “Rap Monster”), 23 and palpably ambitious, compares the whirlwind trip to being “like surfers on a big wave.” But at 9 a.m. the day after BTS land, the vibe is more like “showing up for work.” We’re at a rehearsal studio when AMA reps arrive to shoot promo photos in the parking lot. Bubbly ham J-Hope, 23, an MC and onetime street-dance champ, walks out with his arms up, shouting, “Hello! AMA! Whoa!” The others trickle out with less ado and take turns getting primped, on the asphalt, by a team of stylists also in from Seoul. There’s Jimin, 22, the prettiest yet most puckish, a former top modern-dance student who’s currently shaving his chin while a woman holds a mirror. The perpetually wide-eyed singer V, 21, another art-school kid, who made his screen debut in a Korean historical drama last year, gets his purple-gray bob brushed and parted. A man uses a pick to dislodge something from the teeth of Suga, who like RM started his career as an underground rapper. Lead singer Jungkook, 20, a devout Belieber who joined BTS at 15, gets a streak of eyeliner. Meanwhile, singer Jin, 25, an aspiring actor so handsome he was recruited by a boy-band casting agent while walking down the street, shuffles quietly through the flurry. Their entourage is massive; I lose count in the mid-thirties. There are managers, publicists, a choreographer, a masseur, the interpreter, groomers, folks with cameras, unsmiling guards and several drivers with earpieces. Back home, BTS are pretty much only breaking their own records at this point – for video views, album pre-sales and chart placement – and it’s spilling over to other countries. Their recent EP, Love Yourself: Her, which features a song written with Andrew Taggart of the Chainsmokers, topped iTunes’ album chart in 73 countries, and BTS have become the first Korean-pop group to crack the American mainstream, with a Steve Aoki remix of their “MIC Drop” recently crashing the Top 40. ‪"We are so lucky that we’re living in this time, in 2017,“ says RM, the only one who can carry on a conversation in English. “When we post a tweet, it becomes translated to more than 30 languages.” The group’s lyrics – which are almost entirely Korean but close-captioned on YouTube and translated for sites like Genius – are a big part of its international success. BTS songs tackle issues like depression and anxiety. They promote progressive social ideals like female empowerment and accepting people from different backgrounds. They even address the internal unease of ditching less commercial career paths to become “idols,” as K-pop stars are called. BTS fans appreciate the band’s empathy, honesty, and independence—themes that are particularly in-demand amongst Western pop audiences these days. Plus, BTS set their message to canny hyper-modern production (frequently done by the members themselves) that devours all manner of EDM- rap- and R&B-leaning pop – think Major Lazer, Justin Bieber, DNCE, Logic, the Chainsmokers, Nick Jonas – and spits out a deeply catchy, slightly askew pastiche. After the photoshoot, the guys go in to practice their AMAs routine. From the opening whistle of “DNA,” they are a single-minded, many-limbed organism. Jin, who normally seems like he’s brooding, deploys pouty looks and precise hand jives. They goof around a bit – Jimin grabs Jungkook’s ass after the latter executes a balletic twirl – but are in the zone. An hour later, at 10:40 a.m., they’re chugging water and getting cooled off by women who use their entire bodies to swing paper fans emblazoned with the boys’ own faces. Jin quickly nods off in a rolling chair but is soon awoken by the masseur, who wants to jam an elbow into his shoulder; Jin winces as he does. Minutes later, V is yowling in pain, mouth wide as a handler treats a canker sore inside his cheek. Later, RM will dance with a bloody tissue in his nose – the wages of jet lag and constant hustle add up. An early lunch of cold burgers and fries seems meager compensation, but they eat with abandon. BTS, an acronym for Bangtan Boys (“Bulletproof Boy Scouts” in Korean), was built around RM and finalized via auditions. The group was assembled by a small company – Big Hit, run by songwriter “Hitman” Bang Si Hyuk, who co-founded one of the so-called Big Three agencies, JYP, before leaving it behind – which gives them underdog appeal. And while BTS came through the famously rigorous K-pop system, living in dorms together and training constantly, RM says Big Hit offers relative artistic freedom. To wit, in a unique spin on K-pop fan service, BTS build mythologies around their albums, like last year's Wings, whose theme comes from Hermann Hesse’s 1919 bildungsroman Demian. The concept appears in the lyrics, art and videos. Exactly how these subplots take shape is unclear, but it’s feasible that RM, who reads heady authors like Haruki Murakami and Albert Camus, is involved. “We try to make our own BTS context,” he says. “Maybe it’s risky to bring some inspiration from novels from so long ago, but I think it paid off more. It comes through like a gift box for our fans. That’s something you can’t find easily from American artists.” Instead, he likens it to Star Wars. “The big thing about creating our universe is expandability,” adds Suga, the most contemplative of the group, via interpreter. “Because it draws from our personal lives and interests, we can expand it as much as we want and it’s not alien for us. Having that allows us more diversity in the stories we can tell and the music we can make.” Do they feel free enough to write about Korean politics? RM says they’re working on a song that does so subtly, but Suga cautions that the subject “is fraught with danger, not in a literal way, but because of the risk of being misunderstood by young people who may not have fully developed sensibilities.” He’d rather focus on fostering understanding than “inciting conflict.” The rest of the group stays silent for our midday interview except to shout out ARMY and admit they’re eager for more crossover opportunities. As J-Hope puts it, “It’d be an honor for us to work with anyone.” RM says that, instead of breaking more records, the band’s mission is to promote individuality, which isn’t always encouraged back home. “Especially in Korea, there are all these standards: Get married, go to a nice university.” How will they spread that message? He smiles. “Better music and doper performances.” After selling out arenas in California, Chicago and New Jersey, BTS are planning a bigger U.S. run in 2018. They’re in unprecedented territory. Unlike PSY, their success here didn’t spring from a novelty hit – their rise up American charts was gradual and shows no sign of slowing. While they’ve brushed off the idea of an English-language album in the past, RM dropped English verses on a Fall Out Boy remix and Wale collab this year. At 1:30 p.m., it’s time to get ready for Kimmel. I follow BTS from the dance studio into the hall near their dressing room. There’s a folding table covered with silver rings, flashy necklaces and dangly earrings for the choosing. On the floor is an outsize ziplock full of identical Puma slides. After hair is redone and outfits adjusted, they load into the four Escalades with no fuss at all. As our caravan passes Hollywood Boulevard and turns onto the small street leading to Kimmel’s backlot and outdoor stage, we see them: more than a thousand BTS zealots who explode when they see us. They’d been waiting for hours. Kimmel music producer Mac Burrus later tells me a group of five teens spent two nights out there, on the street, in sleeping bags. In the green room, there is finally downtime. Suga and RM eat bananas. Jin plays his Nintendo Switch. Jungkook and J-Hope sleepily lean into one another on the couch. V lays on the floor to get his neck adjusted by the masseur’s bone-crunching assassin-twist before settling into a sofa to stream “Carpool Karaoke.” Around 4 p.m., producers bring in a couple ARMY moms for a skit where they taunt their girls, who are still in the line, via FaceTime from BTS’ inner sanctum. The daughters eventually come back and I steal them for a chat. Both discovered BTS on YouTube. Adriana, 24, is teaching herself Korean “slowly but surely” so she can hear the boys in their own tongue. Rosa, 18, insists, “Language isn’t a barrier when it comes to music.” At 6:20 p.m., BTS head to the stage. From the back, it sounds like there’s a roller coaster full of shrieking riders on the other side. A grizzled staffer walks by with a kooky grin, muttering, “This is nuts.” From the wings I watch the band rip into a six-song set that inspires face-clutching and tears. For “Save Me,” a “Where Are Ü Now” soundalike, the crowd deploys a coordinated K-pop “fanchant,” roaring each member’s birth name in perfect rhythmic succession. I can barely hear the music, so it doesn’t occur to me until the end that BTS don’t seem to be using vocal backing tracks, as a U.S. or U.K. group might – they rap and sing every last part while doing constant choreography. When it ends just after 7 p.m., an exhausted J-Hope flops onto the asphalt out of view of the crowd and his team, chest heaving, eyes wide. After 30 seconds, he picks himself up and rushes to join the other members of BTS disappearing into the hall leading to the green room. As he turns the last corner, a voice squeals, “Oh, my God! J-Hope looked back at me!”

source

#bangtan #bts #v #suga #rm #jhope #jin #jungkook #jimin #t:article #171220 #rolling stone

[dakesmoke]

How To Effectively Plan Kitchen Remodeling

ALL ABOUT KITCHEN REMODELING

Start out your own kitchen remodeling by generating intensive notes concerning everything you would like. Consider what functions and will not work inside your present cooking area. Look over magazines or even scan the web for kitchen remodeling thoughts. You may desire to earn a record of layouts and services and products you want. Do not wait in this point-make an email of all you may desire to put inside your kitchen remodeling. Then set funding. This will be the moment you meet your own amazing notions of exactly what you may pay for. You may be taken aback just how much you really may buy for the cash, or so the compromises you may possibly make that'll still yield you a tasteful, operational design and style. Only at that stage, you can also wish to deal with the assistance of the designer or distance planner. They are sometimes hugely useful together with your own kitchen remodel, and also find out design and product thoughts which may possibly not have happened for your requirements personally.

The kitchen area re-modeling runs the gamut from smaller upgrades, into a full-fledged high-end renovation job. Smaller upgrades may include things like altering the components onto the own cabinets, refacing the cupboards, or replace them. Or maybe you may possibly desire to displace this hardwood flooring or re-surface your own countertops. Such straightforward changes are able to effect a huge difference in your distance. But a full-size kitchen remodels will end from the many pleasing alterations for the house.

Among the absolute most crucial choices, you can create is employing a builder, take time plus also do a few explorations. Go to home-improvement merchants or neighborhood re-modelers to have yourself a sense for exactly what sort of kitchen remodeling assignments they all focus on. Talk about your eyesight using the pros you're contemplating. Pick out the opportunity to assess testimonials. Check out whether you truly feel confident with all this builder. Can they pay attention to your own thoughts and admire what it is you might be generating? A contractor-client romantic relationship to get a kitchen remodeling is just similar to a temporary union, thus be sure yours will probably undoubtedly be a joyful person!

Eventually, put together your own family to your disturbance which does occur with a kitchen remodeling job. With advance preparation, this is sometimes lessened, however, a few are inescapable. Talk about enough period frame by means of your builder and discuss this advice by means of your family members, therefore everybody else knows how long that the structure will simply take and things to anticipate. At an exact brief time of all of the memories of almost any uproar along with your cooking area remodeling is going to be abandoned and you're going to be loving your brand new cooking area.

Could be your floor on the cooking area stained and stained? Have your counter-tops with burns off and nicks? Maybe your floorplan of one's own kitchen awkward also ill-designed? If this is the case, now is the time to think about remodeling. Upgrading your cooking area can improve the worth of one's whole home, and kitchen remodeling might also be a very exciting procedure that involves your own imagination. You might desire just a small amount of endurance because you possibly survive throughout your kitchen remodeling procedure, however, the final result is going to soon be a kitchen that you adore and also are pleased to talk to relatives members and family members.

BASIC KITCHEN PLANS

The island program is really a well-known design for the reason that it comes with a freestanding recliner typically, for example, the sink or stovetop. This really is actually a fantastic arrange for kitchens at which in fact the task Valve surpasses the square-foot principle which orders that to get optimum efficacy. Isle plans aren't ideal to flats at which 2 job channels needs to be on walls. The island really is really a convenient locale for specialization counter-tops like butcher-block for chopping marble or veggies to get rolling those out yummy desserts. The next notion is that a rolling staircase that may roll out to a deck or patio if amusing visitor. If a single end of this island has been attached to your wall or lineup of cabinets, then this can be identified as a peninsula program. Even the peninsula kitchen area packs every one of the flexibility of the island but will not call for too much distance. Much like islands, even the peninsula prepare provides the prepare pliers and also a perspective to the following chamber as opposed to only towards a wall socket. After supper prep, a peninsula could double as a serving buffet or pub.

Even the 1 wall program is most generally found in more compact households, holiday apartments, and homes. This ground program is most the absolute most distance rescue, however, it is efficient for your own prepare. Normally there's a doorway at each stop which translates into plenty of traffic. This will make many issues in addition to frustration with your own beverage. 1 wall kitchens are when the sink is located in the middle together with the icebox and also the Stove Top. For those who have enough room, then make it possible for four toes of counter space on every side of the sink.

The productive u shape prepare is elastic and normally places the work station on all 3 partitions. The professionals of that really are amazing counter and storage space over either side which optimizes efficacy however this really isn't the most useful program for entertaining or for adapting several cooks. Substantial traffic spikes from the kitchen! The next factor to think about is that you need the simple 8x8 foot distance and also whatever less won't supply the very least 4-feet work distance that's suggested for your biggest market of this place. At a big kitchen area for greatest efficacy, find one plier in a freestanding staircase.

The L shape plan lets two workstations using a single wall and also the 3rd in an adjoining wall. This design is far more effective regarding distance compared to the U-shape plan especially in the event the key workstations are close into the bend of this L. The L-shaped plan isn't ideal to kitchen spaces and also you have to allow enough counter distance between both workstations that reveal precisely the exact same wall. It will be four toes. What facts to think about could be the structure of this workstation that is crucial. The job should stream out of the icebox into the sink than to the cooker cook-top and functioning spot. A perfect ingesting nook would be your area contrary to the bend of this L.

CONSIDERING NEW KITCHEN CABINETS

What this means is fewer lighting representing the surface area. When you might have hardly any window lighting throughout this daytime, you might need to take into account white or really light timber grain cupboards. Contemplate these thoughts prior to making ultimate decisions about your own kitchen along with kitchen decor saving time, dollars and gives you peace of your mind.

Restful Retreats generate calmness in the madness and also poses a mode that is focused on relaxation and comfort. This fashion could be the ideal escape in the rushed globe.

The planet in your doorstep most useful clarifies worldly elegance design and style. This layout brings inspiration from places or nations which you take on the mind and also are apparently drawn into the decoration of the nation. Italian, older globe African, Asian and Latin influences are only two or three inspirations you need. Consistently in nice and stylish flavor, all these layouts are somewhat more tailored and defined a style that's classic.

When picking what's ideal for the preference and fashion and navigating through images of cupboards will be able to assist you with thoughts to add to your style. Consistently pay exclusive interest to visitors stream because in the event the leak isn't conducive and doesn't flow efficiently from you to another location, consider changing appliances, fixtures or even maybe entry manners.

Angling countertops is an easy way to your own narrow doors and also the exact same is claimed for several corners onto a kitchen cupboard island. Making certain that you have sufficient space between channels is going to continue to keep the human bumper vehicles pass smoothly minus the knee to knee mill. Hanging cooking area graphics enables one to get an alternative outlook. Is it true that your kitchen appears too bloated or busy? Does this seem overly bloated or tiny? Can there be enough light that creates fascination? Apparently, you are going to want the light for the day and nighttime time to highlight the situations you like most useful in your own kitchen The kitchen includes needs to create your kitchen appear vibrant and airy and like a dungeon. Plenty rides upon the coloring of this blot in the own kitchen cupboards. These cupboards pay a large sum of wall space.

Eclectic Praise is enjoyable using a mix of most of the situations you like that only appear to move with each other. This really is definitely an individualized setback solution that enables one to combine tones, textures, unique eras and usage of coloration and contour to make it together.

The fashion that you choose the brand new kitchen-cabinets is based upon you personally. What believes would you like to make? What are you really searching to get? What goes and flows with all the style design and style inside the remainder of one's house? Antique, linen, and bone white or outside white cupboards may cause all out of modern, classic to modern-day. Ostensibly, only fitting the decoration of the remainder of one's residence needs to really be your principal worry. This helps make matters easier for those who choose the free end, blot, and door design and cabinet hardware for the kitchen cupboards.

Kitchen area cabinet fashions are commonly only an issue of preference. Take observe that your kitchen cupboard design doesn't need to need to order the exact total motif for the own kitchen cupboards. The motif will be generally decided from the background, paint coloring, decoration or accessories, images, etc.. For the extended enduring appreciation of one's brand new kitchen enables your preference pick for you personally unless you're copying or replicating a particular cabinet fashion or motif of the favorite breeder. Attempt to concentrate on the caliber of the building of the cupboards you plan to make use of. Some of those subsequent cabinet fashions may be utilized fundamentally in virtually any kitchen motif. Kinds' household ought to function as access off, and our refuge to talk by the hectic, busy outside universe. Given here are some just five design styles which you can spot. This can let you spot and opt for cabinetry models, finishes and customization to make a house simply for you personally.

Straightforward Element fashions are crisp and clean with fresh lines and not as much ornamentation. To put it differently straightforward, complex distance with bright demonstration, nonetheless using a serene soothing effect.

LOOKING TO REMODEL YOUR KITCHEN

Maybe, probably the clearest approach to avoid spending income, when it has to do with remodeling your toilet is selecting whether your kitchen area genuinely has to be remodeled. Like a homeowner, then you might have all right to redesign your kitchen area if you prefer to accomplish this; nonetheless, if income is limited it can be considered a superior notion to reevaluate your choice, at least before your own financial prognosis increases. Even though it can be considered a superior notion to eliminate your kitchen remodeling, then you mightn't want to. As mentioned earlier, there's a range of comparatively inexpensive ways you might go in remodeling your own kitchen.

You might also spend less, after remodeling your own kitchen, by executing each one the job your self. It might be less difficult to use an expert contractor, however, it's also costlier. Even although you're not familiar with all the intricacies of cooking area remodeling, then you might well be in a position to master. Additionally, there really are a lot of tools manuals that may be discovered on the internet, on the community bookstores, or even on the community library. Based on the place your home is, you may possibly likewise have the ability to wait for cooking area remodeling lessons, class, or convention. The tools, regardless of exactly what they've been, can ensure it is simpler that you redesign your own kitchen. In reality, the majority of the time, everything you will need is an agenda and also a group of instructions to follow along with also you need to be useful to proceed.

Regardless of each of the aforementioned hints, you can still discover that it's tough to redesign your kitchen area, dollars shrewd. If that really is true, you can choose to set far more of a concentration on marketing. By simply altering up your kitchen drapes, substituting any of your appliances, or maybe by altering up your cooking area towel motif you might find the kitchen texture you were searching for. When it may not be precisely that which you had wished, it's definitely an alternative that can simply provide you exactly what you really require.

In which you purchase your materials and supplies out of may possibly have an impact regarding what far a kitchen remodeling job expenses. No matter whether you opt to accomplish most of your remodeling in either or perform it only a tiny bit at one moment, you might require to hold tabs on wherever you're purchasing your stuff out of. In the event that you wish to conserve most cash, then you can wish to consider buying one of one's community DIY merchants. Most DIY merchants, particularly the ones who operate on a federal degree, take everything you require to experience a kitchen remodeling job. Along with this gear essential, you might likewise find a way to discover the materials or supplies which you want, including kitchen countertops, destroy plumbing, kitchen tiles, in addition to kitchen lighting fittings.

Among the greatest means to start remodeling your own kitchen without even going bankrupt is simply carrying it 1 stage at one moment. Even though your aim is to redesign all of your kitchens inside and outside, it might be high priced perform all of it at an identical moment. By accomplishing all your renovation steps, it can ensure it is simpler that you pay for the total price of the kitchen remodeling job. For example, in the event that you'll love to change out your kitchen cabinets, then it might become a fantastic notion to begin you. Right after your kitchen cupboards are substituted and you've got more dollars for remodeling, then you can choose to proceed on the upcoming remodeling undertaking, state shifting the lighting fixtures in the kitchen. Taking a single thing at one period may possibly perhaps not just ensure it is simpler that you pay for the amount being spent on remodeling, but however, nevertheless, it might additionally be helpful to make certain you are selecting the most suitable staff, provides, and layouts.

Are you currently a property owner? In that case, there's just a fantastic likelihood you could well be somewhat limited on income. As simple as it's to get a house, it's high priced too. Despite currently being cut financial tools, you might still desire to redesign your property, especially your kitchen area. Even though you may not assume it is potential, there certainly are numerous distinct ways you may consider altering up your kitchen without having to pay more cash than you want to.

#Lifestyle

[lucytara]

perc’ahlia & vaxleth fic: songs from the ash [1/2]

Keyleth can only look on, dazed, buzzing, those neon lights filling up her heart and her skin is where she wants him to write his songs; she licks her lips and tastes salt, electricity, copper, music. Percy idly drifts away imagining what it’d be like to control his dreams, and that if he could, he’d dream about Vex now, exactly like this, and no shadows would be lurking in the background.   [rock star/movie star au. fame isn't so bad, he says, if it introduced him to someone like her. 34k words. all links are clickable.]

songs from the ash

It’s an accident that he meets her at all, really; they just happen to be at the same afterparty.   He’d gotten an invitation and he’d promised Keyleth he’d take her if he did, secretly hoping he wasn’t yet popular enough to warrant an invite to an awards show for an art he wasn’t even involved in. But apparently he is, to his chagrin; he’s an actor, for god’s sake, not a musician. That’s likely the family influence.   Either way, it’s how he’s ended up at the Grammys with Keyleth squirming impatiently at his side as they await the announcement of the winner for “Best New Artist.” He watches faces and songs he doesn’t recognize flash across the giant screens and thinks that maybe he should start listening to the radio.   Damn his recent, more mainstream work. He should’ve stuck to indie.   Keyleth suddenly screams next to him, clapping wildly and whistling. He keeps his expression politely engaged, remembering they’re in pretty good seats and riding a wave of fame at the moment, meaning they’re likely to be panned to at random intervals for online streams of the audience, or whatever; fortunately Keyleth’s excitement is genuine and he’s a pretty good actor. Or so his reviews say.   An odd, mismatched group of people traipse up to the stage, grinning and giggling and shoving each other - one of them is huge, definitely cracking six and a half feet - and the screen behind them reads Vox Machina. Two members of the five-person group step up to the mic, eerily similar in appearance; they’re definitely related, both with long black hair and similar bone structure, though the boy is a little more angular, sharper. The woman speaks first, holding her award in the air and smiling widely; she says, “Here’s to our darling father, who told us we’d never amount to anything,” and Percy is immediately captivated despite himself. Her brother laughs loudly and raises a finger - Percy’s sure this is quite unprofessional and absolutely not allowed on television, but the audience is widely amused; Keyleth hollers next to him - and a small girl with white hair tugs the mic down and says, “No, really, thank you so much, we love our fans, thanks, this is amazing--” before the exit music starts to play.   The big guy in the back bends down and screams “Rage on!” and the crowd goes nuts, Keyleth included.   He leans over to her. “Who are they? What kind of music do they play? That was a wildly inappropriate display.”   Her eyes are bright as she turns to him. “Oh, they’re the best,” she gushes enthusiastically. “Vox Machina - they’re alternative rock, mostly, but they’ve got some songs that hedge on punk.” That explains it, Percy thinks. “Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan, they’re the twins and the frontrunners - he shreds on the guitar, she’s an amazing singer and I think she can secretly play every instrument - the shorter guy, that’s Scanlan, he definitely can play every instrument and he’s like, a classically trained singer - Grog’s the big one and he drums, obviously - and then there’s Pike, the smaller girl, who mostly plays the keys.” She barely breathes while she tells him this, her excitement getting in the way of her basic primal needs, like oxygen. She’s been trying to engage him in their music for the better part of a year, so his slight interest is driving her wild.   “Wow,” he says, because there’s not much else to say. “I’m intrigued, if nothing else.”   “I’ll get you to fall in love with them if it’s the last thing I ever do,” she declares dramatically, riding the high of their win.   He rolls his eyes but humors her; he knows better than to trample on other people’s passions.   And--   Well--   As it turns out, she’s almost right.   --   They’re at one of the smaller after-parties - he couldn’t say whose, as Keyleth had mostly planned their itinerary for the night, despite the invitations being directed at him - and though it’s crowded, it’s a cooler, looser crowd; the setting is more relaxed than he’s used to, and everyone’s letting their hair down, dancing, drinking, laughing, yelling.   The music is loud and pulses through him. Keyleth starts to sway automatically.   “I want a drink,” she shouts, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the bar. Not like he could lose her, anyway; she’s tall and towers over a lot of people there. Keyleth often gets mistaken for a model whenever they go out in public, which endlessly amuses him because she’s just so awkward. Objectively, yes, Keyleth is gorgeous, but she spends more time covered in soil and talking to the plants she fills his apartment with than him for him to ever think of her as anything models usually encompass - grace and elegance, for starters.   (First thing to know about Keyleth: she ferociously believes that in another life, she’s a florist instead of an actress, or maybe she’s a national park ranger, or she’s botanist, or a wild creature that lives in the forest and carves herself a home out of a hollow tree - in truth, she can never pick which one is most appealing to her. All of them are fitting.)   The bartender raises a quick eyebrow as he spots her, immediately coming to her service. “What can I get you?”   She smiles and her teeth sparkle. “Four shots, tequila. And then I’d like a paloma, please.”   (Second thing to know about Keyleth: she can sure fucking drink.)   The bartender nods once, looking simultaneously impressed and concerned, before shifting his attention to Percy. “You?”   He opens his mouth to answer, and that’s when he sees her.   She’s sitting on the other side of the bar, talking animatedly to her brother and a dark-skinned man with piercing eyes and long hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Her lips wrap around her straw through her smile. She’s positively radiant. She’s ethereal, she’s glowing, she’s otherwordly--   The bartender glances back to see what he’s staring at and snickers. “Yeah,” he says, understanding. “She’s fuckin’ something else, isn’t she?”   Percy swallows and says, “Erm.”   “He’ll have a mojito,” Keyleth interrupts. “Make it strong.”   --   He’s not going to talk to her, of course. He’s a gentleman and he doesn’t want to disturb her night. And, of course, she’s way out of his fucking league.   But Keyleth - bless Keyleth, who completely doesn’t give a shit about any of the things Percy does, so free-spirited and pure-intentioned - downs two shots in quick succession while pushing the other two towards Percy, who follows, choking slightly, and walks confidently around the bar to where two members of her favorite band are relaxing in the afterglow of their win.   Vax’ildan tilts his head and catches sight of the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life, holy shit, what the fuck, standing behind him with an easy-going grin. She slides in next to him and asks loudly (the music’s overpowering and pounding and Vax can feel it in his bones), “I love your band and I think you guys are awesome, do you wanna do shots with me?”   Vex laughs nicely over his shoulder, but he can’t tear his gaze away from this transcendent being beside him, her long red hair spiraling over her shoulders, her eyes almost the color of gold - he says, “Erm, fuck yeah.” He’s seen her somewhere before, he knows, maybe a runway - he can’t put his finger on it, she looks kind of like a model, but--   She smiles again and signals the bartender for four more shots.   “Here,” she says, passing him one, Vex one, and downs the other two by herself. Vax is fucking in love with her already. She blinks slowly, her lips in a lazy curl. “There,” she says, pleased. “Now I feel great.”   “I bet you do,” Vex replies, admiration in her voice, but she’s staring somewhere else.   Gilmore is obviously delighted. He chortles out, “What a firecracker.”   “Please excuse us,” a boy with a shock of white hair says from behind her, apologetic and uncomfortable; Vax hadn’t even noticed him until just now, but that hair on him is unmistakable--   “I’m sorry,” Vax says, completely entranced, “but what is your name?”   She leans closer to him suddenly, her fingers grasping the bar; the man next her tuts under his breath and steadies her. “I’m Keyleth,” she says, like she’s a fucking angel or something, which, Vax thinks, she probably is.   Vex repeats, “Keyleth--”   He knows that name - Keyleth, Keyleth, the way it rolls around in his mouth, Keyleth, Keyleth - “Oh, shit,” he says, recognition washing over him. “You’re in that film--!”     She laughs delightedly. “Am I?”   Vax finally tears his eyes away from Keyleth to the boy she’s with and it’s-- “You too! You were in--”   Vex finishes excitedly, “--The Sun Tree! I knew it was you, how could I not, but I didn’t want to interrupt -- oh, hells, we love that movie, it’s absolutely brilliant--” and Vax sees the anchor of her stare had been Percival the entire time, who has done nothing but silently take her in for the past five minutes, lacking Keyleth’s unconcerned nature, afraid to take a step.   “Percival Frederickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third,” he introduces quickly, as he is prone to do when he is nervous or showing off; in this case it’s the former.   Keyleth waves a hand airily. “You can call him Percy.”   “Percy,” Vex echoes, and oh, he has never loved himself more than when she is holding him in her eyes.   --   Our manager, Shaun Gilmore, I’m Vax’ildan, that’s my sister, Vex’ahlia. Short, brief, to the point.   “Charmed,” Gilmore says, winking and clapping Vax on the shoulder before slipping out.   Keyleth, now undeniably a little (a lot) drunk, leans her chin in palm, elbow on the bar. “Is there a garden?” she asks.   “Probably,” Vax answers. “Big property, isn’t it? Let’s have a look.”   He takes her by the hand and stands; she’s taller than him, which he thinks is fantastic, truthfully, though he’s sure they’ll be a bit more even when she’s not wearing heels, and waits for her agreement; she laughs lighter than the chime of the wind, and begins to drag him away with her. “I love flowers,” Percy hears her state as they head off, Vax’s face torn between dumbfounded and inspired.   Percy wearily collapses on the now vacant barstool next to Vex, shaking his head. “Sorry about that,” he says, still not quite able to look at her for longer than a few seconds at a time. “She’s - ah - insatiable and innocent. It’s an interesting combination.”   “Clearly,” Vex answers, her tone playful. “Not your girlfriend, I’d gathered that much.”   He nearly chokes on his drink. “No, gods, no. Best friend, co-star on occasion.”   “Good. He’s already obsessed with her,” she nods after her brother. “Better it be someone available.” She pauses. “Any particular reason you can’t bear to look at me, darling?”   His face burns red, his ears hot, his neck tingling. He peaks at her over the rim of his glasses. He catches her fingers curling around her glass - rum and coke by the looks of it - the swell of her chest peeking out of her dress, her hair let out of its braid, loose and flowing and lightly curled against her back, her cheeks, the bright blue feather behind her ear - and he says, “I’ve not meant to be rude. It’s simply that - you’re a little too beautiful and I’m - new at this, I suppose. I apologize.”   She’s silent for a moment, and when he sneaks another glance at her he’s surprised to see her expression flushed with a similar embarrassment; he’s caught her off-guard. The idea emboldens him slightly and he keeps his eyes locked on her.   She meets his gaze and her lips turn up abashedly, genuinely. “That’s charming. Thank you. I appreciate your efforts to maximize my comfort, but I don’t mind if you stare. I’m aware of how good I look.”   He laughs, startling himself. “Well, as I’ve been given permission, I must admit I feel much better about the whole thing.”   “Excellent, because I’ve my own compliments to shower upon you,” she says, and holy hells, she’s too charming and easy for her own good - the air is warm around her, all the light is coming from her smile - “Truly, Percival, let me sing your praises again - I love your films. Honestly, Vax and I have seen The Sun Tree too many times to count, I recognized you instantly - we’re big on fantasy,” she tells him, a hand briefly resting on his arm. She’s a little drunk herself, he’s realizing; but then again, who isn’t - it is a party.   “We’re filming the sequel at the moment,” he provides, holding back a laugh at her excited squeal.   “Tell me nothing,” she says. “I want to be surprised and enthralled. Will you be attending the Academy Awards in a few weeks, as well?”   “Oh, no,” he says bashfully, embarrassed that she even thinks he’s good enough to go. “My most recent film released after the cutoff date - I’ll qualify for next year, but as for this year, I have work obligations, so fortunately I can skip.” The music shifts, a base line thumping around his heart. Vex’s mouth twitches. He doesn’t think much of it. “And you?” he asks. “You’ve accomplished quite a musical feat - what’s next?”   His tone is sincere, interested; she allows a full-blown curl of her lips and moves closer, cornering him, a strangely victorious glint in her eye. “You’ve never heard our music,” she accuses, apparently amused at the revelation.   He weighs his options and decides on the truth. “No,” he admits sheepishly. “I haven’t. It’s a priority now, though. What gave me away?”   She laughs loudly, gesturing at the speakers. “This is us.”   He freezes immediately, becoming hyper aware of the beat in the background; it’s oddly refined for something so rough - it’s her voice singing, low and sensual and sharp at the edges, cutting into him with an edge that feels good - the notes are clean and the drums aren’t overpowering and it flows in a way he didn’t really think rock music, or punk-rock, whatever they are, was capable of.   She’s watching him take it in and she’s silently mouthing the words without realizing it; her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Find me someone out there whose heart isn’t full of holes, my hands are bloody from refusing to let you go. Damn. He kind of hopes she didn’t write this.   “Did you write this?” he asks.   “No,” she says, and then: “Well, sort of. The sentiment of the song came from Pike, but Vax and I helped her with the lyrics.”   “It’s good.” He clears his throat. “It’s great. You’re - you’re an incredible singer.” He frowns at his own attempt to pay her a compliment. “It’s not that I didn’t like your music, by the way. Keyleth is always telling me my taste in music is a grave offense to ‘all of the beautiful things life has to offer.’”   Vex laughs again. “And what is your taste in music?”   “I have none.”   “Well, that certainly is a problem, then, isn’t it?” Her knee brushes his. He feels the condensation of his glass dripping across his fingers. “I’ll have to fix that.”   “Please,” he answers, trying to fall back into it, relaxing against the bar. “I’m bereft. Clearly I’m missing a core defining aspect of the traditionally constructed personality. I was in a rush when I created mine.”   “It’s a good thing you’ve got me, now, dear,” she says playfully, and the world keeps turning.   Over the course of the next few hours, Percy learns that Vex is beautiful everywhere; he sees it in the way her fingers curl delicately around his wrist when she’s sincere, how her hidden talent is actually archery and not the fact that she can play most instruments, the brush of her eyelashes against her cheek as she winks (which she does, often, because she clearly knows how to get what she wants from him, from everybody); it’s in the almost sultry tone of her voice when she calls him darling and dear, her mouth against the rim of her drink, the way she throws her head back when she laughs. Vex is funny and she’s clever; he banters with her like he was born knowing the trigger to her smile, and she provides insightful commentary from angles he’s never bothered to consider. She calls him out when his words drop from his lips in ways he doesn’t intend them and he challenges her prejudices against the industry and the fame and the wealth.   “Percival, darling, we had vastly different upbringings,” she points out. “Not to dwell, as I’ve a tad more tact than that, but I do know what you come from.”   The slight hinting at his past doesn’t sting the way he’s used to; he finds he actually appreciates the promptness and matter-of-fact tone she’s adopted while discussing it. “Fair,” he concedes. “I don’t know yours, though, do I?”   “Syldor Vessar is my father,” she says, and he raises his eyebrows in shock. “Yes, you would know of him, as I’d assumed. Being a Lord yourself,” she teases, and he reddens once again. “Or is it Duke? I’ve no taste for royalty. You outrank our father by miles, though, I know that much.”   “I don’t tend to adhere to that custom,” he says. “I’m no Lord, nor Duke. I mean, technically, yes, I am - but my sister Cassandra is much more suited to the position than I.” He smirks at her. “And I get the sense you’d have a taste for the right royalty.”   “Ta,” she answers, grinning back. “And as Syldor’s bastard children, Vax and I were also quite unsuited to that life.” She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip, before adding: “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”   Ah, of course.   Being from England, she would be aware of the incident - most people who search him, he imagines, are - the fire that claimed his family and forced him and his sister into positions they weren’t ready for.   “It isn’t for you to concern yourself with,” he says gently, trying to cue to her that he appreciates it but doesn’t want to discuss it further. Fortunately, she’s perceptive and picks up on the message easily enough, offering a sharp nod in return. “I can have Cassandra stir up some trouble for your father, though, if you’d prefer. Where does he reside?”   She laughs; such a welcome sound. “Reading.”   “Marquess of Reading?”   “Yes. And your sister - Duchess of Cornwall, is that correct?”   “Yes,” he affirms, suddenly missing Cassandra terribly. “She is quite fit for royalty, though she never should’ve achieved such high status.”   “Royalty fits you as well, Percival,” Vex says, looking at him intensely, carefully, a wicked glint shining in her eye, like royalty is an outfit she’s dressing him in. “My Lord.”   A jolt of electricity shoots up his spine, channeling the rest of his bones, like he’s made of copper and metal. He isn’t sure what to make of it. “Ah, that’s - erm - really not...necessary, Lady Vex’ahlia.”   She grimaces and flips him the bird. “You’ve proved your point. I’m no Lady.”   He takes her offensive hand in his own, covering it, pulling her closer - maybe it’s the alcohol, the dimness of the fairy lights, the moon shadowing overhead - her lips red, her eyes a dark mirror of the night sky, the catch of breath in her lungs - “Say what you must, but I disagree,” he murmurs. “Look at you.”   She swallows quietly. “Yeah?”   “I’ve known plenty of people with money, dear, and they are certainly not worth you.”   --   Keyleth bends down, her face buried against the roses, fingers gently scraping against the thorns; she lays her palms flat against the grass, the mossy rocks, the rough tree bark. Her heels lay strewn somewhere by the garden path. Vax watches as if he’s in a trance, this unearthly nymph, this woodland creature - “Keyleth,” he says in awe, absolutely struck by her raw love of life, “Keyleth, what are you?”   She smiles wide and takes his hand, pressing a loose petal into his palm, and then holding it to her heart.   “Don’t you feel that?” she asks lowly, and he smells the tequila but there’s also something fresh, like rain on woodchips, fog; she inhales deeply. “The entire earth inside of me. I could’ve been a forest, once, you know.”   “You’re absolutely nuts,” he says. “I want to marry you.”   She laughs and laughs and laughs, falling back against the grass like nothing in life could ever make her happier. He lies beside her and lets her tell him of wonderful, impossible things; how she believes she belongs to another world, one where she tends to the world’s largest garden and carries the light of the sun in her bare hands, and if he were interested, perhaps the two of them could grow tomatoes together.   “I am,” he says vehemently, “I am,” and for a split second, he swears he recognizes her from a different life, a flash of a bed of flowers and a flickering pair of raven’s wings, their souls in flux across the universe.   --   Vex’s eyes dart down to his lips, her heart pounding; she’s full of fire and smoke, explosions beating against her ribcage, and there’s this boy, his gasp of white hair, his rounded glasses, his earnestness - his shy attraction, his quieted demons, his addicting voice - he’s so handsome, he’s so--   “Beautiful,” Vex whispers. “You, too, you know. You’re beautiful.”   He blinks slowly, dazedly, and she leans forward--   “Hey, Stubby,” her brother’s stupid fucking nickname for her rings in her ear, and she’s absolutely going to kill him tonight. “Come on, we’ve got to go. It’s nearly four.”   Percy pulls back, looking sheepish and nervous again. The announcement of the time deters her from murder for a moment. “Is it really?”   “Yep,” Vax says cheerfully, his arm around Keyleth, who’s a little unsteady at his side.   “Percy!” she says, and flings her arms around him overenthusiastically. “I’m having so much fun!”   “It certainly seems so,” he says, his glasses knocked askew. Vex restrains a smile, not wanting to reveal anything to her brother about how her night had gone.   “Percy, we haven’t watered your plants for hours.”   “I’m sure they’re fine.”   Vax grins, unconcerned, uncaring of whatever Vex might gather from his expression. Well, they always did differ that way. Vax wore his positive emotions on his sleeve; Vex cloaked them in whatever material she could get her hands on.   “Keyleth,” Vax says her name unbearably softly, and oh, he’s so fucking fucked. She turns to face him, releasing Percy. “It was lovely to spend the evening with you.”   He takes her hand and presses a kiss to it, and she giggles. “You too, Vax. Thanks for - humoring me.”   “I wasn’t.” He says it so seriously that she can’t doubt the sincerity.   She giggles again bashfully and says, “Well, I - thanks, and I guess I’ll - you know, see you around.”   “Definitely.”   Vex looks at Percy and rolls her eyes pointedly. He half-smiles in response, but she knows exactly what he means.   A hand smacks the back of her head. “Up. Let’s go.”   “Fuck, Vax, okay,” she snarls, instantly annoyed with him. He gets the perfect night and then ruins the climax of hers. Fucker. “I’m coming.”   It’s enough for him - he turns and starts shouting for Grog, who Vex is pretty sure has been challenging people to arm wrestling and shotgunning contests all night.   Keyleth also starts wobbling away, heading for the gate. Vex slips off the stool to her feet as Percy remains, still a bit stupefied; his eyes follow her, and he says, “Vex’ahlia.”   “Yes?” she asks, unmoving.   He seems to deliberate for a second before smiling delicately and saying, “I meant what I said.”   The spell has been broken already, and the moment is clearly over, but she bends down anyway and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, her hand resting gently underneath his jaw, his fingertips against her wrist.   “You don’t know me,” she says, slipping for the briefest of seconds, and there’s a sadness to her he hadn’t called attention to before. “Goodnight, Percival.”   “Goodnight,” he breathes out, his hand falling away as she steps to join her brother, and it’s the last time he sees her for months.   --   So, Percy’s bright, sure. He’s intelligent. But he’s also a fucking idiot.   “I can’t believe you didn’t get her phone number,” Keyleth says for the thousandth time, sending a text to Vax, who’s somewhere in the rural wilderness of Montana at the moment.   “Thanks, Keyleth,” Percy answers, disappointment unfolding in his stomach as he scrolls on his laptop, seeing paparazzi pictures of her from a few days earlier leaving a bar with some guy. He’s jealous, even though he has no reason to be - it was one night, one conversation, over a month ago. He needs to get over it.   “I can ask Vax about the guy, if you want,” Keyleth offers helpfully as a crew member touches up her make-up. They’ve started filming the sequel to The Sun Tree, called Passed Through Fire. He thinks of Vex constantly, wondering if she’ll see it, if she’ll love it, how she’ll feel watching him. He tries to do a better job. He wants his future self to impress her, somehow.   “No, it’s fine,” he says dejectedly, immediately wincing at the sound of his own pathetic voice. They’ve had this conversation before, always ending in the same denial.   Keyleth frowns, because she’s a good friend, because she wants him to be happy - “Too bad,” she says, quickly typing out a message with a flourish, “I’m asking.”   “No, Keyleth, don’t--” he tries to stop her, but it’s been sent. He hangs his head and rubs his eyes. “Balls.”   TO: Vax Hey who’s that guy your sister was with the other night? Saw the pics   FROM: Vax o that’s just jarrett. he sometimes works security w us & he acts as her bodyguard when she’s out alone   FROM: Vax y   TO: Vax Percy was totally jealous lol but don’t tell him I told you   FROM: Vax hahaha does he want her # i can just give it to u   FROM: Vax she wants his 2 lets do a swap shes always moping around now   TO: Vax I love matchmaking!!   She swipes “share contact” and gets Vex’s number in a matter of seconds - she saves it, but doesn’t do anything with it yet. “He’s her bodyguard,” she tells Percy, who perks up instantly.   “Not that it’s any of my business,” he supplies, and Keyleth just grins.   “Sure,” she says, continuing to text Vax, letting Percy have his moment of relief in private. He’s called to set a second later, and the scene goes brilliantly; they only do three takes just to get the angles, and the director has no notes for him.   He heads back to his chair, Keyleth now in full hair and makeup, still texting away.   His phone buzzes suddenly, and he opens the home screen--   Keyleth, grinning even wider, has sent him Vex’s contact details.   She’s called for her scene a moment later, and before he can even process what he’s staring at, she says, “You can thank me later.”   He doesn’t thank her. He’s done for the day, and he heads home without another word to anybody.   --   Vex is scrolling through twitter when Vax approaches from behind - she’s lived with him forever, and she can sense him coming, but she doesn’t bother deterring him - she’s got pretty good aim if he does something obnoxious.   “Guess what Keyleth told me,” Vax sing-songs in her ear, loud and annoying. She reaches up a hand and swats him away.   “What?” she asks, kind of curious despite herself.   Vax smirks. “His Royal Highness saw those pictures of you with Jarrett,” he says, shrugging. “Apparently, they made him a tad jealous...”   Vex struggles to keep her voice level; internally she’s burning again. “Is that so?”   “Yeah.”   “Well, thanks for the update,” she says, and returns to her twitter feed.   Vax rolls his eyes. “I know you fancy him,” he says. “Quit being so bloody obtuse.”   “I’m not doing anything,” she argues, not lifting her eyes from her phone. That’s not it, she wants to say. It’s more than that. He knew me, Vax, I swear. Like from somewhere else. Like recognizing someone you’ve never met. He knew.   But she doesn’t say anything.   “When was the last time you shagged about with Jarrett?” he prods, and she senses a challenge coming but she won’t give in.   She side-eyes him. “A few months ago,” she answers honestly; nothing to hide there. He knew the answer, anyway.   “Why’d you stop?”   Fucking prick. “Because--” she starts, and stops, and starts again, a sputtering engine. Because I keep dreaming in monochrome, because I see his eyes when I blink; because I can almost taste him. “Fuck off, Vax,” she says instead. He’s so beautiful it haunts her. She wants to ruin him like he’s ruining her. There’s that smoldering heat - the desire for his shy stare, probing her - she doesn’t want him to look at anyone else like he’d looked at her then.   Her phone buzzes; Vax’s name pops up, along with the contact details for Lord Percival whatever whatever de Rolo, and Vex has to do everything in her power to keep her emotions sealed tight.   “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Vax says, and she’s on the verge of combusting.   She doesn’t do anything with it. Not yet. Instead, she searches his name on twitter and follows him.   And then follows him on every other platform he has an account on.   --   @imvexthatsvax I’m flattered. I loved your album.   @percivalderolo glad to see you’re finally developing your personality, darling.   --   (Nobody really knows what to do with that exchange.)   --   It’s nothing, but Percy rereads her tweet over and over again. He still can’t shake his inadequacy - she’s so much larger than life, so confident and sure of herself, so untethered and unshaken - and he’s, well - he’s pretty fucked up.   He’s better now, sure. He goes to therapy. But the world knows his story and to them, he’s like a war hero, a tragedy-turned-to-art, some sort of sad, beautiful thing that is deserving of an embrace. He feels slightly like everyone is clamoring to adopt him, like he’s lost, soulless.   Which - even if he is - he’s dealing with it. He’s trying. He’s becoming.   He hovers over Vex’s contact details again; she doesn’t have time for broken pieces of his life when hers is already so full.   --   PercivaldeRolo liked your photo.   The thing that really starts to eat at Vex is how famous he is.   He’s on the cover of magazines, he’s interviewed on talk shows, there are paparazzi pictures of him everywhere; he’s a movie star for fuck’s sake. He’s royalty. He’s every possible intimidating title tucked into one person, and he represents so much of the acceptance she and Vax never got.   PercivaldeRolo liked your photo. It’s a picture Vax took of her with her feet up on the dashboard of their tour bus. Sometimes she likes to sit up front and stare out at the unfolding scenery ahead, the countryside shifting around them, the bustling towns, the big cities, the secluded forests, the vast, empty valleys.   “Hey, Kiki, look at this,” Vax says from behind her, and she twists around to see him holding his phone up to the window. “The fields! I don’t know if the quality is any good, but the flowers are blooming--”   “It’s so pretty!” She can hear Keyleth’s exclamation through Vax’s earphones. “Percy, hey, check this out--”   “Hey, de Rolo,” Vax says, waving into the camera, and quickly shifts the phone towards her. “The gang’s all here!”   Vex suddenly can’t move, so overwhelmed by the idea that after a month, Percy can see her - he’s staring at her now, she wonders what his face his like, his eyes, if his lips are still where she left them - ”He says hi,” Vax passes on - and she smiles as her stomach bubbles up, her heart in her throat. She raises a hand carefully and waves.   “Hello, darling,” she says, and to her relief her voice sounds steady.   Vax is silent for a moment. “He says you’ve failed your duties.”   “Sorry?”   “He’s still without tunes.”   She feels herself smiling without a thought. “Keyleth isn’t helping you with that?”   “He doesn’t trust me, Vex!” She hears Keyleth yell. “He’d trust you, though--”   Vax laughs at whatever is happening on-screen. She stands, suddenly ill, and pushes past Vax. “Sorry - need to make a call,” she hastily excuses, and she glances back over her shoulder and catches sight of that white hair, those glasses, and she--   She crawls into a bunk with Pike, who says nothing and rubs her back as Vax’s voice echoes throughout the bus, Keyleth’s name falling from his lips like a prayer.   --   (She hears ta, Percival, and her lungs shudder in her chest. Pike’s hand falters over her spine.   It’s tough, she whispers to Pike.   I know, honey.)   --   But damn it, Percy likes her.   He watches her performances on YouTube, sometimes of her concerts the day after she’s played them; he reads interviews the band has done, listens and listens again to their album. He has most, if not all, of their songs memorized.   “I don’t get it,” Keyleth says one night as she re-pots one of his plants that she’s convinced is bored of its soil. “Why won’t you just talk to her?”   “Because she’s too good for me.”   “Oh, Percy,” Keyleth tuts under her breath. “You know that’s not true.”   “I know no such thing,” he states immovably, keeping his eyes trained on the old radio he’s tinkering with.   “You’re a good person.”   “Perhaps, perhaps not.”   “Okay, I take it back,” Keyleth huffs. “You’re exasperating.”   Percy smiles. “That’s more like it.” He feels sort of bad, though, because he knows Keyleth is trying to help; he doesn’t want her to think he’s taking her for granted. “Look, Keyleth - it was easy for you and Vax, and that’s great. But I’m...struggling. And I don’t think she even - it’s been weeks, hasn’t it? She doesn’t fancy me like that.”   “Vax and I aren’t dating,” Keyleth says bizarrely, undermining everything Percy has previously believed.   “What?” he asks, craning his neck to look at her. Her expression is troubled and confused, but the flowers hold her gaze. “What do you mean?”   “I mean we aren’t dating,” she repeats, straightening a bouquet. “He’s not into me like that.”   “Keyleth,” Percy says slowly, fearing he’s entered an alternate reality, “that boy is obsessed with you.”   “He can have anyone he wants,” she reasons to herself aloud. “He’s a rock star, Percy, he’s like - he’s just so cool, and I’m just me.”   Percy’s stunned into silence, but there’s a deeper truth there, lingering underneath the absurdity of her words - he sees himself reflected in them, damaged and uncertain and afraid.   Well, balls. Maybe this is what he sounds like to her. Maybe it’s time he start leading by example.   “You aren’t just anything,” he says kindly, and Keyleth smiles brightly in response. “He’d be the luckiest person in the world if you chose to give him a chance.”   She starts humming to herself as she tends to the rest of the flowers. Percy picks up his phone and texts--   TO: Vex’ahlia Hello.   --   “Band meeting!” Vax yells as they approach a McDonald’s at two in the morning, somewhere in Vermont. They pile out of the bus, Vex clutching her phone tightly, Grog carrying Pike in on his back. He orders fifty nuggets between them and Vex knows he’ll eat about forty of them. They get five orders of fries and a couple Big Macs and hole up in a corner, even though the place is basically deserted.   “So what’d he say?” Vax pokes her in the side, shoving fries in his mouth with his free hand.   “‘Hello,’” Vex quotes, staring down at her phone.   “Well, he’s clearly thinking about you,” Pike points out, smothering her nuggets in honey mustard. “I mean, he’s had your number for awhile, right?”   “According to Vax.”   “Yep,” the boy supplies helpfully, still chewing.   “So obviously he’s been holding onto it for whatever reason, like, debating whether or not to text you,” Pike rationalizes. “What are you so worried about?”   “He’s royalty,” Vex says vehemently. “He’s a movie star.”   “You’re royalty, too,” Grog responds, and slurps loudly at his coke. “And you’re a music star.”   “What do I say?” Vex asks the group, having a mild internal crisis that nobody can quite decipher the cause of. Scanlan finally takes a stand, leaning over the table.   He says, “I’ve got an idea.” He takes her phone and types something in before sliding it back to her with a shit-eating grin. She glances down.   “‘Hey,’” she reads aloud.   “It’s perfect,” Scanlan says. “Short, sweet, to the point.”   She stares blankly at him. Vax laughs loudly, and even Pike stifles a grin.   Grog says, “I like it.”   When her expression doesn’t change, Scanlan sighs; well, he is the oldest of the group, after all, he claims, and he’s beyond petty dramatics. He says patiently, “Vex, just fucking say hi. Just be his friend - the poor guy, he always seems so lonely. What’s so terrifying about just being a friend?”   She thinks of Saundor with his hand around her throat, spitting into her face about her cruelty and selfishness and worthlessness; Syldor and the disapproval etched into his face like age lines, his eyes unforgiving and cold; she thinks of the sting of rejection, of never, ever being good enough, or talented enough, or noble enough - I know people with money and they are definitely not worth you--   TO: Percival de Rolo hello   TO: Percival de Rolo what do you think of this lyric - “and I swear that if I could, I’d rid my blood of you and give it back”   FROM: Percival de Rolo I support the sentiment.   FROM: Percival de Rolo But I implore you to keep your blood where it is. You need it to live.   “We’re good,” Vex declares to the table, and Grog celebrates by shoving five nuggets into his mouth at once.   --   It’s as if he’s finally knocked down an imagined, previously thought to be impenetrable barrier just by saying hello; she texts him all the time - when she’s bored, when she’s excited, when she’s upset, when she’s inspired; for every reason, just because - and she’s so engaging and definitive within herself that he can’t help but be drawn to her. Sometimes he feels as if his own identity is a stone’s throw away from shattering entirely, like he isn’t always sure he’s all the things he pretends to be, but he feels more himself than ever when he’s talking to her, which comforts him and terrifies him equal amounts.   (3 days ago FROM: Vex’ahlia i must say, i do quite prefer flying to driving. so much quicker. better views.   TO: Vex’ahlia Disagree. Depends on what you’re looking at, I think.   FROM: Vex’ahlia the grand canyon.   TO: Vex’ahlia Ah, well, that would be a nice view.   2 days ago FROM: Vex’ahlia how do you feel about dragons?   TO: Vex’ahlia Well, I’m convinced that all mythology came from somewhere, with a basis in reality…   FROM: Vex’ahlia i feel as if i wouldn’t trust them.   TO: Vex’ahlia You’d be one. A magnificent blue dragon hoarding treasure.   FROM: Vex’ahlia does sound like me. too complimentary, percival, truly.   Yesterday, 4:05 AM FROM: Vex’ahlia i can’t sleep. you should hear grog snore. maybe i’ll kill him just to shut him up.   TO: Vex’ahlia Dear, I think your talents are best left out of prison.   FROM: Vex’ahlia did i wake you?   TO: Vex’ahlia I shall neither confirm nor deny, for fear of you stubbornly deciding I shan’t be texted in the wee hours of the morning.   FROM: Vex’ahlia you flatter me. my every whim is meant to be answered. i expect nothing less from you.   TO: Vex’ahlia Oh, excellent, so we’re on the same page.)   Keyleth comes barging into his hotel room one evening in mid-April - they’re filming on location for the next month, somewhere just outside of Atlanta - and throws herself across his bed, her phone glowing in her hands.   “Vax invited us to a concert,” she squeaks out, overcome with exhilaration. “It’s this weekend and we aren’t filming - Saturday night in New York!”   TO: Vex’ahlia Your brother invited us to a show?   FROM: Vex’ahlia yes, i wasn’t supposed to ruin the surprise - are you going to come? :)   TO: Vex’ahlia Do you want me to come?   FROM: Vex’ahlia don’t you want to see me rock out in-person, all american-like? it’s much more satisfying than a grainy youtube video   TO: Vex’ahlia Well, with an offer like that.   “That sounds wonderful,” Percy says agreeably, his stomach knotting and tensing at the very idea.   “We get backstage passes and everything,” she informs him, almost trembling with anticipation. “Can you believe it?!”   He can, actually, as they probably could’ve gotten them anyway, seeing as who they are - but it’s the same reason Keyleth is so refreshing; she’s always herself in her eyes, nothing more and nothing less, an awkward bumbling girl who prefers trees to people despite her gift of acting. He imagines she’s the type of person to win an Oscar and say, oh, wow, I had no idea you guys felt this way about me, and it endears her to him all the more.   Percy reaches for his laptop on his nightstand. “S’pose we should start booking tickets. Where are they playing, anyway?”   “Terminal 5,” she says. “You’ve been to the city more than I have, so I’ll leave the planning to you, for once.”   “Hang on.” Percy unlocks his phone again. “It’s probably best if we go through the official channels.” Keyleth hums noncommittally as Percy dials his agent.   “Hey, Percy,” the voice greets warmly after a few rings. “How’s the shoot so far?”   “Hello, Allura,” he responds, and Keyleth echoes his greeting in the background. “Going well, thanks, but I’m actually calling in regards to some personal business.”   “Are you finally handing me a proper Hollywood scandal, Percival?”   He smiles. “Afraid not.”   “An agent can dream.” She’s teasing him, he knows - if anything, he is an agent’s dream and she’s well aware of it. “What’s up?”   “Keyleth and I have been invited to see Vox Machina in New York on Saturday night. I figured we’d spend the weekend.”   “Oh? By who?”   “The band.”   She laughs. “I approve. I can make this work - it’ll be good to have you seen out and about supporting other forms of art. Kima and I will take care of reservations for the two of you.”   “And how’s Kima?” he asks, and not just out of politeness or obligation - he loves Kima and Allura, and it couldn’t have been better luck for him and Keyleth to have agents who are married to each other, considering whenever they do anything personal it’s usually together anyway. It makes it easy for their agents to coordinate.   “She’s great. She’s going over a few releases about Keyleth’s upcoming movie - let Keyleth know that the early reviews are all overwhelmingly positive. I know she missed a few screenings already because of work.”   He brings the phone away from his mouth slightly. “Keyleth, you’re getting excellent reviews for Aramente.”   She rolls over, looking at him upside-down, her eyes bright. “Really?!”   “Yes.”   “Cool!” She stares dreamily at the ceiling for a moment. “That was a fun movie. That’s so cool.”   “Anyway,” Allura continues, “I’ll send over your reservations and any pertinent info in a few.”   “Fantastic. Much appreciated. Ta,” he says, and he hangs up.   He and Keyleth relax in silence awhile longer, lounging on his bed - Allura sends him an email with a hotel reservation and options for flights, leaving that for Percy to book himself. They decide they’ll arrive Friday early evening, sparing the risk of any travel fatigue, and then they���ll have all day Saturday to do whatever they want.   He forwards the itinerary to Vex, who texts him immediately.   FROM: Vex’ahlia we’re at the same hotel and we arrive friday morning. you’ll spend the night out with us, won’t you, percival? we have a show that night but should be done by 10:30.   TO: Vex’ahlia What are your plans after? We’d be honored   “Hey, Percy, we’ll go to Central Park, right? I mean, I love the city, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a picnic or something?” Keyleth interrupts his train of thought and he pauses typing for a moment, continuing the rest of the sentence distractedly.   “Sure - if you don’t mind people possibly approaching us we can go to Sheep Meadow,” he allows, knowing Keyleth loves meeting fans, “or we can just walk along until we find an appropriate, somewhat secluded location. And if the weather’s nice,” he adds as an afterthought, sending the message without realizing what he’s typed, which is--   TO: Vex’ahlia What are your plans? We’d be honoured. I’m coming to see you, after all.   FROM: Vex’ahlia Just me in particular? ;)   “Oh, balls,” he says, blushing furiously down at the screen, Keyleth immediately takes notice and rolls back over to read his text, and then giggles cutely.   “Freudian slip?” she sing-songs, and slides halfway off the bed, stretching her limbs.   “That man was wrong about almost everything after caving to pressure from his colleagues who didn’t like the findings of his research, and frankly it’s a sin he’s still used as an authority today at all,” Percy counters, but, well - the concept does stand, in this case. He hovers inside of himself, at war. What to say, what to say.   TO: Vex’ahlia Technically, dear, yes.   --   People take their picture in the lobby. Some fans are brave enough to approach them, and they sign autographs and smile for Snaps, Grog sticking his tongue out and Pike laughing, Vax and Vex with their peace signs, Scanlan in inappropriate poses. Gilmore checks them in and gets their keys, making sure everything’s in order, and they’re spread out among a nice suite on the thirty-second floor.   Half of them decide to just crash immediately - they don’t really have plans until their show in a few hours - and Pike curls up next to Vex in one of the bedrooms, whispering animatedly.   “Don’t make fun of me,” she starts ranting, “but I’m really excited to meet them. They’re amazing actors! Everyone’s saying they’re gonna get nominated for Oscars - apparently that new movie Keyleth’s in is like, mind-blowing - and Percival’s definitely winning for Whispers. Ugh. And he’s like - I mean, come on, Vex. He’s hot.”   Vex snickers into her arms, stretched out on her stomach. “He has a nice face, I’m not disagreeing with you there.”   Pike raises herself onto her elbows. “No, like, everywhere on that boy is nice. He’s a mechanic for fun - I read that in an interview, and he was shirtless in Whispers - he’s ripped, Vex.”   This information sinks in slowly, because Vex can’t reconcile his slenderness with muscle, but Pike’s already on her phone, searching for the proof. She makes a noise of victory in her throat, shoving the device towards Vex. “Look.”   “Holy shit,” Vex says, her eyes widening, neck snapping up. “What the bloody--”   “I told you.”   “Hells,” she says, not quite able to comprehend what she’s seeing. “Christ. Wow.”   It’s just a simple still from the movie - she resolves right then and there to watch it as soon as possible - but he’s standing in a shop, shirtless, covered in soot, and Pike had not been fucking around - he is...extremely well-defined, to say the least. Chiseled, rugged. She imagines touching him, feeling his body against hers--   Pike tells her, “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, is all I’m saying.”   “Erm, yeah.”   “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed either, though, Vex, just so you know.”   Vex winks at her. “Oh, I’m aware, darling, as you’ve had many opportunities to do so.”   Pike digs her fingers into Vex’s side, laughing as she tickles her; Vex squeals, slapping her hands away--   --   (“Girls,” Grog says, shaking his head, as he and Vax prepare to leave for lunch.   “That’s sexist, Grog, they’re just having fun,” Vax points out. “Nothing wrong with that.”   “Oh, sorry,” Grog says, genuinely apologetic. “I thought that was just something people said.”)   --   Percy and Keyleth don’t have an eventful journey aside from the usual paparazzi catching them at the airport and groups of fans clamoring around them at the gate, but they’re in first class on the plane, and there’s a private car waiting to take them to the hotel when they land.   They step out by themselves for a late lunch, knowing their dinner won’t be until after the band’s show is over; they split a nice bottle of wine at an Italian place Keyleth had picked around the corner. They’re mostly safe from photographers, though Percy’s sure a few random patrons have snapped some pictures under-the-table. Well, it goes with the territory.   After that, Keyleth’s too wired to go back to the hotel and drags him into a bar down the street with a semi-private back room; they sit at a booth and drink jalapeno margaritas, and throughout the night fans approach, asking for pictures and autographs. They oblige every time; Keyleth’s thrilled by it, honored, like she’s being given some incredible opportunity. It’s unbearably sweet.   By the time they meet the band in the lobby - the first time Percy’s seen them all together, up-close, and boy are they an intimidating group - they’re showered, fresh, and dressed for camouflage. It’s easy to blend in the city, fortunately, though Grog probably causes a stir everywhere and Percy’s hair is a dead giveaway, but he’s wearing a beanie whereas Grog’s just - a giant. All the time. Well, it is what it is.   There’s Vex again, standing in front, even more beautiful than he remembers even though she’s dressed casually in ripped jeans and a tank and hoodie; she smiles widely at him and steps forward--   Keyleth goes flying into Vax’s arms, startling him; he lifts her up and spins her around once, beaming. “Vax!” she exclaims. “It’s so good to see you! How was the show?!”   “You too, Kiki, and it was great!” He grins back at her. “Here, meet everyone, come on - Percival, great to see you as well--”   “Cheers,” Percy answers, glancing at Pike and smiling. “Hello, I’m Percival Von Mu--”   “You can call him Percy,” Keyleth interrupts customarily, waving a hand again.   Vax wraps an arm around him and grinds a hand against his hair. “You’re famous and shit, Percival!” he proclaims, and Percy laughs despite himself. “They know who you are.”   Vax lets go of him and continues the introductions; Vex approaches him and gives him a warm hug, her arms encircling his neck, her body against his - it’s brief, too brief, and he barely has the time to process the way it makes him feel before she lets him go. Upon releasing him, a phone is suddenly shoved into his face as she says, “Look, you and Keyleth are having a lovely romantic getaway this weekend.”   Sure enough, there’s an article open on some gossip website with pictures of the two of them at the airport earlier that afternoon, deep in conversation. Percy grimaces. “They’re determined to push that angle. Apparently we have an active fanbase.”   “We do,” Keyleth pipes up. “Some of the blogs are really pretty.”   “She follows them,” Percy supplies.   “They’re really nice to us.”   Pike giggles nervously as she leans up to hug Keyleth in greeting; the blush on her cheeks doesn’t hide well. “I follow blogs dedicated to us, too. It’s fun.”   “So, shall we?” Scanlan asks, and extends his arm to Pike. “My lady?”   “Oh, thanks, Scanlan, but I’m already holding someone’s hand,” she says, holding back a smirk as she places her small fingers in Grog’s, who barely notices. Scanlan moves on with a fake sigh and a rejection he’s clearly used to, so Percy doesn’t bother feeling bad for him.   --   They have dinner at a small, hole-in-the-wall burger joint in the Village - the type that New York is famous for - and it’s actually the best burger he’s ever had in his life. She sits next to him in the booth, her boots kicked out under the table, back of her hand pressed up to her mouth when she laughs. Their thighs brush, they knock elbows. He thinks about turning and kissing her and citing the small space. Sorry, he imagines saying, I just ran out of room.   They have ciders and rate them against European ones. She’d love to live in a small town around the English countryside, she divulges; somewhere with space and sky and woods. Keyleth agrees, raising her glass. Percy says, without thinking twice, Yes, I’d probably like that.   If she notices, she doesn’t respond; she offers a fry to Pike and smacks Grog’s hand away from stealing it.   --   Vex wants to go clubbing. She misses clubbing, dancing, that escape of alcohol and pounding beats. Percy shifts next to her, his arms flexing, the muscle prominent underneath; she wants him all over her, the sweat of his body under colored strobe lights. She wants him and she wants to not think about anything else anymore, not Saundor or Syldor and their sharp, cutting words. He smiles shyly and pays the bill before anyone even knows the bill has come.   Vax invites Percy and Keyleth back to their suite to hang out and drink; Vex’s body trembles. As much as she’d love to dance - well, fame has its downsides. Perhaps not tonight. And she’s made it so long without slipping back into her old habits.   Keyleth accepts for them - Percy doesn’t react at all, but he seems to appreciate her enthusiasm; Vex can tell it’s important to him than Keyleth is happy. She finds that overwhelmingly sweet and the sudden urge to fuck it out of him entirely hits her like a gunshot. Pike gives her a knowing look and mouths, I know.   Gilmore’s out with his own friends - that man has contacts everywhere - and they crack open the hard liquor and beer, playing music over the stereo system and talking. Grog and Keyleth, in the showdown of the century, have the shotgunning contest they should’ve had at after party - Pike roots for Grog out of loyalty, to which Vax raises a finger and chants Keyleth’s name even louder; and then--   Keyleth loses by a split second, something Grog is genuinely impressed by, and gives her a high five. Considering his method of drinking involves unhinging his jaw like a snake and widening his throat until he can just pour alcohol down it without swallowing - or at least, that’s how Scanlan describes it - it’s amazing Keyleth finished as closely as she did.   Vax and Scanlan take turns selecting songs, trying to find music that appeals to Percy, who they treat as some sort of toddler, giving him about a minute of each song and asking - very slowly - if he liked it or not, before selecting a new one and doing the same thing all over again.   By the end of it, Percy has a few new artists he’s apparently a fan of - Tunng has a good song, and he’s into the electronica vibe of CHVRCHES; Hozier, he says, sounds like who he’d be if he made music, and then a few classic rock bands - and then people start drifting off one at a time, slowly. Pike smiles apologetically and says, “Being on the road’s just tiring - but you don’t have to leave! Stay, it’s cool, we can sleep through anything.”   “Stay,” Vex says, and so he does.   --   They’re playing music at a softer volume and they’re the only two left.   Vex stands at the window, looking out at the lit-up square below, the recklessness of cars, the people running like little dots on the sidewalk. Percy’s next to her, leaning on the window seat, also staring out. It’s slightly rainy and the clouds hang low.   “I wanted to go clubbing,” she confesses, though she’s not sure what she’s confessing to. “Don’t you ever miss doing things you used to be able to do before you were famous? Things that made you feel...better. Freer.”   “It’s been awhile since I’ve been a commoner,” he responds mildly, sounding sort of like a pompous asshole, but she gets what he means. He’s talking about the accident. Americans love the royal family, so they’ve known about him for ages; she imagines there aren’t many places he’s able to run to for relief and anonymity. “I’ve found comfort in other things. Mechanics.”   “It would,” she says, and nothing else.   “Clubbing, huh?” he repeats, and now he’s looking at her; she shivers without knowing why. “I can’t say I’ve ever been clubbing.”   She smiles, pressing her hands against the glass. “I can’t say that answer surprises me.”   “Am I not the type?”   “Not really, darling, no.” But she’s teasing, tone playful and light. She sees him stand out of the corner of her eye, but he’s facing her, no longer using the scenery as a pretense.   “See,” Percy says, talking about something else entirely, “this is a nice view.”   “We’re on the thirty-second floor,” she points out, not fully understanding. “I think you’re fighting your own argument.”   “Well, not exactly, as the view I’m referencing is in front of me.”   He’s so plainly forthcoming at that moment that it stuns her; it’s his version of flirting, she realizes, and she takes it in--   The light is soft, dim. Keyleth had lit a few candles, because she’s the type to light candles. Percy’s in a plain white t-shirt and black jeans, his hair ruffled and boyish, his stare sincere but bashful. Her phone’s plugged into the sound system on shuffle, and her music is low, slow, gyrating. They’re alone. She wants to devour him, fuck him until she forgets the names of her demons, until he no longer feels the torment of his own.   In a bold move, because it’s two in the morning, because she’s a little drunk, because it’s New York - she takes one of his hands and slides in front of him, pressing him back against the window, his entire body flush to hers.   “So, Percival,” she murmurs, and she’s well aware of how turned on she sounds, “you’ve never danced?”   His eyes flicker like blackness seeps into him; smoke is rising from his skin. The heat burns between them. “Like this?” He says, and she’s pleased to hear his voice shake. “Never.”   She smiles with a dangerous flash of teeth. “Good.”   --   So, what they’re doing is definitely not dancing.   She guides his hands to her hips, knowing he won’t move first without permission; her palms splay against his chest, and she’s humming the melody playing low in her throat. He can feel her breathing, the way her body sticks to him, her chest rising and falling; he’s caught up, overcome--   She sways slowly, almost grinding against him; he bites the inside of his lip on instinct, looking down at her, eyelids heavy. She’s still fucking smirking, and her hands drift up, over his shoulders, around his neck; she finally shifts her gaze up and locks eyes with him, now quietly singing the words - he’s momentarily distracted by it, because how many people get to hear her sing without a stage, and her voice is sultry and gorgeous and hot - and then he comprehends the lyrics--   When you say it like that…   His fingers curl around her hips; she drops her stare to his mouth and continues, “Let me fuck you right back,” and he about faints right there.   “Oh, holy shit,” he breathes out.   “Something wrong, dear?” she asks, and her tone is low and teasing, knowing exactly what she’s doing to him.   But he’s still drunk, too, and reservations aren’t exactly something he has the time or willpower to manage. “This isn’t music to dance to,” he says, and she laughs once, throatily.   “No,” she agrees, still slowly grinding against him. “It’s music to have sex to.”   His mouth is dry and all the flashing city lights are suddenly in the room with them. “I should’ve known,” he says, and pulls her tight against him. The smirk is suddenly gone from her face. “Only you would seduce someone with a song that isn’t even your own.”   They’re too close, it’s too dark, she’s going to fuck him here in a suite with four other sleeping people and he’s going to enjoy it and beg her for more; he cycles through the coming events in his mind and sees absolutely no issue with any of it. He’s already underneath her and she can do whatever she wants to him.   She presses her fingers against his cheek, guiding the tilt of his head, and she leans up--   They hear the unmistakable sound of the door opening and someone’s voice rings from the doorway, “Vex, darling, I know how pretty he is, but unless you’re inviting me to join, perhaps you should drag poor Percival off to somewhere private before you eat him alive, hm?”   --   Fucking Gilmore.   She’s fuming and turned on and it’s a horrible combination - Percy is actively averting his eyes from her, his hands now back against the window seat, holding himself up - and in an almost cruel fit of denial, she slides slowly back onto her feet, pressing her hips carefully against his until he’s again biting his lip, now burning red.   Gilmore heads off to bed, leaving them there, knowing he’s ruined whatever was about to happen in the suite’s living room and satisfied with it. She’s going to have a talk with him tomorrow. Fuck him, that fucking asshole, and fuck Vax for so long ago declaring him enough of family that he shares their rooms.   “Percy.” She needs him to look at her. She needs him addicted to whatever she’s planning next, anxiously awaiting her every move, his nerves standing on the precipice. He carefully glances down at her - he’s restraining himself again, Gods, she hates that, she was so close to unraveling him entirely - and she says dangerously, “This isn’t over.”   He seems almost amused at her tone and choice of words. “Is that a threat?”   “Yes.” Her mouth curls into a half-smirk, a remnant of what they almost did. “I’m going to fuck this sweet, sad boy act out of you. Who are you really, Percival?”   He shivers against her, his lips parting in a harsh inhale, exhale. “At this moment, I’m not sure I even know,” he answers unsteadily, pupils blown wide.   “Good.” She pushes off his chest, grinning broadly. He stands there unmoving, the shock and arousal still filling his veins instead of blood. He stares unblinkingly, swallowing once.   She backs away. “Sleep well,” she says airily, and heads into her room.   --   (She leans against the door and whispers, “Fuck.”   “Vex?” A voice mumbles sleepily. “Is that you?”   “Yes, Pike, it’s me,” she hisses back, waiting for the telltale sound of Percy running from their room, which comes a few moments later when the door slams. Pike sits up in bed; Vex can see her hazy outline.   “What happened?” She asks, rubbing her eyes. “Was that Percy who just left?”   “Yes.”   “Wait.” Pike’s staring in her direction. “Why aren’t you with him?”   Vex grimaces, knocking her head back against the wood. “Gilmore interrupted us.”   The girl gasps. “Like while you were doing him?!”   Vex laughs at that and then sighs, moving to throw herself across the bed. “Gods, Pike, no,” she says, an arm over her forehead. “We were - dancing. Sort of.”   Pike rubs a hand over her stomach comfortingly. “Aw, Vex, it’s okay. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances. I mean, come on, who’s gonna resist you? I would never.”   “Thanks, dear.”   “Anytime.”)   --   “And then she said--” he breaks off, blushing horribly, and then quotes, “‘I’m going to fuck that sweet, sad boy act out of you,’” and Keyleth’s head whips around the curtain, mouth agape, soap still lathered in her hair.   “No way,” she says, shocked and a little appreciative. “Damn, Percy, that’s hot.”   “I know,” he says. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Forgive me for being a little traditional, but I do genuinely like her.”   “And that’s a problem why?” Keyleth asks, disappearing again. “She nailed you, didn’t she? Wow.” She snickers to herself and he hears her repeat, “Sweet, sad boy act…”   “It’s not an act,” he says, mostly faking affrontement. “Am I not sweet?”   “Sure, sure,” Keyleth answers. He hears a bottle hit the floor and a small squeak of surprise before she continues speaking. “You’re nice, Percy, but you come off a lot nicer than you are. You can be cruel and cold when you want to be, or to people you don’t trust - and you don’t trust anyone. You’re...distant, I guess, is the word. From everything.”   He frowns; she’s not wrong there. “I trust you,” he points out, defiant. He hadn’t really viewed it as an act, though, but maybe he’s putting himself on subconsciously. “Semantics.”   “I’m rolling my eyes.”   “Anyway. I’m saying I like her,” he says again. “What if she’s merely - into the idea of sleeping with me and that’s it?”   Keyleth’s head pokes out of the curtain again. “Percy,” she says exasperatedly, “have you even looked at Vex? She could have anyone she wants; she’s like, beautiful. Some guy once threw a five-thousand dollar engagement ring on stage and proposed to her. She said no and kept the ring. Hell,” Keyleth adds as an afterthought and ignoring Percy’s jaw on the floor, “I’d date Vex.”   “Stick to Vax,” Percy says, still recovering from the bizarrely sexy idea of Vex rejecting some man and keeping his money but somehow wanting Percy. “I can’t compete with you.”   Keyleth laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, shutting the water off, “she’s only got eyes for you anyway.”   Percy resumes washing his face. “Well,” he says, and that’s really all there is to it.     --   Gilmore forbids them from going to boozy brunch - “It’s meant for Sundays,” he reasons with them, “and you’ve a show tonight,” - so they resort to normal brunch, though Grog and Pike are determined to sneak a mimosa; drinking always cures his hangovers and Pike’s desperately in need of relief for hers. Keyleth and Percy meet them in the lobby, Percy wearing sunglasses and looking a little more disheveled than usual, whereas Keyleth--   “Fuck,” Vex whispers to Vax, “does she always look this flawless? What the fuck, honestly.”   “Keyleth, you are hot,” Grog says randomly from behind them, and Vax bumps his arm.   “Don’t objectify women, Grog, just tell her she looks nice,” he instructs, and Grog glances at her apologetically.   “Oh, sorry,” he says genuinely. “You look real nice, Keyleth.”   She laughs good-naturedly. “Thanks, Grog, you look pretty handsome yourself.”   “She called me handsome,” he murmurs to Pike, his smile huge; she pats his arm and nods.   “Competition,” Vex hisses at Vax again, grinning. So, Keyleth isn’t the most charismatic of people, but something about her is undeniably entrancing; she’s not just beautiful. She’s the most honest person he’s ever met; she doesn’t care about her image because she’s intrinsically so good it doesn’t even occur to her that she might be projecting the wrong one. There’s no way he’s letting go of that after years and years of everyone expecting something of him.   “Kiki,” he says, falling into stride next to her; she links arms with him automatically and he turns to quickly stick his tongue out at Vex - who now, of course, only has eyes for Percy.   Whatever; more material for him, at least. If she’s going to tease him endlessly, she’s going to get it back twice as good.   Keyleth smiles at him and says, “I had a great time last night. Percy and I never go out like that. It’s cool to have such a big group of people.”   “They’re family,” Vax responds and shrugs. “It was fun to have you with us - we see each other every day, you know, so...I liked having you there.”   “Yeah?” she asks nervously, as if she really needs the statement reconfirmed.   “I like having you here now,” he tells her, his blood swirling around his heart at the sight of her slight blush. “Honestly, Keyleth, I do.”   “I’m happy to hear that,” is all she says, her eyes solidly watching the street ahead, but her fingers clutch his arm a little tighter.   --   (“Percival,” Vex greets warmly as he approaches, Keyleth now preoccupying her brother. “And how are we this morning?”   He takes his sunglasses off, wincing slightly at the light. “I’ve been better.”   Her lips twist up; her eyes are hungry and dark. She traps him like a snare. His heart thumps in his chest, his ribcage rattling.   He wants to fuck the smirk off of her face. So, maybe she’s a little right about him.)   --   Grog and Pike order mimosas before Gilmore can stop them; he waves a hand as if to say, it’s your head. They high-five across the table. Keyleth laughs and absorbs Pike in conversation about where she learned to play piano; Vax just stares, nodding along, contributing here and there but mostly content to watch; finally she turns the question on him, and he says, “I learned it to impress you,” but he’s grinning, a little snarky.   She takes it in stride. “Shut up, no you didn’t,” she huffs, but she’s smiling. “Tell me the truth.”   Ah, the truth, well--   “My mother was very musically inclined,” Vax says, surprising even himself at his honesty. Vex quiets, something that doesn’t go unnoticed. Grog, Scanlan, and Pike are now involved in a discussion on breakfast burritos and where to draw the line on ingredients, and don’t pay any attention. “Fortunately, it was a skill she passed onto us.”   “That’s nice that you have that now,” Keyleth says, and reveals herself to be more perceptive than they’d previously thought when she adds, “It’s nice to have something that keeps the people you love alive.”   It’s almost tactless - they’re at brunch and it isn’t information Vax had quite gotten around to divulging - but she isn’t fully speaking about them and their mother, and it’s what calms him, what keeps Vex from snapping. Loss can recognize loss, and Keyleth’s far-off look, her gentle, sad smile…   “You understand,” Vex states, seeking confirmation before being open; it’s not a topic the twins are normally forthcoming about.   “My mother left when I was young,” Keyleth says, very matter-of-fact. “She’s been declared dead - it’s been so long. She left for a business trip and she never came back.” Off of their stunned looks, she rectifies, “Oh, but not like that! Not like she - ran off, or something. It was supposed to be a week-long work trip; she used to take them all the time. That’s, ah…” she wrings her hands nervously. “That’s all. So I just meant - I know how you feel.”   Vax puts his fingers over hers, intertwining them. “Thanks, Kiki. And we’re sorry.”   She sort of shrugs uncomfortably, pressing on, locking eyes with Percy--   “Well,” the boy suddenly says off-handedly, leaning back, “almost my whole family is dead, so I’m not one for sympathy.”   Vex lets out a startled laugh and looks horrified; she covers her mouth hurriedly, but Keyleth giggles openly. Percy’s mouth is in a wry half-smirk.   “You can laugh,” he says, and his head falls against the booth, his eyes fluttering closed. “It’s already going to hurt forever, so you might as well laugh when it strikes you.”   Somewhere on the other end of the table, Grog is pouring an entire bottle of hot sauce on his burrito and Scanlan’s eating a raw chili pepper for a challenge; Pike is grinning while Gilmore shakes his head. Vex says, “We all have our crosses to bear, I suppose.”   “I’m not surprised.” Percy’s head tilts, following Vex’s stare. “Tortured artists. It’s so predictable it’s almost boring.”   Vax raises his glass. “Cheers, Percival.”   He supposes in some ways, it truly is the perfect phrase to describe what they are.   --   (They go to Central Park for Keyleth, who Vex is pretty sure may actually die if she’s away from nature for too long, and lounge around Sheep Meadow until they start getting recognized. It doesn’t help that Pike keeps Snapping, either, so everyone in the Manhattan area definitely knows where they are. They’re careful not to post anything of the actual famous actors until they’ve left, though, in order to deter the paparazzi, who don’t care for indie bands as much.   Vex takes a pic of Percy as he drifts off under the sun for a little while, and Keyleth says, “He didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” with a cute grin that Vex is sure is supposed to be a smirk.   Vex shows her how it’s really done and answers, “I can’t imagine why.”)   --   The show starts at eight, with a band Percy’s never heard of (shocker) opening for them called Chroma Conclave. It’s the first night of their leg of the tour - they’ll be opening for another month of shows - and Vex tells him privately that they actually hate the band’s music, but it’s a publicity thing and they can’t do anything to stop it. He’s familiar with the act of having to play nice with difficult talent.   He and Keyleth are upstairs in the VIP area - it’s tables and bar service looking down on the stage - and they get a few ciders and relax for the opening act, not paying too much attention. Internally, he agrees with Vex: they’re awful, more like metal than rock, but the crowd seems to be into it to a degree, at least. He watches fans hover around the merch table and thinks about buying a shirt as a joke; Keyleth’s almost definitely going to do it seriously.   By the time their band is about to take the stage, Keyleth’s had three ciders and she’s buzzing; Percy’s trying to keep a leveler head. The lights go out, the crowd screams, the neon signs flash; in the chaos of it all he sees them quietly settle into their instruments before--   Vex’s voice, as beautiful and sexy as it was when it was only him and her the night before comes echoing around his skull; he recognizes it immediately as their second single - well, I’ve got a story about how you left me for dead, I told you I loved you and never saw you again, now when I dream about you I hear it’s all in your head, all in your head.     “Babe, you’ve got me thinking I’m fucking crazy,” he sings under his breath, because he can’t help himself, because she’s entrancing and their music is good. Fortunately Keyleth is doing the same thing, only she’s singing all of the words and at a much louder volume.   Scanlan harmonizes with her nicely, subtly, not taking the song away from her but enhancing it - the title is Demons and he adds a haunting quality to it, like a dark vibration underneath the edges.   And then Percy realizes she’s playing the bass.   He is inexplicably, instantaneously turned on - watching her fingers move, her lips curving around the words, the way she holds the melody in her mouth - her eyes dart up, searching for his, and he sees her smile flicker. Maybe it’s only a trick of the light.   Keyleth turns toward him and screams, “She is so fucking hot!”   Finally letting go, he answers “I know” with a smile, and it’s the lightest Keyleth has seen him in years.   --   (The show is electric; the crowd can’t get enough and neither can Vex. She loves this. She loves the bright lights and the fans singing and the music burning up her skin; Vax is shredding next to her and Grog’s hammering the drums and Pike’s holding them all together, her notes a solid through-line.   And Percy - through the blinding flashes she finds his white hair and his unrestrained smile, Keyleth’s arm around his shoulders--   I’m not running out of time, babe, and you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna be mine.   She’s singing to him now, but one day soon, she won’t need to.)   --   They head backstage just before the end of the set to avoid the crowd, still wrapped up in the band’s final song; Keyleth sways on her feet and keeps singing, watching from the wings. Percy’s drawn more to technique from this angle - the deftness of Scanlan’s fingers on the guitar (he’s picked up about four different instruments tonight so far), the way Pike plays with her eyes closed, Grog’s ferocity fading and swelling in beat with the music - they’re well-trained, incredibly in sync with each other. It’s a pleasure just to witness.   The song ends, the crowd screams, the room is suddenly drenched in darkness - the band stumbles their way to the wings through the dimness of the stage, tripping over each other and laughing; Keyleth cheers with the rest of the fans as the lights flash on again for the encore, bright neon colors. Vax finds her eyes amidst the chaos, as if she’s the pull to a compass, and as he gets closer she yells, “Vax, that was ama--” before he takes her face in his hands and kisses her.   The rest of the band stops in their tracks, the roar of the crowd quieting to a dull hum in their ears at the sight in front of them; Vex’s lips are parted in a very subtle jaw-drop, and Percy can only stare, caught up in a moment that isn’t his but could be--   Vex’s lips are parted, and Percy can only stare; what if she had seen him first, what if she were standing in front of him smiling, disheveled, sweating after a show and the pressure of burning stage lights; what if he were healthier, assured, better--   --   (Keyleth has never been kissed like this in her entire life - she’s never even been kissed, not really, only for work or projects or an elementary-school dare - the softness and the intensity of it overwhelms her, his palms cupping her cheeks, her fingers automatically reaching up to curl around his wrists--   He pulls away, his eyes shining, his smile gentle and apologetic; his hands stroke down her jaw, her neck. He says, You know I’m in love with you, right?   She can only look on, dazed, buzzing, those neon lights filling up her heart and her skin is where she wants him to write his songs; she licks her lips and tastes salt, electricity, copper, music. She doesn’t speak. He backs away from her, his arms dropping, and suddenly she’s missing something she wasn’t missing before.)   --   Vex is hit with the truth.   Vax kisses Keyleth and it’s so uncomplicated; he loves her, he’s in love with her, he’s been in love with her. He doesn’t think twice, he doesn’t put himself on, he doesn’t try to be anybody he isn’t to make himself worthy of giving love, or receiving love. It’s so easy and pure and genuine and nothing like her, but like all the things she wishes she could be.   She meets Percy’s eyes and sees the longing in him, clouded over with a self-doubt she recognizes all too well. He must notice the mirror in her, as well, because after a moment he gives her a sad, resigned sort of smile.   There is nothing uncomplicated about her and Percy.   --   “I’m sorry.” Vax apologizes immediately after the encore. Well, he’s not, but he is. He should have asked, or set the mood a little better, or - anything, really. “Do you think we can go and - talk, somewhere?”   Keyleth stutters over herself, seeming a bit like a frightened wild animal, but not in a caged or trapped way - just an inexperienced one. She squeaks out, “Sure,” and her attention is far too occupied to even remember Percy exists.   Vax leads her into one of the now-empty rooms backstage, and before she can get another word out, he picks up a gift bag from the couch and extends it to her.   “I actually had plans,” he says, abashed. “I was going to give you that--” That happens to be a collection of every band shirt they’d had on sale that night, and a few very early designs that aren’t in production anymore, “--and hopefully charm you with a joke about how you may be our biggest fan, but I’m yours. No competition.”   She skids her teeth across her bottom lip, digging in. Her cheeks are flushed and red, her blood on high. She’s never done this before. “I, uh--”   “You don’t have to say anything.” Vax’s eyes drop. “I shouldn’t have cornered you the way I did. I was just - overwhelmed, seeing you standing there, so happy and excited and - I don’t know. You were too beautiful.”   “Okay, stop,” she breathes out, shaking with the hammering of her heart; he’s always felt so far away to her, but here he is now, plain and forthcoming and baring his soul in front of her. “You - look, I’m just - I’m not good at this.”   “I know.” He keeps a careful distance from her. “It’s okay, Kiki.”   She says, “I do like you.” There’s no reason not to confess. “I’m not used to - feeling this way about...people. It’s…” She struggles for meaning, nervously playing with a ring on her finger. “It’s just different, and I don’t know what to do, but I do like you.”   “Do you want time?” he says, clinging to the spark of hope she’s given him. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I’d never...push you into something you weren’t ready for. You must know how important you are to me, Keyleth.”   She steps forward, reaching for his hand, and presses a delicate kiss to his cheek; he resists the urge to hold onto her and she resists the urge to ask him to.   “Yeah,” she whispers. “A little time.”     -- (Years from now, Keyleth will look back and remember Vax’s grin under the glow of the stage lights, her fingers burning their prints into his back, his lips against hers with an intimacy far too deep for her to comprehend at the time; he’ll laugh into her hair, curled next to her in bed, and say Yeah, you totally loved me.)   --   They trudge back upstairs to the bar and they all get fucked up; Vax and Keyleth keep a polite distance apart, but not uncomfortably so. Vex says she needs the image of them kissing erased from her brain, but internally she hears Saundor’s voice, you’re selfish, Vex’ahlia, and care for nobody but yourself, reckless with no regard for the wellbeing of others; Percy sits next to Pike and answers questions dutifully about his upcoming films, who he’s liked acting with the most, who’s been the biggest asshole, and, (secretly), who’s his favorite member of the band.   She winks, and he rolls his eyes; “Oh, you know.”   Vex takes another shot. He’s not sure if she’d heard or not.   --   They’re all hammered by the time they return to the hotel, but the band’s wired as they always are after a show and Keyleth’s energy is endless; none of them want the night to end. Grog herds them back up the suite, laughing as they stumble and trip over each other, and Percy rationalizes that it must be Grog’s size keeping him upright, certainly not that the rest of them are lightweights. Grog grins but keeps his mouth shut, humoring him.   Scanlan starts some sort of card game that has them all screaming over each other - Percy is the first to be out, followed by Vex, who curses at the rest of them for show - but when she gets up from the table, Percy spots that shadow of sadness again, that flimsy mask. She catches his eye and she knows.   She approaches him and says quietly, “Feel like stepping out on the balcony for a bit?”   He nods once and follows her out. Nobody else pays them any mind, too absorbed in their game; as he slides the glass door closed behind him, he hears Pike scream, “You fucking cheater, Scanlan!”   The air is cool and damp; Vex leans against the railing and sags heavily, finally allowing the tension she’s been carrying to hold its full weight. She looks exhausted. She doesn’t glance at him when she says, “We need to talk.”   “Yes.” Percy’s voice is almost lost among the clouds. “We do.”   “You saw it too,” she states, keeping her eyes trained on the flashing lights below. “How...how simple it was.”   “I did,” Percy says. “But for what it’s worth, I never thought this would be simple.”   She smiles without substance, like the skeleton of a feeling. “No?”   “Vex, look at me,” he points out tiredly, running a hand through his hair. “I come with a lot of baggage.”   “So do I.” She licks her lips, pausing. “I thought it was just me. When we started this. I thought it was just me.”   The silence settles over them; everything is muted from where they are, the colors, the bright lights, the honking horns. He curls his fingers around the railing and squeezes. “Maybe we should try to be honest with one another.” It’s an uncomfortable topic to bridge. He attempts a semblance of humor. “I know you saw right through me.”   “I recognized the patterns, yes,” she says.   “I’m barely hanging on,” he continues blithely, shutting down the part of his voice that conveys any depth to true emotion. It’s difficult enough as it is. “I’m being treated. I spent a lot of time being nothing, being everything, being whatever wasn’t me with this life. I’m working on it.”   “That’s a good start,” she says, and crooks her head towards him without meeting his eyes like a silent acceptance, “because I rather like you. The you underneath all of this. And I’m - I’ve had a long recovery. Having. A long recovery.”   “I almost died,” he drops point-blank.   Vex waits a moment, staring at the whiteness of Percy’s knuckles, the tensity of his muscles coiling like a spring beneath his skin. “I almost died,” she echoes back, the carefree shouting of her friends behind her like a sick soundtrack to the tragedy of their lives.   He turns toward her, suddenly releasing himself. “What?”   “Surely you don’t believe you’ve the monopoly on horror stories,” she says wryly, and he flushes.   “That’s not what I meant, of course,” he responds politely. “Near-death experiences are rare.”   She leans forward onto her elbows, hunched further over the railing. A year and a half ago, she might have thrown herself off of it. “I had a boyfriend,” she says, but the sound coats itself against her throat when she tries to explain further, like rubbing sand between her palms, coarse and raw.   He seems to understand just fine. “Oh,” he says quietly.   “I’m trying, too,” she says, and finally stands tall, facing him straight on. He isn’t surprised by the sudden feverishness, but proud, almost. “I’m this now because I couldn’t be for so long. I think it’s the truth. I want to believe I’m putting on the truth, but sometimes I remember what I was like, and I don’t know.”   “You aren’t what you were made into,” Percy says, as if he’s reading her thoughts and pulling out exactly the right words to tell her in response. “It’s possible to have spent as long as you did as someone perceived to be without strength, but that doesn’t mean you don’t possess it now, Vex’ahlia. Or even then.”   “How can you be so sure?” she asks, and the intensity lights up the space between them, the focal point of lightning. He reaches up and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling kindly, and oh, yes, this is him, he’s here, finally making an appearance, Percy laying himself bare for her.   “You must have suffered a great deal and for a very long time,” he says plainly, softly. “Sometimes having the strength to survive is enough, even if you don’t have the strength to fight back.”   She feels a stinging in the corners of her eyes, the landscape suddenly swirling in front of her, lights blurry and out of focus. Her fingers are suddenly wrapped around the fabric of his sweater, clutching at his chest. “Yeah?”   “Let us agree that the nature of our shared experiences leaves us unable to lie to one another,” he continues, seemingly unconcerned about her desperate grasp on him. “I am seeing the truth of you. And I am telling you the truth. You are not as in conflict with yourself as you believe.”   I love you, she could say; she could say it now and somewhere in her heart she’d mean it, because Percy is right; the two of them recognize each other, buried deep underneath, like souls intertwined. I love you, she could say, but she doesn’t.   Neither of them realize the noise inside has quieted to a dull hum. His hand moves from her hair to her cheek, thumb wiping underneath her eye. She says, “You must know this doesn’t solely apply to me.” Her grip relaxes very slightly; she doesn’t want to ruin his sweater. “Being agreeable and polite and invisible until you have the opportunity to express emotion through someone else - I won’t patronize you as if you don’t know that isn’t healthy.” His mouth quirks into a sly grin at her accurate interpretation of his outward-facing persona. “You aren’t a ‘thing’ without feelings, Percy. You aren’t a tool to be used, or a vase, or any other lifeless, empty object. You’ve suffered a long time and a very great deal.”   He’s as intoxicated by her words as she is by his; it’s addicting, the truth, especially when it’s one you’ve been too afraid to believe yourself. He exhales slowly and leans in, not for a kiss but for support, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes are shut; she can feel his heart pounding. She murmurs, “I know how difficult it is to open yourself up again. To give yourself up to someone else. But I can handle it. You’re not a burden.”   “I’m afraid,” he breathes out, and God, they’re burning each other up with the thrill and novelty of understanding. “I’m afraid I’m - irrevocably damaged, or twisted. I don’t want to drag you into myself. I won’t do that to you.”   “That’s no way to heal,” she says, pulling back slightly to stare him in the eye. “Haven’t we established our inability to lie to one another? I have demons, too, and that means I can see yours for what they are, just as you see mine. Let me talk you out of them when needed. Let me scare them off.”   The look in his eyes is unbearably fond, but his voice wavers, uncertain and unused to the concept of hope. “And that’s not - that isn’t too much for you?”   The concrete balcony feels so firm beneath her feet she’s convinced she’s connected to the earth below, the dirt and mantle and core steadying her in place. She says, her spine straight, “It’s simpler to be strong for other people, don’t you agree?”   “I do,” he answers. His hands are now on her hips, the small of her back. They’re pressed together not out of want but out of necessity.   “We’ll find each other,” she says, low and tender. “We have to start somewhere.”   “I can start here,” Percy says, and presses a faint, delicate kiss to Vex’s forehead, before gathering her in his arms and holding her there.   --   (Keyleth smiles to herself, eyes downcast and averted. They’re all watching and pretending they aren’t. Vax, sitting at her side, doesn’t seem to know what to make of the display; she senses the war in him.   “Finally,” she says quietly, before he can make up his mind.   He glances over at her, corners of his mouth pulled down slightly, but the rest of his expression remains unguarded. “Is this a good thing?” he asks her bluntly. “She’s my sister. I need honesty.”   “I can’t speak for Vex,” Keyleth begins carefully, not wanting to set off any alarm bells, “but Percy’s...better than he used to be. When I first met him, he rarely even smiled, like he’d forgotten how. I mean - you’ve heard his story, right? So, I’m not gonna say that he isn’t without flaws, but I think…” she pauses to weigh her words in her mouth; tact isn’t something that comes naturally to her. “I think he could use someone else, you know? Someone who isn’t me. And someone exactly like her.”   Vax doesn’t answer her yet, still subtly watching them out on the balcony. It’s starting to rain and they’re both facing out at the city, buried in each other, unaware of the conversation taking place indoors. Keyleth tries, one last time, by saying, “I feel like...Vex can understand him. Understand what he’s been through. Or at least some of the - emotion, I guess, behind it.”   At that, Vax does look at her, eyebrows raised in a mild sort of surprise. “What makes you think that?”   Keyleth shrugs, unable to formulate a concrete example. “Am I wrong?” she asks instead.   Vax considers her for a moment, and then drops his head, as if he’s invaded a privacy for a little too long and is finally recognizing it. “No,” he says. “No, you’re not wrong.”   “Percy seems nice,” Pike adds, as if the rest of them have been given an entryway into the conversation. “He’s sad, but he’s nice. And, come on - when was the last time Vex has shown an interest in anyone? Let her have this.”   “Or do you not trust her judgment?” Scanlan adds, if not gracefully than at least purposefully.   Vax loosens up a little, taking into account his own motivations, and says, “I won’t deny that I’m wary of it, but…” He glances back to the girl next to him, beautiful and kind and good. “I trust you, Keyleth. I trust that you can see things objectively, for what they are.”   For some unknown reason, and one that endears her to him all the more, she blushes intensely at the compliment as if he’s just kissed her in a room full of prying eyes.)   --   They never notice that the shouting had stopped, because by the time Percy and Vex reenter, it’s started again. She’s wearing his sweater and her eyes are the faintest hint of red. Nobody comments on it, looking up as though they’d barely noticed the two were gone.   “Last game of the night,” Grog yells. “The two of you in, or what?”   Percy plops down on Keyleth’s other side, Vex beside him. “Deal us in,” he says. “I’m feeling lucky.”   --   They say goodbye the next day, later in the morning in the lobby, after a night of everybody once again sleeping in their own beds. Vax pulls Keyleth to him and she sinks into it because she doesn’t know how not to; whether she’s ready to face it or not, there’s something in her that longs for this, the closeness, the certainty.   Vex is again wearing his sweater; she smiles and winks flirtatiously up at him when he notices, and he rolls his eyes, feigning aloofness. He’s not getting it back, and he comes to terms with it quickly, more than enamored with the idea of Vex casually wearing his clothes.   They don’t hug. He stands in front of her, staring, overwhelmed with the events of the previous night, finding nothing left in him to say. She seems to understand wordlessly and reaches up, ruffling his hair with her hand like he’s an embarrassed young boy in need of validation, acceptance.   She says, “Hang in there, Percival. You’re doing great.”   It’s enough.   --   radiance against @thebriarwoods · 26m .@keylethoftheair are we all crazy or were you and percival hanging out with vox machina all weekend!?   Keyleth @keylethoftheair · 15m Replying to @thebriarwoods We were! They’ve been my favorite band since their debut and we finally got to see them play! We had such an awesome time!! Thanks @imvaxthatsvex @imvexthatsvax @themeatman @idliketorage @monstah Percival @percivalderolo · 12m Replying to @thebriarwoods @keylethoftheair and 5 others This is me officially tweeting my agreeance of the above statement   vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex · 10m Replying to @percivalderolo @keylethoftheair and 5 others percy, do u LIKE us? is that what ur saying??? u LIKE us??   vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 9m Replying to @imvaxthatsvex @percivalderolo and 5 others is that true percival? you like us? vax i think he liiiikes us…...   Percival @percivalderolo · 7m Replying to @imvexthatsvax @imvaxthatsvex and 5 others You’re both ridiculous. Obviously I only like Grog.   grog loves beer @idliketorage · 5m Replying to @percivalderolo @imvexthatsvax and 5 others rite answer mate   Burt Reynolds @themeatman · 2m Replying to @idliketorage @imvexthatsvax and 5 others hey   it’s me pike!!! @monstah · 2m Replying to @idliketorage @imvexthatsvax and 5 others Hey   Percival @percivalderolo · 33s Replying to @themeatman @monstah and 5 others You’re both great too.   it’s me pike!!! @monstah · 2s Replying to @percivalderolo @themeatman and 5 others Thnx!!! - from me n scanlan   --   Considering the paparazzi didn’t catch many pictures of them and they’d been seen with the entire band, not a lot of speculation arises from their initial meeting. But neither Percy nor Keyleth expect the silence to last - the twins aren’t exactly quiet about their interests; especially not Vax, who’d openly hand over his heart to Keyleth at any given moment, if only she were to ask him for it.   All Percy’s aware of on that topic is that whatever Keyleth-and-Vax are, it’s definitely something. They’re progressing, and though it may be slow, it’ll be forever when it happens. He can sense it in her, her heart unfolding like a flower. He knows she loves him, and Vax isn’t pushing her to go anywhere she isn’t ready to. Percy can’t think of anyone better for Keyleth, or anyone who cares as deeply for her.   He hears them, sometimes, through the walls of their shared apartment in Atlanta; Keyleth’s voice has taken on its own tone for Vax specifically, one so painfully tender he feels invasive just listening to it even without being able to make out the words.   (They like to sit on Hangouts or Facetime and just enjoy each other’s company. He’ll work on a song and she’ll practice lines. It’s nice, he says, not to feel so alone.   “You have a twin,” Keyleth points out, smiling.   “Well, that’s different,” he says. “You calm me. Like my soul’s been put at ease.”   Her cheeks burn pink and he doesn’t expand on the thought. She understands him just fine.)   Percy and Vex, on the other hand--   “I’m so fucking bored,” Vex complains to him over the phone; his cell is sitting on the counter on speaker as he cooks himself and Keyleth dinner. “I wish we could just fly everywhere rather than drive.”   “Why can’t you?” he asks, measuring out a teaspoon of salt, dumping it into the pot of water boiling on the stove.   “It’s not worth it,” she explains idly, rustling around on the other end. “With all of our equipment and shit - that’s saved for international tours. We’ll take a few flights here and there, depending on the distance, but it’s mostly driving.” She snickers suddenly. “I bet Keyleth would love it.”   Percy grins in response. “Most definitely,” he says, beginning to chop a tomato. “How much longer d’you have?”   “On this tour?” The rustling ceases; Percy imagines her still, biting her lip and thinking. “Two months. And you?”   Percy pauses for the briefest of moments, also attempting to calculate. “Three weeks on location - so into mid-May - and close to another month back home in the studio.”   Vex hums. “I’ve been thinking...as we’re in Atlanta next week, any chance you can give your biggest fans a set tour?”   He laughs at the sly edge of her voice, like she’s fooling him somehow, or being particularly clever. “I’ll see what I can do.”   “Lovely, darling, thank you.”   He sighs at the smugness lining her tone. “Oh,” he says mildly, dumping the cut tomatoes in a bowl, “as if I could ever refuse you.”   --   Filming is unpredictable, and so is traffic, so the band doesn’t get to set until late afternoon when they’re well into a scene. Percy relieves a poor, intimidated intern of them at the entrance to the soundstage and leads them quietly to where the assistant director is sitting under what looks like a type of tent, two large screens in front her, and on them--   “Woah,” Grog whispers, pointing. “Look at Keyleth. She looks awesome.”   Keyleth is towards the right of the shot, standing in what looks like a kind of dungeon, or a castle, and she’s stunning. Otherworldly. She’s wearing a green, loosely-fitting dress that appears as if she created it from the forest itself, a gorgeous mantle over her shoulders that unfolds into almost a cloak of leaves, and a circlet on which a pair of antlers seem to sprout from. She’s carrying a staff and laughing at something with an older, sickly looking woman next to her as a man fixes her make-up.   “My, my,” Vex says, examining Percy’s getup - he’s in a royal blue coat with some sort of puffy necktie and a vest over a white button-down shirt with slacks, and very nice boots. “Don’t you look dashing.”   “We’re between shots,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. “They’re getting one last angle on her and then she’ll have a moment to greet you while they set up the next scene. She’s actually just past the tent, here. If you take a quick glance around, you can see her - but it may be best if she’s not aware you’re here yet.”   “Cool,” Pike says, enthralled, clutching onto Grog’s arm. “Percy, dude, this is amazing, thank you so much--”   “Of course,” he says, smiling kindly at her, and then a hush falls over the set.   “Ladies,” they hear the director call in a thick English accent, “let’s pull ourselves together. Nearly there, nearly there. Marks, please.” Keyleth reigns it in, and they’re content to watch her on the screen in front of them. “And...action!”   Her face contorts, vicious, angry, terrifying; it’s an expression none of them, aside from Percy, have ever seen on her before and not one she would wear naturally. Her muscles flex under her skin, pulled taut, a snake ready to strike. The older woman is circling around her slowly, a cruel curve to her smile and a deadly look in her eyes.   “...Pathetic,” the woman whispers bitterly. “All this trouble and not a thing to show for it. You wouldn’t have even gotten this far if not for your...remarkable friend. Is this the truth of you, my darling? That you are a weak and powerless thing who only knows how to endanger the lives of those who help her?”   “Enough,” Keyleth says, low and dangerous, sounding nothing like herself. Vex shivers, trained on the woman, her dialogue echoing around Vex’s skull in someone else’s voice.   “You’re nothing.” The words ring in the air; it’s as if a chill moves swiftly through the set. “You’ve come to me with no help, no resources, no convincing arguments. You lack even words in this moment, and it is profoundly embarrassing. You’re a dishonor to yourself, and to those who died for you.” The woman curls her mouth hideously, pulling at her skin. “At least allow me to repay them by forcing you to suffer the way they did - slowly, without grace, without dignity. Let them hear you scream, like the others before you. Like your own mother.”   “I will not die,” Keyleth hisses, flooding her veins with fire, and suddenly they’re struck with the sense that Keyleth’s character has hit her breaking point. “Repay them, yes, I will - but not with my blood. With yours!”   And her hands whips out with more agility than they’d thought possible from her, wrapping around the woman’s throat, and hoisting her into the air, one-handed.   Percy quickly and quietly claps a hand over Grog’s mouth to stop his exclamation, as he hadn’t realized the other woman was on wires. Keyleth looks as if she’s exerting a tremendous amount of force, which they know cannot be true, but that’s the magic of cinema, Vex thinks, entranced by the display.   “Your girlfriend is way cooler than you,” she leans over and whispers in Vax’s ear, trying to ignore the ghosts. He smacks her away, but he’s smiling.   --   Keyleth almost stabs him with her antlers, which a crew member then pries off of her in a panic, fearful of the potential lawsuit.     “Sorry, sorry!” she says again, inspecting him for damage. “God, I was just so excited to see you, I’m so sorry, I always forget they’re basically weapons--”   “You could’ve killed him,” Scanlan says dramatically, and Vax snorts loudly.   “Kiki, it’s fine, honestly,” he tells her, taking her hand before it can reach him again. “You didn’t even scratch me. No harm done.”   She smiles brightly, allowing their joined hands to come to rest. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says, and then shifts her gaze to each of them. “All of you.”   “Are you?” Percy asks dryly upon his return from craft services, handing Vex a plate of grapes and cheese. “You won’t be after the news I just received.”   The party turns to look at him; Vex raises an eyebrow, the grapes in her mouth making her look like a chipmunk with half a full cheek. Keyleth blinks owlishly. “What?”   “Change of order, to put it lightly,” Percy says. “We’re filming the scene near the end where - erm, where you...overdo it?” He’s trying not to give it away. “Where I have to step in and help you. We were supposed to start tomorrow with it, but the weather forecast isn’t great.”   She stares at him for half a second longer before it clicks, and then her skin flushes bright red as if she’s boiling herself in water. She glances back to Vax and squeaks out, “Well, thanks for visiting!”   “Keyleth, Percival!” a voice calls. “Ten minutes!”   Percy grins devilishly. Keyleth is now the color of a sunburn.   “Well, obviously, we have to stay,” Grog points out logically, “because she wants us to leave so badly. Means it must be good, right?”   “Are you guys gonna fuck or something?” Scanlan asks bluntly. “I’m pretty sure that storyline wasn’t set up very well in the first one, if so.”   Percy actually laughs, and it’s genuine, unashamed and free. “No, no, we’re not going that far.”   “‘That far’...” the twins quote at the same time, staring between them ominously.   “Um,” Keyleth says, and then turns and runs away as fast she can in costume.   Percy only snickers harder, and says, “Go ahead and stick around. Once it starts, it won’t matter, anyway. She’s a professional.”   --   (So, Percy and Keyleth have to kiss.   Vex is nearly on the floor in hysterics; Vax is torn between utter amusement and a weird fit of jealousy. Vex, who’s never kissed Percy, has nothing to be jealous of, something she doesn’t mind rubbing in.   “I don’t know what I’m missing out on, you see?” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I can truly enjoy this moment. Oh, I can’t wait.”   “You’ll probably be dating him by the time this film comes out,” Vax says snidely, not willing to lose this one. “And then you’ll go the premiere and watch them kiss in high definition and surround sound. We’ll see who’s laughing then.”   Vex stops, staring off into the distance with an expression equal parts disgust, fear, apprehension, and longing.   “Yeah,” Vax says. “That’s what I thought.”)   --   It’s not actually that bad - it isn’t a romantic kiss; it’s a desperate one. Keyleth’s character is on the brink of destroying herself in order to bring about justice, or revenge, and she doesn’t care if she survives or not - misguided and grieving, she imagines herself to be just as bad as her enemies. But Percy’s character can see through the smoke and mirrors, the manipulation and ego, and when reason and logic and every other call to her soul fails, he kisses her.   It’s quite beautiful, and Pike and Grog find themselves oddly emotional even without full context; they keep patting each other and wiping their eyes.   The band watches the two of them really act for this, not behind the tent through the screens. In-person, they’re even more stunning and gripping, their transformations almost unbelievable to witness.   Vex has never seen this much unbridled emotion from Percy since she’s known him, and she recognizes again how spot-on her own interpretation of him had been. This is his outlet for feeling, for everything he can’t bear to keep within himself.   “I know you,” he’s saying. “You’ll trust her over me? At the end of everything, you won’t even allow yourself the final courtesy of believing a single thing I say about you? After what we’ve done for each other, after all this time and torture--”   “You want me to live,” Keyleth says in response, lost and heartbroken. “That’s your priority, but it isn’t mine - I won’t sacrifice anyone else! Let it end with me! Please, let it end with me!”   Whatever’s happening will be inserted as a special effect, but Keyleth mimes some exertion of power, and suddenly they watch one of Percy’s hands tangle in her hair and the other wrap around her waist, and he’s pulling her in close, pressing his lips desperately and painfully against hers. After a moment of her still and unmoving, her arms fall slowly and her fingers curl around his shoulders, and when he releases her his tears glimmer in the light.   “It won’t end with you,” he murmurs. “I won’t let you do this. I’ll die with you before I allow this to happen. This blood is not on your hands. Don’t spill your own.”   “Cut! We’ll cut there,” the director shouts, and walks over to give the two of them a few notes.   There’s a loud noise, a bit like a cross between a sneeze and a cannon. “You really are twins,” Grog guffaws at Vax and Vex, standing there with identical expressions of bafflement on their faces, their mouths hanging open. Percy and Keyleth are now laughing at a joke their make-up artist has cracked, as if the emotion of the scene was nothing but a quick interruption of their normal dynamic.   “I’m feeling like,” Vax begins, “I want to kiss Keyleth.”   “I’m feeling like I want you to shut up,” Vex responds stupidly, still dazed.   Percy finds her eyes and winks.   --   (Percy and Keyleth have to do multiple takes of it before they’re granted enough of a break to give the band a proper tour, but Vex and Vax decide once is enough, and hole themselves up in Keyleth’s trailer until they’re finished with it. Vax sits on the couch and doesn’t pry, but Vex pokes around, oddly charmed by the decoration. Keyleth’s got a windowsill of succulents and various gifts from fans plastered to her mirror, and in between, snapshots of her and with the people important to her - there’s a strip from a photobooth of her and Percy making ridiculous faces; another of them on set during their first film; one of Keyleth as a child and a woman who is most definitely her mother; and, dead center on the vanity, two distinct pictures side-by-side: her and Percy with the whole band from their trip to New York, and what looks like a selfie she’d taken with Vax, slightly blurry and out of focus, but the laughter on their faces genuine and real.   Vex smiles as she picks up the photo, and turns around, extending it to Vax.   “I think you’re doing just fine, brother,” she says as he stares at it in awe.)   --   They all end up at a local bar afterward, drinking and eating greasy pub food and relaxing in a private booth in the back. It’s more about enjoying each other’s company than getting drunk for once, considering he and Keyleth do have to show up to work tomorrow and do their jobs properly. They cycle through a few options as to what to do for the rest of the evening - Scanlan suggests bowling, but it’s hard for Grog to entertain ideas that aren’t all-out wild - when Pike catches Vex’s eye and grins, clearing her throat.   “Actually, Scanlan and Grog and I are gonna join Gilmore barhopping,” she says, lying through her teeth, though only Vex can tell. Grog pumps a fist. “So if the two of you wanna go hang out with Keyleth and Percy, you totally should.”   Scanlan seems to catch on to her game pretty quickly. “Yeah, definitely. We’d like to take advantage of our one completely free night while we’re here.”   Vex shrugs. “Be our guest,” she says, and then cocks her head at Percy. “Is that alright with you, oh gracious hosts?”   “Yes, of course!” Keyleth responds a little too quickly, fingers clutching at her bottle. “We can - watch a movie, or something.”   And that’s what they do. Well, sort of.   They make it through half a movie - some old, black-and-white classic that ends up mostly as background noise - before Vex falls fast asleep, curled up against Percy’s side, his arm over her shoulders. It doesn’t take him much longer to follow her there, dozing off underneath Vex’s weight and a blanket, and Keyleth quietly tugs Vax into her bedroom, seemingly ignorant of the implications.   “Let’s let them be,” she murmurs, shutting her door as gently as she can. “They’re obviously tired.”   Vax wastes no time making himself at home. He kicks off his shoes and sprawls across her bed, picking up a stuffed white tiger and examining it. “He doesn’t sleep with people often, does he?”   “Uh, is he supposed to?” She’s slightly confused at the question, quirking an eyebrow as she sits down next him, leaning back against the pillows. “Do you?”   Vax laughs, tossing the animal up in the air and catching it. “I meant literally. I have a twin sister and a tour bus, so we’ve shared a bed more often than not. But I didn’t peg him as a guy who’d easily do something as vulnerable as sleeping beside someone.”   “Oh, I see,” she says, resting the side of her head in her hand. “No, he doesn’t. He’s not really the type to let his guard down like that. So, I figured...”   “Ah.” It’s not an interesting revelation and so Vax doesn’t pursue it further. “And what about you?”   “Me?” She’s apparently startled that he even has to ask. “I’m an open book, aren’t I?”   “Sometimes,” he answers truthfully, looking at her, cheek pressed against her moss-green comforter. “Mostly. But I think everyone has something they’re trying to protect themselves from.”   She picks at a loose thread on one of her pillows, eyes averted down. “So what’s yours?”   He thinks about saying rejection, which is true, but he assumes that’s true for almost everybody. He thinks of Vex and Percy in the other room, wrapped around each other innocently, holding their demons at bay. He thinks of Vex at peace.   And then he thinks of Vex, four, three, two years ago; flinching at a touch like a burn, eyes hollow in her skull, looking more like a girl in a graveyard than a rock show. He thinks of bruises and emptiness and the faint foreboding of home. How she got to the point where it hurt so much it stopped feeling like pain at all, and then she was nothing.   “Change,” he says instead, unable to be anything but brutally, achingly honest. He hears the beeping of hospital equipment like the beating of his own heart. “The unknown, I guess. The future. The things I can’t see.”   It’s not the answer Keyleth is expecting, and she tilts her chin down, examining him. “In what way?” She can’t stop herself from asking.   He cradles the words in his mouth before spilling them out; he doesn’t want to pour out all of Vex’s secrets, but it’s him, too. There are parts that are his and he needs to talk about them.   “I don’t know how much you know, if anything,” he says. “De Rolo seems like he’s...good at playing his cards close to the vest. Like he wouldn’t betray her, if she had told him, and I know she has. I can tell how much of herself she’s investing in him.”   Keyleth doesn’t interrupt, but her facial expressions are simple enough to read; she half-smiles, bemused and sad, but he’d judged Percy’s character correctly and she appreciates it. He continues, “Vex was in a - a pretty terrible situation a few years ago. With a man. He...took advantage of her insecurities. He’d pick out all of the horrible things she thought about herself, and validate them to her rather than relieving her of them. He abused her. It was...bad. It was really bad.”   “Vax…” Keyleth exhales, the quiet acknowledgment breaking him down.   “I didn’t know,” he confesses, and his eyes sting sharply. “I didn’t know she thought these things about herself. I knew something was wrong, but she’s such a good liar, and she’s so...she didn’t want me to worry about her. She’s good at keeping people out. She thought it would get better, or that she’d one day work up the courage to leave him.”   “But she didn’t,” Keyleth infers softly. Her hands are now covering Vax’s own, resting gently on his chest.   “She didn’t,” he says. “He almost killed her, and all I could think about was that I should’ve known. I let her down. I left her alone.” She strokes her thumb with his, allowing him to let it all out before speaking. “I’m afraid that - she’s finally better, Keyleth. She’s someone I recognize again. And I don’t want to lose her, not now, not ever.”   Keyleth carefully bends down and presses a kiss to the back of their joined hands. She says, “The fact that you’re so terrified of it proves that you wouldn’t let it happen again, even if it were an option.” She pauses, rolling over sentences as she constructs them. “I think that makes you brave, Vax. People can’t - always admit their own faults, or places they may have gone wrong. Protecting someone...isn’t as easy as it seems. But I also think it makes you stupid.”   He’s so caught off-guard by the insult that he nearly laughs; she blushes, struggling to rectify the statement. “You know it wasn’t your fault,” she clarifies, and the redness in her cheeks fades fast. “You’re carrying this burden alone. She didn’t place it upon you.”   “I don’t know that,” he denies, staring at the ceiling, the brief amusement falling away. “Maybe part of it was, and I hurt her. Maybe my obliviousness almost got her killed. What if there are things I just don’t see? Does it then matter if it’s accidental or not? What if I hurt you next?”   She’s silent for awhile, pondering him, her grip on his hands loose and comforting. After a moment, she says, “That’s mine, by the way.”   “Your what?”   “What I’m trying to protect myself from,” she says, and pulls her arm back. “You hurting me.”   He tilts his head towards her, shocked, heart dissecting itself horizontally. “Do you truly believe I would?” he asks, refusing to accept the confirmation she’s giving him. “That I’m capable of it?”   She smiles kindly down at him, but it’s wistful somehow, morose and tender. “No,” she answers softly. “But you do, and I think that’s probably the same thing.”   --   When Vex groggily opens her eyes, it’s because there’s an infomercial playing at a much louder volume than the film they’d apparently dozed off watching. She blindly reaches for the remote without fully waking up and finds the correct buttons in the dim light until it’s a gentle hum, and then she leans back against whatever she’d comfortably been sleeping on, which happens to be--   Percy. Percy with his arm around her, feet kicked up on the coffee table, glasses set aside, peaceful and dreamless. Percy blissfully handing her casual affection without consequence, like it’s simple, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to give yourself up to someone. She doubts he even thought twice about it. She was there and she needed him and so he stayed.   She leans forward carefully and presses a delicate kiss to his cheek, not wanting to disturb him; she shifts to resume her previous position, but his hand moves, lightly rubbing her lower back. His head tilts to the other side, facing her, though his eyes stay shut.   He murmurs, “Vex’ahlia.” His voice is rough from sleep, but he lifts his arm again, allowing her the room she needs to huddle herself closer to him. She’s struck with the sudden urge to cry without fully understanding why. He squints at her when she doesn’t move, a small smile on his face. “It’s okay,” he says. “Come here.”   It’s almost as if something cracks open in her soul that she’d been holding back a long, long time; she sinks into him like pouring water, her fingers curling over his shoulder, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He doesn’t speak, just loops both his arms around her and holds her tighter as if to stop her from breaking apart in his hands.   --   (The apartment is quiet when Keyleth rolls out of bed to grab a glass of water, interrupted only by Vax’s deep, even breathing and the faint buzz of the television in the living room. She makes a motion to turn it off when she realizes Percy and Vex are still there, stretched out across the couch and tangled up together. They’re facing each other; his arm is thrown around her waist and she has her forehead pressed against his chest, and it’s too close, too intimate. Keyleth has to force herself to look away.)   --   Percy’s alarm vibrates somewhere underneath his hip early the next morning, but what actually wakes him is Vex’s muffled voice against his collarbone saying, “Turn that fucking thing off, Percival.”   “You do it,” he finds himself answering, still clinging on to the edges sleep. “Your hand’s closer.”   She harrumphs in her throat, but he feels her fingers digging into his thigh as she slides his phone out from underneath him, dropping it between their bodies. He blindly gropes for it as Vex resumes her rest, clearly too comfortable to let anything disturb her.   He squints at his messages; he makes out delayed call time due to weather and sighs contentedly, switching over his alarm and tossing it onto the coffee table. He’s slightly more awake, and Vex is still here, aware of their position and enjoying it; he lowers his arm back to where it’d been resting across her waist previously and pulls her impossibly closer. She makes a small noise of surprise but doesn’t move away; she merely readjusts her head and throws a leg over his hip, and he notices--   She seems to come to the same realization, because he feels her lips curve up into a grin where her cheek is resting against his shoulder.   He heads her off at the pass, too exhausted to care. “You can fuck right off if you’re about to laugh.”   She does anyway, prompted by his remark; it’s a sweet, tired sort of giggle without any weight behind it. “Well,” she says, “you are a man, and I am extremely attractive.”   “I’m sure it was the combination of those two things, of course,” he replies dryly. “Your perception remains unmatched.”   She laughs again, and her hand crawls upward, fingers resting gently against the side of his neck. “Another day, I’ll take advantage of it.”   “I look forward to it,” he says, smiling despite himself and the oddity of their circumstances. He feels her adjust her head against his arm, tilting up her chin to look at him, and he opens one eye, blinking blearily at her.   She’s smiling, and the tips of her fingers are dancing against his skin, and in another life, he is sure he is already doing this forever.   “Yes?” he probes, his stare unbearably soft, his tone too gentle, too open and familiar.   Vex runs the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip, biting her own without realizing it, an automatic desire. She murmurs, “You know I do, don’t you?” and her glance drops to his mouth and back. “You know I want you.”   Percy understands the confession for what it is: a validation rather than an invitation, a place for discussion instead of action. It wouldn’t be a good idea - not now, not yet - but it’s still the truth.   “Our call time was pushed,” he says in lieu of a direct response. “I’ve a few more hours. Spend them with me.”   “Here?” she asks coyly. “On your couch? Don’t you own a bed, Percival?”   “I do,” he says, shutting his eyes and resting his cheek against the top of her head, his hand running up and down her spine. “However, I’m lacking in the self-control your brother and Keyleth no doubt possess. And if this conversation has been any indication, I’m sure you are, as well.”   Her body vibrates in a silent laugh, movements becoming laggier, and he recognizes the signs of exhaustion overtaking her once again. He drifts away idly imagining what it’d be like to control his dreams, and that if he could, he’d dream about her now, exactly like this, and no shadows would be lurking in the background.   --   (And, well, Percy’s not wrong.   On the other side of the wall, Vax has stuck diligently to his allotted side of the bed and Keyleth to hers, bodies a respectable distance apart, comfortable to coexist.   But somewhere along the duration of the night, they’d found each other’s hands and they hadn’t let go.)   --   They’re lazing around backstage while the tech team does the soundcheck for the night’s show; Vex keeps yawning, and Pike finally takes pity on her and gives her the rest of her cappuccino.   “Long night?” she asks slyly, wiggling one eyebrow repeatedly up and down.   Vex rolls her eyes. “Not in the way you’re imagining.”   “Really?” Pike says disbelievingly, leaning back against the wall, crew members passing around them like they’re invisible. “Okay, spill, Vex. Don’t tell me he rejected you or something.”   She laughs, because it’s the furthest thing from the truth. “No,” she says. “It’s - it’s both of us, but it’s me.”   “Spit it out.”   Vex focuses on the bass line thrumming through the floor; somewhere on stage, Scanlan’s shredding out notes and Grog’s hammering away on the drums and Vax’s voice is echoing lowly through the microphone, singing about ghosts. But there’s another memory, one of a hand around her throat and a smile too cold and cruel and vicious to ever have meant love; she closes her eyes sees those beige walls, those linoleum floors and fluorescent lights, and sometimes her bones still feel as heavy as they did then, too broken and bruised to move.   Giving up all pretense, she says, “I don’t want to fuck him and hate myself.” The words are harsher and more blunt than she intends, but she pushes on; Pike’s always been someone to listen without judgment, without fault or flaw. “I don’t want to be afraid, and I don’t want to be...somewhere else. I want to be with him. And I want to remember what it’s like when it’s about someone else, you know? Not just - me using people to remind myself I still exist, and that I am wanted. That I didn’t die.”   “I get it,” Pike says, because she always does. She lays a comforting hand on Vex’s knee. “You don’t want to be in your head. And I’m sure Percy has that concern, too.”   “Yeah,” Vex says, willing herself not to cry again; she’s been doing too much of that lately. “I could’ve had him so long ago if I’d wanted. But it wouldn’t have been real. I would’ve hurt him and I don’t think - I don’t think I could’ve come back from that.”   “Because you would’ve been proving Saundor right,” Pike infers quietly, and takes Vex’s fingers in hers instead. “Oh, honey.”   Vex tilts her head back, resting against the wall. “Yeah,” she sighs out. Grog yells from somewhere around the corner, and then there’s a loud clatter; Scanlan laughs as Vax erupts in curses.   “But you didn’t,” Pike points out, ignoring the commotion. “You didn’t hurt Percy. You’ve done exactly the opposite, so far, actually. Anyone can see that he adores you, Vex; you make him so happy. By the time this weekend is over, I’ll bet the blogs will be going insane over the two of you. I know Keyleth already tweeted about us all hanging out again, so, I mean, it’s only a matter of time.”   Vex can’t stop the smile that unfolds as Pike rambles. “Fans are that perceptive, are they?”   “Oh, yeah,” she says, “but that wasn’t going to be my point. My point is that you make him happy, and you’re trying to protect him, and protect yourself. And even back then, you were trying to protect us. That makes you nothing like Saundor said you were, Vex. Nothing.”   “I’m really trying not to cry,” Vex says, her throat tighter with every breath, “but thank you, Pike.”   “Anytime,” she says, and the world pauses its rotation for a moment, giving Vex the time she needs to catch up.   --   (By some unspoken agreement, Vex and Vax take up residence in Percy and Keyleth’s apartment over the weekend. It’s strange, two couples who aren’t couples but should be casually sharing space; it’s not as if they aren’t all aware of each other’s shortcomings, either. Keyleth never comments on the fact that Vex and Percy refuse to use his bedroom, and likewise, no remarks are ever directed at her and Vax for deciding to use hers.   Vax hears Vex’s laughter through the wall and feels her heart is safe. Vex notices he stands taller than he used to, and there is no sadness to his smile.)   --   Pike, to nobody’s surprise, turns out to be right.   Percy and Keyleth coming to a second show and a third show back-to-back cements suspicion; i know its keyleths fav band but nobody likes a band that much, Keyleth reads aloud from her indirects, i think something’s going on with someone.   gianna loves you @gunslingers · 3h Replying to @suntree who do u think tho? have they been seen in pairs at all or should we start just taking bets. i mean i agree like 2 nights in a row...verrrry fishy   aya @suntree · 3h Replying to @gunslingers well pike & grog & scanlan were out w/gilmore thurs night -sans twins. so im thinking one of them ?   jj @voxexmachina · 3h Replying to @gunslingers @suntree Omg wait yall this needs to be investigated further,,,this is so legit. Are there pics from Thurs w/out the twins?   aya @suntree · 3h Replying to @voxexmachina @gunslingers yeah! someone posted the pics on tumblr here:   teresa 2.0  @strongjawale · 3h Replying to @gunslingers @suntree @voxexmachina well the twins are bi so the possibilities are truly endless here if it is indeed one of them...i’m ngl i’d be hella into percival and vax   back on my bullshit @vexxxed · 2h Replying to @strongjawale @gunslingers @suntree and 1 other I JUST DEADASS HAD A HEART ATTACK AT THE IDEA OF VEX AND KEYLETH ASDDSLGKDSGLJL   aya @suntree · 2h Replying to @vexxxed @strongjawale @gunslingers and 1 other asfkghsfdl percival is straight im p sure...my moneys on him and vex tbh. keyleth just seems too clueless (in a cute way)   jj @voxexmachina · 2h Replying to @suntree @vexxxed @strongjawale and 1 other Idk, Id be into Keyleth/Vax, theyre a whole midnight vs sunlight aesthetic just waiting to happen   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 2h Replying to @voxexmachina @suntree @vexxxed and 2 others thanks j, now i gotta go make that shit immediately.   It continues on like that for awhile, and Keyleth only stops because Grog almost pisses himself laughing at the idea of Percy and Vax in a relationship, to which Vax response by draping himself across Percy’s back with his arms around his neck and kissing his cheek loudly.   Scanlan says, “Can’t wait to see your aesthetics.”   “Oh, young love,” Pike adds.   Grog bends down and whispers, “What’s an ascetic?”   --   Moving on from Atlanta is harder for the twins than their brief respite in New York had been; not because of the novelty of New York, but because of the familiarity of home in Atlanta. Percy and Keyleth’s apartment had been the furthest thing from a tour bus or a hotel room, full of warmth and light and people who wanted them to be there.   But something in Vax which was once closed has now opened, and he can’t wait for it any longer. He refuses to sacrifice anything else, or anyone else. He pulls Vex off to the side one evening when they’ve stopped to refuel and he’s unsteady, as if he’s aching to talk to her but desperately terrified of her answers; he grips one of her hands in his, and she recognizes that the touch means something to him.   He says, “I love Keyleth.”   “I’m aware,” Vex says, obviously bewildered but indulgent. “I remember it well, as I was there when you told her.”   “I love her,” Vax says again, holding Vex’s hand against his chest, over his heart. “I love her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, or that I won’t be there for you whenever you need me.”   “I know that,” Vex laughs, rolling her eyes at his dramaticism. “You’re my darling brother. I get it.”   “No,” he says, clutching her tighter. “No, I really mean it. You can...tell me, when things happen to you. I want to be someone you come to. Someone who listens to you.”   Vex takes in his sweet, sad eyes; his earnestness, the masked despair underneath his words. She thinks of him sleeping in a chair next to her bed for a week straight, and every time before that she’d said I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. And she understands.   She pulls him in close to her, her arms around his shoulders, chin against the crook of his neck. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, feeling him hug her back slowly, uncertain. “You know - you know I’ve never blamed you, right?”   He shakes harder in her embrace, and oh, no, he’s never realized that, this stupid fool of a man whom she adores more than her own life; even if she doesn’t blame him, he blames himself. Her ribs feel like they’ve split open, cracking against the way she has to suddenly stop herself from choking on her breath. How could she never have realized, how could she not have thought-- “Vax, my God - no, you bloody idiot, what happened to me was not your fault! There was nothing you could’ve done--”   “I could’ve gotten you out of there,” he whispers, his voice barely hanging on. “I knew you were lying to me, but I didn’t--”   “You couldn’t have,” she says firmly, “because I wouldn’t have listened to you, even if you were sitting in front of me showing me the evidence. Vax, it wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t your fault; it was him. I...I believed certain things for so long that you could’ve done whatever you wanted and it wouldn’t have been enough. I needed more. I needed an army, and by the time I ended up where I did, that’s what I had.” She rubs her hands comfortingly up and down his back. “I know Grog and Pike stopped him from getting within a hundred feet of my hospital room and threatened to beat him fifty times worse if he tried. I know Scanlan was the one who looked into the restraining order and legal proceedings. And I know you sat at my side every single day until I’d healed, and I know you haven’t left since.”   He’s openly weeping into her shoulder, finally unburdened, relieved, and so, so devastated for her, for everything she lost and found again. “I love you,” he says through tears. “I love you so, so much, and I can’t live without you.”   “You don’t have to,” she says, pulling away and taking his face between her palms, meeting his eyes. “I’ll be here. Forever. Okay?”   He holds her gaze a moment longer, attempting to steady himself. “Okay,” he says at last.   “Good,” she says, “because now you can pursue the woman you’re actually in love with guiltlessly, which is what I want for you. I want you to be happy, Vax, and I refuse to be the thing that holds you back from that.” She takes in a breath, blinking solidly, blocking out the world for a second as she finds the words for her own confession. “Look. I’m - I’m changing, too. I’m trying to. And I think we both need to - trust ourselves, for once. Trust that we’re doing what’s right for us, even if it’s in different directions. We can find each other, no matter what.”   Vax observes her briefly, his mouth pulling into the barest hint of a smile. “He’s good for you, isn’t he,” he says plainly, almost looking proud of her. “I know you’re good for him. Why haven’t you told him yet?”   Vex bites the inside of her own lip, taken aback by the sudden shift in attention, and resists the automatic urge to deflect her emotion. “He is,” she says honestly. “And I haven’t...found the words. Maybe I need to sing about it,” she tacks on as a weak attempt at a joke, but he raises his eyebrows, contemplating.   “Maybe you do,” he says finally, and drops his eyes with a smile. “Maybe we both do.”   --   (We have things to say to each other, he tells her. We have things to say to them. So let’s say them the way we know how. Sit down with me.   Pike ushers Grog and Scanlan to the back of the bus, recognizing the importance of the moment building between them. Vax pulls out a notepad and two pens and sets them on the table while Vex gazes aimlessly out the window, her fingers moving idly across her guitar strings, searching for herself, for what she wants and how to achieve it.   What are you trying to stop? Vax asks, scribbling in the margins. What are we changing from?   Lying, Vex says, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. I’m trying to be more like me, and less like someone I was made into.   I’m trying that, too, Vax says, which surprises her. I don’t want to have doubts. About you, about myself.   Vex grabs the pen and writes out, I’m giving up this whole lie, and this whole me.   There, she says. That’s what I’m doing.   Vax furrows his brow, and in a different handwriting, Call it out like a family appears below it, but he doesn’t stop - instead I bide my time, get a ride, until the - he crosses out a few things; she sees ‘tires’ struck out, screech - and then: until the rubber leaves the road.   Vex doesn’t know how to follow that, and says, Okay, now what are we telling them.   That I’m determined not to make the same mistakes I’ve made before, Vax says immediately. That I won’t blame myself for the actions of others. But that sounds stupid, and shallow. It’s more like...she’s my intention. Does that make sense? She is, you are. It’s not like something meaningless I can break.   No, I understand, Vex says. It has weight.   She writes out words. Drive, motivation, determination, intention. None of them are right. Resolution.   Yes, Vax says, tilting his head. That’s it. Because it’s us, you know, it’s a promise to ourselves and to them.   Okay, Vex says, scrawling out you’ll be my resolution. I think we’ve got something here. Hold on. We can work with this theme.   They take turns scribbling down whatever comes to mind along the same lines - one verse has the both of them mirroring each other, with Vex writing, You said don’t lie so I made the truth / seem like a lie to even you and Vax adding after Control your fear, it’s clear / that you do not know where you’re going to.   Vex’s most honest verse comes because Keyleth and Percy text them around one in the morning, finally wrapping up their workday; they tend to stay focused during filming, but when they get home to relax, their minds wander, and the twins’ phones end up simultaneously going off more often than not. Keyleth texts Vax “miss you” and Vax takes a moment to just stare at her picture, and Percy’s message to Vex is simply “Wanted to say goodnight, apologies if I’ve woken you.”   Fuck, she breathes out, and Vax drops his forehead to the table. It’s torture, she says.   One month down and it’s in sight / oh I’m guaranteed to lose my mind It’s dangerous to speak and sigh / you might know what I’m trying to hide   Vax doesn’t laugh. It’s hard, wanting someone and not being able to have them, but not because the love isn’t there.   It takes them another two hours to finish the lyrics, and they come up with a bare melody born purely from Vex’s idle plucking. They decide it needs to feel like them, and not like the persona they put on; it needs to be vulnerable because it is.   In the morning, Pike finds the notepad still lying on the table, covered in doodles and scratched out words and a random game of hangman, “resolution” written at the top. She reads it - she figures they’ll get to anyway, considering they’ll be playing it - and is surprised to feel herself almost moved to tears by it. It’s deeply personal, and for once, it’s not angry or bitter or careless, or even rough around the edges like many of their songs are; it’s a mark of something new. She traces over the ink of the last lines.   I’m not you, nor you me but we’re both moving steady.)   --   vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 16m https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZaKMZ82mp4...   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 11m y’all it’s totally vex. listen to the song she posted ______________________ vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZaKMZ82mp4... Keyleth Retweeted vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 17m https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZaKMZ82mp4...   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 5m Replying to @imvexthatsvax @keylethoftheair FUCK !!!!!   --   FROM: Percy Interesting song choice.   TO: Percy do you have tweet alerts turned on for me?   FROM: Percy Obviously.   TO: Percy good. ;)   TO: Percy so any response?   FROM: Percy Musically? Perhaps. But it’ll have to wait.   FROM: Percy Plus, Keyleth retweeted it, so now twitter thinks you’re dating each other.   TO: Percy oh, balls.   FROM: Percy Her exact words were “ugh, she just so gets me.”   TO: Percy that’s the last time i try and sneakily reveal my feelings through music to you.   --   2:45 AM FROM: Percy It’s true.   --   A few weeks later, Percy and Keyleth are finally home.   Keyleth’s first priority is watering her own plants, and then heading straight to Percy’s to tend to his. She’s almost frantic about it, carrying a misplaced sense of guilt for ‘leaving them alone so long,’ despite having had someone care for them the entire time they’d been away.   The band is somewhere in the south, but they perform on a late-night talk show that’s employing one those travel the country sets where they host in a variety of American cities as a publicity stunt, and an opportunity for fans who don’t have the money to travel themselves. Keyleth and Percy originally don’t think they’re able to be home in time to watch due to the time difference, but a stroke of luck has them on Percy’s couch fifteen minutes before it airs, eating white cheddar cheese puffs and drinking wine, because they’re adults, for fuck’s sake.   The band looks even better than they sound, which is really saying something, because they sound incredible. Vex has her signature blue feather in her hair and Vax has his black one, and they’re wearing matching leather jackets, black skinny jeans, and shoes with studs on them - though where Vax’s are boots, Vex’s...are stilettos.   Percy’s face flushes bright red, and Keyleth, who’d been jokingly recording her own reactions like reviews, turns her camera on him to capture the moment. He’s sure his skin appears absolutely ridiculous against his white hair and scowls, raising a hand to block himself from view. She pats him on the shoulder and says, “Hang in there, Percy,” and then turns back to the television, zooming in on Vex’s heels.   After they’re done, the host comes over to chat them up for a bit, asking about their Grammy win, how the tour is, where they’re headed. And then, clearly as charmed by Vex as anybody in their right mind would be, he can’t resist a fake-but-not-so-fake proposal aimed her way.   “So, Vex’ahlia,” he says, charisma oozing out of him, “you’re beautiful, famous, rich, royal...where’s a guy like me start trying to get to know you? I’ve only hosted the number one late night show on cable for the last ten years, but somehow I doubt that’s something that impresses you. Any advice?”   “Well,” she says, smirking charmingly, fluttering her eyelashes, “if you’d like to get to know me, you can read my Wikipedia page; it’s pretty thorough, and mostly accurate.”   He laughs, a hand over his heart dramatically. “Ouch! The sting of rejection--”   “No, no,” she says diplomatically, now that her fun’s been had. “In truth, my heart is someone else’s.”   Keyleth drops her phone entirely, which proves to be unfortunate; she’d missed an excellent and unforgettable shot of Percy staring blankly at the television screen as though someone had just called out his winning lottery numbers.   --   Chaney @raspberryfieldsforever  · 18m @suntree @vexxxed @lizzyisademon @cooleraid DID U SEE THIS OMGGGG _______________________________________ Music or Lose It @musicorloseitmag “My heart is someone else’s”: Vex’ahlia, lead singer of Vox Machina, confesses on late-night...   aya @suntree · 15m Replying to @raspberryfieldsforever @vexxxed @lizzyisademon and 1 other I’M FUCKING LOSING IT I’M AT WORK I COULDN’T WATCH ASDGDSFG WHAT DID SHE SAY   RLY BACK ON MY BULLSHIT @vexxxed · 15m Replying to @raspberryfieldsforever @suntree @lizzyisademon and 1 other YES IM HAVIGN A CORONARY LIKE !! SHE DID THAT !!! ON LIVE TV SHE DID THAT   RLY BACK ON MY BULLSHIT @vexxxed · 14m Replying to @suntree @raspberryfieldsforever @lizzyisademon and 1 other AYA OMFGGGG she didnt say who or anything like it basically ended there but WE KNOW THE TRUTH…….   boo @lizzyisademon · 13m Replying to @vexxxed @suntree @raspberryfieldsforever and 1 other #TheTruthIsOutThere   RLY BACK ON MY BULLSHIT @vexxxed · 11m Replying to @lizzyisademon @suntree @raspberryfieldsforever and 1 other i did my waiting….twelve years of it…..in azkaban @imvexthatsvax pardon the interruption but WHO WERE YOU REFERRING TO   kait @cooleraid · 10m Replying to @vexxxed @imvexthatsvax @lizzyisademon and 2 others SAM DID I SERIOUSLY JUST GET HERE IN TIME FOR YOU TO TAG VEX HERSELF DELETE THAT IMMEDIATELY   vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 5m Replying to @cooleraid @vexxxed @lizzyisademon and 2 others ;)   --   “I think you killed them,” Pike says, scrolling through the thread. “They’re just screaming at each other incoherently.”   Vex laughs, her feet stretched out across Vax’s lap, also following the drama. “At least I was nice about it. I mean, I winked, didn’t I? Isn’t that a dream come true for a fan of mine?”   “Were you always this egotistical, or is that recent?” Vax asks, responding to a text from Keyleth containing only shocked cat emojis.   She glances up, meets his eyes and smiles. “I like to think it was always.”   He grins back warmly, and they come to a deeper understanding. “Me, too.”   --   (“And you, Vax?” the host asks, because he’s good at his job and knows not to play favorites. “Where’s your heart at the moment? Any singers you’ve got your eye on?”   He grins widely and says, “Actually, I’m more into actors these days. Us musicians are just so tortured and dull, right?”   His remark falls under the radar due to Vex’s bombshell, but it’s okay. Keyleth hears it, and she knows, and that’s all that matters, anyway.)   --   “I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors, Percival,” is the first thing his sister says when he pulls her up on Skype.   “Hello to you too,” he says, glancing her over through their pixelated connection. It’s his late morning, her night, and she’s already lounging in bed; he’s sitting at his dining room table, eating toast. “You’re looking well, Cassandra.”   “I am well, thanks,” she responds politely. “And if the rumors are true, you’re doing quite well yourself.”   “Oh, I’ll bite,” he says. “What’ve you heard?”   “Most recently, that you’re in some sort of a polyamorous relationship with twins from some rock band, and Keyleth,” she says, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. “The internet seems unable to agree on where your affections lie.”   He sighs heavily. “Fame has its downsides.”   “I’m waiting for the truth,” Cassandra probes, adjusting her earphones. “Unless you’re attempting to tell me that really is the truth, in which case, I must officially withdraw my support of your lifestyle to protect our family’s dignity, poise, and public perception.”   “It’s only partly true,” he says, knowing she’ll pester him until he tells her. “They’re called Vox Machina - the band, that is - and Keyleth and I are...enamored with their frontrunners, who are the twins.”   Her chin slips off her hand, intrigued. “Fascinating,” she says. “So which twin is whose love interest? And this developed simultaneously?”   He’s strangely shameless on the subject; she’s his sister and he misses her, and he knows she’s curious because she cares about him. He says, “Oddly, yes. And there’s no scandal, I’m afraid, it’s rather traditional - Vax’ildan sometimes worries me with his enthusiasm for Keyleth, and, well, Vex’ahlia is quite...”   “Quite,” Cassandra repeats, teasing him. “Enchanting? Effervescent? Does she light up rooms, Percival?”   “Try stadiums,” he says, but he’s smiling.   --   And then, the completely predictable but somehow unexpected happens:   Keyleth begins gathering renown in a way she hasn’t before.   She’s always been an incredible actress, but like Percy, had stuck to indie films and niche genres - but Aramente finally drops at a festival and suddenly it’s all anyone can talk about. It’s sort of magical realism, the kind of story that allows critics to go nuts with their interpretations; she plays the daughter of a novel type of royal family, one that requires a personal journey of strength and self-discovery across the far reaches of the earth before a title can be taken. She’d agreed to the role because she’d felt so connected to the character, and was overjoyed at the amount of time she was able to spend in the wilderness while filming; Percy knows that many of her scenes where she takes in the world around her are genuine.   She garners amazing reviews for her essentially one-woman performance - she’s the main character, and there are few recurring ones - and Kima is suddenly fielding an onslaught of offers for new projects.   None of this really affects Keyleth, though; if anything, she’s just excited that she has the opportunity to do more of what she loves.   What it does change is the amount of time she now spends promoting it, as it’s gotten picked up by a major studio for distribution. She and her two co-stars - the only two that recur in the film, Kashaw and Zahra - appear on talk shows together, complementing each other in the strangest of ways, comical and enjoyable to watch.   She and Percy have finally wrapped Passed Through Fire, but the two of them know it’s going to be a trilogy and don’t have to face the reality of separation just yet. She still makes time for Vax in between promotions - it’s mostly just the month after the film drops, and then, she tells him, probably the week it’s due for a theatrical release - and he makes sure to watch every interview.   And he notices Kashaw.   Kash, as Keyleth calls him. Kash staring at her a little too long, stone-faced and unreadable. Kash never reaching for her, but allowing her touch on him. Kash with a smile that can only be described as distant, except for when he’s talking to her.   Vax recognizes the signs.   “Yeah, I see what you mean,” Vex says, watching their most recent interview on YouTube, her phone held to one ear, an earbud in the other. “Percy, what do you make of this?”   She listens for a moment, clicking through her browser. “Of course,” she answers without explaining to Vax. He kicks her under the table just as their bus hits a bump, and accidentally hits harder than he’d intended.   “Fuck, Vax!” she snaps, rubbing her shin. “Balls! That hurt, you fucker--”   “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all. “What’s he saying?”   Vex rolls her eyes and lays her phone down, touching the screen. “Darling, you’re on speaker,” she says, “so save any inappropriate commentary for later. Ta.”   Percy snorts. “I’ll try to control myself.”   “Back to me, please,” Vax says.   “I’ve met Kash a few times, and he’s - standoffish, I suppose is the word. No social skills whatsoever, but in an antisocial way, not like Keyleth’s tactlessness. I wouldn’t worry too much, even if he does like her, because she’ll never pick up on it. He’d have to really spell it out for her.”   “Look,” Vax says, “it’s not like I have any right to her, or something. I’m just wondering how she feels.”   “Hasn’t even crossed her mind,” Percy says definitively. “You’ve sort of consumed her, Vax, and I mean that as a compliment. She’s a little more grounded than she used to be.”   “I won’t change course,” Vax says vaguely, “but I won’t stand in her way, either.”   “I think that’s a healthy place to be,” Percy answers.   “Thanks, Freddie.”   There’s a pause and then a noise of utter disgust. “Excuse me?”   Vex laughs loudly, and, well, Percy loses his edge.   --   (Vex has her bad days.   They’ll start with a memory. Just one, any one. Syldor’s hands around her throat. An argument in a hospital hallway. The twinge of a bruised rib. A door slamming shut, rattling the windows.   It’s not that she can’t go to Vax, but more as if she’d rather save him from his own guilt. She calls Percy and she says, “Bad day,” her breath coming and going in short, staccato patterns, her eyes burning and dry, and he’ll talk to her about his day, his work, his life. Anything to get her to focus on him and not her own past.   It’s what he’s doing when Vax sticks his head in her bunk and says, “Hey, I need you to watch this video and let me know if I have competition for Keyleth. Not that she’s a prize, I’m talking respectfully, as in, I’d just like to know where I stand, what I should be prepared for--”   “Gods,” Vex says, Percy in her ear pausing midway through pondering the appeal of Las Vegas. “Okay, I’m coming. I’ve Percy, so if you ask nicely, perhaps he’ll share some insight.”   Vax wanders back out to the kitchen. Vex murmurs, “Thank you.”   “No need,” Percy says softly. “I’m here for you. Always.”)   --   None of them really count on Kash’s spontaneous nature.   An interviewer asks him how he’s liked working with the cast, and he says, “Keyleth is the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my life. She’s so bubbly and happy-go-lucky all the time. It’s exhausting.”   Everyone laughs, and Keyleth’s jaw drops, affronted, but she’s giggling too. Kash looks slightly confused, because he hadn’t been telling a joke, but, Percy thinks as he watches from the green room, it’s probably best it’d been interpreted that way.   They come traipsing back to where Percy’s waiting (for moral support, of course) a few minutes later, and Keyleth is in the middle of saying, “You’re such a jerk, Kash; since when is being happy a bad thing--”   He stops just inside the room, contemplating her. “It’s not,” he says, and without warning, without agenda, he tugs her to him and kisses her.   Percy blinks, not quite able to comprehend what he’s looking at, and then it’s over before he can.   “Well,” Kash says gruffly, “see you around.”   And he walks away, leaving her standing in the doorway with a stunned look on her face, like she’s just coming down from an out-of-body experience.   “Um,” she says, and her eyes slowly travel over to Percy.   “Erm,” he says in response, and attempts to shake himself out of it so that Keyleth can have her impending freak out against somebody solid. “Shall we...go?”   She nods blankly, following him to the valet.   --   (It takes ten minutes of driving home in Percy’s car before she suddenly exclaims, “What the fuck was that about?!”   “People like you,” Percy says unhelpfully. “Although I’m not liking this trend of men kissing you without asking your permission. Technically, he sexually assaulted you.”   Keyleth opens and closes her mouth like an exotic tropical fish. “Um,” she says again, “I think I’ll just talk to him.”)   --   It turns out she doesn’t have to, because he approaches her first, sending her a text: Hey. It’s Kash. Sorry I kissed you last night. I should have given you a chance to stop me. I’m not very good with people. Please accept my apology. I will not do it again. Unless you ask me to. Sorry again. Kash   “Well,” Percy says, because dealing with one socially unaware person is enough for him, and he doesn’t even know where to begin with two.   “I’m gonna let it go,” Keyleth says. “I mean, he came forward and realized his mistakes on his own, and I at least appreciate that.”   “Sure,” Percy says. “Are you going to tell Vax?”   She turns her stare on him, wide and fearful, and the effect comes off as if her eyes have been blown up twice their normal size. “Do you think I should? I’ve been worrying about it, but, like, we’re not dating, I don’t know, I mean, is it something he needs to know about? Is he gonna find out anyway? Were there people watching? Did you tell Vex already?” She says all of this very fast and without breathing, as if she only has a spare bit of time before the end of the world.   “Erm,” Percy says.   “You’re right,” Keyleth says. “I should tell him. He’s been honest with me, I need to show him the same courtesy. I just don’t know what to say, you know? Like, how do I frame it? ‘Kash kissed me and though I was inappropriately flattered I didn’t like it’?”     “That’s, ah--”   “No, it should be in-person,” Keyleth continues fastidiously. “I should tell him to his face. He might think I’m rejecting him, and I’m totally not. I’m really not good with words, I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. I love him, you know? I’m working towards something. I don’t want to ruin our friendship where it is now, either. You’re right, Percy, you’re so wise. I’ll tell him when they’re in town next week. Thanks!”   “You’re welcome,” Percy says, so exhausted from following Keyleth’s own internal-turned-external monologue that he actually feels as if he has spent the last hour giving her advice. “I’m going to bed, I think. But I’m glad I could be of service.”   --   The band’s due to arrive in Los Angeles within the week - they’re in Phoenix, and their San Diego stop is actually at the end of the tour, rather than following, at the twins’ own request - and their song is almost perfect. Vex and Vax have a furious debate over which show to play it at - Vax wants their last show; if it goes poorly, he argues, then they’ll be out of there the next day, and perhaps it won’t extend the sting of rejection - but Vex merely rolls her eyes and says, “Aren’t we trying to be brave?”   “I’ve done that already,” Vax says immediately. “I did the whole ‘spill out my soul in public’ thing. Your turn.”   “Fine, my turn,” Vex agrees, her palms flat against the wood as they stare at each other from opposite ends of the table. “I want to play it at the first show.”   Vax frowns, but Pike shrugs and says, “Sorry, Vax, you kind of handed her that one.”   “I know,” he grumbles, but acquiesces.   --   vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex · 22m monday mood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU...   emo bitch @ravensallover · 19m hey folks what are we thinking about the foursome today with this lil gem from our boi ________________________________ vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex monday mood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU...   jack of spades @georgiaisforlovers · 17m Replying to @ravensallover @imvaxthatsvex Wait n see who retweets it   Keyleth Retweeted vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex · 28m monday mood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU...   jack of spades @georgiaisforlovers · 14m Replying to @ravensallover @imvaxthatsvex @keylethoftheair Welp   emo bitch @ravensallover · 12m Replying to @georgiaisforlovers @imvaxthatsvex @keylethoftheair lmao where’s tara   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 10m Replying to @ravensallover @georgiaisforlovers @imvaxthatsvex and 1 other I SWEAR TO GOD,. IS IT JUST KEYLETH??? IS IT A FUCKIGN LVOE TRIANGLE??? WHAT IS IT   --   TO: Vax Totally not trying to read into anything but   FROM: Vax yesss?   TO: Vax Was that for me?   FROM: Vax of course, i know ur fav bands :-)   TO: Vax I don’t like to assume!   FROM: Vax kiki my life is full with u in it & all my music if for u   FROM: Vax is* for u   TO: Vax <3   FROM: Vax <3   TO: Vax I wish I wasn’t alone tonight   FROM: Vax i wish that most nights   --   Percy isn’t expecting it. Maybe that’s the worst part.   He’s scanning through his Google news alerts casually while he waits for the car to pick him up and take him to the studio for an ADR session; now that the film’s in post it’s taking heavy scrutiny. Brooklyn Off-Duty Police Officer Involved in DUI. He flicks his thumb down the screen. Fire Contained in Pasadena. He swipes over to the U.K., as he does customarily to remind himself what he left behind, and what is still waiting for him should he choose it. Brexit Negotiations...Scottish Referendum...Anna Ripley, Notorious for the Mass Murder of the Royal de Rolo Family, Found Dead…   The world falls silent, still.   He clicks on the article without even registering his own actions. Posted ten minutes ago.   He stares, and stares, and stares, but the words never change. It’s not a hallucination or a dream. The headline sits there, gloating, mocking him.   Anna Ripley…   The body, he thinks numbly. He wants to see the body. He needs the evidence, the photographic proof of her lying lifeless and cold and unmoving. Anything to get her sick, twisted smile out of his mind. Anything to stop her voice from echoing around his skull.   Percival...   There’s the distant memory of a fingernail, sharp underneath his chin. His phone drops from his hands, but he doesn’t hear it hit the floor.   You’re so clever, Percival. You’re so talented. You’ll do great things. I couldn’t sacrifice that.   He slides down against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, hands covering his ears. The knocking at his door fails to register; his phone remains unanswered and unnoticed. He sits and he rocks and he breathes, and he tries to keep himself alive.   --   Percy doesn’t show up to record with her. He’s supposed to be there just after nine, an hour after her own call time, but the crew member who’d gone to pick him up returns alone.   From the booth, she sees him talking to the director, who points out something on her phone and shakes her head, covering her mouth as she talks. Keyleth can’t make out what they’re saying, and asks, “Hey guys, everything okay? Any notes?”   The director glances up and smiles; she presses a button and says, “Doing great, Keyleth. Actually, we’ve moved Percival’s slot to tomorrow - we’ve decided to bucket all your time for today, if that’s fine with you.”   Keyleth sees nothing strange about the explanation and so she doesn’t pry for details. “No problem,” she says brightly. “Let me know when we’re ready.”   “In three, two…” she signals for Keyleth to start, and leans over to the A.D. “Don’t give her enough of a break to check her phone today,” she murmurs to the other woman. “We don’t have the flexibility to lose time with both Keyleth and Percival.”   --   It’s five in the evening for Cassandra when Kynan pulls her aside; she’d been traveling, stuck in meetings all day, hadn’t even glanced at a screen in hours. He hands her his mobile wordlessly, fingers clammy and warm, and her lips part in a bare, uncontrollable slip of shock. The blood sinks back down into her heart and pools there, her face left white, a porcelain mask cracking.   She asks unsteadily, “How could this possibly have gotten out before we were even informed?”   “I don’t know.”   Her expression hardens. “Does Percy know?”   Kynan swallows nervously. “I don’t know.”   “Fuck,” Cassandra breathes out, already dialing his number. “This isn’t good.” It rings, and rings, and rings. She tries Keyleth and it’s the same; it rings, and rings, and finally goes to voicemail. “Keyleth, it’s Cass,” she says into the receiver. “Call me the second you see this, please. Talk soon.”   “What can I do?” he asks, needing to be helpful. “Task me.”   She furrows her brow, thinking of someone who may be there, accessible. “Actors,” she hisses, and it comes to her immediately. “So bloody unreliable. I need you to get me Vex’ahlia Vessar’s mobile. Her father is the Marquees of Reading. She’s in a band called Vox Machina. It shouldn’t be difficult.”   A look of recognition crosses his features. “Understood.”   --   Vex isn’t one to pick up calls from unknown numbers.   Vax, fortunately, is, and it’s his phone that rings just after ten-thirty in the morning as they’re checking out of their hotel. He slides to answer without thinking about it, barely comprehending the +44 code in front of the rest of the digits.   “Hello?” he says, adjusting the strap of his backpack.   “Vex’ahlia?” a harried voice answers in response.   “Wrong twin,” Vax says, now struggling with the buckle. “Who’s this?”   “I need to speak with Vex’ahlia immediately. It’s imperative I get ahold of her. Are you Vax’ildan?”   He stops, straightening up slowly. “Yeah,” he says carefully. “Again, who is this?”   “My name is Cassandra de Rolo,” she says, and he actually pulls the phone away from his ear to stare at it in surprise. “Hello?”   “Hi, yeah, erm, sorry, Your Highness, or - yeah,” he says, unaware of how to address her. “You - right. Vex. Okay. Uh…” He lowers the phone again and scans for his sister; she’s talking to Grog, lounging in one of the lobby chairs. “Hey, Vex!” he yells.   She leans her head around Grog’s frame. “What?” she shouts back.   “You - need to take this,” he says, holding up his cell. “Now.” She gets up obediently, padding over to him with a quizzical look on her face, and takes the phone. “Hello?” she says, and then for awhile she is quiet.   He watches her expression shift from confusion to intense focus, something a bit like dawning horror hiding in the widening of her eyes. He can’t make out what Cassandra is telling her, but it’s frantic, worried. Answering a question he doesn’t hear, Vex says, “Yes,” followed by another pause, and then:   “Yes, I’ll find him.”   --   “Vex, this is nuts,” Vax says for the tenth time, trailing behind her furiously. “You can’t just take off and not even tell us--”   “I’ll meet you in L.A.,” she says, brushing him off as the doorman outside finds her a cab. “Vax, I’m sorry. I have to go.”   “But why--”   A car pulls up next to the curb and she throws the door open before the driver can think about getting out to help. She glances over her shoulder and says, “Don’t worry about me. See you tomorrow,” and then she is gone, speeding away from the hotel like her life is at stake.   --   (Maybe it is, he realizes after, staring at Cassandra de Rolo’s contact details. Maybe it is.)   --   Vex buys the first flight she can on whatever airline is leaving the earliest, and because she only has a duffle bag, she’s able to get on one ten minutes out from boarding. The man at the desk recognizes her, too, and it’s a rare moment where she’s grateful for fame rather than angry about it.   She reads the news report while waiting at the gate, her heart sinking deeper with every word, the memory of Cassandra’s revelation fresh in her mind.   “Vex’ahlia, I’m not sure what you’re aware of or not, but I don’t have time to respect his privacy at the moment and I know the two of you are close,” she’d said. “Anna Ripley, the woman who murdered my family - our family - has died. She affects Percy differently than I, because she chose to keep him alive; she’d told him she was doing him a favor, and that she was going to create something beautiful out of him, out of his tragedy.” Even now, the idea has Vex’s skin and bone shivering out of tune with each other, like she’s shaking inside of herself. “She’d always been interested in him. She’d thought he was brilliant. And she was a sociopathic, deluded, evil woman.”   She’d said, “I can’t get ahold of Percy.”   She’d said, “Please, Vex’ahlia, I’m begging you. Find him.”   But Vex had started to move before Cassandra had even asked.   --   The flight is an hour and a half of torture, every terrible circumstance and situation Percy may possibly be in playing like the b-roll of a film on loop. She’s so wired by the time she arrives at his apartment complex that she throws two hundred dollars at the cab driver, even though the ride had only cost her fifty.   There’s no security to wrestle with, no difficult front desk management; Percy likes to be prepared, if nothing else. She marches up to the man sitting behind the counter and says with all the charm she can muster, “Hello, sorry to disturb you, but I’m Vex’ahlia Vessar - I believe Percival de Rolo mentioned I’d be staying with him this week and left me a key? I’m a few days early; I wanted it to be a surprise.” She slides him her I.D., not wanting to waste any time, and not even knowing if she has any time to waste.   The man smiles kindly up at her and says, “Of course, Ms. Vessar. Welcome, and what a lovely surprise - I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” He reaches into his desk drawer and hands her a small envelope, the weight of the key heavy inside of it; well, Percy does pay a fortune to live here, so it shouldn’t be any surprise that the staff are extremely well-trained and professional.   “He’s on the eighth floor - 8A. There are only two apartments, so you can’t miss it.”   She unlocks his door with her blood pulsing in all the wrong places. The pit of her stomach, the base of her skull, the bottoms of her feet, the creases of her elbows. It opens with a short click, and then swings inward, and Vex is immediately relieved that he isn’t face-down in the entryway.   The second thing she thinks is that his apartment is entirely too green for him, but exactly enough for Keyleth; another time, the observation will be amusing, but it isn’t now.   “Percival?” she calls, and hears no answer in response. She doesn’t take her time. She rushes from room to room, searching him out; the fear of finding him doesn’t outweigh her need to find him. Library, work room, guest room...   In the bathroom off of the master bedroom, the water is on, beating against the bowl of the sink.   (As long as Vex lives, the sight of endlessly running water in stillness leaves her with a mark; an uncomfortable emptiness, and the sound of death.)   She pushes the door open further, and hits something with a gentle thud, and she has never faced anything as terrifying in her life as Percy’s limp body on the tiled floor, curled up in itself.   “God,” she exhales, dropping to her knees, her hands immediately finding the pulse strong in his throat; it’s fast, actually, too fast, and he’s sweating through his clothes, forehead hot and clammy. “Christ, Percy, fuck--”   He makes a low noise in his throat, but doesn’t move. She turns him onto his back, her palms, cupping his face, stroking his cheekbones, trying to get a response. “Percy,” she says, shaking him a little. “Percy, I need you to open your eyes, darling, please.”   She glances around the bathroom, knowing he must’ve taken something to wind up in this state; she remembers horror stories, celebrities and their painkiller addictions, and tries to think of any recent injury Percy could’ve had that would’ve allotted him the same treatment--   Her eyes fall upon a small prescription bottle by the sink, and she reaches for it, fearing the worst--   She steadies herself on Percy’s shoulder. He grunts again, a cross between a groan and a word. She shakes the bottle and it rattles; it’s Percy’s anxiety medication, and it’s mostly full. She sighs, relieved; so, he didn’t overdose.   Vex lifts herself up and fills a cup with water from the still-running sink. “Percy,” she says, “I need you to drink this.” She slips her hand underneath his neck, and with a disturbing, macabre thought, she realizes that the dead weight of a head is really quite heavy. “Percy,” she says louder. “Open your eyes.”   And then she pours the ice-cold water onto his face.   --   He blinks blearily and the world is upside-down, out of focus, shadowed in hues of grey. There’s something hovering above him, but he can’t make out what it is. His mouth is dry and dusty, and his skin feels liquidized, like it’s melting off of him, like it’s not there at all.   “Percy,” a voice says. “Can you hear me?”   “Yes,” he thinks he says, but it comes out sounding all wrong. “Yes,” he says again, louder but still nonsensical.   The person’s fingers brush his hair away from his forehead. “Gods, Percy,” the voice says, and he recognizes this voice. It’s a good one, full of gentle lulls and lilts, and not the horrible thing of possession he’d been hearing for the past few hours. He tries to center his gaze, but his eyelids are so difficult to hold open, and it doesn’t seem worth it.   “Who?” he tries to ask, the word slurred.   “Vex,” Vex says, staring down at him.   “Vex,” he repeats, and grins to himself. “Nice dream,” he sighs.   Something is slipped behind his ears, resting on the bridge of his nose.   “This isn’t a dream,” she says softly. “Open your eyes, darling. Please.”   So he does, and this time, it’s in focus.   Vex is hovering above him looking every bit as beautiful as if he had dreamed her up himself; she’s smiling and stroking his face with the tips of her fingers, tracing across his pronounced jaw line, his bottom lip, his cheekbones.   “Vex,” he says, surprised, and it comes out sounding more and more like it’s supposed to.   “Yes,” she says, and he’s startled to find tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’m so happy to see you.”   --   It takes her ten minutes just to get him to sit up, and even then he can’t do much more than that. He can’t seem to look at her for too long - she’s reminded of the first time they met, and the brutal contrast between then and now has her heart swollen in her chest - but it’s because of the tremendous effort it’s taking him to raise his head. He sits with his legs bent, one knee up and drawn in, breathing deeply through his nose.   “Percy,” she says, reaching for his arm; he’s still clammy to the touch, and she doesn’t know much about caring for someone but she does know she shouldn’t let him sit around in his damp clothes for much longer. His jeans seem fine, but the shirt’s soaked in water and sweat, and he’s started shivering. She tugs on the hem of it, attempting to get him to focus. “Dear, you’ve got to take this off.”   He nods without looking at her, but doesn’t move.   She tries again. “Is it alright if I help you?”   Another pause, another nod, and then she kneels in front of him and carefully lifts his shirt over his head. The fabric sticks to his body in places, his muscles shaking like the movement costs him extraordinary effort. Her eyes trail down, inspecting him from a clinical angle. It’s unsettling to see a man so in-shape and well-defined unable to even stand.   “I can stand,” he says haltingly, and for a moment she fears she’d spoken aloud, but it’s rather as if clarity in some regard is returning to him. “Need...a moment.”   She rests a hand against the top of his head in an acknowledgment, straightening up, running over a checklist. She’s in survival mode, the fight side instead of flight. Fresh towels, she thinks. New shirt. Drinkable water. Bed. Company. She can handle all of those things.   She rummages through his dresser and grabs the first things she finds: a white v-neck and a pair of sweatpants. She fills a glass from the filter in the sink and sets it on his nightstand. She pulls back the covers. And then she returns to the bathroom, where he’s holding onto the counter and trying to hoist himself up.   Vex extends a hand. Percy looks at her and takes it, her fingers grasped tightly in his, and they’re both surprised to find that she can support his weight. Once he’s standing, he’s a little steadier, a little more alert; she takes one of the towels and drapes it around his neck, his shoulders, rubs the middle of his back. He lets her work, recognizing that she’s doing what’s good for him, fighting back against the impulses he has to not fight at all.   It’s another twenty minutes until she gets him in bed. He manages to change into his sweats and stops there, still shirtless, but she doesn’t push him on it. She removes her jacket, kicks off her sneakers, undoes the braid from her hair; he watches from where he’s leaning against his side table, entranced. And then, before she can talk herself out of it, she unzips her jeans and rolls them down her hips, her thighs, pulling them over her feet and off. She doesn’t have an ulterior motive; she doesn’t intend on leaving him alone and they aren’t comfortable to sleep in.   He stays silent, processing. She slips under his deep blue sheets, and says, “Come here.” She pats the space next to her as if he requires the visual reference to understand.   After a moment, he says, “This isn’t how I...imagined having you in my bed the first time.” His hesitation, she realizes, comes from regret, and not from reluctance. He’d wanted to be better, not falling apart. That had been the point.   “Percy, it’s okay,” she says gently, mirroring his own sentiment from that night on his couch back at him; it’d helped her for reasons she couldn’t explain, so maybe it’ll help him, too. “Come here.”   He moves slowly, but he comes; he sits on the edge of the bed with one foot still planted on the floor, the other knee bent, resting flat. He stares straight ahead at the dark screen of the television and says, “You don’t have to do this,” but the drugs make it much harder for him to sound convincing.   “I know,” she says, “but I want to,” and it’s not a lie.   He lifts his other leg onto the bed, but still faces forward. “Why?” he asks.   Vex bites her lip. “The same reason you’d do this for me,” she confesses, a shot not quite in the dark.   She isn’t sure why she says it. She’s kept it to herself for so long and so well, content to burn, and burn, and burn. Maybe it’s time for confirmation of something, if not the thing itself. Maybe it’s time they do what they promised to do months ago on a balcony in New York and tell the truth. Maybe it’s what he needs to hear.   It catches him off-guard, exactly enough to finally get him to turn his body and meet her eyes, and the intensity in his stare is so staggering that she forgets any thoughts following. His pupils are slightly blown but it’s him looking at her, not the ghost of a tortured boy from long before she knew him. He studies her with a clarity he doesn’t fully possess, and he seems to make a decision.   He leans in towards her, supporting his weight with a palm flat against the bed, and oh, my God, he’s going to kiss her. And even worse, she wants him to.   “Percy,” she whispers, and he’s so close she can feel him exhale against her lips. God, she wants him more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life, but she can’t. He’s playing directly into her own coping mechanisms. She understands misdirection of emotion better than anyone, and how it comes back to haunt. “If I thought it would help you, I would,” she states softly. “But I think you’d be angry with yourself, later.”   “I just want to forget,” he says, voice so small and plain it breaks her heart again and again and again. “I can’t think about it anymore, Vex. It’ll kill me.”   His elbow shakes against her, and he can’t hold himself up much longer; she wraps her arms around him, one hand cupping the back of his head, and pulls him against her like breaking against an ocean.   The way his body falls into hers is almost graceful in nature; there are no hard edges or sharp corners, just his cheek pressing against her shoulder and his torso half-resting on top of hers, legs intertwined. He shudders slightly and adjusts his arms underneath hers, holding her in an embrace that quickly turns into a quiet sort of desperation.   She lays her chin against the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp comfortingly. She asks, “Do you want to tell me about it?”   “No,” he says against her collarbone, and then, “yes.” He breathes steadily for a second, composing himself to the best of his ability. “I want you to know everything about me.”   He says, “Anna Ripley is dead.”   She says, “I know.”   He says, “I’m not, and sometimes I think that’s the problem.”   --   (He spills everything out to her, whispers in a darkened room. She holds him tightly against her and he touches her skin to keep himself grounded. Sometimes she’s there, he rambles, like I can feel her watching me, like I hear her voice in my head, telling me how proud of me she is, how I’ve done such great things, how I’ll bring about so many more. How intelligent I am. How all I need is a tragedy to make me understand that I should be shared with everyone.   Vex doesn’t bother pointing out that the rhetoric of a madwoman doesn’t make sense; he’s long since figured that out. It’s not what matters. What matters is that it was damning, shameful, blaming, celebratory. It carried an algorithm meant to break him as a person, warping his innocence into something worthy of punishment. Cassandra survived by accident, he says. She snuck out. It was supposed to be just me. Only me. It was my fault.   But it wasn’t, Vex points out, her lips above the shell of his ear. You were young and impressionable and content with your life, and that doesn’t make you a fool, or somehow responsible.   He’s hanging onto her every word, his tears hot and pooling against her shirt, body shaking with every breath. Maybe this is what he’s been building to all along, what he’s been dreaming for: someone to simply hold him and let him cry.   You’ve suffered a long time and a very great deal, she says, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m here.)   --   It’s late afternoon when Keyleth’s session ends; they’d worked hard, focusing entirely on their task at hand, and so she’d felt it inappropriate to check her phone throughout the day. It’d actually felt nice to disconnect for awhile, to be away from all the noise, the alerts, the responsibility. She leaves Percy a few doodles and comments on the script for his lines, thanks the director and assistant director, and finally powers on her phone.   She’s hit with ten missed calls, three voicemails, and about forty texts from various numbers. It takes her a second of scrolling in complete confusion before she realizes she’s being asked about Percy.   Vax is responsible for at least fifteen of the texts and two of the voicemails, so she calls him without listening to anything, her blood suddenly flooding with adrenaline. She can’t think of anything good that would force this level of contact, and she’s panicking by the time Vax answers with a visibly relieved, “Keyleth! Thank God, I haven’t been able to get ahold of anyone--”   “What’s going on?” she asks immediately, stepping out of the studio and towards the car waiting to take her home. “I haven’t been able to check my phone today, and I have all these missed calls and messages--”   “Cassandra rang me,” he says, and Keyleth stops walking mid-step, almost falling over at the unexpected twist. “She - I don’t know much, or what this all exactly means, but it’s all over the news - Anna Ripley is dead?”   Something cold pools at the base of her skull, the name alone sounds like a curse. “Anna Ripley is dead?”   “Yeah, and Cassandra was worried about Percival, so she spoke to Vex for a few minutes and Vex took off,” he says. “She should’ve been there awhile ago, but I haven’t heard from her--”   “I should’ve known,” Keyleth says blankly, getting into the car. “Shit! I should’ve known something was wrong when Percy didn’t show up for work - I thought - is he okay? Damn it!”   “Breathe, Kiki,” Vax says, and the use of his nickname for her calms her somehow. “I think Vex is with him. I haven’t heard anything to suggest otherwise.”   “Change of plans,” Keyleth says to the driver. “Drop me off at Percy’s instead, but do you mind waiting for a few minutes?”   “Not at all,” the man says with a polite nod.   “I’ll go over there and let you know,” she says into the receiver. “I should’ve been there for him.”   “Maybe,” Vax answers vaguely, “but maybe not.”   --   She doesn’t get what he means until lets herself into Percy’s apartment with her own key and finds nothing amiss.   The silence is weighted down by something, though, and it’s a strange feeling, sort of like she shouldn’t be there at all, like she’s intruding. She doesn’t call out his name; she glances between rooms, searching for signs. A bag in the living room. Kitchen cabinets open, glasses on the counter. His bedroom door is cracked slightly; she places a hand against it and peeks around--   “You can come in,” a low voice says, “but be quiet, alright, Keyleth?”   It’s Vex, stretched out in Percy’s bed, hair spilling across his pillow and his head resting against the nook of her shoulder, sleeping soundly. Her arms are around him and her eyes are red, drained, but she looks like she’s where she’s supposed to be.   “Oh,” Keyleth says quietly, observing with a restrained type of relief. “You are here. Good.”   “Cassandra called me.”   “I heard. Text your brother. He’s worried about you.”   Vex’s eyebrows raise, but lower again just as quickly with a nod of understanding. “I will.”   Keyleth doesn’t comment on the state of them; Vex’s fingers trailing up and down Percy’s bare back, her clothes strewn about the floor, the undeniable and unshakable truth of intimacy. She asks, “Is he alright?”   “He wasn’t,” Vex says, “but he will be.”   Keyleth doesn’t make a move to leave, but she doesn’t speak again, either. She hovers in the doorway, overcome and overwhelmed and jealous.   Vex says, “Whatever it is, spit it out. I won’t be offended.”   “How can you do it?” Keyleth asks, being given permission. “You just - hopped on a plane the second he needed you and - gave yourself over to him. Like, wholeheartedly. You didn’t even really know what was wrong, or what to expect, and you did it anyway. Why?”   She can’t wrap her head around it, stumbling over the building blocks, all the roads and bridges; she wants to say she’s that kind of person, too, but she also wants to know every facet of it, every secret and hidden piece.   Vex smiles sadly at her. “I think you know exactly why.”   Love is suddenly sitting in the room with them, spread out across the bed, lounging in all the chairs, filling up the sink. Vex starts, “It might be careless to you.”   “It is,” Keyleth says, “but that doesn’t mean anything.”   “People who are going to hurt you will hurt you regardless of the walls you build,” Vex says gently.   “So you shouldn’t even try?”   “I knew there was a possibility I’d end up hurt today,” Vex says. “And I was. But not by anything Percy did - by things I couldn’t protect him from.” She absentmindedly strokes his hair while she speaks. “It’s impossible to protect yourself from everything, Keyleth, but aren’t there people you hold dear who you want to protect? People who you want to keep safe, and you’d do so, without a second thought to yourself?”   “Of course.” Her eyes fall to Percy, breathing steadily, and her heart wanders to Vax. Of course she wants to keep him safe, wants him to stop torturing himself, gathering up burdens like toys.   “So doesn’t it then hold that there are people who want the same for you?” Vex says. “Percy and I - we’re fighting to protect each other, but for us, it sometimes means protecting each other from ourselves.” She hesitates before continuing. “You, on the other hand, aren’t trying to protect yourself as much as you’re simply...afraid, I think.”   “Afraid of what?”   “Losing someone,” Vex says. “You’re afraid that if you have Vax, you can also not have him, and you’re trying to convince yourself it isn’t worth it.”   “No, I--” Keyleth interrupts, and stalls, wringing her hands together. “It is worth it, but I guess - yeah, I am afraid of...knowing what it’s like to not be alone, and then have to be alone again.” She gestures to Percy, still sound asleep. “I get it with you, Vex. Like, I get the two of you have this - this deeper understanding. But Vax is...the kind of guy who runs blindly into burning buildings without even knowing if anyone is inside to save. And me - I’ll save people but I won’t die for nothing.” She grimaces. “Sorry, I know that was convoluted, I’m not the best with metaphors--”   “No, I think I understand,” Vex says, but lowers her voice notably when Percy shifts his head. “You’re afraid you’re going to lose him to - what, his own spontaneous, self-sacrificial nature? That he’ll take something on too big for him, or...”   “Something like that,” Keyleth concedes. “I feel like Vax is always - searching for the next thing to punish himself for.”   “So give him somewhere new to go,” Vex says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t want him running into fire - fine. Let him run to you instead.” Keyleth frowns at the advice, because it seems like addressing part of the problem and not the whole thing. Vex continues, “He’s learning to stand up for what’s important to him, and you’ll be first on that list if you give him the chance. Keyleth, he’s devoted to you.”   “I know,” Keyleth says, because she does. “I know.”   “You’re afraid,” Vex repeats, softer. “Reasons look a lot like excuses when you whittle them down.”   “So are you,” Keyleth says, “or you would’ve told Percy already. And maybe that’s fine. Maybe it’s okay to be afraid as long as you don’t intend to let it stop you.”   “Maybe,” Vex agrees. “Do you intend to let it stop you?”   “No,” Keyleth decides. “Do you?”   “No,” she says, voice quieting, looking down at the boy in her arms. “No, I don’t.”   Keyleth rests a hand on the door frame, smiling, eyes averted away. “Good luck,” she says as she backs out of the room. “To both of us.”   --   (Keyleth leaves and the apartment is once again silent, no television hum, no running fan.   So are you. Vex hears Keyleth’s accusation like she’s still standing there, shouting it at her. Or you would’ve told him.   It isn’t that simple, she wants to say, but there’s no one left to argue with. It isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t.   It is.   Percy has an arm slung across her waist, and his face is peaceful, dreamless. Nobody has ever seen him this exposed, vulnerable by his own choice, and he has let her in as if there were never even a lock. She touches her lips to the crown of his head.   “I should’ve told you,” she murmurs into his hair. “It’s yours.”)   --   Keyleth calls him as she slides back into the car, and Vax answers on the second ring. “Hey.”   “Hey. I saw them both,” she tells him. “They’re fine. She’ll text you soon.”   He sighs in relief. “Oh, good. Thanks, Kiki.”   “No problem,” she says, and works a fingernail in between her teeth, caught up in thought; Vex had given her a lot to contemplate. She can’t get the image of them out of her mind, curled up together, damaged and hopeful and whole. She says, “I get what you meant, by the way. When you said maybe it was good it wasn’t me who got the call.”   “Yeah?”   “Yeah,” she says, gazing at the palm trees peppering the skyline outside her window, streets flying by. She presses the tips of her fingers against the glass.   “Why?”   It’s almost wrong to say, like a confession that isn’t hers. “Because she loves him,” she says.   Vax is quiet for a moment. “I know.”   “That means something, doesn’t it.”   It’s not really a question, but he answers anyway. “Yeah,” he says wistfully. “It does.”   --   When Percy drowsily stirs from sleep, he’s disoriented and sluggish and not quite sure where he is, but he’s pressed up against something warm and alive, breathing slowly.   He blinks his eyes open into a mess of dark hair and the dim glow of a phone screen; painted blue nails tap out a message just above his shoulder, and then a hand drops, stroking up and down his arm as if it’s out of habit.   It doesn’t hit him all at once - it passes over him slowly, like waves that foam at the tip and never quite crash. Vex. Vex hovering over him, holding him. Vex leading him to bed. He becomes acutely aware of his left arm, tucked between their bodies, hand laying against her bare thigh. Vex’s face, getting closer and closer--   He sighs against her collarbone, and she stills, setting her phone down. She whispers, “Percy?”   “Mm,” is all he can make out, groggily trying to pull himself out of it. He lifts his head carefully, and with a groan, immediately drops it onto his pillow and off of her shoulder, sliding onto his back.   She mirrors him by rolling onto her side, one hand on his chest, eyes tracing his face. “Are you - awake?” she tries again. “Are you alright?”   “Yes,” he says, and after a period of stillness, reaches blindly for his glasses sitting on the nightstand, almost knocking over the water in the process. “Just...out of sorts.”   She’s silent as he lifts himself up, angling his back against the headboard. He takes a moment to blink against the sudden clarity of his vision, shaking his head lightly, like it’s full of loose parts, metal rattling around. He grips the glass of water and she tracks his movements sharply, the bob of his throat as he drinks, his muscles flexing.   He won’t keep her waiting any longer, no matter the oppression of his lethargy. He says, “I owe you an explanation,” setting the glass back down.   “Alright,” she says, put a little more at ease after hearing him speak.   “I had a - panic attack,” he says tentatively. “It was...the worst I’ve had, I think, ever. And I couldn’t remember...if I’d taken my medication. So I kept taking it without realizing. I couldn’t - I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t hear.” He clears his throat, sparing her a short glance and down. “I wasn’t trying to--”   “I know,” Vex interrupts so he doesn’t have to say it. “I - had the thought, briefly, but I somewhat figured it out.”   “I’m sorry,” he tells her plainly, spreading his fingers, palms facing up and then contorting into fists.   “You don’t have to apologize,” she says, but she sits up and she’s close again, almost against his side, and he thinks of how he almost destroyed them both.   “No, I do,” he says, and reaches up, taking her chin in his hand gently. It’s not the time for shame. “I shouldn’t have tried to...kiss you. You did the right thing.”   Her teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she exhales in breath shorter than it should be. She says unsteadily, “I almost let you.”   “I know,” he answers softly, and his hand drifts to her hair, wrapping a curl around his fingers.   She releases her bottom lip and it’s red, slightly swollen. She looks at him from under her eyelashes, and he suddenly is hit with what she’s implicating. She says, “Percy, I was so close. I almost - I almost ruined this with you.”   “But you didn’t,” he says, and senses the need for weightlessness. “And thus, I’m here, awake and coherent and perfectly capable of stopping you from jumping me, should your unhealthy method of handling stress rear its head again.”   At that, she finally laughs, angling her neck and resting her cheek against the palm of his hand. “Well, in that case…” she trails off dryly. Her eyes are shining and her heart is still frantic, fluttering. “Now I’m convinced you’re feeling a bit better.”   He observes her casually for a moment, as if from a great distance, finding the cracks. “Do you want to talk about it?”   “This isn’t about me,” she says.   “It can be about us both,” he says. “I’ve had my time. Please, distract me.”   She pulls the sheet back up over his hips, aware of how little she’s wearing, and hunches over her knees. Her hair flows down her spine, against her shoulders, curling and wild. She starts slowly, “I haven’t actually - acted on it as much as it seems like I have. I don’t just...fuck people. But for awhile after - after Syldor - I’d seek it out, you know, the detachment, the roughness. I didn’t know how to...feel anything else. And I’d remember that I was real and that I was - desireable, I guess.” She’s leaning closer to him without realizing it, drawing comfort and stability from his presence. “But with you...it’s different. I won’t say I don’t want you to want me, because I do, but when I look at you--” she breaks off suddenly, her thought losing its way. She struggles momentarily and says, “I want you to be real.” There’s a long pause populated by only the two of them staring at each other. “And I want to know that - there’s a difference between using someone, and someone...caring about you.”   He watches her with eyes that never judge and a body that simply listens; he doesn’t ask for more than she’s giving, and he doesn’t pull her closer. He merely strokes her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, and then says, “Thank you for telling me.”   “I want you to know everything about me,” she echoes, aching for reasons she can’t comprehend.   “I want you,” he says bluntly. “I didn’t - return the sentiment before, but I do, Vex. How could I not?” He brushes over her bottom lip, still red, like it’s beckoning him. “But more than that, I don’t want to hurt you. And I want to be the person who shows you the difference between - being used, and something with - real emotion as the motivation.”   Vex smiles, genuine and quiet, something reserved for only him to see, and says, “As long as we’re on the same page.”   “We are,” he says. “And as for me - I’ll tell you the rest when I’m ready. When I know how I feel about - her - and why I feel it, you’ll be the first person I’ll come to. Or second, depending on when I meet with my therapist.”   “I’m flattered,” she teases without malice.   “First, then,” he replies decisively, kidding. “After all, she probably didn’t even bother to call. You flew across state lines. There’s a clear winner.”   “Charming.” She rolls her eyes at the bravado, and then, sensing the need for distance - not from each other, but from their problems - she says, “Well, it’s almost six and I’m famished.” She gathers her hair at the nape of her neck and ties it into a sloppy bun. “Thai alright with you?”   She slips out of bed, facing away from him, and she can almost feel his gaze fall to her ass. She turns and smirks over her shoulder at him, and he flushes, unable to avert his eyes in time.   He says, “Erm.”   “What,” she says, “never seen an attractive woman in her underwear before, Percival?”   “Not that I can ever remember,” he says stupidly, like he’s just letting whatever words he has stockpiled in his mouth fall out of it.   “Well, I wouldn’t want to be a distraction,” she says nonchalantly, and opens his first drawer, remembering where his clothes are organized from her earlier search. They’re mostly boxer briefs, but she finds a navy pair of boxes with white dots on them and slips them on, rolling them over her hips. “Do you have a normal delivery place, or should I Google it?”   He’s speechless for a solid thirty seconds - she’s left the room entirely and is standing in the kitchen with her phone when he finally appears from the hallway behind her.   “Good God, woman,” he says, shaking his head. “I guess it’s true what they say about rock stars.”   “I’d suppose similar things are said about movie stars,” she shoots back, grinning, and even though they’re both exhausted, emotionally drained and bodies bruised instead of broken, the world feels conquerable.   --   Percival @PercivaldeRolo · 36m Like Real People Do - Hozier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms   aya @suntree · 25m um _______________________________________ Percival @PercivaldeRolo Like Real People Do - Hozier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms   vex’ildan Retweeted Percival @PercivaldeRolo · 48m Like Real People Do - Hozier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms   aya @suntree · 7m Replying to @imvexthatsvax @PercivaldeRolo UM   --   (She’s leaning on her elbows against his kitchen island, one foot kicked over her other ankle, scrolling through her phone. She’s since put on his sweater while waiting for their food to be delivered, and as he approaches from the hallway, freshly showered and fully clothed, he hears the song he’d tweeted playing through her speakers.   She doesn’t hear him coming, but straightens her spine, adjusting her weight between feet. He steps up behind her, chest pressed against her back, and places his hands flat against the marble, arms on either side of her body. She starts slightly, arching her neck, and he realizes just how much taller he is, how easily he envelopes this lithe woman in front of him. He thinks about being somebody bigger, not in size but in spirit, in heart. Somebody who can keep her safe.   He doesn’t speak for a moment, letting her settle comfortably into him. Finally, he lowers his lips to the shell of her ear and murmurs, “Thank you.”   She rests the back of her head against his shoulder and the music plays on.)

#perc'ahlia #vaxleth #critfic #critical role #this was..supposed to be...a one shot...and now ..... its 55k word.....s. #it's a lil more perc'ahlia heavy bc they have more drama but it evens out

[anonthenullifier]

Witchcraft

Title: Witchcraft

For: @thissweetmoment

Rating: T

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12032184

Word Count: 4,531

Warnings: None

Summary: Vision contemplates why Wanda is so distracting to him.

Message for thissweetmoment: I hope this fulfills what you were hoping for with the prompt

Prompt: A fanfiction from MCU Vision’s perspective that embodies the atmosphere of the song “Witchcraft” by Frank Sinatra. If possible, I’d love for Vision’s way of thinking (and/or dialogue) to revolve around these three words: bewitch, witchcraft, and witch.

Other note: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta, @atendrilofscarlet! You are more awesome than words can describe.

Made for the @scarletvisionexchange2017

The sizzle of oil in the pan crescendos when he lays the chicken down, a satisfying sound that means he might actually have the pan hot enough on the first attempt. Vision curls his fingers anxiously around the spatula, always tempted to touch the food too soon out of worry it might burn, but he has suffered the consequences of premature flipping too many times and so he tries to hold back. The key, he finds, is to allow his mind to stray just a bit, distract his natural instincts long enough to cook the food. So he focuses on the noise around him, the bubbling oil intermixing with the plopping sounds of boiling water, the gentle click-click of the chicken-shaped timer (a recent addition made by Sam and one that Vision, without admitting it to anyone but Wanda, of course, is quite fond of) tracking the progression of the focaccia bread in the oven, and the honeyed robustness of trumpets filling the room. Beyond all of the immediate sounds in the kitchen he can also make out the nightly news that Rhodes and Natasha are watching in the common space, a habit the two have after particularly dicey missions to assess the reactions of the public. Vision is unconcerned, at the moment, with what they are saying, but finds himself intrigued more so with how they refer to each Avenger.

He’s discovered that you can parse out the perceptions of the team utilizing the monikers used to describe them in the news. Steve is referred to as Captain America, Captain Rogers, or, for the casual name-drop, Cap, all suggesting a veneration for his military service and an acceptance of his ideals as their own. Natasha they call Black Widow, a sense of admiration and bone chilling terror at her prowess, any mention of her actions said with a reverence, a deep seated surety that she is not a woman to speak ill of regardless of whether the person agrees with Natasha’s actions or not. Iron Man is ubiquitous with Tony Stark, used interchangeably depending on the mood, and this seems right, there is no difference in antics whether he is in the suit or outside of it. Rhodes, well, he has changed his official superhero name too many times now that they simply give him respect for his service by talking about him as Colonel James Rhodes. It annoys him that War Machine has not stuck, but such is public opinion. Sam is Falcon or the bird guy, not to be confused with the air of bewilderment when the arrow guy is mentioned, which is rarely, a thorn in Clint’s side at the disrespect he gets, though he shrugs it off well. Scott has it even worse, an anchorwoman one time mentioning Ant-man to an immediate response of confused silence. Vision is, well, he is The Vision, there is no qualifier, no attempt to justify his existence as anything worth a second name, a general agreement that his inhumanness is aptly construed with two syllables preceded by a very articulated The.

Then there is Wanda. A disquieting trepidation vibrates the voices of commentators when they speak of the Scarlet Witch. Vision understands the Scarlet aspect, her powers most closely resembling the eponymous color, though he would argue she is her own unique shade of red. But Witch, this has always put him on edge, a sordid undertone in the history of the term, an implied layer of supernatural malevolence. Her powers are not difficult to comprehend, in his opinion, she reverses the molecular polarity of items when she moves them, including the molecules in the air when she sends out a stream of scarlet. Mind reading is a bit more difficult for him to matter-of-factly explain at a level accessible to the average listener, but, regardless, her powers, just as his own, are deeply rooted in scientific explanation. Yet no one else is ever willing to concede to this point. To be fair, he reasons, fingers growing restless as he taps the spatula against the edge of the counter, Wanda has all but given up on countering the term, she even dressed as a witch the prior Halloween, but he is unsure if she is embracing the moniker or simply doesn’t want to fight it any more.

Vision tenses at a sudden pressure on his back, mildly concerned at his failure to detect another person entering the kitchen, but his muscles loosen slightly when arms snake around his waist, his thoughts turning far away from monikers and witches when a kiss is pressed between his shoulder blades. The path of his free hand is predetermined, an automatic response whenever she embraces him like this, falling to cover her hands interlocked over his abdomen, a smile perking up his lips at the difference in texture between her skin and the thin bands of metal around her fingers. “Wanda.”

“Hey, Vizh.” The words absorb into his back, a rush of heat moving up his spine at the way her breath sneaks between the fibers of his synthetic sweater to pierce his skin. “What are you doing?”

It is an odd habit, one that all of his teammates seem to share, asking what a person is doing when it is fairly easy to ascertain the answer. “Preparing dinner.”

Wanda unlocks her hands, stepping around to stand at his side, though she does not remove her right hand completely as she readjusts, allows it to run lazily along his body, sliding it up from his stomach until it is resting on his chest.  A slight, effortless press of her palm turns his body so he can take in the breathtakingly easy smile that is paired with her enthusiastic, “Smells delicious.”

His body has come to react in certain ways outside of conscious thought, forming muscle memories for moments and actions that are frequent in his life. Now is such a moment, his body bending just enough to meet the upward momentum of Wanda lifting onto her toes, everything predictable down to the pressure of her lips against his own and the angle of her hand pressed to his chest, an unnecessary source of balance, but one she blissfully continues out of habit, and finally the emergence of a tiny, lopsided smirk that reaches her eyes when she pulls back.

This smirk and the happiness filling her eyes kickstarts the second half of the programming, the pads of his fingers brushing along her cheek, eliciting a barely perceptible sigh from her lips as he follows the curve of her cheekbone up to the strands of hair that are always loose, his fingers dipping below the hair as he pushes it up and behind her ear. “Are you speaking of me or the food?”

Wanda’s smile broadens, eyes rolling as she pulls her hand away and shakes her head, “You do know that using that line every time lessens its impact.”

It is a struggle to remain serious, the rush of adrenaline and the uptick of exhilaration that results by being in her presence difficult to ignore. But he does his best to contain the grin attempting to form on his lips long enough to speak. “Yet your pulse still increases by three beats whenever I use it.”

An amused, small laugh leaves her lips as she shakes her head (which is the final drop that breaks the dam of his joy, freeing the grin he successfully held at bay), angling her hip to give him a slight shove to the side as she glances at the array of pots and pans on the stove. “So, what can I do to help?”

Vision joins her in scrutinizing the setup, assessing where he is currently at in the various recipes for the evening, his teammates all answering his question concerning cravings differently which means he is attempting to satiate all of their individual tastes. “I believe the most pressing task is to quarter the brussel sprouts for Captain Rogers.”

Her response comes as a touch, nothing showy, just a brush of fingers along the back of his neck, a brief, simple confirmation of his request as she walks past him to the fridge.  If he had to estimate the frequency with which she touches him in such a way, absentmindedly and automatically after so many years together, it would be in the hundreds, possibly thousands but it does not diminish the effects. Vision smiles, as he always does at the warmth of her touch, eyes trailing along after her, following the casual sway of her hips and enjoying the way it sends her black dress dancing just above her knees. Wanda brushes past him on the way to the cutting board, this time an elbow grazing against his lower back for no other reason than to touch him and, because no one else is in the immediate vicinity, he does not stifle the 30 percent increase in his smile. Instead he basks in the aftermath of her touch, the snaking trail winding down from his neck, meeting the blooming warmth from his back until it creates a layer of peaceful contentment over his body.

Vision pushes aside the warmth for a second as he prods at the sizzling chicken, lifting it slightly to check the underside and measure the changes in its coloring to assess its progress. As he inspects the third chicken breast, there is a flicker in his periphery, his eyes sliding to the right to briefly investigate the source. At first all he can see is auburn hair moving in time with the swish of the fabric of her dress, body swaying to the beat of the music, her hand rising into the air with a bent wrist as she opens and closes the drawer with the cutting boards,. A bright green cutting board floats through the air before she sends out sparks of scarlet towards the knife block – gentle, even arcs rising and falling with the rhythmic wave of her fingers as she chooses the most appropriate knife.

Vision’s attention returns to the chicken for a millisecond before he finds his gaze inching back to Wanda’s hands, watching as her left hand begins a new process with her palm raised towards the ceiling. Her fingertips congregate to pull out thin tendrils of scarlet and from there her muscles take over, thoughts absent, eyes trained on the brussel sprouts laid out on the cutting board. First her pinky bows, straightening back out to hold one of the leafy ovals in place. Then her ring finger extends out, encouraging the knife to slice off the end of the brussel sprout, scarlet reflecting off the metallic bands wrapping around both sides of her knuckle and shimmering along the edge of the knife. She continues this rhythm for each individual slice, a swivel of her wrist sending the quarters in a lazy waltz along an invisible archway into a bowl. Each individual quarter follows this routine, hovering in the air for several mesmerizing seconds, an anthropomorphic joy in their journey before a 60 degree bend of her index finger tempts them down, a final swipe of her hand sending the vegetables into the bowl and the cycle begins anew.

Vision cannot help but grin at the ease of her movements, the perfect synchronization of her powers, fingers always moving, unable to remain dormant for extended periods of time, regardless of if they are in a meeting, at a press conference, spending a lazy afternoon on the couch, or tangled in bed. Most would define this as a nervous tick, accuse her of unnecessary use of her powers, but Vision has analyzed the dance of her hands, devoted countless hours to watching her, and he knows that when she is nervous the sparks she strikes between the pads of her fingers are chaotic, volatile, unpredictable. This right now, however, is none of those, a calming orderliness in the simple task that is executed with well-trained, effortless dexterity.

The longer he watches her the more detached his mind becomes, crawling through time, retracing the feel of her fingers on his skin, finding himself lost fifteen minutes in the past, her arms wrapped around his waist, a peck to his back. Then he is eight minutes in the past, her palm flush against his chest, sending the heat curling along his pectoral plates until it seeps into the creases between his skin and vibranium, where it then begins its swift, yet gentle take-over of his body. Then four and a half minutes, just a simple touch but the trail of heat lingers on his neck, a secondary path tingling along his lower back. All the while the scarlet tendrils continue their hypnotizing journey, the rhythm of the knife matching the rhythm of his heart.

A hand falls on his arm, a gentle squeeze accompanying her, “Um, Vision?”

He blinks three times, irises twisting counterclockwise as the room refocuses around him. “Wanda?”

“You okay?” He sweeps his gaze over the counter, trying to identify the source of her question, uncertain how to answer her. Despite his attempts to ascertain the issue, all he can seem to register is the tapping of her black-lacquered nails on his bicep, tiny sparks of red flashing and then disappearing with each tap, his attention transfixed by the movement, drawn up along her arm by some invisible string until he is met with a knowing, coy smirk, which paralyzes his already floundering mind. “You’re letting the chicken burn.”

The acrid whiff of blackening chicken and slight burn in his eyes from the charred spices finally urge his body to act, his hand bringing the spatula to flip the chicken, rescuing it from a fiery death that is, sadly, not uncommon on his cooking nights, but only when Wanda is nearby. “Thank you, I,” he pauses, unsure what justification exists for his lapse in attention, “seem to have been lost in thought.”

Slowly she removes her fingers from his arm, lips smacking in disbelief as she raises an incredulous eyebrow. It does not require mind reading to conclude she is aware of the hollowness of his answer, but she never fully acknowledges this awareness, favoring to lay the foundation for him to come clean on his own. “Yeah? What were you thinking about?”

“I,” Vision tries to decide how to proceed as he wrestles with his actions, uncomfortable with how easily she can entrance him, how effortlessly her presence decreases his ability to function. Instead of simply saying this, he finds himself tumbling back into his previous thoughts about the woman next to him. Wanda’s encouraging hmm cements his next course of action, eyes following along as she flicks her fingers to lift the lid of the pot where Rhodes’ favorite rosemary cream sauce is simmering, “do you mind being called Scarlet Witch?”

There is a brief falter in her smile as she glances in his direction, “You back to obsessing over superhero names again?”

The wording is a bit much, “I would not call a dalliance of contemplation obsessing.”

“Semantics, Vizh.” It has become her response anytime he attempts to lessen or redirect her observations, Wanda far too perceptive, sometimes uncomfortably so, in determining his thoughts. Though he would say, and has argued quite vehemently with her, that he does not obsess over anything, too much. “You know it doesn’t. Still bothering you?”

“I-” He watches as she wraps scarlet tendrils around the spices sitting on the counter, a lazy rotation of her wrist hovering them through the air in front of him until she can grasp them in her hand, “am not personally bothered by the term, though I do believe they,” it took him many years and a lot of encouragement from Wanda to not always define the pronoun, particularly when it is a repeat conversation, and so he allows her to draw the connection between his they and the public, “seem to use it quite ominously.”

Wanda shrugs, sniffing each spice before placing the containers back on the counter, her free hand proceeding to move to the other pans on the stove, double checking that he is not ruining any of the other food. “There is fear in the term,” the spatula is pried from his fingers before he realizes what is happening, attention far too focused on the movement of her lips as she mulls over her words and the scarlet mist surrounding the handle of the skillet, holding it in place while she checks his half-blackened chicken. “But also admiration, a witch,” the uptick in her voice highlights the word, draws his eyes to her face and the mischievous grin overtaking her mouth, one that easily and briefly steals the air from his lungs, “is not to be trifled with.”

“It appears I was not informed of this.”  

Her laugh is breathy, happy, intoxicating, a reward that has helped shape his humor since his creation due to the satisfaction planted deep within his chest whenever he can elicit such a reaction from her. “Oh no,” Wanda places the spatula down, arms wrapping around his waist, her hands coming to rest on his lower back, fingers toying with the edge of his belt, “you were warned, multiple times, if I recall, and yet,” she pauses as she lifts onto her toes, mouth hovering just below his lips, her breath a steamy rope connecting to his chin, tilting his head down so that their lips are barely separated, “you still willingly continue to” she narrows her eyes, a conspiratorial edge lacing her voice, thickening her accent as she whispers, “lay with a witch.”

All it takes is the deepening of her voice mingling with the waft of her lavender shampoo to render his mind inert, senses overloading at the force of nature that is Wanda, thoughts collapsing as he stares into her eyes, registering the impish grin on her lips, one that grows more pronounced as her hands inch lower, fingers dipping into the back pockets of his pants. Vision finds his hand lifting, brushing the perennially loose strand of hair from her face as he feels his body giving in to her allure.  

The clucking from the chicken timer breaks the spell, his feet automatically phasing through the floor, forgetting how to function, as he backs away. “Excuse me,” Vision finds his words have yet to return to him, still mesmerized by the woman in front of him, meaning he has to point at the oven and try to explain what he needs to do, “bread.”

Wanda’s mouth puckers in amusement as she steps back, yet even with the distance he can still feel the lingering trace of her fingers on his body, breath on his lips, and the silkiness of her hair against his fingertips. “Go for it.” His attention finally shifts to the bread, reaching into the oven to remove the pillowy loaf. When he resurfaces he does not immediately see Wanda and confusion settles uncomfortably around his shoulders until he hears a tapping to his left, eyes following the noise to find her at the tablet affixed to the wall, scrolling through the music on his cooking playlist. “Anything you’re in the mood for?”

“Whatever you prefer.” The music that falls from the speakers situated around the room is not much different from what had been on previously, though Wanda tends to prefer the songs laced with allure, a sultry trill in the brass that twists and turns into a burst of cymbals. Vision grins at the selection, an approving tone as he identifies the artist, “Frank Sinatra.” His hands move quickly, yet still in time with the beat of the music, as he checks the chicken, stirs the sauce, places the brussel sprouts into the oven, and brushes the bread with oil and a finish of rock salt. “Wanda could you,” the intent is to ask her to hand him the pepper, which somehow found its way to the opposite counter, but when he turns to face her he stops, lips parting as he takes in the smirk on her face and the swing of her hips as she approaches him.

“Could I…”

His eyes never leave her, hands frozen and mind reeling as she steps up to him, her body still moving with the music as she places her hands on his upper arms. Lazily she walks her fingers up along his shoulder, a swagger to the movement, a surety gleaming in her eyes at the way she affects him that creates centralized points of heat in his skin wherever she touches. Each featherlight touch conjures more heat which makes the shiver that goes down his spine as she brushes her fingers along the exposed skin of his neck all the more distracting. Vision releases a shaky breath, knowing he is committing a fatal error by locking his eyes with hers, “Pass the pepper?”

“Is that,” the coquettish narrowing of her eyes reveals a prescience sureness simmering beneath the surface, an unspoken future victory left blatantly out in the open, one that catches his breath and refuses to let go, “really what you want right now, my,” the next word is whispered into his skin as she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth, “beloved?”

Despite the public’s ability to only refer to him as The Vision, Wanda uses different names depending on her mood or purpose. Vision in formal settings, on missions, during press conferences, or when they are fighting or he is brooding and she needs to underscore her seriousness. Far more common is the multipurpose Vizh, a nickname she began using because, as she informed him, while wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and sipping tea, tears still fresh on her face from a nightmare, she thought her best friend could use a nickname. So, if he was okay with it, she liked Vizh, and it instantly felt right, familiar, intimate. But, there are times where Vizh is not quite enough and that is when she utilizes the more evocative, more captivating My Beloved. It is a fine-tuned, powerful, ancient spell that always infiltrates his carefully constructed defenses. “No, but dinner is al-”

Swallowing is superfluous, yet he finds himself pushing synthetic saliva down his throat as he registers the way her lips curl up into a sly come-hither arc, a mystifying challenge to his resolve, and it ensnare him, strips his mind bare of logic and rationale. A perfect microcosm of their relationship, the heady rush of her disregard for normative, orderly functioning clashing with and challenging his logic. It is always a toss up who wins in the end, a thrill in the unknown of this fact that ignites a torrid yearning in his chest. Right now, particularly as he notes the crackle of oil from the still hot pan on the stove, is not the best time for distractions, but his heart seems to disagree, ramming frantically in his chest as her fingers continue to crawl along his body, down his neck, along his shoulder, tracing the curve of his tricep before dipping into the pocket of his elbow, and then her hand finds his, their fingers lacing.

Vision always assumed the ability of her touch to render his logic useless would only occur at the tentative, exhilarating dance that was entering into their relationship, but, antithetical to all his rationale, he believes it may be more impactful now than it was at the onset. Yet there is no denying the intense warmth engulfing his body, one that he cannot easily attribute to the stove or hot pans, its origins based exclusively in the fervent, unquestionable love coursing through his body for Wanda. A love that goes against reason, logic, public opinion, a taboo that should not exist and yet, here they stand. It’s when his mind betrays logic, siding with the beating of his heart, that he concludes no one will care if he burns the chicken again. So he lifts their joined hands to the side, a small flourish of his free hand through the air as he bends slightly at the waist, eyes locked with hers as he whispers a hopeful, “Dance with me?”

The grin spreads from her lips, scrunching her nose as she steps into his embrace, perfectly fitting against his body. “I was worried you weren’t going to ask me.”

“My apologies for causing you concern.” He wraps his free arm around her waist, fully giving in to her persuasion and begins a slow, easy box-step on the floor, grinning at the glee on her face, the press of her chest to his, and the tingle on his thighs where the hem of her dress brushes against him. Vision smiles as he stares into her eyes, heart thudding happily when she lays her cheek on his chest, allowing him to guide her around the kitchen. As they move he begins to realize that it all makes sense, why Wanda can so easily distract him, why whenever he is with her it is nearly impossible to remain logical, preferring to follow the irrationally based needs of his heart. “I have decided that they are correct.”

Wanda’s feet do not miss a beat, continuing their intimate waltz despite the perplexion on her face as she pulls back to stare at him, “Who’s correct?”

A quick phase of his hand frees it from her grasp, palm coming to lay on her cheek, thumb tracing along her jawline, “The people who call you Scarlet Witch. Though their reasoning for the moniker is quite flawed.”

Her confusion fades, replaced by intrigue and a tilt of her head as she studies him. “Oh?”

“Yes,” the music carries them around the kitchen island and into the open space between the kitchen and the common room, the buzz of the television and the voices of their teammates barely registering over the crooning vocals mingling with the seductive trumpets, “they call you that out of fear and concern, but they are wrong.” Vision bends down so he can rest his forehead against hers, close enough to identify every fleck of green and dot of brown in her irises that are not visible from further away. “You are the nicest witch I have ever met.”

The skin around her eyes crinkles as she grins up at him, “Please don’t tell them that.”

“Never.” Vision tightens his grip around her waist as he leans forward, pushing her body off its central axis, a surprised gasp escaping her lips as he dips her. “The name is only correct in one manner: you,” he brings his lips millimeters from hers, hoping his breath causes the same reaction in her as hers does to him, “have bewitched me with your love.”

A sighed “Vizh,” passes from her mouth to his, an incantation as strong now as it was the first time she charmed him with it, and despite the pungent aroma of burned chicken and scalding cream sauce in the air, he closes the distance between their lips for a slow, passionate kiss. As he sinks into her embrace he knows, with stunning clarity and certainty, that he will never long for any other person, content to forever remain spellbound by the Scarlet Witch.

#scarletvisionexchange2017 #sve2017 #scarlet vision #vision #wanda maximoff #fluff #ao3 #scarletvision

[eevee-lee]

Sun Warrior (Re-uploaded)

A bouquet of white lilies were clasped tightly in his hand, phalanges trembling just barely against the red ribbon that held them together; the satin wrinkling under his grip, bow loosening.

The skeleton softly sighed, attempting to calm his nerves while slowly making his way towards Mt. Ebbot; autumn leaves crunching under heavy boots, their owner seeming deaf to any noise around him.

When was the last time he came here..?

How many days had it been since the battle ended..?

War shook his head, a gloved hand raising to ghost over his cheek; a scar adorning the bone there, never to fade away even if Death himself took his life..honestly it was something he had wished for in the beginning..almost begging to be taken from the life in which he suffered from, yet here he was, alive and well..mostly. The chilled breeze of Ebbot forest whipped past War, lightly playing with the scarf wrapped around his hips in its touch; letting the tattered material fall only after a moment.

Soon…he would be there..

Honestly the former warrior didn’t know how long he walked for, not that he cared, there was only one reason he was there; no turning back now..After what seemed like hours, the familiar dirt trail of his home came into sight; a few pebbles falling from the edge of the cliff with each step he took, yet, he paid no mind. His soul began to race slightly..why was he so nervous..? Perhaps maybe..it was because there was so much guilt to be felt, that it held him back from ever stepping foot here again….

Not today, however.

His eye lights flickered over to the setting sun, it’s beautiful array of rose and honey, lined with just a hint of pearl creating a painting that never failed to fascinate the skeleton every time he let his gaze admire. The smallest of smiles crept up to his lips, yet it seemed to waver.

‘He would’ve loved this…’ He would think, smile falling while tearing his eyes away from the sight; continuing to ascend the mountain, steps a bit faster than before. The end was near, just a bit more now..

War never stopped walking, daring not to look back; there was nothing to keep him still now.

The winds became slightly heavier, signaling that he was close. It wasn’t until War looked up, did he see his destination, taking the final few steps before finally coming to a stop; chest heaving just barely from the journey, to the entrance to Mt. Ebbot, the very entrance where a barrier was going to be cast upon if it weren’t for the child hero..

His eyes slowly trailed downward, snow colored orbs wavering as they were met with a medium sized stone; its surface smoothed out as if carved..a gravestone, its scrawled writing slightly faded but clear enough to read as..

‘Papyrus
Monster with a kind heart 
Warrior with valiant soul 
Brother with a dream’


Slowly, War kneeled down, swallowing hard as he carefully set the bouquet of lilies against his brother’s place of resting; he was not buried here, no, his body had been dusted..but sometimes War believed that his spirit stayed near their former home, watching over the world they now lived in with his bright smile and kind eyes.

His lips parted after a moment, eye lights just barely flickering to the stone before him then to the dirt below as he murmured softly..

“Hello, brother..”

He almost had a prodding feeling, that perhaps Papyrus would answer him..but that was merely a thought..

“It’s been a while..hasn’t it? You know, I honestly no excuse for coming to see you…”

His phalanges trembled, the skeleton quickly curling them into tight fists to not break down right then and there.

“..I..I’m sorry, Papyrus, I was filled with so much guilt that..I couldn’t face you, even if you aren’t here. It’s been a whole year since that day, the day that the war ended because of Frisk. Everything has changed, brother, you would’ve loved to see this but-”

His voice cracked, becoming wobbly as he glanced up at the stone; the sunset creating a bright light behind it, rays of rose and honey kissing the warriors scarred bones almost if to comfort him, yet it did nothing as arctic blue tears gathered in his sockets.

“..Because of me you will never be able to, if I hadn’t been so blind that day..you would still be alive. Learning how to cook and making puzzles with Frisk a-and..”

Something within War snapped, opening the floodgates in which he tried so hard to contain; tears streaming down his cheek bones, phalanges gripping the scarf around his waist tightly, hugging the material to his chest.

“S-stars..I miss you so much pap..! All I want is for you to be here with us and y-yet..and yet I know there is no way that can happen now..It hurts, it hurts so much Papyrus. I-I just want to see your smiling face one last time, that very smile you looked at me with when you…god-”

War sobbed quietly into the scarf, body trembling violently while feeling an ache deep within his broken soul. He didn’t know how long he cried for, but it didn’t matter to him..

All he wanted was his little brother back..

    
An hour had passed, the skeleton now merely hiccuping within his short breaths; scarf still clutched tightly to him, his head feeling stuffy from the many tears fell, already he could feel his eyes swelling, even if War was a skeleton.

The warrior took a few deep breaths, gloved hand attempting to wipe away the last remaining tears before he murmured softly; voice croaky from crying.

“You know, I honestly didn’t want to live after you left. If it weren’t for Frisk, I would’ve probably ended my life sooner than expected..yet, that kid is pretty determined, as is everyone else."

He sighed, sniffling quietly before continuing. Perhaps now would be the time to talk about..lighter topics.

“..Alphy’s and Undyne finally got together, the two are getting married soon from what I hear. The king and queen adopted Frisk, even letting that flower becoming one with their family; he seemed pretty happy about it though. As for me..”

His eyes slowly raised to look over the horizon, the sun having set not too long ago; moon beginning to take its place.

“..I’m just living alone, well, mostly. Frisk suggested that I find a companion; so I did, they helped me, big surprise there.” A soft chuckle, the skeleton’s lips twitching upward. By companion, I mean a dog, yes a dog. A bit silly I know but you would’ve liked her. She’s an Australian Shepard named Addie, kindest pup I ever met next to Greater Dog. She helps me around in public places, being a service dog for what the kid told me. She would love you, then again she loves everybody, Undyne especially since she’s the only one that can keep up with Addie’s boundless energy, playing fetch for hours.”

War felt a bit lighter now, head still feeling a bit stuffy and legs stiff; but that was fine, a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Father would have liked her too, being the kind of person who got along with doggo and them. He probably would’ve gave her treats every half hour if I wasn’t looking.”

He went quiet for a moment, replaying the memories of his father and brother; remembering the many moments they shared as a family, how many times Gaster would sometimes skip work just to spend time with them, loving his sons so much that he would do anything to keep the two happy..A smile rose up to his lips, one that seemed to stay even as he looked to the gravestone once more.

“Sometimes, I wonder if you and father are in the same place, looking down upon the world we all wished for. Where humans and monsters grew up together, hand in hand; something I thought we could never achieve, but here we all are. Maybe many years from now, people will remember what the kid did to make this happen..what your dream was. For now though, I want to live out this life to the fullest, and..I promise I’ll come out more to visit you.”

A soft laugh.

A vibrating feeling from his pocket made him jump a little, a brow bone raising as he quickly fished his phone out; relaxing when seeing it was a text:

From: Frisk 
Are you still coming over tonight? Everyone is excited to see you~! Addie especially! <3

He couldn’t help but smile, laughing quietly to himself before sending out a quick reply, pocketing the device before standing; stretching a little then patting away any dirt on his clothing before looking down at the stone, lilies leaning against it.

“Well, guess it’s time for me to go, today is the anniversary party and Frisk wanted me to come so..couldn’t say no.”

His hand went to the scarf once more, phalange grazing over its soft material before he turned on his heel to make the trip back down; his head turning around after a few steps, a soft smile on splayed on his lips.

“Until the next sunset..brother."

 
~Fin~

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

HonorWar!Gaster, Sans, And Papyrus belong to me

Undertale belongs to Toby Fox

Song inspiration: https://youtu.be/hL81CkoXlqc

#tumblr why do you hate me #Lee writes #HonorWar #War #Valiant #still need a nickname for Gaster- #re upload #Oc

[lucykogo-blog]

Monitor

The room was dark as I switched on my monitor, with a satisfying, audible click. The static buzz that filled my ear as the electronics around me came to life felt nostalgic, familiar even. My knees up to my chin, a comfortable, even fetal position as I sipped my can slowly, firing up my browser. It felt like an eternity since I had allowed myself to engage in the world of the web, a habit of mine that I had long known I needed to curb. The familiar, custom homepage I hosted myself greeted me. Having dropped out of a computer science course, I knew the odds and sods about web programing, and I created my own little safe space, a bubble that served me exactly what I needed. And that’s where I resided, stagnant and, well, safe, for months, before my parents finally cut my expense account, finding out I had dropped out of the prestigious course they had so much hope for. That was a wakeup call for me, an epiphany that I had failed somewhere along the way. Realizing how much of my life had been wasted by the virtual, I permanently shut down my computer and found myself a real, grounded existence. For the last 6 months, I had been working at a construction site, a true, honest, if thankless task. For 6 months, I had managed to stay away from anything virtual, anything remotely resembling the internet. I had even gone out of my way to buy an old brick phone, and used it only for calls from work, and the new friends I had found myself. Friends, who just like the new me, shunned the virtual. I had even saved enough to move out of the crummy, derelict student accommodation I had been inhabiting. After packing all my things, it had come to my abandoned, locked away computer room. I felt that, after 6 months of abstinence, I deserved a quick look. The people I had left behind without a word deserved a message, something to remember me by.  The hum of my custom-made pumps was so soothing to my ears. I had truly missed this. The first site I loaded was a video sharing site, a beautiful collection of the world’s most creative minds. 6 months’ worth of content was a large collection to be admired, and I savored every moment of catching up to these people I knew so well. My most loved subscription, a small, independent vloging channel had only one video, and I knew this was something to be left till the very end of my rendezvous. Next up was a blogging site I had frequented. This service, much easier to create content for than the video site by far, had much more work I had fallen behind with. Dramas, relationships, breakups. So much can change in the life of the world in as little as 6 months. I felt a slight pang of guilt, even jealousy, when I found out my best friend, a blogger by the name of Alice had married, and I wasn’t invited. But of course, upon checking my messages, I had discovered that I was invited, in fact, many times. My inbox was a stab straight at my heart. When I disappeared, at first people sent heartwarming messages, about how much they missed me, that they hoped I was ok, and that I would come back… But when it became clear I wasn’t coming back, the love and sympathy turned to anger and resentment. Reminders of promises, of vows and loves came scathing at me, each one hurting like a bullet straight into my heart. I was called a lying whore, a disgusting fake. In a way, they weren’t too far from the truth. I wasn’t really who I said I was, although deep down, I think I was. I think every time we invent a persona, it’s something within us that wants to be free. And when we kill this persona… well, sometimes, our mind just cannot cope. And neither can the minds of the people around us. While checking my messages, I found some from a blog that I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember following. Of course, 6 months of non-contact and make specifics blur, but this was such a distinct, atmospheric page that I found it strange I couldn’t remember ever looking at it. The background, as was common on this site, was a tiled repetition of the same gruesome, “attention grabbing” image. In this case, it was the slender, beautiful, pale white wrists of what looked to be a young woman. The image was grayscale, although probably, color would have made it one hundred times more impactful. The girl’s wrists were slit, in several places. Never along the veins, only over them. For attention, as so many of the young people on this site. I sighed with relief at having abandoned this community, remembering how close I had come to this pitiful state myself. Of course, I did not judge, or even think less of people who stooped to this. I understood them. Understood them too well. Not remembering this blog at all, I decided to have a quick skim of it, to see if anything jogged my memory. The first post started innocently enough; “My main blog is too well known, I am getting all sorts of creeps! From now on, I will post on here, for my real friends!! ;) ;)” I smirked at that little entry. Oh, how many times had I had the same idea, to just emigrate to another blog space, another site, another domain… And yet it was always the same, the people who wanted to find me, they always did somehow. If only this community dedicated as much attention to real world problems as they do to their little dramas, petty loves. The blog continued, predictably, with hate on the authors parents, peers and whoever else they thought dragged them down: “Ugh THEY JUST DO NOT UNDERSTAND ME! THEY DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT I WENT THROUGH, WHY I FAILED THAT EXAM. TO CUT ME OFF, TO DISAOW ME, LIKE THAT.”  The readers of this blog seemed to be sympathetic enough to this cliché entry, spouting truisms and tried bull about the world not understanding people “like us”. And to think I came so close to falling into the same echo chamber, the same trap. Finishing off my drink, I decided to call it a night. I still had a lot to pack, and I was growing truly tired. Maybe I had wasted a bit too much time on this trip to the past.  * * *  The next day at work, I felt kind of ill at ease. The supervisor was being especially difficult, and the project we were working on was coming to an end. We were building a sanatorium out in the mountains, apparently for people who were too “stressed out” by modern living. My parents had often mentioned such places to me, with the hopes that I would move to one. “We can see how you struggle, we understand. We can help you.” Of course, if I had wanted to, I could have had such a facility all to my own. There are perks to having parents in the banking industry, of course. Not that those perks apply when you are cut off. Downing my fifth coffee of the day while still regretting the first, I swallowed my discontent and pushed through the rest of the day. When I arrived home, I quickly started packing up the rest of my belongings. Mostly routers, servers, firewalls, laptops and other crap I had bought second hand with my allowance from dodgy sites. I had used them all to bounce my browsing habits, in the hopes that I could one day hack my way into riches that my parents couldn’t even imagine. Riches that would make them proud. There was at least ten thousand dollars’ worth of equipment here, and I made a mental note to research the proper prices and get at least some of my money back. It would be a good kickstart to my new life. When I had finished packing everything except my main computer, I decided it was a good idea to take a break. Fetching my last crate of beer from the fridge, I sat in front of the PC and switched it on again. I decided to continue reading the blog from the other day. Laughing at people like me felt like a good way to blow off steam. As I scrolled through months’ worth of this blogs posts, they became less and less coherent. Some even mentioned murder of some loan collector who had come by the authors house. This was of course, attention calling garbage, garbage of the type that I had engaged in before during my “career” as a blogger. I had even had the police called to my apartment, multiple times, because of such “white lies” I wrote to increase my fanbase. This post seemed particularly gruesome though, describing in detail dismemberment and disposal of the poor worker’s body. Apparently, it was pretty hard with a “shattered wrist from the fight”. This kid’s imagination was wild, must have watched far too many movies. Sulfuric acid? Really? Smirking, I turned off the PC and packed it into the last box, ready at last to move out when the trucks came tomorrow.  * * *  Interestingly, I had had my own run ins with the tax collection agencies. When my parents cut me off, I had taken a massive loan from a “friend” at university, to get me through until they realized they cannot win a war of attrition and came scuttling back to me. Unfortunately, it turned out they could hold out longer than me and the debt collectors soon came a knocking. After a few scuffles, one which involved a broken bone, was when I decided to get myself together and found my construction job. It wasn’t easy, but I paid off the debt, and even managed to open a real bank account, getting a real credit card to help in times of need. I thought about this as I waited for the moving men to arrive, who were getting ridiculously late. When I became bored of waiting idly, I unpacked the computer and decided to finish off reading the blog. There wasn’t much left according to the post counter, I was only about 100 posts from the end. Each post became less and less coherent, less and less sane. I became sorry and worried for the kid. Their self-harm seemed to increase, with more and more pictures being posted. This made me scratch at my own wrist, covered in a bandage from an accident I had earlier moving the desk. The kid spouted on and on about murder, revenge on society, and lastly, suicide. Suddenly, they announced they will live stream it, with a link to my favorite video sharing site. By this point I was worried sick, although I cannot deny a gruesome interest in whether they did it. I clicked on the link, which took me to my favorite channel, the one I had left as a dessert to my goodbye to the Internet. There was only one video. Streamed today. The title, “It all Started 6 Months Ago.” Speaking of which, the first post of that blog was 6 months ago. Strange. As I clicked on the video, I looked down at my feet. Why were they floating above the ground? 

#story #short story

[preston-fabray-blog]

Kings 19:37

“One day, while he was worshiping in the temple of his god, his sons killed him with the sword. And his son succeeded him as king.”

Ever since Preston could remember, every night Russell Fabray got home, he would head straight into his office. Like clock work, he would go to the liquor cabinet and pour himself two fingers of his favorite expensive scotch before settling into his leather chair, a copy of whatever book he was reading at that time in his other hand.

Tonight would be no different- aside from his mother being off to the newest spa resort for the weekend.

Upon his arrival to his father’s penthouse, Preston gave the entire staff the night off, which wasn’t an unusual move from him. Back when he and Frankie still lived there he would always give the staff a break, claiming they worked too hard and deserved some time off. In reality, he just wanted some alone time with his sister and wanted to get rid of prying eyes and listening ears.

The tricky part had been getting rid of Manuel, the head of security. But a couple of court side tickets for the Knicks had been enough for the man to abandon his post. And it wasn’t long before Preston had the house for himself.

So he waited, seated comfortably in one of the leather chairs in his father’s office. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up his forearms, his legs crossed, ankle over knee, and he nursed a drink of his father’s whiskey when he heard footsteps approaching.

He wondered if perhaps he should be feeling anything other than silent fury. Uneasiness perhaps, or even the slightest doubt. But he was totally composed, even if all he could think about was Frankie’s confession and the video that kept replaying in his mind.

After Frankie’s revelation, Preston had stormed out of Quinn’s place, murder in his eyes. And on his way to his destination, he had watched the video. Instead of a short clip, like the one he had been given before, this time he had gotten the entire footage. In high quality, he had been able to see everything unfolding while Frankie’s voice played in his head.

It started with an argument that seemed to escalate to the point where Russell got physical. First it was pushing Frankie against a wall, his hand closing around her throat. And it ended with her being pushed off the flight of stairs. The moment he now knew, Russell had killed his unborn child.

Preston had never felt fury like that before. Seeing his sister abused like that, terror and helplessness in her body language as she tried to get away from the man who was supposed to protect her; as she tried to guard the life she carried inside from harm. 

When he saw her at the end of the stairs, lying prone on the floor with blood flowing easily from her nose and mouth, a wave of hatred washed over him, permeating his bones and seeping into his soul. It was in that moment he knew he was going to kill his father.

“Son!” Said Russell once he flipped on the lights and saw him; hearing the man call him that made his stomach churn.

“Didn’t think anyone was home.” As if realizing something, his father’s eyes flitted across the room before landing back on him. “Where is everybody?”

“I gave them the night off.” He answered, setting his half-finished drink on the table before he rose slowly from the chair.

“Remember when you gave me this watch?” He interrupted, ignoring his father’s puzzled look as he continued. “It was almost five years ago. When you encouraged me to go follow my dreams.” Preston said with a sardonic grin as he unfastened his watch from his left wrist.

Russell had been so supportive and Preston had been at an all time low, losing his sister without even an explanation. It was the moment that made him believe his father wasn’t the man he had thought him to be. That underneath all his flaws, there was a man who did what he thought was best for his family, even if it was in the harshest of ways. It was the night Preston had felt sympathy for the devil.

“Right around the time Frankie had that unfortunate accident, right?” The moment he said that Russell’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Don’t you find it funny how prone to accidents your children are?” His lips curled in a mirthless smile as he looked at his father. “We were all just so clumsy.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Preston, but I don’t think I care for your tone right now.” His father retorted, leveling him with a look that once upon a time would have made Preston cower.

“Don’t play stupid, old man. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.” He spat through clenched teeth.  

“Now listen here boy, I did what I had to do in order to save you and your sister’s soul. What you guys did was repulsive, a sin. And that child was an aberration in the eyes of the Lord. You may not realize it now, but I saved you both from damnation and you should be thank..” Preston interrupted the man he once looked up to by landing a punch to his face. He had heard enough of his lies.

“You could have killed her!” He roared. “You killed our child!” He swung out with his right fist and connected with Russell’s gut, making the older man double over. Air rushing from his lungs and he gasped for a few breaths.

“You both are disgusting! I’m ashamed to call you my son. How could you do this to our family?” He managed to gasp out, anger and revulsion on his face.

“Because I love her!” He argued before there was a satisfying crunch as his fist connected with the soft cartilage of his father’s nose, causing him to drop down to the rug. “I will always love her.”

His father yelled something unintelligible while he cradled his face, as if trying to stop the stream of blood.

“What’s that? Didn’t quite catch it,” Preston then kicked him in the chin, and the older man fell on his back. “Seriously father, you’re going to have to speak up.” He said while Russell rolled over and tried to get up on all fours. 

Preston kicked him again, viciously, only this time in the ribs, making the preacher hit the ground again. And he stood there, watching unmoved as Russell could only groan in pain before he went into a coughing fit.

“Help…” Came the strangled cry as Russell reached for the edges of the rug, trying to scramble away from his son, but Preston put his foot squarely on his back and pushed him back down.

“Oh now you want to call for help? What about when it was Frankie, Quinn, Julie, or even mother. It never seemed to bother you when it was them on the floor, bleeding.”

As much anger as he felt towards the pathetic excuse of a father he had, Preston felt disgusted at how much of a coward he himself had been all these years.

He once tried helping his mother, many years ago. A night when his father had been particularly vicious. He had gotten a broken arm for his troubles and a threat to be sent away from his sisters if he ever so much as raised a finger against Russell again. It hadn’t been so much the bruises and pain that had deterred Preston from stepping in again, but the threat of being torn away from his family.

How could Preston had been fooled into believing this man was actually a good person underneath it all? How could he have defended the man responsible for his unborn child’s death. 

“You were supposed to protect them…” He spat before the award Russell had been presented with last year caught his eye. And he felt sick to his stomach remembering how he had been the one to give his father’s praising introduction.

“The Humanitarian Award recognizes Russell Fabray’s extraordinary contributions to children through social and humanitarian services…” Preston read the engraving on the heavy glass sculpture as he picked it up.

“You do have a gift, being able to fool everyone.” It was a trait he had admired. His father’s ability to deceive and manipulate. “What would they say if they knew how you treated your own kids? How you killed your own grandchild.” He wondered as he stood over his father with one foot on either side of his torso.

“Oh well, doesn’t matter now,” He said as Russell reached for his leg, blue eyes so much like his own revealing the helplessness he felt when Preston raised the award up above his head. The dark part of him that hungered for revenge relished the fear he saw in his father’s eyes. “because you will never lay a hand on them again.” He then brought the sculpture down with great force, a sickening crunch filling the room as it connected with Russell’s head.

The blow was enough to immobilize the man, but he was still alive. So Preston hit him again. And again, and again. Gruesome, wet splats and choked groans filling the room as he bashed Russell’s skull in.

His body convulsed, and his blood splattered all over Preston, until Russell laid lifeless beneath him. Then the only sounds in the room were his heavy breathing and the deafening ticking of the grandfather clock.

The blood covered award fell from his now limp hands to the carpeted floor with a loud thud, and Preston went over to the table where his drink was.

He downed the scotch in one go, enjoying the pleasant burn as it cascaded down his throat before he leaned against the wall and slid down the length of it until he was sitting besides his father’s mangled body.

He had been so full of rage, and now he just felt…empty. Preston didn’t know what to do next, and it was instinct alone that made him reach inside his pocket and take out his phone, calling the one person whom he had always leaned on.

“I killed him.”

#para: kings 19:37 #tw: violence #tw: blood #[self-para]

[j-dopee]

Demented | 002

Warning: Murder

Intro | Part 001 | Part 002

 Jungkook watched keenly as the guy stumbled forward, walking from the pub that kicked him out. This was nothing new; Jungkook had been watching this guy for at least a week now from the window outside his home. He had wondered why they always managed to let him back in each time, but he figured it was none of his business. Perhaps the owner had pity upon him knowing that alcohol was hard to come upon these days. He could even be a relative or close friend for all he knew. What he did know, however, was how annoyed the neighbors around him must be with his constant drunk bickering every night. He would almost feel sorry for them - if he had a heart that is.

“They always kick me out, eh.. I wasn’t even doin’ nothin.” The man slurred as he slowly, but surely stumbled towards the dark alleyway. Seeing a figure out the corner of his eye, he came to a halt and looked down at the ground beside him to see a figure sitting with his back against the brick wall of the alleyway. It looked like a kid. “Hey, kiddie? What are you doing out here? It’s late and dangerous, ya know? You better hurry home now. Unless you’re one of those orphans then may God be with cha.”

Jungkook struggled to hold in his laughter at the mention of it being dangerous. The man didn’t even realized that he just looked the definition of danger in the face - but it was a bit too late to tell him, he would just have to figure it out the hard way. Uncovering his hands, he looked up at the man before him slowly. He wasn’t sure exactly what kind of reaction he was expecting, but this wasn’t in his plan. The guy studied his appearance for a few seconds before bursting out into fits of laughter, almost doubling over as he placed one hand over his torso. The unexpected outburst cause Jungkook to jump a little. “Ah, lad! Is that a bunny mask? That’s a pretty cute costume you’ve got there- came out to trick or treat?” 

The feeling of shock soon was replaced with rage. Did he think he was a joke? Did he think his artwork was a joke? His jaw tightened as he painfully tightened his fist around the scalpel in his pocket. The guys laughter was too much for him to handle as his anger reached the boiling point. Before the guy could process what was happening, Jungkook stood up quickly and covered his mouth to stop any scream from coming out. With the arm covering his squealing mouth, he placed it around his neck as he began to drag him back down the dark alley towards the back entrance of his apartment.

 Once he got to the door, he swung it open and threw the drunken mess of a man onto the floor, knowing he would be too weak to run or try to fight back. “Pl-please don’t.. ki-kill me..” the man pleaded frightfully as he watched Jungkook slowly close the door and lock it behind him, turning around to walk towards his next masterpiece. The man watched in fear as he withdrew his hand from his pocket to reveal an old rusted scalpel.  “You laughed at me.” The eerily calm way he said it caused even more fear to surge through his helpless body, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. “It was just a joke! I-I didn’t mean it in a rude way lad.. I’m a drunken fool! Pl-please spare me! I don’t want to die!” 

Oh how he loved how they begged. He always did.

With a shake of his head he quickly lifted him up off the floor and threw him into a chair, quickly tying a scarf around his mouth to silence his screams. The guy squealed as he did so and winced as he quickly jerked his arms behind the chair, tying them with something much more painful then rope. He wailed out in pain as he felt it tighten around his wrist, helplessly enduring the pain - but he knew there was worse pain to come. Jungkook let out a soft groan as he tightened the barbed wire around his victims wrist as tight as he could, and he smirked wickedly as he watched the blood drip from his nearly sheared wrist. He walked behind him to his small kitchen and retrieved a shallow bucket, putting it under his wrist for the blood to drain into. In the case of this victim, this would be the most valuable part and he would make sure to avoid wasting as much as he could. The guy tensed upon hearing his own blood drip into the bucket behind him and he widened his eyes. The realization made his stomach flip flop and he felt like vomiting, but he knew he couldn’t - his mouth was covered. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a shallow and shaky breath as he tried to calm his nerves and block out the pain that was throbbing in his wrist, starting to circulate throughout his whole body. It wasn’t until he heard foot steps that he slowly opened his eyes and looked before him, seeing his captor stand in front with his back turned towards him. He watched from behind as his long and muscular arms lifted the mask from off his face. After placing it on the table before him, he turned around and the mans eyes widened. Before him was a tall boy with doe like eyes. His appearance was quite the contrary to his actions, and he could only wonder what drove him to this point. Eyes keen on him, he watched carefully as he walk towards him once more, scalpel back in hand. Jungkook never let his victims live after seeing his face, and he intended to keep it that way. However, he did like to take his time with each and everyone of them, and this time would be no different. 

  Quickly glancing down to his legs, the man thought about kicking at his captor, but knew he still wouldn’t be able to get away. As if reading his mind, Jungkook released a low chuckle from his throat as he watched him, slowly tilting his head. “It’s no use.” He knew he was right. His hands were beginning to become more and more useless at this point, and his vision began to blur from the loss of blood in his wrist. Opening his eyes once again, he slowly widened his eyes as he watched him place another bucket by the side of his head and he could only brace for the worse. Bring the scalpel to his cheek, he painfully slowly swiped the blade across his cheek and watched as the man winced in pain. He shivered and squeezed his eyes shut as he tired to endure the pain of feeling the blade cut deep curved lines into the depth of his cheek, wanting nothing more than for this to be all over- for him to finish him. 

  Two minutes felt like an hour as he finally felt him withdraw his scalpel from his face, weakly glancing over to him as he watched him stand a few feet back and tilt his head with a bone chilling smile as if admiring something. He was, in fact, admiring his work. He had carved a bunny on the mans cheek with the grace and skill that only an art student could possess. The bunny’s eyes looked as if it were crying as streams of blood trailed down his face, draining into the bucket next to him. Slowly reaching behind him, Jungkook picked up his camera off the table behind him, stunning the man yet again. Cameras were hard to come by and were only owned by the rich as they were expensive. It was quite the beauty, and he never considered he would actually get to see one up close- especially not in these circumstances. 

  The bright flash and loud shutter of the camera interrupted his thoughts once again as he winced and closed his eyes. The light was a big contrast to the dimly lit room he was currently in and he could only let out a shaky sigh as he watched his soon-to-be murderer wait for the picture to develop. Waving it vigorously, he grinned widely as he stopped and admired his artwork, slowly holding the picture up to the light as he did before to his mask. The man couldn’t help but notice the similarity to the kid’s bunny like appearance as he smiled. He found a small innocence in it that reminded him that he was still a young boy underneath his serial killer intentions, which made him even more dangerous. He watch as he walked over to him again and leaned close to his face, proudly showing him the picture of the work he had done on his cheek; his giddiness resembled that of a child showing their mother they got an A the first time on a test.

“Do you like it?” he asked, and although the question caught him off guard, he couldn’t help but nod slowly in acceptance, terrified of what he might do if he was to say no. With a bright eye smile, he titled his head to get a better look at the man, “I’m glad! Thank you for being my canvas.” The innocence in his tone terrified him more than anything, and a gasp got caught in his throat as he watched him raise his hand again with the bloody scalpel in it, muttering a low, “Your job is done here” before he quickly, but carefully swiped the scalpel across his neck, immediately moving the bucket beside him out to catch the blood. His eyes darkened as he watched the blood drain from the mans now lifeless body, biting his lip in concentration. A slow grin spread across his face as he placed the bucket on the guys lap, letting the remaining small bits of blood continue to trickle out.

   After waiting about an hour, he removed the buckets and quickly disposed of the man, throwing him in the dumpster behind his apartment. He knew no one would look for a man like him who dedicated his life to drinking, and he was more than grateful for that. He did wonder if the people at the bar he was going to would have treated him a bit nicer if they realized that would be the last time they would see him alive, but that didn’t matter now. He felt like he was doing a service more than anything to others by ridding this man of his life, if even to the man himself. He was a nuisance, and he was more than sure he would drink himself to death one day, or eventually die of Cirrhosis of the liver. Instead, he put him to more use than he ever had been in his life.

   With a small sigh, he sat back at the desk, his mask and a brush to his left, and a small bowl to his right. Dipping the brush in the bowl, he smiled as he used slow and delicate strokes around the eyes, adding his favorite color- red. As he finished, he leaned back into his chair and once again admired his work, thankful at how well the blood dried on his mask. And there he was once again, holding up his mask to the dim light proudly, as if he was showing off his work to the whole world, and no one at all at the same time.

#my stories #jungkook scenarios #jungkook angst #bts scenarios #bts angst #jungkook imagines #hope you all enjoy this and feedback is always appreciated!!

[culturejunkies]

38 Years Ago Today, Star Trek changed forever

By Kenshiro

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan is widely considered the greatest Star Trek film of all time. Some have it in their top 10 of all-time great Sci-Fi films. There’s more than a few great reasons for that. Lets go over them now.

The Mid-Life Crisis of Admiral Kirk

William Shatner had been playing Admiral James T. Kirk for almost 20 years by the time this film came out. The theme of Kirk’s story echoed the thespian himself: How does one fight against the undefeated Father Time? It was something Kirk had carried over from the previous movie entry Star Trek The Motion Picture. In that film, Kirk had manipulated situations to regain command of The Enterprise. It was a desperate attempt to regain something he felt he’d lost, and Bones McCoy astutely called him on it.

In TWOK, Kirk has seemingly surrendered to the inevitable thing that all humans face; The captain is old and worn down by time.  Kirk is shown making references to his age constantly, telling his friends that captaining a ship is a ��young man’s game”. Jim also defers to Spock on obvious command decisions, despite being the senior officer. This was Kirk at his lowest point. The veneer of invincibility had worn off. This realistic approach to the swashbuckling hero was refreshing. Setting the stage for his greatest foil to return from the dead.

Ricardo Montalban’s Masterful Performance

In a historic event, Star Trek transformed a one-off character into its greatest villain. Ricardo Montalban’s Khan had morphed from a charismatic villain clothed in fine clothes, to a revenge-obsessed madman trapped in a barren wasteland. Every scene Montalban had was effortlessly stolen by his presence. As a young child, I was captivated by him as an actor. He commanded the screen, and Khan as a villain was positively magical. His lines were laced with memorable quotes that fans can remember decades later. Also there is simply no other character who could quote Moby Dick so eloquently with his dying breath and have it carry such gravitas.  Khan is a sympathetic villain fueled by righteous anger. Kirk had essentially abandoned him and when beset by tragedy, Khan was left powerless to save his people from it.  He didn’t want to rule the galaxy…he wanted vengeance.

When given the opportunity, he ruthlessly turned situations to his advantage: Subverting Checkov & Capt. Terrell; Massacring the staff at Regula One; Leaving the Enterprise crippled and Kirk seemingly trapped. That last situation, did two things: It gave Montalban a meaty quote line: “I’ve done far worse than kill you….I’ve HURT you…and I wish to go on…HURTING you. I shall leave you as you left me…as you left HER…marooned for all eternity in the center of a dead planet.  Buried ALIVE….buried alive.  The response became one of the most enduring memories of Star Trek before or since. 

  CHILLS.

The Chess Match Between Khan and Kirk

What makes this movie even more amazing is the two protagonists never once shared the same space.  No mano-y-mano showdown or duel at twenty paces. Khan and Kirk engaged in a mental battle of wits that we had never seen in Star Trek or even Star Wars before.  Khan’s opening gambit of using the friendly appearance of the U.S.S. Reliant to lower his adversaries guard and deal serious crippling damage to The Enterprise.  Kirk countered by using a secret prefix code to order Khan’s stolen ship to lower its own shields and leave it open to attack.

Both sides suffered serious losses, but the game of life and death continued unabated.  Khan laid a trap at Regula One which again preyed on Kirk’s weakness for familiar faces and left him trapped with the possibility of escape.  Yet Kirk flipped it around and used coded messages with Spock to buy themselves time to effect repairs to The Enterprise for one last gasp showdown.  A breath-taking free for all ensued in the Mutara Nebula. The battle showcased a pitched battle that highlighted the inexperience of one man vs. another, and finished with a white-knuckle escape from certain death.  Of course that leads me to the next memorable point…

The Death of Spock

If you were to list one of the most shocking movie moments in the 1980s, this is right up there with Darth Vader’s reveal to Luke in Empire Strikes Back. In the opening scene of the movie, the characters were partaking in the infamous “no-win scenario” Kobayashi Maru test.  Here Lt. Saavik sat helplessly as everyone in her training crew seemingly died, including Spock himself.  Spock is of course, the most popular Star Trek character ever played by the legendary Leonard Nimoy. So many fans were sitting on the edge of their seats when Spock bravely entered the Enterprise’s Warp Reactor core to try and engineer an escape for his beloved friends.  Entering that chamber was as stated by Dr. McCoy a certain death sentence as there ever was one.  Spock went anyway. 

When we see the worry on Kirk’s face descend into horror upon entering the Engine room the reality of the situation set in. It was a somber moment that left many fans in tears and sadness after they left the theater.  For many this was the point of no return.  There was no internet at the time, nor was there any bulletin boards to throw out theories.  This was it.  Spock was dead….until he wasn’t in the next film 2 years later.  The weight of the scene hammered home that Star Trek had for all intents and purposes, grown up.  This was no longer just a mere TV show.  It was a phenomenon.

The Musical Score of James Horner

Almost all memorable films in history are backed by an epic musical score.  James Horner transformed the music of Star Trek cinematically with his incredible score.  Horner, who was a relative newcomer to the musical score scene wanted to evoke the feeling of nautical battles scene in old Pirate films.  Horner’s work gives us familiar sounds that can be heard in future works such as Willow, Krull, Aliens and his Oscar award winning Titanic.  The standout tracks include the Epilogue/End Title, the Battle in the Mutara Nebula and Genesis Countdown.  I am an avid collector of soundtracks in my musical library.  This iconic score is possibly the most played out of all the various film scores in my collection. Its that damn good.  Take a listen for yourself at the great music in the Genesis Countdown scene and you’ll begin to understand. 

The Wrath of Khan Changed Star Trek forever

The themes of Star Trek were always upbeat. Hopeful for a brighter future.  The Wrath of Khan is the first time where Star Trek deals with the sins of the past coming back to haunt the characters.  Dealing with much darker themes of vengeance, the film was not actively marketed towards kids.  It has proven to be a very hard act to follow.  Since then no other Star Trek film has encroached closely upon its popularity. Not even the very popular 2nd Next Generation film Star Trek: First Contact.  The Wrath of Khan is a mixture of all the things that make movies great. It’s a fun, swashbuckling film that doesn’t pander to its mature audience.  While levity is present in the film, the tone never trends towards the camp of the original series. The stakes are always very high and the weight of what transpires is ever present. 

After the success of the film, there was renewed interest in the franchise. There have been 11 films that have followed it and many series on TV and streaming services since this day in 1982.  Fans return to this film for the reasons I’ve listed above, but it can be boiled down to one single meme:

#Movies

[vulcan-and-the-mighty-muses]

(This is an RP done with @hectorswonkyfibula it goes me then him, and Altair is his chracter)

Seth was walking through the woods because it helped him relax. He knew the trail quite well, and knew that mostly cops, and people who were friends with his family walked the trail, but today it was only him on the trail. He was looking around admiring the beauty of nature and enjoyed the clean air.

thump! A growl. Damnit! I missed again! Altair thought angrily to himself. He always had trouble jumping into trees. Unluckily for him, he didn't notice the human walking nearby.

He looked over to where the noise was. "Hello? Are you alright?" The young boy was thinking that it was someone who was dressed in some kind of colorful outfit. "If you are hurt then I could go get help!" He was standing at the edge of the trail trying to see who or what had just fallen.

Altair's feathers flicked up in surprise hearing the small voice behind him. He turned to investigate, rising up to an unintentionally intimidating 8 feet... Only to look down at a small human child. why is this child so adorable and who let them be alone? The dinosaur thought to himself, deciding to adopt said human.(edited)

Seeing him stand up like that scared him. Seth then decided to do what his mind told him to do. Which was run and hide from the dinosaur. His heart was pounding as he then started to climb a tree as far up as he could hoping that the creature wouldn't be able to reach him up there. 

Wait, what??? He blinked before his mind caught up with him. Altair cocked his head in confusion as he watched the small being attempt to climb a tree. His brows furrowed in confusion, striding up to the tree and craning his neck in order to keep the child in his sights. "Wh... What are you doing, little one?" The reptile asked, giving voice to his bamboozled state.

He looked down clinging onto the tree still shaking from fear. "T-Trying not t-to be e-eaten by y-you..." He got out the terror obvious in his voice. He wasn't sure if the raptor could get to him or if he was safe so he began to climb up the tree some more  hoping to get out of his reach. Though the fact he could talk was some comfort to the young boy because that meant he might not eat him. 

That was... disconcerting. Did he look like he was trying to eat the small human above him? He wasn't trying to. "Uh... I'm not going to?" Altair's brows furrowed in further confusion. "You're sentient. Why would I eat you?" A beat. "Plus I've already eaten today, but that's not the point." He added as an afterthought.(edited)

"Then why did you stand up so suddenly and at such a big height?" He was enough that he felt safe and could talk to the other properly. "And you're a carnevor. Aren't you? If so then I'm made of meat. That's why you would eat me." Though the fact that he had already eaten was some comfort. He sat on a branch and watched the raptor, though there was something that did confuse him. "You're a raptor right?"

"Well you surprised me!" The dinosaur retorted. "And I'm actually on the shorter side for a Utahraptor, so I didn't realise I would be quite so big. Especially to a child." Altair was a little offended at the carnivore comment, though he tried not to let it show on his face too much, lest he frighten the little human more. "I'm not actually a carnivore... I'm an omnivore. I eat fruit too." The large raptor mumbled before continuing in a louder voice, "A-and we only eat prey that doesn't talk back to us! We don't... Kill mercilessly. Especially hatchlings like you."

Hearing that he was an omnivore the child nodded and began to climb back down. Once he was back on the ground he looked up at the raptor. He had a bag on him and he pulled off before opening it and looking through it. "Well, if you want we could have lunch together and finish walking this trail. And... I'm really sorry for calling you a carnivore." Seth looked at his feathers and got a little confused. "I didn't know dinosaurs had feathers." While he was much calmer he was still a little scared standing in front of a dinosaur.

Altair beamed at the small boy. "I appreciate the offer, but I feasted with my clan some hours earlier. Go ahead and eat!" He insisted before answering the question asked. "Well, some don't. But my kind do! And our cousins. Lots of two-legged dinosaurs do! Though.." He trailed off in thought, watching... What was his name anyway? Watching the child dig through the satchel that the large reptile hadn't noticed before. "Some use the feathers for flight, while we use them to feel pretty and to glide." Altair flicked, fluffed, and fluttered his mane of feathers as an example. 

He looked up when the raptor began to talk again. There was still some time before lunch and a good ways before the trail came to an end. So maybe the other would be hungry by the end of it. When the other showed off his feathers who looked in awe at how beautiful they were. "You're like a walking rainbow!" He excitedly exclaimed smiling. "Oh! We never introduced ourselves. My name's Seth. What's your name?" He was curious about the others name as well and kind of wanted to meet his clan if they were all like him. 

"Thank you!" The dinosaur exclaimed before doing what probably looked like an awkward bow-kick-step, showing the customary respect before peeking up at the ch- no. Seth. "My name is Altair of the Florid-Clutch of Clan Utah. At your service!"

He nodded his head smiling. "Alright. It's nice to meet you Altair of the Flo-rid-Clutch of Clan Utah." Seth wasn't sure if that was all just his first name or not so he just said everything Altair said. 

"Oh! Ha, you don't have to say all that. We only ever use our full titles when introducing ourselves to someone." Altair giggles. "I do appreciate your respect though!" 

"Oh. Alright." Then began to walk down the trail before turning to the other. "Are you coming or what?" He called to Altair smiling and waving.

"Oh!" He exclaimed shortly before extending his legs into an awkward lope in order to catch up to the little one. Who in hindsight was rather quick for his size. Mustn't lose hatchling Seth. He needs protection 

He began walking again once Altair caught up smiling. "I'm surprised you and your call have avoided detection for so long. How many of you are left?"

"Oh we're a plentiful clan! I'd say we have upwards of 250 individuals?" Altair pondered aloud, adding an afterthought, "Not counting the baby bones, that is. Though they're not very plentiful. Very difficult for Sirius to make. He used much of his magical energy on them, but they're beloved additions." Aaaaand he was rambling. Oops...

"Well, as long as you guys are making sure to eat cooked meat and drink clean and fresh water then there should be nothing to worry about." He didn't know about most of what the other was talking but it sounded kind of good.

Cooked meat? Uh oh.... Should he..? No, best not. Seth was still so young, it was preferred if Altair was not the one to ruin any innocence the hatchling had. Instead, he asked, "Why cooked meat, if I may ask? While we are omnivorous, that also implies we eat meat. Utahraptors could be like tigers, for all you know." The dinosaur jested

"Well, yeah, but you don't get diseases from plants. Unless you eat a poisonous one. Then you can get very sick or maybe even die. But cooking meat makes sure to kill off any parasites the animal may of had, and make sure to kill off bacteria that can make you very sick. That's why cooking it is a good idea. But you have to remove their skin before cooking them up." 

"Then why do other predators eat raw meat, fur and all? Don't they get diseases?" Altair knew nothing of this world he called his home away from home. Back with the clan, Sirius would just make up a quick potiolixer (term coined by said shaman of course) for any illness, injury, or ailment you came to him with.

"They probably don't know any better.  And I know that they usually get some kind of parasite." He told the other as they passed the halfway mark on the trail. "If you want we could stop here and rest for a bit. Also, if you'd like to see where I live you're welcome to come home with me. I'm sure mom wouldn't mind if you stayed over with us for tonight." 

The raptor had to concede to Seth's point. This universe sure was weird... "I'd be honoured to accompany you to your home! But..." Altair was apprehensive. "Won't my presence alarm your mother? Scare her even? I'd hate to make a bad first impression..." 

"What if we dressed you up as a giant chicken! I'm sure you could pass for a chicken." He was mostly joking of course. "If you just sit and don't suddenly stand at your full height I'm sure you won't scare her."

That could work... And he said as much. "Maybe it would also help if I had some fruit to munch on? So she sees I'm not a carnivore."

He nodded his head smiling. "We have plenty of fruit at home." He told him happily. "So, what is it like where you live?"

Fantastic! He hoped there were mangoes... "Oh my clan is based in a copse of large fallen trees at the bottom of a cliff. It's fantastic home! There's large flattish rocks to sun oneself on, a stream to bathe in and drink from that runs just outside the camp... Full of beautiful foliage that flowers into summer. We sleep in the hollowed out trunks of aforementioned fallen trees." 

"So, you guys don't have tools or anything like that?" He was starting to wonder if Altair was even from this world. "And do any of you look more human or do you all look like that?" 

"Well, Sirius uses tools. He's the shaman, so he kinda needs to. We don't have much of a need to use them for everyday things we can do ourselves!" Although... "Well, we do use them for tanning hides and the like. But we really don't need them every day. Why? Do you?" Humans are so weird... He nodded his head smiling. "All the time! I use pots and pans for cooking. Forks, spoons, and knives to help eat, plates and bowls to eat out of, and the fridge and freezer to help keep things fresh. And the oven for cooking." He said continuing to walk. "So, how did you and your clan keep from being wiped out millions of years ago?"

"Oh neat!" He had no idea what those things were... "We don't use any of those things. We normally don't keep anything, as we only ever hunt and gather enough food for the whole clan. But... As far as the wiping out goes... I don't believe I come from this universe... There's no such thing as a human where I come from. Just wildlife and more dinosaurs." 

"Oh...Then why didn't your looks evolve, and why didn't you guys make entire civilizations instead of having clans?" Seth always thought of evolution as a straight forward thing and thought that everything would evolve towards a similar path. 

Altair tilted his head in both thought and confusion. "Why would we? We're apex predators! The perfect killing machine! The only thing that's evolved is our teeth structure and our digestive system to be omnivorous, and our larynx, pharynx and our brains for speech and higher thinking." A beat. "Well, maybe our skin, too, to have the ability to grow fur and feathers. But really, us raptors are pretty perfect, if it's not too narcissistic to say!" He added with a trilled giggle. "But as far as the civilisations go, our clans are the best way to go, as in the past, before we evolved into... Well. This" He gestures to his furry self. "Us dinosaurs used to travel in herds by species. It just stuck. We all found it easier to fall into."

Most of what Altair said went over the young boys head, but he understood some of it. "Then what do you do for medicine? And what do you do for surgery? And what's stopping a smarter or stronger clan from attacking you guys and wiping you out? Do you have pets? And what about farming and keeping animals you eat close to you?" Seth was very confused and concerned. At least humans had laws and most them pretty similar, but what if you wanted to visit another clan, but their rules were completely different? He had so many questions about Altair's world and how it was different from his own. 

"Well..." Oy, Seth is a very inquisitive child, isn't he? Just how does one explain all the differences between universes? "Uhhh, medicine and surgeries are taken care of by Sirius, our shaman. And we don't... farm? animals. We like to keep things as close to natural balance as possible, so essentially we have specific hunting grounds that we rotate so we don't clear out the entire herd of prey." 

"So, if mom decided that we would be better off living with you guys, would you like to try cooked meat?" He understood it enough to know that he liked how Altair's world sounded compared to how his own world was going. And he wanted to see what it was like. That and he felt like his mother might like to meet the other raptors.

"That sounds... Interesting to say the least! I think I would like to try!" 

He smiled and eventually they reached the end of the trail. Seth sat down at one of the benches and took out a couple of apples and set one of them down for Altair. 

Altair smiled at how thoughtful Seth was. "Thank you, little one." He all but purred as the large raptor carefully took the fruit in his maw before crunching down thoughtfully. He hoped juices weren't getting everywhere... 

Seth ate his apple as well and chuckled watching him eat. "Hey Altair, do you think me and my mom could live with you? I know it would take a lot of adjustments, but I would really like it, and I think she would like it as well." 

Huh. That was.... An unexpected question. If said mother doesn't mind dinosaurs, then... "I don't see why not! We welcome outsiders pretty easily! I mean, Sirius was an outsider, and now look at him! The clan shaman, and resident necromancer!" Which was true. Sirius may be much smaller than the rest of the clan, but there was no doubt that the Pyroraptor was invaluable to the Clan.

Seth from finished his apple and hugged the raptor smiling. "Do you mind if I ride you home then?" He wanted to show the other his home, and feed him some meat. "Also, she might not since she fell in love with bat mommy."

"A bat mommy? What is this? And sure, hop on up." Altair asked, kneeling down so the small human could clamber up onto his back. 

Seth got on his back smiling. "You see that big tower in the distance? That's where we live with bat mommy! There's a few other bats there as well." 

"Oh okay! Head that way then?" The raptor asked as he started walking in said direction 

He nodded his head smiling. "Have you been in Metro City before? Because me and my mom has been here for a few months." 

Altair picked up his pace a little now he knew where to go before answering Seth. "I have! I have a friend named Bruce who lives there. He found me when I first came to this world! We build a pillow nest together..." he trailed off. "I've only been here for around 6 days though. I'm still searching for any family that may have landed here with me."

Seth gently nuzzled the dino with a small smile. "I'm sure you'll find them. And until then you'll have people who care about you. And I'm sure Bruce doesn't mind having you around." Seth continued to nuzzle him wondering if that was helping him.

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