the way critical role are taking so many different storytelling approaches in campaign three and making it SO unique from the other campaigns is just so awesome. the breakneck pace that bells hells are going at, the party split that brought in new allies, going to the freakin’ moon, and bringing in the crown keepers and aabria as GM for an interlude?? it keeps the game so fresh and exciting!!! as a viewer i really never know where they’re going next and it really solidifies the campaign as its own instead of just a sequel to the past ones. i love it !!!!!!!!

we are good people (and we've suffered enough)

word count- 2.5k      Pairing- Temily

Summary- After Scratch, Tara and Emily run away to Italy to start a new life, ft. cats, cafes, and gardening. Based on this post, and this prompt. 

Part 2 of my, maybe we’re from the same star, series, work is a standalone, part 1

read here on ao3

tw’s- very minor mentions of substances and ptsd

Things were never the same after Mr. Scratch. The two of them were filled with more trauma than they had room for in their hearts to still hold each other in. Nights were no longer filled with a movie and cuddling, or talking about philosophy but tense sentences, paranoia, and nightmares. Tara knew that something needed to change, anything to stop the monotony of desolation. But still, they went to work every day and drowned their sorrows in killers like that would bring back the part of her that died when Scratch took Emily. There are only so many times one can be held captive and wait for death before something inside them breaks.

One night they get wine drunk, Emily laying sidewise on their black couch, and Tara sitting on the table staring at the ceiling.

“I miss being young, god, that’s such a weird thing to say. I mean, I spent my youth hating it. Hated my mother, and all of our traveling, never could make friends. I hated that I never belonged, hated not being in control of my own life, and here I am 50 years old working for the government that I used to despise trying not to cry myself to sleep every night,” her voice takes on a bitter tone.

“We love in our old age the things we hated as children. Does that make us matured or foolish?”

“Both, I think.”

“What was your favorite place to live? I mean it sounds like hell to keep moving between places but there must have been someplace you loved, right,” Tara’s voice fills with a tang of desperation as she searches for a way to help her lover.

“Rome. The weather and the scenery,” her voice takes on a dreamy tone, “and the food! Man, the food is good, don’t tell Rossi but his carbonara tastes like Olive Garden compared to the real thing,” they both chuckled at that, knowing it would have sent Rossi in a fit if he were to hear that.

“That sounds really nice honey.”

“I miss it sometimes you know? I think about how gorgeous everything was. It feels like home in my distant memories.”

“Then let’s do it. Lets, go move to Rome. You aren’t happy here Emily, I know you say you are, but you do this job for our team, not the position now. I miss when you laughed,” both of them sobered up by now, knowing that it has taken a turn for the more serious.

“No, no we can’t. I, I can’t keep leaving this team and our friends. And, people need us. You love this job Tara I can’t take that away from you, not for me.”

“They’d understand Emily, they all love you so much. Yeah, I love this job, I won’t lie. But, I love you more, and I’m not happy if you aren’t. So let’s do it. Let’s fucking run away to Rome together and be happy .” The two sit in silence for a minute, the unanswered question still hanging in the air.

“Okay. Let’s do it. Maybe I’ll fulfill my long-lost dream to have a nice, big garden.”

The team took it surprisingly well, they’d all noticed a change in Emily in the months following Scratch and knew that Tara had Emily’s best interest at heart. Of course, they were sad to lose two of the best members of their team, but Emily was family, and family looks out for each other.

“I’m going to miss you my favorite dynamic duo and your guys’ jokes. Ugh, it’s going to be so quiet without you two lovely ladies,” her eyes are welling with unshed tears as she says goodbye to more of her family, “Send me things from Rome or I will install a virus in your phones,” they both laughed at Penelope’s antics and promised her that they’d send as much stuff as they could. The last two weeks of their stay in the United States were filled with mixed emotions. They were excited to start the next chapter of their lives together. Away from all the serial killers and monstrous people out there. They could finally live with a fraction of the naivety that most people carry. On the other hand, Tara only speaks minimal Italian, and now they’re going to be living in a brand-new country, surrounded by strangers. A fresh start, but one filled with anxiety.

“Okay 4:30 is way too early for a flight,” Emily grumbled as they made their way to the airport. The pair had woken up at three, knowing that Tara can’t sleep on planes they tried to go to bed early and were now making their way to the airport in the dead of morning.

“Wait, babe, look! It’s a full moon,” they pulled over just for a moment and got out of the car to sit on the hood. The silence between the two is peaceful, the wind was the only whisper in the air. Moonlight shone on Tara’s face and Emily knew that there was no sight in the world as beautiful as this. With the moon reflected in her eyes and a small simple ghosting on her lips. She’s home.

Security was a breeze, they are former FBI agents after all, and they made their way to their gate. Airports always have a certain air to them, a place where time seizes to exist yet completely runs the place. Their gate was quiet, filled with the tired murmuring of people excited to travel.

“Tara, honey, wake up we’re boarding.”

It was odd for the two of them to be flying commercial after all those years on private jets. It was nice to feel normal though, to fade in the background instead of being other . Human desire is both to be noticed and forgotten all at once.

Italy’s airport is very similar to the DC airport, it would seem like they never left. Outside was a whole different story, bustling crowds and hot air hits them as soon as they step outside the building. They had picked out a quaint apartment building a week prior. Yellow walls with a terrace looking out to an alley. The couple's belongings had been shipped and were waiting to be unpacked. Not right then though. Now, it was time to explore.

Hand in hand they walked leisurely down the narrow alley way of the small Italian town they are now calling their home. Vines and every other type of plant that could grow did. Hanging off banisters, and climbing up orange brick walls. The sunlight was close to blinding, and it hit Emily just right. The golden rays hitting her face and illuminating the ghost of the smile now appearing on Emily’s face. That smile told Tara all she needed to know about their decision. Emily catches her staring, “What are you looking at,” humor evident in her voice.

“You, I’m looking at you miss Emily Prentiss. You’re smiling again,” her words come out softer than she intended, but they convey her point.

Happy couples seem to fill the streets, old and new, young and old. The town may be old, but it was filled with a life that they had been lacking. They pass a quaint little bakery. Bread, cupcakes, and assorted pastries fill the windows. There're bookshelves on all the walls filled to the brim with different books. The walls are light blue and there are flowers everywhere. It looks like something from the movies.

“Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” Emily reads the name of the building in front of them, they’ve since stopped to admire the view in front of them. It reminds the two of them how Emily asked Tara out. With a cupcake and book who had ‘I know there’s plenty of sugar in that cupcake but it’d be even sweeter if you went out with me. Let me take you to dinner Tara? ’ written on the inside.

“As much as I love hearing you speak Italian, what does that mean? Something heaven?”

“Little Slice of Heaven.” It’s truly a perfect name for the place.

“Okay, now we have to go in,” they’re both smiling now. They push open the glass doors, greeted by the high-pitched ringing of a bell and the smell of freshly baked bread.

The woman at the counter finishes the greeting, “Benvenuti nel piccolo angolo di paradiso, cosa posso offrirvi, adorabili signore?” they blush at the compliment and Emily orders them both cupcakes and coffee. Tara busies herself with admiring the books. Some of them have the most beautiful covers she’s seen. She knows not to judge a book by its cover but sometimes the most beautiful things are just as gorgeous on the inside as out. Just like Emily. She buys a book, and they take their drink and desserts to go. They make their way to a waterfront and sit down on the stairs, side by side.

“Rome is just as beautiful as I remembered. I missed it. It really does feel like home, although, anywhere I’m with you is home,” at the end of her sentence, she turns to face Tara, a look of pure love shown clearly on her face. And for that, Tara just has to kiss her.

The next day they unpack their boxes of belongings into their apartment to help rid the homesickness. Paintings go up on the walls and furniture is placed with the best view in mind. After a couple of hours they’re done, their apartment a bit more homey than before. They crack open a bottle of wine, put on an album, and sit out on the terrace. They watch the sun set over the water, the sounds of big band music filter in as the soundtrack for their night. The sky painted yellow, orange, and pink in the way only nature can create. If nature were an artist they’d be in every museum and sold to the wealthy. Instead, they are for the masses, the beauty of nature is for all to enjoy, free of cost, for those who wish to escape and fly into the night sky.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Tara leans forward on the balcony, not taking her eyes off the view in front of her, even as the colors begin to fade the sky darkens.

“No, tell me, what?”

“I always wanted to open my own bakery. I know it’s stupid, me a baker. But, I don’t know making things, it feels so uncomplicated. Just me and the dough.”

“In this alternate universe, I’d be a gardener. You and your dough and me and my flowers against the world Tara. Wait a second. I think you and I are onto something my dear,” Emily’s joined Tara at the balcony, the two of them leaning against the railing.

“Actually? You’re serious? You want to do this.?”

“Yeah! Why not? We’ve got enough money in the bank for us to last a bit, you can work at Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” the Italian rolls of her tongue in a way that drives Tara nuts, “I’ll find a gardening place to work at. We’re in fucking Italy let’s make our dreams come true.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Alessia, the owner of the bakery, is pleased to have another employee. Especially one that is actually interested and isn’t in high school. Tara learns the basics of bread and pastry making. She has some skill, she used to bake with her mother before she died, it had been awhile since she had been able to bake without bumming herself out. Now it’s a nice memory of her. Gone but not forgotten, as is the saying. Emily comes in every lunch break for whatever Tara’s whipped up and to get her caffeine fix. One of the things that she still keeps from her law enforcement days.

They aren’t perfect. A move across the country isn’t going to cure PTSD, she has good days, bad days, and worse days, but now they have the time to deal with it. There was never anytime to process things at the FBI. It was always, distract yourself and throw yourself into solving cases. Now they can slow dance in the kitchen and stay up until three am telling stories from college. They fill their days with the happiness that was once stolen from them and bathe in it like perfume.

True to their word, they send Penelope all sorts of things, books from the café, pressed flowers, trinkets from the small shops to adorn her desk. In return, she sends them pictures of Sergio.

“I miss Sergio, his little paws, and his ability to climb on top of anything.”

Emily finds a job at a nearby garden that sells flower arrangements and herbs to local restaurants. It’s convenient, more than they would have thought. Emily now gets to stop into the bakery on occasion to deliver herbs and has plenty of flowers to give her lover. She also sends a few bouquets back to DC. Hoping that the flowers can brighten up the office in a way that fluorescent lights never can.

On one of their late afternoon walks, they hear a rustling by a trash can.

“What’s that noise?”

“I don’t know, let’s go look, it almost sounds like an animal. Could be a mouse,” Emily suggests, absently reaching to where her gun used to rest on her hip. They open the bag to find three small kittens. Seemly abandoned in a corner.

“Oh god, they’re so cute. We have to keep them.” It’s not a question, Tara knows that Emily is thinking the same thing, their minds connected in the way people who love each other’s minds always are. They look up the nearest veterinarian to make sure that their new pets are okay to take home and healthy.

The vet is sterile and a stark reminder of all the hospitals they’ve spent time in. Tara squeezes her girlfriend’s hand to remind her that they are both safe .

“They look fairly health, a bit malnourished but that is to be expected in these circumstances,” the vet is an elderly man with a mustache as thick as his accent,

“I’ve give them the shots they need, for now, come back in few months and let me take another look. Ciao.”

The kittens are fast asleep by the time they make it home. They gently scoop the kittens out of the bag and into their arms and the couch.

“Okay, what are we naming these angels?” Emily’s voice is pitched up as she talks to the kitten in her arms.

“Well, I’ve always been a classics enthusiast, what if we name them Artemis and Apollo?”

“That’s adorable. Little tiny archery kitties, yes, isn’t that right!” she coos, “And I think I’ll name this one Carter.”

“I love it, and you. Come on, sit with me, you look tired,” Tara grabs Emily’s hand and pulls her onto the couch. They fall over a bit and Emily yelps in surprise. They put the old music back on, a sense of peaceful needs for their new lives. The two sit on the couch, Emily’s head in her girlfriend’s lap, a hand playing with her hair. Apollo climbs on Emily’s feet and lays down to rest.

“I love you, Tara,” she doesn’t respond, just lays a gentle kiss to the back of her head.

The world is big and scary but the two of them feel safe in each other's arms.

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In Defense of TPN S2

Okay, so before y’all start throwing your salt shakers at me, let me explain. Yes, I’m just as upset and annoyed with how the second season decided to cut out so much content that us manga readers were finally hoping to see: no Yuugo, Goldy Pond arc or GP Resistance, Lucas or Glory Bell escapees, Adam, poachers, or Cuvitidala Search. Since this season also (sort of) reached the 2047 time skip, we were also denied of the Paradise Hideout, Jin, Hayato, Ayshe, the Seven Walls & Imperial Capital Battle arcs and Alex due to the anime’s so-called “original story” idea. While some manga events still took place (B06-32 getting blown up, the trio’s reunion, Norman’s time at Lambda, the cursed blood and the Grace Field raid), they were all significantly changed and barely held the same emotional impact, as we see very little to no build up to these moments. Several volumes were skipped completely and despite others being touched lightly, we unfortunately missed out on major character development for everyone, most notably for Emma, but also the lighter side of things such as chef Ray, medic Anna, Rossi learning morse code, Minerva!Norman, etc. There’s honestly so much of the main story to talk about and I totally understand why we’re all so ticked off, especially since that darn slideshow did absolutely nothing to calm our hearts at the end of ep11.

However.. I’m not gonna stand by and say this season was worthless. Highly disappointing given everything I just mentioned of course, I get it, so don’t curse me out just yet. People can trash talk it all they want and I’ll sympathize 110%, but I personally won’t do so. I love this series too much and that’s a huge reason as to why I didn’t drop this season. Usually whenever I start a new series, it’s because I become interested in a character or two. I find that no matter what happens in that series, whether the story intrigues me or not, I’ll continue it if only to see more of that character. If the story is good, it’s just another plus for me to stay addicted, so while this season totally missed their chance to adapt the wonderful source material of my favorite series, I stayed to watch Emma, Ray and all the other children I’ve grown to love over the past two years. Another reason why I stayed on this train wreck was because of how thought provoking it became as turned into yet another guessing game for me. After first watching the OP and even more after ep3 aired, I kept wondering what would they include or leave out. How would they handle this scene if this and that were already changed? How would they fix this problem if so and so isn’t here? It felt like I was watching season one blind all over again; seeing all these little clues sprinkled everywhere and yet not having any idea on how the story was going to continue or end got me excited. That’s why I came to love this story in the first place, so having the chance to feel that again alongside characters I love so dearly.. it was fun for me (until the slideshow punched me in the face). While many people will look at this season and declare the manga and first season are both superior (which they are, I agree), I’m still sitting over here like “oh look, more content!”

With all that nonsense out of the way, I thought I would go ahead and ramble about everything I believe the second season did well enough, because if I can take any heat off this adaptation then you’re damn right I’m gonna try. So if you’re wondering why on earth a manga reader even mildly enjoyed this season, it’s honestly just the little things such as a decently adapted or improved panel/scene, any new, interesting elements the anime may have included, or other personal favorite moments of mine.. which there were a lot of.

So no negativity past here kiddos, we’re gonna be as optimistic and lively as an orange antenna.

(mild manga spoiler warning, I guess? but I’m sure it’s nothing y’all haven’t heard us readers mention/complain about already)

- If you’ve read any of my reactions to this season, you would know how much love I have for “Identity.” Not only is the song still an absolute banger, but the opening sequence itself is fantastic. From the contrast between human vs demon, the cameos, the symbolism, the match cuts, the build up to the chorus.. just everything. I could talk about it endlessly and watch it several times over and still be impressed.

- Lani’s stupid fall.

- How clearly it shows Emma’s condition becoming progressively worse.

- Her scream.

- Ray’s apology, especially how soft his voice was when saying “sorry, Emma,” and the smile he gives after she tells him not to worry about it.

- And his entire promise to keep everyone in their family safe. Oh I was so happy to finally hear him say that.

- This exchange between Don and Gilda.

- Rossi and those darn faces he gives us. This boy is such a mood.

- How involved the younger kids were so they don’t feel like they were just.. there, which served as a reminder that everyone from Grace Field is smart, not just Emma and Ray.

- How pretty the demon forest looked at night when all those odd creatures started glowing (even those darn goowee).

- So happy with how this panel was adapted. That smirk of his is everything.

- The fact they remembered a small detail such as the bell.

- Knowing now that they cut so much out of the manga, I’m glad we at least got the hug.

- The ending sequence gave us a small look at Sonja and Mujika’s travels by themselves. “Magic” is also so very calming to listen to.

- How the children hug both Emma and Ray, as manga only had our girl receiving the hugs.

- Sonju & Mujika’s voice actors fit them perfectly.

- How impressed Ray was when he first tried their cooking. No wonder he was so eager to learn how to cook.

- Sonju’s story about the demon world from ch46-47 practically adapted word for word.

- While the manga also shows us how frighted the duo is upon learning they’re living in the worst case scenario, it’s seeing them and their hands physically shake that help push this scene a little bit more (not that you can tell this by a still frame but trust me).

- Their synchronized smirks and how well their excitement was not only animated but how genuine and real it sounds too. Emma’s laugh and the fact they made Ray of all people sound hopeful is fantastic.

- They kept the small Ray from this panel and made him better.

- I just love seeing him be optimistic.

- The entire scene when Emma & Ray are both scolded by the younger kids for acting so recklessly is perfect.

- They kept this tiny comment of Nat’s.

- Finally getting chef Ray and hearing how confident he is with his cooking skills already.

- Seeing other children like Dominic pick up archery and be surprisingly good at it.

- Anime pushed Emma’s quick learning ability further with archery by showing us how easily she could land a bullseye even after hitting something midair.

- How well they animated Emma’s first kill, from following the arrow as she pulls it back to when she releases it as it flies towards the bird’s eye.

- The fact that this scene and the next both used a water droplet to symbolize death just like we saw during season one with Conny and Norman’s shipments are so satisfying.

- The gupna scene and how well it emphasized Emma’s reaction to taking a life and how upset/bothered she was in doing so. The addition of a butterfly helps as well, as it’s another way this series tends to convey the idea of death. (you remember how many the OP had, right? tons.)

- I only just noticed that Ray is seen looking at a similar butterfly in the following scene as well.

- The anime doing this panel justice. Ep2 is probably the episode that follows the manga the closest and did real well in regards to that.

- Ray beating Sonju at chess.

- Chris knowing exactly which way to go without using the compass, which makes sense as he was seen mapping out the surrounding area in the previous episode.

- The kid’s adorable little freak out.-

- Giving us a better idea on how large the reference room of the B06-32 shelter truly is.

- Finally being able to hear our boy Nat play the piano. The fact that his first song is named “Nat King Cool” as a possible reference to Nat King Cole is also great.

- Rossi being an accurate representation of the manga readers while watching this episode.

- Chris being his cute self.

- Seeing Ray’s sleeping face after the manga denied us so many times by hiding it.

- It’s.. close enough. We love our chef.

- I love the idea that Nat plays a couple songs before everyone goes to sleep. That’s so precious.

- SHE!! With her hair down!

- Rossi teasing Don and the fact that just mentioning Gilda is enough to scare him.

- It remembered that Gilda has a tendency to count all the children.

- The level of confidence Isabella has in her kids.

- Ray being oh so close to shooting a human with an arrow.

- This hug.

- Chris leading the group through the underground tunnels, which he also does in manga but we learn earlier in this ep it’s due to all the time he’s played down here.

- Because of his extensive knowledge of the shelter’s layout, Chris also guides everyone to one of the secret entrances to escape after he realizes the intruders are only stationed at the main two.

- Ray’s first demon kill is smooth as hell.

- Curse this scene for being so dark because that damn smile Isabella gives us is amazing.

- Since Andrew was cut, Chris and Dominic survive the aftermath of the shelter’s destruction without any injuries.

- Although we weren’t expecting to see their older 2047 selves this soon, they look good okay?

- The emotion in her voice throughout this entire scene (probably the closest we were ever gonna get to Emma doubting herself in ch109/114 too).

- Please just let me enjoy this moment when Ray noticed her negative thoughts and stepped in to help just as I expected.

- Vylk and that goofy smile of his.

- Watching the duo communicate without words during the chase through the demon town.

- Our girl clearing this jump effortlessly.

- Norman’s squishy cheeks.

- Ray’s slap could’ve been better, I know, but at this point I’m happy they still included it.

- The fact we can see Ray’s face during the reunion hug this time.

- And this hug.

- Remembering the small panel of Ray noticing Emma’s bluff.

- Finally hearing this conversation because both voice actors do a wonderful job with it and thankfully the dialogue is on par with the manga as well. Also that one moment when the shadow falls across Emma’s face like that.

- Gilda comforting Alicia after her nightmare.

- The scene is very dear to me so of course I appreciate every little panel we can get.

- How carefree Ray sounded with his “Nopes.”

- How I only realized just now that this panel was also adapted.

- Okay so who’s brilliant idea was it to have the sun rise towards the end of this conversation as Ray helps Emma regain her confidence? I just wanna personally thank them because it was a genius move and I’ll treasure it forever.

- They kept Barbara’s slip-up.

- Like our demon friends, I think the Lambda crew’s voices fit them rather well, although Zazie’s was totally unexpected, like dude you’re 5, why is your voice so low?

- Another “it could’ve been better but at least they included it” moment.

- Vincent’s smile here cracks me up and I don’t know why.

- Barbara’s anger.

- The short snippet we get of the ch126 conversation when the duo was visiting Chris.

- The table from Barbara’s outrage was never magically fixed like it was in manga, so we get this nice shot of Norman reflected in the broken surface.

- The trio’s conversation about the royals and cursed blood follows manga relatively well.

- Anime did this panel better, I’m sorry. Thank you for showing my girl getting angry.

- This frame of Ray.

- This comment of Norman’s that made me wanna slap him.

- How Norman’s face is constantly in the shadows during this scene, which is something his office at the Paradise hideout probably wouldn’t have given us, so hurray for this location instead.

- How he and Emma bicker over how many days their deal should last.

- When the camera shifts in and out of focus during Barbara’s seizure.

- How this scene hid Norman’s face until they revealed the demon the crew killed.

- It really is the small details that make me happy.

- This smile of Don’s.

- I’ll take all the hugs I can get.

- Emma and Gilda’s little headbutt.

- Why does my boy look so grown up and handsome here? Hello??

- I suppose I have to give credit for Peter’s voice actor too hm?

- Actually making Smee a bit more relevant.

- Since the fight against Legravalima was cut, this shot of Zazie is the closest we’re gonna get to seeing him without his paper bag, but it does improve on that one panel of him at the start of ch153.

- Seeing more of Norman’s time at Lambda as well as the aftermath of the explosion.

- While this scene pales in comparison to its manga counterpart, having the sun set behind him while Norman delivers his famous line was still a decent touch. It’s a nice contrast to the sunrise in ep6 and I enjoy it very much.

- Wild demons managing to somehow successful jump scare me not once, not twice, but three times in a single episode.

- Emma getting back up to protect her family despite her injury. (i mean, it’s no ch93 comeback but oh well)

- Ray getting in another decent shot at a demon.

- This face of his.

- Seeing just how quickly the drug causes the demons to degenerate and all the chaos it causes.

- Actually showing Norman attacking a demon rather than just saying he killed Yverk off panel in ch153.

- Hate me all you want but the anime did this panel better too.

- The ch153 discussion is more or less the same but the fact they added in Norman looking to Ray for help and just having him snap back instead was priceless.

- Sonju’s grin.

- The scene when Norman stops Zazie’s attack may only last like five seconds but it’s wonderfully animated and I find myself replaying it countless times.

- How to make the manga readers and anime-onlys panic with just one sentence:

- Isabella being clever as ever by leaking false info into the radio the escapees have to lure them back to Grace Field.

- I just think Emma looks so mature and pretty here?

- Had Norman actually apologize to the demons.. or was just about to anyways.

- Demon Emma is precious and must be protected.

- The adorable mixup between both Emmas.

- I haven’t a clue on where or how the kids managed to gather all the supplies to create several hot air balloons and explosives.. but they did, somehow, and I’m impressed because I’m assuming that all happened within a day.

- Ma’am, could you be any more smug?

- Simon! And he ends up surviving!

- Having Sonju fight alongside the Lambda crew.

- Which reminds me that this is possible since the Imperial Capital battle didn’t happen (yet, in this timeline), so the three of them never received their injuries from Legravalima either.

- The smoke bombs, only because I remembered how Sonju used them back in ep1 while rescuing Ray so it’s nice to see them being used again.

- Showing Norman actually use a bow and arrow this time. He also hits his target on the first try through a smokescreen.

- Ray having enough strength to knock out two demons with a simple metal pipe. In ch169 he’s seen holding down a grown man so yeah, I can believe this as well.

- Having Jemima, Yvette, Rossi & Mark disguises themselves as shipments in order to rally up the other Grace Field kids. Mark’s face and the noise he makes upon seeing Naila again is also precious.

- Peter actually falling for Vincent’s trap.

- Getting one young child to listen to you is hard enough, but Emma manages to get about 183 of them (yes I counted, give or take the four who also disguised themselves) to follow her orders in no time flat.

- Phil helping with the plan to lead all the children to the elevator.

- It made me nervous upon seeing it but they made the Day & Night ceiling real pretty.

- I knew the reunion was coming and still cried.

- Take all my hell yeahs.

- I could listen to her say this on repeat and be overjoyed every single time.

- She’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll point at gun in your face.

- Getting to witness someone shoot at Peter since no one did so in the manga? Wonderful. Having that person be Isabella who literally lands a perfect shot not even a full second after he pulls out that disc? Perfection.

- Mujika and Vylk bringing in hundreds of civilian demons as reinforcements.

- James!

- Those real quick shots of the ancestors because I had given up on thinking we would’ve seen them at all since the Seven Walls arc was skipped.

- I’m actually surprised they kept his death in and it’s as harsh as the manga.

- Ray confronting Isabella with the addition of this line.

- This panel being animated along with Emma’s thoughts from ch177 towards Isabella even though that chapter’s major event didn’t happen.

- I certainly can not forget about this hug.

- At least anime!Emma told the boys her plan before reaching the door, or didn’t keep it a total secret? If not then I’ll praise the boys for accepting her crazy idea regardless.

- Boy, do you know how much I love you and your smirks?

- SHE. STAYS. ALIVE!!!

- Vincent and Norman’s little fist bump.

- Different but close enough. Still cute though.

- The amount of emotions this one shot makes me feel is limitless. Catch me crying tears of joy over it for the rest of my life.

- Having Phil not only getting the chance to see a train but to ride one as well.

- This pretty shot of Gilda.

- As well as this beautiful one with Emma and Mujika.

- They gave us older Phil. Not sure how much older but he’s still adorable.

- Lastly, the goddamn soundtrack! Of course we heard a bunch of the songs from season one, but the new ones such as “The Evil-Blooded Girl” and the Arabic version of “Isabella’s Lullaby” are absolutely fantastic. I still have to listen to full soundtrack but from what little bit I heard of such songs such as “Nat King Ballade,” “Crisis,” “Norman’s Lament,” and “The Temple Ruins,” I’m sure every track is an absolute joy. I’m so happy we had Obata back for this season.

And that’s the end of it, I guess? Of course it’s not a perfect list, as the majority of it was just personal favorites of mine but oh well. (this is just as long as ray’s birthday post too, oh lord)

I’m not gonna be one of those manga readers who continuously nag people to go read the original source material, because that’s annoying and I understand that some people just might not be up for it. They might watch a series, take it all in and then move on to the next one. Others might want to find out about every little detail and invest more time into the story. It’s totally fine to enjoy a series your own way and you shouldn’t feel pressured to continue something you’re only mildly interested in or feel bad that you love something others might despise. Just do whatever makes you happy. If you wanna check out the manga and see why us readers love it to pieces, then I promise it’s worth it, especially if you enjoyed the anime or wish to see more of any character.. or the entire story. If the manga ain’t for you, then I hope the anime did something for you. It definitely could have been better though, I can’t argue with that.

Whether you’re anime-only or manga reader, can we all still hope for a remake? This season had more flaws than any amount of praise I could give, but if years down the line we get the FMA: Brotherhood or Hellsing: Ultimate treatment where the next anime adaptation follows the manga perfectly, you know I’ll be all for it. I’m too deep in this TPN hole and I’ll probably never leave.

15.13+

This year-old tweet of Merecuda’s becomes truer by the day. 

So I’ve said I’d collect old posts I’ve made over the past few years involving perennial philosophy as they apply to our current episode, rather than beating the same horses to death I’ve been banging on for years. That way if people missed/forgot these they can find them without me writing entire-assed new essays but rather find how they’re binding into the current episode -- as well as later-down link collections of thoughtbursts I had about the episode itself.

14.10: The numerology of Billie’s Book -- reality, matrixes and more; god’s understanding of the universe through the universe and the purchase of the extant universe.

Pre-ep-300: Aesclepius -- the dreamer, the healer, the serpent, the climb to divinity

Pre-14.14: Ouroboros, Jung, the Shadow; Nehushtan, the brazen serpent climbing the tree and more. Keep in mind the crucified serpent stuff in here because we’ll swing back to it.

Pre-14.18: Hermetic Absence; the human soul is the one true good. What we call evil is the absence of it. Later the episode itself swung around and quoted it so YOLO.

14.20: 

Optimism vs Nihilism; Hermeticism vs Gnosticism; the demiurge, the Truth and the Shadow. Also, see more on the Truth at this second link (x)

A cosmic game of chicken Jack being both later script-confirmed over here. (x)

Jack as the Orphic Egg, Phanes, the golden child, son of the serpent in the garden, the Big Bounce Impending.

The Empty, the Shadow, Reflection, the Lack of Soul, “Now I’m just Empty.”

S14-15 hiatus:

Old cosmogenic theories that may or may not still work.

The Shadow, Animus, Anima, God; the dance with the serpent and the cosmic marriage post-divorce -- big yike I said it was too Destiel yet here we are. Use this accessory post (x) to see the ranking of shadow/animus/anima in the video a little more clearly.

Inner worlds, we all have them, so to whom does Eden belong? After all, compare Michael’s world for Dean to Chuck’s for the rest. And I ask you to think outside the box for this (x)

A longwinded conversation about the nature of souls (x)

The Three Principles 

...just... this to think on with the rest (x)

15.11: The return of the Son and the Sun portends the revelation that the ego itself reflects light given from the sun and the soul, including the collective soul of the above and beyond, as well as a whole bunch of other stuff (phases of paths, the goddess, and more)

Once you get this far meditate on this for a bit from 15.12, given I stole the preview of the snake for it, and remastered one of my S14 spec vids for it (x)

AND FINALLY WE HAVE REACHED 15.13

Neshamah in the garden: the manifestation of the divine feminine opposed to eve as the essence of the soul or spirit in pre-fall Eden, and her connection with the unconscious serpent.

About the cross showing the way and it’s enduring relation to all above themes -- hell, that shape of cross even has meanings (x) as well as this, to the same theme,

but focusing on the sacred marriage elements more than the elements of the soul Reflected in the first link (x) Given the divine marriage itself is a whole other topic I’ve spammed to death including my old Eucharist video from 15.09 (x)

but with a long video track backwards that really requires just navigating the playlist once the above is soaked.

Also my next S14 video to remaster like I did Grudge based on the few above links (x)

and this old chart y’all are probably sick to death of that the goddamn yellowing snake fucking asked

These collective thoughts bundled, if once you’ve read them you still have questions, feel free to send asks.

Also yet again, Cas is the only one the Empty puts on faces for. His death and inky shadow didn’t work to keep him down (Shadow, primal state). His own didn’t work to put him down (Animus, Albedo, masculine ego). Meg’s didn’t work to put him down (Anima, Citrinitas, feminine superego; a fun choice when demon-searching rather than using Dumah again despite her resonance with Sam’s anima in TMWKTM and EXCELLENT opportunity to let Rachel cameo; but Cas has been at minimum in the yellow since last year and we’re not rich in opportunities to get Rachel back so it definitely worked while Cas was stumbling around in oblivion to revisit it while the rest of the guys grow into Citrinitas). 

Or you know, the literal shadow or blockage of these things as they stand with the above material (not really too unlike Belphegor as the ruler of Thagirion contrary to Tiphareth, which that GOD DAMN CROSS from 13 literally represents.) I AM EXCITE for 15.18 to see who’s face it takes next (in Rubedo, the Self and speaker of truths). And recent on set scene/event leaks minded, I think we have a pretty good idea. So I am even MORE excite. 

I really just saw Nehushtan and Neshamah talk to Phanes in the inner garden before the fall of man asking “Who are you?” in the yellowing phase of this show with the reddening impending in 15+ and I need to be let out of this box.

When I spent more than 2 decades of my life studying perennial philosophy I wanted the secrets of the universe, not the secrets of a cult fiction TV show, and frankly, I need a refund, please pull this snake out of my ear.

BuckLeming were kinda handed the inability to fuck up with as advanced as the hermetic lore has become over the last few years, but I’ve gotta say, they handled unusually well. I’m also quite fond of the Emperor-Empress-Aeonchild imagery being incorporated with the Golden Dawn/Rosicrucian/Christianized elements rather than the more alchemical abstract deliveries that whiff over people, because maybe JESUS MARY JOSEPH will ring a few bells better than colored and only loosely gendered abstracts of development, especially since they haven’t been overtly labeling things Emperor or Empress as much as depicting them with all other associated quotes and symbolism to date. Though I don’t consider 15.02/03 subtle in its delivery of the goddess role in any respect.

This is the second time the Emperor has passed his sphere to the empress. Only this time, rather than the hermit brother choosing not to initiate it for the cost, it was passed from the Empress to the child and brought us to the inner garden to find the truth of the aeon and really, I’m not okay right now, send help

(And summore x) and even (summore about the inner garden, the soul, the proto adam and divine feminine, the symbol above and a whole bunch of hoohah x) -- Yes I just linked you an entire google book. Either you wanna know or you don’t, s’your choice.

Side semi-joke commentary with Castiel’s placement in this structure: is nobody else going to point out that Cas already brought home fruit from the Tree of Life from Syria rather than this non-eden and inner garden? I don’t think they’re quite the same place, but there’s some extra lmao there. dEAnNNn i bRoughT FrUIt fRom tHE tReE oF lIFE

Edit: while i do truly believe this boils down to an excuse to see Rachel on our screens again, I can't help but have it hit harder and harder that Castiel's divine feminine superego was appealed to in supposed reminder of him having no one in life to go back to and instead an old fling he made a connection with in death.

With the overall framing of another relationship as the cause of his suffering, whether intent or by accident it couldn't have been more on point. Just sleep, Cas, happy or not. Isn't what you want here? But he didn't bite. Not one bit. He could have slowed to ask about her or split his focus to find her too, but instead he called out to Ruby still and moved on, still on point for his family back home. I have some posts about The Celestial Ruby elsewhere that I want to probe later about the Occultum but this will do for now.

the old & the new.

WHO: Barbara Gordon & Dinah Lance [ @killervcice ] WHERE: A small-time drug den & Barbara’s apartment WHEN: July 7th 2020 WHAT: Oracle and Black Canary tackle a small time drug den to confirm a hunch that Oracle has had. They talk about reforming teams and transforming relationships.

Babs: saying babs had a one track mind isn't fair. truly, she she could have several tracks in her mind that went so deep they could come off as one-track, but she felt like she always had room for more. that was exactly the thought process that was going through her mind as she ruminated about the bird of prey. it had been a few years, sure, but with steph and cass a bit more experienced, she gets excited at the idea of bringing them into the fold, too. of course, it's all just thoughts until anything happens. when she notices weird activity on a block she walks by daily and decides to pay closer attention from a different point of view, she finds the action. 

she made quick work on contacting dinah, sharing her suspicions about a small drug factory in this building. it was only natural to call out her oldest friend, and if it turned out to be nothing, that was fine. still, something nagged. 

"alright, if you go around back of the building, there's a fire escape and a set of stairs that goes down into a basement. that's what we want." she instructs, "i recommend that, unless you want a nice pleasant bell to give your arrival away."

Dinah: it had been a point of joy for dinah once that she and babs had been strong enough to have their own team. they didn't need the league, they just needed each other and the family they made for themselves. honestly, she missed it. even though her and babs had hardly grown apart in the time since. it was just a little different and she's had plenty of time to think about it with the league now being back and frankly larger than ever, it's something that she's just simply come to accept now that she would have gone back to the birds of prey in a heartbeat if she could. 

dinah was always going to go when babs needed her, all too happy to help out her partner and when she’s already suited up and on patrol, then a small detour wasn’t exactly going to be too difficult to manage.

she nods as babs speaks careful to keep moving. "i don't know, people are usually pretty agreeable when you use the doorbell," she jokes with a grin. sure enough babs was (as usual) spot on and she finds the door without much hassle. "i hope you know we're getting food after that, that's the price of the great black canary," she smirks before starting down the stairs. "hopefully this wont take too long,"

Babs: "oh, yeah, we'll just let them throw a load of white powder over you to find out what it is they're making, too." she chuckles as her eyes glide over the camera system she now had access to. it was already playing back in a still loop for those that thought they controlled it. dinah was going in without them any wiser. "ooh, I could do food. i'm feeling breakfast at midnight... but we seriously need to talk about your salary negotiation skills if I can get you for the price of a dinner." she chuckles, "wait just a second before opening..." two men were sauntering away, just annoyingly slow. when they turn into a room and close the door, she speaks again, "okay, now. two guys in the closed door on the right. you want the trap door in that room."

Dinah: "sometimes you've just gotta take one for the team," dinah laughs with a smirk. it's a testament to just how synchronised they are that they could joke the way they did, even though dinah was indeed still careful to keep an eye out. oracle's abilities were impressive and dinah trusted babs not to miss anything, but things could go south quickly if she didn't pay attention. "breakfast with my favorite person, what else could i possibly want?" dinah waits as instructed before moving in. "we wouldn't want this to be too easy would we," luckily, dinah was able to get the two out of the way quickly, although they'd likely have a headache when they woke up. she moved to the trap door then pausing for direction form babs.

Babs: babs smirks as dinah makes her progress, letting her focus on the fight for the moment, though it was clear those two creeps were no match for her. "okay, so down those stairs is a pretty open basement. it looks like their big guns are actually on a table to the left when you go down. i would guess they have weapons on them, but you can get between them and the big ones. all you need is a sample of what they're working with, i have the images saved and running. i want to figure out where these guys are coming from, because this is too casual to be any sort of headquarter setup," she was half reasoning aloud, "there is a bunch of gasoline to the right if you wanna screw up the rest of their product after you have a sample for me."

Dinah: dinah nods as babs gives her her instructions. it felt good didn't it, getting to do this again. dinah is certain that there's no one she wanted to do this with more than the other. "useful," she remarks as she notes the big guns were out of play, though babs was right that didn't exactly mean she was exactly out of harms way."right, one sample and fire coming right up," she grins before making her move down the stairs. "alright boys i'm giving you an out, anyone wants to leave now you can the police will be more than happy to help you out," of course no one takes her up on her offer and what follows is a flurry of movement and one good scream. babs was right the big guns were out of the way, so she's able to get what she needs whilst also fighting off the men. "got it!" she remarks stuffing the small collection of powder into her jacket whilst making another roundhouse kick to an opponent. she retreats then until she's close enough to the barrel to knock it over, being careful not to get any on her clothes. "well fellas this has been fun, but i have a date you understand," most of them seem to have gotten the hint now and are busy racing towards the exit. so, there's no harm in her dropping her lighter into the puddle now growing on the floor, before she was racing towards the door. "there, another win for the dream team,"

Babs: babs can't help but smirk as she watches dinah go, careful to watch for any moment of vulnerability for her, but as always she's practically infallible. m'gann's words once again run through her head, along with the slew of people that asked her about dinah... it's the comment about a date that sealed the deal in her head. she had to say something. even that thought process was pushed to the side though as dinah finished up the guys, "well, we know they're not super specially trained...." there's a bit of amusement in her tone. she hums for a moment, clearly pondering, "but it was only a minor house. this is... bigger. i don't like this, and NOVA would make the perfect cover for smaller groups to set up shop majorly." she sighs, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed as she watches dinah make her way back to her bike. she's careful as she speaks, her idea only being spoken for the first time now. "this isn't something i want to bother the league with. bigger fish and all.... but i have been thinking... helena and ted are here, and cass, steph, damian... they all have the skills... i feel like the birds could be of some use around here. what do you think?" sure, she didn't need dinah's blessing, but the whole dream team thing didn't come from no where. her opinion definitely mattered here.

Dinah: "always good to rule out," dinah jokes playfully. of course she's in a good mood, how could she not be when this had gone so well. she is all but seconds away from claiming babs as her good luck charm when babs continues and really all barbara was doing was highlighting the same things she was thinking. when you'd been in this game as long as the two of them had you simply learned to trust your intuition. "it's nothing we can't handle," she speaks quickly and she really does mean it because having babs in her ear even after all this time was one hell of a confidence boost. then babs continues in a tone of voice she knows far too well at this point. she's careful to keep her eyes on the road as she makes her way back to babs but still a smirk pulls at her features. "are you asking if i want to get the band back together? because you know you don't need to right?" sure, she was a member of the league but the birds of prey had always always been her team, her and bab's anyway. if the others didn't like that, well she wasn't exactly asking for permission. "a whole new team will be... interesting, but i think we can handle it," when had they not been able to over come a challenge or two? besides, babs had a very strong point. many of the teams strongest players were already here so really it felt like it was just a matter of time. it wasn't something babs needed to question. "you know i'd follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked. except y'know please don't ask that of me or do that if you're taking suggestions,"

Babs: babs cant help but chuckle a little as she listens to the other. she even smirks as she basically echoes her own thoughts. "i know i don't need to. it's almost like i value your opinion," she teases. as she listens to the other, she's a little relieved that expressions can't be shared. the conversation with m'gann basically flashed through her head on repeat at this point, and she silently puts a hand over her brow. dinah just... said these things, these really genuine things that she knew she meant, because dinah didn't know what the word subtle meant, that made babs feel downright giddy. "i know you would," she says gently, and for once, too preoccupied with other thoughts to give anything more detailed. so she takes a breath and hums as she brings herself back to the moment, "alright, you focus on coming here, i'll order something. i feel like i have a thousand things i want to talk about." it may have been the understatement of the century, but she wasn't about to spill everything over coms.

Dinah: dinah smirks as she drives. luckily it wasn't going to take her too long to get back to babs' and she knew the streets like the back of her hand she's all too happy to multitask."really, who would have thought it," unable to stop herself from beaming. her good mood is only further reinforced with barbara's affirmation because really, what would have been the point of hiding her emotions from someone who'd known her for as long as she had? in that moment the only thing she wanted to do was celebrate a pretty clear win with her favorite person while discussing their team. after all, after giving up the mantle of black canary there had been a time when she'd been convinced she'd never be a member of the birds of prey again. "when you say stuff like that i feel like i should stop to get some wine on the way," she teased gently. "which is totally an option," she really only joked around like this with babs, it's a sign of just how relaxed with the other. "i won't be long,"

Babs: "i'm almost hurt you don't think I'm prepared enough to have a stock of wine by now," she fakes offense in her voice, but the smile is clear in her tone. "let yourself in, i'm setting up everything." only when Dinah was around the corner, does babs rise from her desk and goes about setting up an area to test the substance that was on its way. to say she was more cautious since damian and then dick's incident... well, that would be an understatement, which is why she keeps the mic on as she goes about her business. it didn't matter how capable anyone was, "i almost wish i could bring this into SCPD and test it there, but i feel like that'd be frowned upon if i'm not sharing the case. yet, at least. we'll see once we know what we're dealing with," she only pauses a moment before her mind wanders back to the possibility of the birds of prey, "i may have to wait a bit with damian... but i'm worried. that's a dangerous anger and im not sure if bruce is helping or hurting at this point. and honestly i don't even blame him..."

Dinah: "what if i thought i'd drank it all?" dinah questions with a laugh before nodding. she was only a moment or two away so soon enough she was parking her bike outside, taking her helmet off, tucking it under her arm and making her way to the other. all while babs was still talking in her ear. it was a comfort though wasn't it? she's all too used to being babs' person for such sound boarding and it's something she treasures. "i think we have to play this carefully," dinah hums in agreement. she avoids making a joke for the moment knowing that this was serious. "listen if there's one thing i know we can handle it's anger issues," her mind turns affectionately to some of the other team members for a moment as she gets into the . "i'm sure bruce means well but," she sighs then. "i'm sure we can help, if nothing else he might just enjoy knowing the door is open," she makes her way to the other's door then turning the com off before stepping inside. "honey i'm home," she calls out with a laugh before walking to the other and pulling the sample from her pocket."one special delivery for a special lady,"

Babs: as dinah comes into the apartment, babs can't help but sigh a little. she smiles, of course she does. how can she not with dinah sweeping into the apartment like that? honey im home? the wry smile babs has on is not exactly normal, nor is the little sigh she lets out as she takes the sample. "you are, once again, the best. if you want to get changed, I'll set this up." she turns to go about her work, trying to just focus on that until she can leave it for a few hours.

when the test is running, she moves to sit on the couch, smiling when dinah comes into the room again. "'c'mere," she pats the couch next to her, clearly with something on her mind. she sighs a moment before she launches in to a speech she'd been turning in her head for... a while now. "so... i had an interesting conversation with m'gann recently. told me that, when i talked about you, i got this... feeling. consistently. and, you know, people ask about you enough and have said, joked... you know," she smirks a moment, and moves to grab the other's hand, "i wouldn't really believe them. but... i can't really argue with my own feelings, can i?" the smirk melts into a wry smile and a shrug, "and, if i'm being honest... i knew they were there. i've known i have feelings for you. I don't know since when. but... they're there. and man, you don't make it easy to ignore them, you know."

Dinah: "i do my best," she grins. dinah doesn't really even notice the change in the other's mood because she's so fatigued from the mission, but she nods patting the others shoulder. "okay, i'll be back in a minute," luckily she kept plenty of clothes in babs' apartment just so that moments like these weren't an issue.

it's not a surprise to see that babs has moved to the couch, right now all dinah wanted to do was flop down beside her. something about the look on babs' face makes her pause however and she can't help but raise a brow. "oh boy, you've got your thinking face on," still, she nods as the other mentions m'gann thinking that it couldn't be anything too stressful surely. something lurches in her chest as the other mentions feelings however. talk about a bad time for butterflies. "people being ted," she offers in an attempt to be helpful more than a little curious and confused all at once. then babs mentions her feelings and dinah just feels her heart racing further. was she saying what she thought she was saying? "wait babs just hold up a second," she breathes with a shake of her head clutching at the other's hand like it was a lifejacket in the middle of the sea. "i need you to be real clear with me, are you saying feelings like romantic feelings?" she doesn't want to risk being wrong but a grin spreads onto her features regardless. "it's okay if you are, great even i just... want to be sure,"

Babs: the feeling of Dinah clutching her hand too... that felt nice. a solid reassurance in a moment where she actually needed it. "oh, it's more than Ted...." she chuckles a little, but nods at the next question. Babs finds herself analyzing every twitch of Dinah's face, looking for any bad turn, any hint she should veer away... but she finds only the opposite. Dinah's smiling, grinning even, and clutching her had and... Babs realizing her heart is feeling light in a way it hasn't for a long time. it's like a breath of fresh air, almost, the way her heart seems to race, "that's exactly what I'm saying," she nods gently, but shrugs again, "dunno when it started. but I swear you've gotten sweeter since you showed up here-- not complaining," she clairifes, but her head tilts, brow arching a bit with a little smile, "great you say? that... sounds promising." she stays where she is, but inside she feels like her heart could beat out of her chest in this moment. she's nervous, but also... she can only feel so nervous with Dinah at her side. she finds herself running a thumb over the other's hand, "you're my partner, dinah. it's just... it's that simple. basic logic." and, to Babs, that said it all.

Dinah: she's being wary, at least subconsciously, for a long moment. dinah didn't exactl have the best track record when it came to luck in romance and babs well she's too special to even come close to loosing. she can't breathe for the moment out of the pure shock of the moment but it's not like dinah would want to be anywhere else. barbara gordon felt the same way about her that she'd felt about her for a long time now. it didn't seem real. "i'm asleep," dinah blurts out looking at the other with raised brows. her mind is racing at a thousand miles a minute in an attempt to try and comprehend what it is the other was saying. "there's no way i'm awake right now," her other hand moves to trace over the other's cheek then as if to test that she was real, although she doesn't move it with the contact. "oh yeah?" she questions playfully. she wants to be cool even in that moment but really she's not sure she's pulled that off. "basic logic," she echoes. "you know i think you might be onto something there," there are so many things she wants to say in that moment, but there's something else she wants more in that moment. "do you think you can come here please," she's sure for a moment her eyes are fixated on the other's lips. "been wanting to do this for a while,"

Babs: a trill of laughter pours from Babs mouth as the other blurts out her comment, and shakes her head fondly. "you're not," she teases, but her face freezes and softens at the contact on her cheek. she leans into it, pressing her cheek into dinahs hand. she can't contain her grin at the moment, and arches a playful brow of her own, "well, they tell me I'm pretty smart." she's more than amused as they both try to play this cool, but dinahs next statement makes Babs laugh a little breathlessly. the comment of waiting a while didn't hit right out of the gate, instead she was a little too preoccupied with how Dinah was staring at her lips. she feels like her heart could just jump out of her body as she shifts closer to Dinah, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and presses their lips together in a kiss. at first, Babs is soft and maybe even timid, but it only takes a moment before she realizes this is exactly what she's wanted to do for a while now. she can't help but sigh into it, pulling them closer together as she deepened the kiss. she feels like they're floating together, like nothing could stop either of them. it's only when they pause for air does Babs pull back just far enough to tilt her head in curiousity as the previous statement hit, "what do you mean a while? Dinah. did I really beat you at something?" she can't help but tease.

Dinah: the contact between the two of them is grounding in that moment. the way bab tilts her head into her palm is a welcome reminder that she wasn't doing this alone. it's a big deal baring your heart to someone but at the same time babs was babs. she hums in agreement at her next comment. honestly just too distracted to focus on anything else. she puts her all into the kiss happily, not really ever one for wasting time. babs had opened the floodgates now, the least she could do was show the other how much she appreciated it. still, with passion she's also careful, wrapping her free arm around the other in a hopefully settling manner. she just wants babs to feel loved in that moment more than anything else. they were in this together as if that was not the most thrilling thought possible. she flushes at the other's words still breathless from the kiss as she shakes her head. "just this once" she breathes gently thumb tracing over the other's cheek. "don't let it go to your head okay, we're a team we're supposed to figure things out together," she wants to kiss her again and as a result doesn't even hesitate before moving in to peck her lips gently. "you know, i think we might need to practice this like we do everything else,"

Babs: feeling dinah's arms wrapped around her like this is... well, babs can't deny that it's a warmth she doesn't want to end any time soon. she settles in dinah's lap happily, a familiar place to be at this point, now better than she could have imagined. the feeling of the hand at her cheek and the arm holding her, along with the left over tingling sensation on her lips... it's all enough to make babs want to melt. but at the same time, she's not sure there's anyone more solid and stable she can think of. sure, dinah had just come back from tour with a kid but... as far as people being there, dinah lance never backed down, never hesitated. there wasn't a day she was gone that babs didn't think dinah would drop everything if she needed her to. she lets out a little bit of a giggle, but falls silent with another grin as they kiss again, even if it's just a moment. she looks at the other earnestly, fingers trailing through her hair, "there's no one else I want to figure things out with," she says earnestly, melting into a bit of a giggle, "well, i do love studying...." and even her cheeks burn at the joke. perhaps another time she'd comment on her utterly awful humor in the moment, or on just how distracting the other was being, but instead babs had simply had enough of not kissing dinah. so, she pulls them together again, this time with no intent of stopping.

Dabi || Still here, princess?

SUMMARY: After moving from the dungeons to Dabi’s chambers, life is definitely easier not having to attempt escape every second day. But your situation is temporary at best and when missions get longer and farther away, Dabi has no choice but to leave you behind and, more importantly, alone in the castle full of demons. (sequel to Dabi || Lost, princess?)

GENRE: fantasy au (demon!dabi), she/her pronouns

WORDS: approx. 5500

--

Dabi knows that he can't keep you in his chambers forever.

Well, he could, but he also knows just how insufferably annoying you’ll become if you stay cooped up any longer, and he knows what that kind of suffocation does to a person--oh, does he know. 

But at the end of the day, what other choice does he have? He can't let you out if he's not with you, and even being with you poses a certain kind of danger. It shows that he's growing an attachment to you, something that demons aren't supposed to have. It reminds the other members of your existence, which they have, hopefully, forgotten about at this point. 

With the exception of Toga.

Who is, really, the only thorn in his plans.

He's not stupid. He notices her glances at him, and wouldn't for the life of him ever have believed the flimsy excuse that she'd just been "exploring" when he'd found her in front of his doors. Dabi is not stupid.

But that also means that he knows not to refuse a mission from the boss himself, even if it means being placed farther and farther from you, and for longer and longer periods of time. Their plans are coming together, in the months since their once scraggly rag-tag group of demons had formed, and with that means bigger scale missions. 

Missions that leave you alone in his chambers for far too long.

He does have options, of course he does. But they are not ideal in least bit. Take you with him and put you in perhaps more danger than staying at the castle? Increase the power of the protection spells around his chambers and risk not having enough to face whatever Knights were waiting to get their stupidly heroic hands on him? 

No, and there was no way Dabi was going to try your idea.

"It was just a suggestion, you know!"

"The worst one in the world, princess."

With a throw of your hands, you turn away from the amused demon, groaning. "Gee, I'm so sorry that I tried to help."

"You should be, darling, after all I thought your chats with Toga taught you everything you needed to know about us demons."

"It did, but then my chats with you taught me that maybe what I needed to know was wrong." Dabi's mouth twitches downwards, briefly. What does that mean? He was, and still is, dangerous, despite his attitude towards you, and you still know that, right? "I mean, aren't you guys all allies or something? Why can't one of them, you know, protect me whilst you're gone? You can phrase it as saying they're helping you, an ally, a fellow member of this oh-so-great League. A comrade--"

"That's enough. Your spewing Knight propaganda. It’s embarrassing. Come now, I thought we knew better." 

You roll your eyes. "Having friends is not Knight propaganda, is a basic human need." You stop, realising what you had just said and open your mouth to backtrack but Dabi, unfortunately, beats you to it.

"But I'm not human, am I, princess?"

You groan once more, louder this time, and more exasperated, and Dabi does not know why it makes his world a little brighter, why the way you smile and groan and laugh makes his heart beat the way it does. "You know what I mean."

"I don't think I do." 

Before you can swear at him, a bell rings. The bell rings--the one to alert the League members that a meeting was to commence. Dabi found the idea hilarious; it was so very human, and on top of that, so very aristocratic, like something royalty would do. Like something royalty did do, because he knew they did.

You sit up on the bed, waiting patiently for Dabi to 'poof' away, as you'd once called his teleporting in a slip-of-the-tongue, but he only gives an amused smirk back at you, fueling your irritation enough that you respond to him with a vulgar gesture and fall back onto the bed. Only after a moment does Dabi 'poof' out and into the meeting room, where most of the others are already inside.

Barely a second passes and he can already gauge the atmosphere; tense, like something, or someone, is ready to burst.

That someone being Shigaraki.

But it is Kurogiri who speaks first. "The Knights of the Society are on the move. It appears that they are confident they can catch us, and if the intel we have gathered is correct, they've gained more help from other regions. Specifically speaking, All Might himself."

Compress gives a wave of his hand. "It couldn't be anything we can't handle, now, can it?"

"We don't know that. We can never truly know that, I must remind you. It is best to overestimate them." Compress sighs but nods. "Because of that, we must get a move on as well. Dabi, you are to play a vital role in this."

He lets no flicker of surprise show, besides the fact that he leans forward, off of the wall he was leaning on. 

"You are to gain the trust and alliance of a Knight for some files that we need."

There is surprise in the room now, but no one makes a move to protest immediately. Spinner is the one who speaks first. "A Knight? Isn't that--well, huge? Which Knight are we aiming for?" 

"Any of them," Shigaraki interrupts. He turns away from the desk he'd been standing at and walks towards the long table in the middle, dropping a piece of paper onto it. "This is a list of names--Giran says these are the most likely Knights to turn traitor." He looks up and meets Dabi's eyes, a slow, small smile growing on his face. "Your pick. But do whatever it takes to make sure you succeed."

"Hang on, how do we know it's not a trap?" Magne asks.

"We don't," Shigaraki says simply and if it weren't for the fact that he was his boss, Dabi would have liked to melt Shigaraki's face for the sheer casualness of the way he was clearly endangering his life. "But Dabi's strong enough to fend for himself, right?"  And for being a pain in the ass in general.

But Dabi is forced to smirk, forced to open his mouth and say, "Of course," and forced to accept the mission.

Even though he does not know just what the hell he will do with you.

The meeting ends soon after, Shigaraki declaring that Dabi has a day to get out onto the field, Toga all but ecstatic about the whole situation as Twice has to bear the brunt of her excited chattering, and Dabi berating himself for not noticing something was up earlier when he leaves, followed by Compress and Magne. He should have realised something was wrong when they did not warp out.

"Is there something on your mind, Dabi?" Compress asks, a bit too pointedly for his liking.

He grunts, halfheartedly shrugging. "No. The mission should go smoothly. I already know who to go for."

Compress nods, but continues. "I didn't mean anything about the mission, though."

"I think you know what we're referring to," Magne interrupts. "Or who, I should say."

Dabi doesn't let anything show, but he just barely manages to stop his jaw from clenching. So they do know. Because of Toga? Or had they realised where the princess-where you had disappeared off to?

The masked demon sighs, his gloved hand touching his forehead. "We'll just get to the point then. A little birdie told us about a certain human in your chambers, Dabi. A certain princess."

"You say you'll get to the point, Compress, but you don’t." Magne scoffs, even more exasperatedly than him. "Dabi, if you need us to help her while you're gone, just say the word. We are allies."

He doesn't stop walking, but he does slow, giving Magne a glance. They are allies, that much is true, but not without a cost. That much is more true.

"But let's be honest, you don't much have much of a choice. How else will you provide for her when you're gone? Shigaraki said it himself--you'll be gone for a while, Dabi." 

"Just let us help," Magne repeats. "We swear we won't hurt her."

That gets him thinking. If they swear...

Demons are all about oaths and deals, contracts and agreements. The wording though... the wording must be precise, exact, otherwise loopholes happen and deals go the way it can, but not the way you expected.

"You won't hurt her. Physically, mentally, or emotionally." They start nodding already. "You'll provide her with food that she wants to eat, and fresh water that is safe to drink." He stops, remembering a final detail. "And you will not let Toga near her."

Compress and Magne repeat what he'd said, adding an "I swear" at the end, the latter smiling, the former--well, wearing the mask as usual.

Dabi swears internally.

This was the only way.

But it was not one he liked.

-

"Okayyy..." You drag out the word. "So you'll be gone for a while--"

"A long while, princess, a long while."

"And in the meantime Compress and Magne will... 'help' me. Or, give me food and water and that's it?"

"Yes."

You nod slowly, letting it sink in. It was rather short notice; your demon friend, companion--something--leaving for a mission that would take months, leaving you to the mercy and help of other demons.

Damn, you shouldn't have suggested asking them for help. Because now look where it led you. At the time, you hadn't realised just how afraid you'd be. You knew nothing about them. Your time with Dabi meant you only trusted him, and even that to an extent for it had only been a month and a half and though a lot had happened in that time, you couldn't possibly know someone well and truly in just that short span of time. Sure, you were comfortable enough to express exasperation, and frustration at him--though, it is impossible not too--, but you had never seen him truly angry (save for that encounter in your dungeon weeks and weeks ago, an encounter you still hadn’t deciphered, no... still hadn’t accepted the meaning of) or sad or even happy, now that you thought about it. Though you weren't quite sure if Dabi was capable of smiling like the average person. His variety of expressions seemed to constitute of smirks and more smirks.

"Y/N?"

You jolt out of your thoughts, eyes wide and incredulous as you stare up at Dabi.

"You'll be fed, and kept hydrated, so the only real issue is--"

"You called me by my name."

"Gonna be boredo--what?"

You grin, ignoring the nausea settling in your stomach. "You called me by my name, Dabi! Are you feeling alright? Is this mission giving you nerves or something?"

The unimpressed gaze you are met with is something you are all too familiar with, but to be fair, this was going to be how you coped with the fact that Dabi would be gone for months.

And you'd be virtually alone for months.

Months.

He sighs softly, before smirking. "Yes, you caught me," He begins in a monotone voice. "I'm so nervous I think I will die." You laugh, rolling your eyes.

"The great demon Dabi? Nervous? Now what a revelation!" You say dramatically. He barely laughs, but the sound that escapes him is clearly amused. "But I know you shall return, for you are my tormentor, and I can never escape this suffering!"

"Suffering? I’m hurt. I thought you were enjoying our time together, dear Y/N."

You barely manage to conceal the way your heart stutters at the way he says your name, and instead infuse more flair to counteract that damn fluttering. "Ah, but a demon can never know my delicate human heart, can the--"

The bell rings. But this time, the both of you know it is not for a mission. The comical atmosphere dissipates, and in it's place is something of the tension of heading into the unknown.

You feel Dabi's power spurring to life, breathing throughout the room, one last layer of protective spells, making you shudder. He smirks, noticing. "I guess it's time."

"I guess so," You say. You bite your lip, wondering if you should say it. To hell with it, you finally decide. "Be safe, Dabi."

Amusement sparkles in his eyes--when would you next see that beautiful turquoise hue? "I should be saying that to you, princess."

You only roll your eyes back at him and then, with a quick flare of heat, flames engulf his body before he poofs away, leaving you in his chambers, where it is suddenly dark and quiet and...

Lonely.

-

The first few days, even weeks, are fine. Magne and Compress never actually show up, but jugs of water and plates of food are on the table when you wake, and it's enough to last the whole day. You had given up being cautious, knowing that it wouldn’t matter if it was actually poisoned because without it, you’d die of starvation.

The boredom is the most dangerous part of it all, once you get past the paranoia, and when you get comfortable enough that you're not being watched, you start doing things you wouldn't normally do with Dabi around--for you've never trusted him after an embarrassing encounter of terrible vocals--, like dancing and singing and rolling around on the floor and tearing down the bed's canopy to create a smaller canopy, more closed in to make the chambers feel less empty and anything and everything to fight off the boredom, the nothingness.

But even all those miscellaneous activities grow tiresome after a while. There are books in Dabi's room--attained after you had expressed a desire to him about reading--but though you are not the fastest reader, having nothing else to do meant that you spent most of your time reading and soon, all the books were read, and reread. And reread. And though you would have killed for more, you sure weren’t going to ask Magne or Compress for some, nor did you know how to anyway.

You keep track of the days, but when you see that only a month has gone by, you deflate in frustration, kicking the air and screaming into your pillow--something you were prone to doing lately.

"You are so slow, hurry up and come back," You mumble, rubbing your eyes as sleep once again evades you. 

But then your mind wanders to dangerous territory; scenarios and thoughts of your wishes being fulfilled but in the worst ways possible--he comes back dead, he comes back in pieces, he comes back changed--

You bolt upright in the bed, eyes shut as you shake your head vigorously enough that it aches. 

No. No.

He was going to come back. Alive. Unhurt. The same Dabi as before. You two would return to playful banter, he would tell you what he had gotten up to outside, and you would tell him what you had done (admittedly, nothing much, but with enough thought you’re sure you can exaggerate enough), and then all would be fine because he’s back and he’s Dabi--frustratingly cocky Dabi.

You sigh, hand on your chest as the beating slows down. 

But when you open your eyes to the dark chambers--chambers that suddenly don’t feel as comfortable and homely as before--you’re only reminded of your solitude.

He’s not here.

No one is.

No one but you and the creeping shadows slithering up the bed.

Only you don’t know that, and as you lie back down in the bed, resigned to another painful night, they make their way towards you. Slowly, lazily, stealthily.

You are already sleeping when they converge. 

-

Demons don’t need to sleep, but to pass the time it’s sure as hell useful.

The mission itself is not so tiresome as when he is not doing anything. And now, with all the pieces into place, he just had to wait a few more days until that pathetic Knight came back with what he needed.

Dabi could maintain an illusion a fair while, but nothing to the extent of keeping it up all night as well as protection charms for whichever inn he’d choose to stay in and that’s not to mention keeping up the charms on his chambers back at the castle. To put simply, he’d rather go a few nights deep in the cave he’d found than risk it.

It’s too bad; the forest it’s in is unnervingly quiet. Not for the fact that it scares him--he’s a demon, what could possibly scare him--but for the thoughts that invade his mind like parasites. 

Thoughts of you.

He clenches his jaw as whispers flash through his head. 

But Dabi can’t delude himself. Not with that stupid hope or fairy tale morals he’d been raised to believe. He can’t repeat “you are safe” over and over because he knows that to do that would only lead to disappointment in the event that… you are not. 

That something had happened to you.

That you were gone.

That he had left you to suffer.

That--

Flames ignite in the cave he’s in, licking at his body enough to sting--it always stings, a price he’d had to pay among others--but he ignores it, getting up and walking out.

The forest is quiet.

His mind is loud.

To shut one up, he’d have to make the other speak.

No, roar.

Well, it isn’t too bad.

This kingdom hit too close to home anyway, and if Dabi wasn’t so good at keeping his past a secret he’d think Shigaraki put him here on purpose. If the flames make it to the pearly white castle with the red rooftops, it wasn’t any sort of loss. 

(Not the princess or the princes inside, not the queen lost in her own head, and most of all, not the red haired fire king himself.)

The flames aren’t just stinging anymore. They hurt. His skin prickles, more than prickles, the staples straining to keep him, literally, together. 

But Dabi pushes on, blocking it out, all of it.

Even the voice that sounds too much like you screaming in his head.

-

There is so much fire.

It is everywhere. 

Blue blue blue in your vision, blinding you, taking you under, forcing you to feel a heat that does not touch you.

There is no escape. You can’t breathe. Your throat is dry but your skin is wet with sweat. Oh if only it is water instead. Water to cool, to soothe, to heal.

Not you, but Dabi.

You had tried. You had tried so desperately to stop him as the flames kept moving, kept hurting him. Him, and not you. 

At first, you had thought this was a dream. Strangely vivid, the surroundings unrecognizable yet the breath of the cool night sky in the quiet forest familiar. 

But then you had seen Dabi as he emerged from the cave, standing in such surprise that you had tripped, face burning because you had been so, so sure you would hear a laugh, followed by a taunt or a tease. You had been just waiting to retort one back, something along the lines of “downgrade much?” because your mind was whirring. 

You were there. Wherever there was, but most importantly, you were with Dabi. And after weeks and weeks of loneliness, solitude, isolation, nothing made you happier.

But instead you were met with silence and suddenly--

Fire.

Everywhere. 

Only it did not hurt you. And not in the way you were familiar with, not in the way you hadn’t been hurt those weeks and weeks ago in that damp, cold dungeon, not in the way you knew. 

It wasn’t there.

You weren’t there.

It was only a dream.

Or so you thought.

But now you don’t think that. This is not so much a dream, but the work of something and now you understand just what those cold tendrils had been that had gripped your body, jolting you awake not into your bed but here. Not cold at all, but something else.

It is not a dream, but you are not with Dabi, either. Instead, you watch as the flames devour all in his path. Your heart races, unsure of what is happening.

Demon. Dabi is a demon.

You knew that. You know that. 

Only now it is so much more closer, the true implications of it dawning on you as the flames drew ever nearer to the distant castle you see past the trees. Red and blue flags fluttering manically, the eternal glow of the powerful king’s fire alight. 

It is nothing compared to Dabi’s blue.  

And though you know you cannot be hurt now, your body instinctively seeks escape--shelter from this inferno.

But there is blue everywhere--

Everywhere except for Dabi himself. The only relief in the blue hell. Your only relief from the flames, and from the solitude that had hurt you for so long. 

So you walk towards him, pushing past the way the flames feel as though they beat you back, the human instinct to run and scream and curl up, the terror of his flames that fights with something else inside, something that pulls you to Dabi in ways you can’t admit, won’t admit. At least, not yet. 

He doesn’t move, merely lets his power do all the work for him, but when you approach, you see he is moving. He is shaking. With something, you do not know what. Rage, most likely (But the shaking is not that of uncontrollable rage, and you know that because you know that shaking yourself--felt it, experienced it as you had once stood helpless and alone in a faraway throne room as a voice that did not belong to you determined your fate).

You reach out to him, whispering his name before remembering that you aren’t really there, only his eyes crack open and in them--in them you see it.

Pain.

Desperate, hidden behind the thick veil of pure rage as he glares at the castle, but it is a veil nonetheless and when you know how to slide it aside, you can see through.

And you start to wonder just what it is, or was, that makes him look at those symbols with those emotions. And you realise…

You barely know him at all. Nothing of his past, nothing besides the nonchalantly arrogant demon Dabi you knew. Nothing. And it suddenly hurts, because you had told him so much of your life, but you had never noticed just how much he had not. So caught up in your own situation that you remember--

Dabi had been human once, too.

Demons were not born of nothing. Demons were the creations of humanity, after all. When one was hungry enough to seek forbidden sources… or when one was desperate enough to seek an escape.

He stumbles and you reach to catch only to flow right through up; your arms separating as though water, through his steaming body, the staples breaking and cracking, the skin red hot.

He’s folding under his own power and you freeze. Realisation falling upon you.

He’s going to die. It’s too much for him--even a demon like him. These sort of flames are not made of this world, are not meant to exist in this plane of existence. 

“Stop,” You whisper. “Stop. Dabi. Stop. Stop it.” Every word increases in panic, in worry and volume but nothing you say or cry or scream gets to him. You are powerless in this realm of--of whatever or wherever this is.

“Powerless for you are human.”

The voice startles you but though you twist and turn, wondering where it comes from, you already know. 

“Pathetic. Fragile. Useless.”

It comes from yourself. A voice, a tendril of something deeper and darker, speaking. 

“You believe you can do anything, but you cannot. A human can do nothing for one like that.”

Frustration builds up, those feelings of helplessness you had felt all these past weeks--all your life--, building up up up--

You snap at the voice. “Then help him yourself.” Against all better, rational judgement, for this is the voice of a force you both know of and do not. The voice of that darkness that belonged to the ones who sought it.

It laughs, lowly, menacingly. “Why should I? That is a creation of something else. I shall not touch it, least of all help it.”

You speak before you understand the words coming out. “Then how can I?”

“You can’t.” The answer you knew before you heard it. But it is not the answer you want. “Not as you are now.”

You aren’t sure if that is the answer you want, either. 

(But deep inside, you know what it means, you know you know you know how this will end, if it will at all.)

“What is your answer?”

Your stomach twists. You tremble at the thoughts flying past--thoughts that are so forbidden, so unforgivable and yet they are there and that counts for something.

You know the answer. You know your answer. To save him, and yourself.

But if there is one thing Dabi taught you, it is that the words of demons could be disasters hidden behind paradise, half-lies behind half-truths, a facade to show you what you expected when what you really received was harsh realities. Oaths. They are all about oaths.

Demons couldn’t lie, but they could manipulate.

But, away from your home kingdom like you are now, you are still a princess. An heir, as abandoned as you are; raised to see past the deceptively sweet flattery of courtiers, the tricks behind contracts, the lies of anyone and everyone around you. 

Raised to rule with steel determination and your own fire. 

“What is the question?”

And you stop shaking.

-

The mission is over. Finally.

Dabi resists the relief that threatens to rise through his mask of boredom. For two reasons; one, his face still hurts where the staples had torn through, and two, he can’t be too excited to come back. 

Especially when Spinner and Twice wait outside, something in their eyes that makes him slow, looking down at them. “What’s this? A welcoming party?”

Twice chops a hand down. “Sure is! No, it’s a warning party!” The bells had already been ringing in his mind, but this time they blast out. Something is wrong.

Spinner sighs, giving him a scathing look, the lizard always seeming to think he was better, more focused or moral or whatever, than all of them when he was still, in the end, a demon too. “You’re supposed to give us the info.” They wait as Dabi examines them. After checking it is truly Twice and Spinner, he shrugs. He couldn't care less however the files get to Shigaraki. The boss will know who it came from, after putting him through that pain of a hell mission. 

What he really cares about is you. He’s not stupid. He knows something has happened, for them to be this tense, for the others to be waiting at all. 

He teleports away--poofing, as you’d call it, he recalls with a tight smile--but he is yanked backwards in the journey to his chambers, something pulling him away from it and leaving him outside, a few feet away from the doors.

His eyes harden.

He can’t go in.

Why. 

The thought is more statement than question. 

He feels their presence once everything quietens down--the panic, the helplessness of not knowing and not doing.

Compress and Magne stop by his side, but he knows their shields are up and knows they know he knows. They expected him, but the look in their eyes…

“What did you do?”

And Dabi isn’t sure what is louder. The static in his mind or the hiss of his ignited flames.

"What the hell did you do to her?"

(That line, said by a boy much younger than he is now, a boy who belonged to another life... who had failed to protect ones he loved most, just like how he was failing once more.)

Compress raises his arms in mock-surrender, as if that gesture would cause Dabi to direct his anger somewhere else. "We kept our side of the deal. We did nothing."

"She was a human living in the dens of demons." A voice speaks up from behind. Shigaraki. Dabi whirls around, blue flames rising but he knows better than to attack outright. "It was only natural that she would either die in the darkness..."

Flames roar and Dabi does not want to acknowledge the depth of how his heart leaps into his throat at the thought. 

But the grin on Shigaraki's face gives Dabi pause. There's something else. A calculating look in the boss' eyes. He did something else. 

And it must have furthered their plans in some way. He spins back around, expectant--of what, he does not know.

He hears the grin widen. "Or joined."

The shadows leaping around his chambers die out, just as quickly as it emerged, and there is an eerie silence as the four of them watch, waiting with bated breath (though Shigaraki looks almost bored and for that alone, for the way he cares nothing for your life, Dabi would have burnt him alive).

The doors do not open, but water leaks out from underneath. Magne mutters "interesting," underneath her breath as the water continues to pour out, and then gush out as the doors open but as soon as it does, it evaporates--though not by the work of Dabi's flames.

Shigaraki seems positively joyful, as joyful as he could be considering himself, as a figure emerges from inside.

Dripping wet.

No, not wet, for it is not the clothes or even the body itself that is drenched in water.

No, the body itself is water.

You are water.

Your body glitters, just like the sea, and with your every step waves crash into each other in the joints, calming where you still, but there is an ever-constant movement. Just like the sea.

And then you collapse. Collapse like a wave and your body is no longer a body and Dabi's heart stops because what does that mean--what does it mean? Only the water piles up together, slowly solidifying back into a body of flesh and blood, the translucency transforming into the colour of your skin, your features slowly coming back. Magne is the first to move, for she steps forward to drop her orange tunic over you, giving Dabi a disapproving look.

"Lend her your coat, why don't you?" She huffs, gesturing impatiently for him to come closer. 

He moves but Shigaraki says something that causes him to stop. "Aren't you glad?" He glances at him. "Now your human princess can truly join you." And then the slow, malicious grin is back. "Well, not human princess anymore. You'll have to explain, first. Her transformation was a culmination of a... variety of stressful factors."

Dabi is not so sure what that means, but the words do not go unregistered. He'll get to 'explaining' later; right now, you're clearly in need of help.

He wraps his coat around you, buttoning it without pushing your arms through before picking you up and glancing into his chambers to make sure that it isn't trashed--he does not know whether he would have been surprised if it was, because he was still surprised that it wasn't, besides the carpets being wet and squelching with every step.

He doesn't respond to the other two's words, not outwardly, as he places you down on the bed.

"For what it's worth, we did this to help you, and if you need it, we are sorry, Dabi," Magne says solemnly.

"But," Compress adds, reluctant and yet not, "You must admit that everything is now, much, much more easier. For the both of you. Even if it will take time to accept."

Dabi still doesn't respond, and the other two leave the room, Shigaraki giving them a satisfied nod before all three warp away, to other parts of the castle.

With a wave of his hand, he shuts the doors and reactivates the protective spells before truly taking a look at you.

You do not look changed. But, you are still sleeping, and perhaps the telltale sign of the demon mark is somewhere in your eyes, or maybe somewhere hidden behind his coat. Wherever it is, he cannot see it yet.

Dabi is not sure he wants to.

Because deep inside, he knows this is perhaps the most favourable outcome there was. Amidst you dying, or having to return to the humans--which was, admittedly, impossible for Shigaraki would have never let you leave--, this was probably the only outcome where you would have lived a satisfying life, after everything that had happened. A life you could spend with him, able to protect yourself. 

(And after all, how could a demon fall in love with a human? It was much more plausible for demons to fall in love with each other.)

He sighs, suddenly feeling almost exasperated, looking up to stretch his neck and shut his eyes briefly. He opens them, and when he looks back down at you, he speaks. "Honestly, princess, I leave for a few months and you go and do this." He chuckles. "Guess you really didn't need my protection after all."

You stir, slightly, and Dabi catches a glimpse of your skin swirling like waves again, almost unnerving for it still has the colour of your skin and for all intents and purposes, the look and texture of a human body. 

He smirks as your eyes open, blinking sleepily before settling on him (inside, hoping, hoping, that maybe you hadn't changed too much from his fierce princess to something else entirely).

"Care to explain just what the hell happened while I was gone?" 

You stare at him, shocked, opening your mouth to whisper croakily, “You’re alright.”

It’s not a question, but the look in your eyes makes him realise that whatever you had thought of him going out there hadn’t just been irrational panic, but something… something that you had feared.

That voice. The night he’d burned in that forest. That voice...

It had been you.

But he doesn’t let the shock show, doesn’t do anything but raise an eyebrow. “You know, Y/N, it’s rude to spy, even for a demon.”

And Dabi understands just why your answering groan and roll of your eyes clears all of his doubts and makes the world a little brighter.

You are still here.

And he hopes you always will be.

--

A/N: this is really late for anon - thank u!! you inspired me with the reader turning into a demon idea so hopefully you enjoyed!! i did write the first part last year tho, so um idk if i managed to keep the voice of the first part ahaha but still, thanks for reading 

Self Para 003: Logan’s Birthday

I bet you’ll see him sooner than you think.

As hard as Ches tried to forget her youngest sister’s words throughout the day, and to stop checking her messages every five seconds in case any of her siblings actually texted her what they were up to; it was hard. All she wanted was to know what Ella was on about, how sooner would she see her brother? A day before graduation? Two days? Weeks? The anticipation had her restless, bouncing in her seat as she tried her hardest to focus on her work, unable to answer quite what she was so excited about anytime someone asked or gave her as much as a confused glance.

“If you had a tail, you might actually take flight. Manage to talk to Elliot?” Zander asks as he sits down next to her in their last class of the day, the girl makes a face when he mentions the boy she had actually managed to successfully push out of the forefront of her brain today.

“Hell no, there’s nothing to discuss. It’s Logan’s birthday, I’m gonna call him after class.” Ches rolls her eyes as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Apologize to the guy who fucked up your face yet?”  Honestly, she didn’t think he had any desire to actually apologize to Jack, but if they were going to go tread on subjects they clearly didn’t want to discuss, it was the best one she could pull from her sleeve at the moment.

“You know what, forget it. You’re right, nothing to discuss.” He gives her a look before he looks away to open his notebook. Before she can ask him about the tone, however, the bell rings to signify the start of class. With a sigh, the bottle-blonde looks away from him to try to focus on her work the best she could at the moment.

---

The class seemed to drag on today, even though she really liked Shakespearean Studies, she didn’t want to do any of this today. It was impossible to not glance at the clock every couple minutes, waiting for the bell to ring so she could dart out of the room to call the siblings who were clearly ignoring her text messages. By the time the teacher was done teaching and her peers were chattering as they waited for the bell to ring,  saying the girl was restless was an understatement. When her phone finally goes off, the girl is moving the fastest she’d ever moved to answer a text to check it.

🦁 (Emmett): Check your locker ASAP, you’ve got a surprise!

A puzzled look crosses her features as she reads her brother’s text message, what kind of surprise from Emmett would require her to be at her locker immediately? And why would he deliver it on Logan’s birthday? The answer clicks within seconds and the girl is hastily packing up her stuff and all but glaring at the clock to hurry up. By the time the final bell rings, she’s up and out of her seat, running towards her locker. The second she turns the corner and notices her oldest brother leaned up against her locker holding a coffee cup, the girl excitedly screeches, much to the chagrin of everyone around her, and sprints faster than she had in months over to him. “Logan! You’re here!” She throws herself into his hug with so much force, coffee spills all over his sweater and her school uniform, but she doesn’t care. “You’re really here, and I’m so happy to see you. It’s your birthday and you’re here.” The girl is already starting to cry tears of joy as she clings to the man, and for once, she doesn’t care if the entire student body saw her crying. She was elated, and if they didn’t like it, well, she didn’t care.

“I was surprised when Emmett finally told me where we were going, the boys are in the car, dropped the girls off fast before coming over. I take it he didn’t tell you either?” Logan Elswood squeezes his sister a bit tighter as he says the words, seeming not to mind the fact they’re both covered in hot coffee as he hugs her. “I’ve missed you too, kiddo. Don’t suppose you could free up your schedule enough to go grab a bite to eat, spend some time with this old man, huh?”

Did he truly think that for a second she wouldn’t tell this entire school they could wait and not cancel all of her plans in a heartbeat? Ches hoped not, because this was a no brainer to her. “Consider them canceled already! I can’t believe you’re actually here.” She pulls away, although not completely willing to look him over. “You’re looking well, dude. Even if I just spilled your coffee all over you.” She smiles, looking him up and down carefully. There were no hints of powder on his face, his nose didn’t look raw in the slightest, and she actually starts to cry harder as she realizes he’s doing well, that he’s actually okay. “How long are you here for? Please say you’re staying for a while.”

“Wish we could kiddo, the girls are fighting to stay through the weekend, but we might be heading back tonight.” Logan looks apologetic as he says the words, the frown crossing his features feeling almost like a stab to the heart. “But you know, when I said the boys, I meant all of them so… this is for you.” He offers her the cup as it suddenly clicks why he was waiting by his locker with coffee of all liquids. Jamie was also here, a thought that made her want to find Elliot just warn him to avoid her until the menace was out of town. Although as she opens her locker to put her books away, she remembers he was doing that just fine on his own without the warning already.

“I’ll need about ten of those if he starts up, but I’ll try to be nice.” She warns him as she finally takes the cup, taking a sip. He still remembered her coffee order, that was nice. “Mind if we head to my room for like ten minutes so I can get into comfy clothes before we head out.” It’s not really a question as she closes her locker and starts to head in that direction, expecting her brother to just follow. “If anyone bitches about no guests in dorms, well, they can fuck right off today.”

“Language.” Logan scolds her, shaking his head as he indeed does follow her through the school. “What have I told you about the language?”

“There are no kids here!” Regardless of the protest, the guilt she feels probably is showing on her face. “But you’re right, I gotta mind the tongue. How’s the little princess doing? Still hasn’t said her first word?” She hadn’t heard of it if Isabelle had, so she figured that the child hadn’t. After all, nobody in their family would be so heartless to not immediately tell Ches her niece had spoken her first word.

“She’s doing well, I’m sure she’ll be excited to see you.” Logan shrugs as they reach the girl’s dorms. “Still no real words, she’s doing a lot of what you call the French babble sound though.” The news causes her to grin, was she actually going to be right on the language the kid’s first word was in? She had no idea but she was going to take this as evidence for her theory all the same.

“Probably not as excited as I am to see her.” Ches laughs, the words genuine regardless of her jokes. She was finally going to see her niece after months of missing the child, the realization only caused her to pick up the pace to the common room she shared with Callie, letting the two of them inside. “Okay, if my roommate comes in, don’t scare her off, I’ll be right back.” She hands him his coffee before she all but runs into her room, shutting the door behind her as she quickly rushes to find clothes more suitable for celebrating her brother’s birthday with the people she loved most. It’s probably the fastest she’d gotten ready in years, changing her clothes and fixing her makeup faster then she’d usually shower for even.

She grabs her purse on her way out the door, turning around to lock her bedroom door before they head out. Before she can suggest they start heading for the parking lot, however, Logan’s talking to her again.  “Hey, Ches, why don’t we invite that Elliot kid you keep talking about?”

“No!” She answers, a bit too quickly as she scrambles to find a valid excuse other than admitting she’d been rejected. “He’s allergic to rabbits, you brought Jerome right? We absolutely can not invite him! Nobody wants to do a first meeting while suffering from allergies.” As she turns to look back at her brother, she can tell he doesn’t believe her.

“Could I meet him before I leave, at least?”

“He’s got piano practice!” Ches starts to walk out of the common room, the sooner she gets Logan off of Luxor’s campus, the better. Before they actually ran into someone who’d try to help him meet the boy she currently was avoiding.

“He’s got piano practice all weekend without breaks?” The tone of Logan’s voice is one she knows a bit too well, she didn’t even have to look at him to know that he was giving her the look he gave her every time he knew she was lying to him. Fuck.

“He’s very dedicated to his craft. We really shouldn’t interrupt him.”

“Ches, I could probably make a novel out of how much you’ve told me I have to meet this boy the next time I’m in town. Perhaps not a very exciting one, but you’ve said at least 50,000 words. What’s going on?” He knows her way too well, something she’d usually appreciate but currently was almost annoying. He offers her back her coffee as she starts to pout, and the girl takes it from him and eagerly takes a sip as they walk.

“I just don’t think I should be bringing the guy I like around the family with Jamie in town, you know? It’s probably stupid, but, I don’t trust him not to make moves and I’m surprised Eli even can stand being around me sometimes.” It’s not a complete lie, she supposed, but it’s not exactly the reason she’s refusing to let Logan anywhere near him. “I’ll introduce you during graduation? It’s just really not a good time.”  As she glances over her shoulder, she knows he’s still not buying it but he nods.

“Okay, if you need to talk-“

“I’ll come to you. Right now, we need to leave all the baggage at the door because today’s about you. You’re turning 50, we’ve gotta celebrate the whole totally skipping out on the gray hair thing, clearly!” She winks at him as she takes the shortest possible route to the office. “That’s an achievement, I think.”

“You know, with you guys, 24 might actually be the new 50.” Logan chuckles, “whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Too late to sell us on Craigslist, pretty sure the feds can sniff that for miles now. eBay? I dunno. You’ll figure it out.” She grins, “though I’d wait a few weeks. These guys are probably gonna ask questions if I don’t sign back in at some point.”

“Could say Mr. Elswood pulled you out of school.”

“Which one would do that?” She eye rolls as she opens the door to the main office. “I should probably drive over by myself and meet you guys at the house, want me to steal a few of your passengers?” She asks as they approach the front desk to sign out.

“If you wanna take Emmett, by all means. I’ll keep the rest with me. You sure you don’t wanna invite anyone? Lucy? She’s always welcome to invade.”

“Positive.” Ches finishes signing her name quickly, “now hurry up. I’ve got a baby to kiss and a brother to save from Jamie.”

“You don’t…” Logan starts, but as he trails off, he starts to write even faster. “Actually, you’re right we should go separate the boys.” He sets the pen on the desk, taking even longer strides than usual as the two hurry to the parking lot.

“I’m just saying I regret not pushing you out of the car on the highway.” Emmett’s voice could be heard across the parking lot, and as much as Ches regretted Emmett didn’t push Jamie out of the car on the highway as well, she runs over to the sound. Trying to hold back a smile when she sees just how frustrated Jamie looks.

“Now, that’s not any way to talk in front of Logan on his birthday!” The scolding is a bit mocking as she winks at the two boys. She ignores them as she opens one of the rear car doors, a grin quickly forming on her face as she watches a certain ten-month-old child’s expression light up as soon as she sees her. “Oh, I missed you too. How’s my sweet baby girl doing?” The words are in French, easily slipping off her tongue as she unbuckles her niece’s car seat and picks her up. “I’ve missed you so much.” She kisses the girl’s cheek loudly a couple of dozen times.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Jonah jokes, “your favorite twin rides in the car with these two for hours, and Belle gets loved on first? I see how it is.” She knows that laugh, he’s not serious or offended in the slightest, so she just continues doting over the child.

“Chien.” The baby in her arms giggles and Ches’s mouth drops. That was French, Belle was speaking French. Maybe it was the wrong animal, but it was the right language.

She looks over to the girl’s father quickly, “please tell me you heard that.”

“She said chien!” The man gasps, quickly moving to take the girl from her to dote over her himself. Ches hands her to him, ignoring the throbbing in her heart as she already has to let go of the child as she does so. “This is the best birthday present, huh Belle?”

“The best word too, if I say so,” Jonah adds in as Ches loops around the car to hug him. “Though pretty sure someone owes Ches money now.” She raises an eyebrow at him as she hugs her twin brother, just waiting for it to sink in that he was part of that betting pool.

“Yeah, you do.” Jamie reminds him, “and I do. What’d Emmett put in the pool?”

“French, because unlike you I’m not a complete dumbass.” Emmett shrugs, “Ches was speaking French, who’d have guessed the kid learned some!”

“You made bets on my daughter’s first words?” Logan doesn’t seem surprised, regardless of the question. “Can’t we go back to betting on normal stuff like how long the pizza will take to arrive?” He starts hooking Belle back into her car seat as he talks, much to Ches’s disappointment. She could hold the child again later, it wasn’t like she already had to say goodbye.

“Pretty sure normal people don’t start a betting pool for their pizza delivery estimates. Not that I know a lot of those.”  Emmett shrugs, “anyway, I call Ches’s shotgun. Have a safe drive back to the house, feel free to push Jamie out of the vehicle for me!” He doesn’t wait for anyone to say anything before he’s pulling Ches away from Jonah and towards the student parking lot, ignoring Jonah’s complaints about cutting into his Ches time in the process.

Clearly, something was bothering him, and while Ches had a theory on part of it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just Jamie invading his birthday plans for Logan. As she gets in the car, the first thing Ches does is pass him the aux cord in hopes of letting him get whatever he’s feeling out there.

After all, they both had a day of celebrations waiting for them once they arrived back at the vacation home. The sooner they both got out everything bringing them down, the better. It was Logan’s birthday, it was supposed to be all excitement, balloons, and cake. Once the car ride was done, there was no more time for sadness.

This was Logan’s party, and she was going to try her best to have fun and be nice to Jamie, just because that’s what Logan wanted her to do. Elliot, Lucy, everything could wait one more night. The most important thing tonight was her family was here, that she was going to be able to hug Logan and celebrate with him as they figured out together what Emmett had planned for the night. She wasn’t going to let her drama or Jamie ruin it for any of them.

The girl puts her phone on silent before she pulls out of the student parking lot, if someone needed her, they were just going to have to wait until she was back on campus later.

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 106:  The Problem With Strong Women

Strong women were going to be the death of him.

What was it that he saw in them? Why was he always so attracted to the woman who seemed to be defiant? The bad girl? Or, for that matter, why was whatever the hell Zelena was always so attracted to him?! It was like they were magnets! First Milah, cowardly as she was he knew that she'd been one of those strong women, perhaps one of the first he'd ever dealt with! His aunts, truly, had been the first women he'd had experience with but their strength was far different than Milah's strength. They had used their strength for goodness, it had given them confidence and fortitude to stand against the villagers that hated them so. It had given them the courage to take in a little boy without a father and raise him as their own. Milah's strength might have evolved into that one day with the right person. When he thought back to that first meeting he'd had with her when she'd been a girl and he a teenager, he'd seen a lot of his aunts in her then. Confidence and courage…his aunts were what Milah might have been if she hadn't been such a selfish, drunken whore. Her strength had evolved, or possibly devolved, into destructive behavior that she'd used to oppress him and their son. Cora had been the same. She'd had a strength and determination about her that could have gone many ways. Surrounded by the right people Cora could have conquered the world and maybe even made it a better place, but as it was she'd been surrounded by wrong person after wrong person after wrong person, and he had no doubt it had made her what she was today: the Queen of Hearts; realms away from her family and home, and fond of tearing out hearts.

Belle was strong. He knew this. He'd known it all those years he'd watched her. But he hadn't expected her strength to manifest in the way that it had here. She was a stubborn woman. It was the worst type of strength to have. Openly defiant, unwilling to learn her place…it was radiant sometimes. But he couldn't understand what he wanted from it. There were times that he wanted to break her of it, but there were times he found himself hoping that she never lost it. Other times, like the incident downstairs, he was outright confused by what he wanted. He'd been pushing her for a response to the thief ever since he'd arrived. Now she'd finally given it, and in that moment he had felt good for finally coaxing it out of her, but why did it bother him in this moment? Why could he not stop thinking about it? Why did he sneer every time he thought of the way she'd had a response for every one of his, why did he shiver when he thought of her inability to back down, why did he have an urge to turn back time and do that moment over again? What would he change?

Nothing. He'd change nothing. And there was no use dwelling on it when there was work to be done.

Regina had called him. Another strong woman who, like Cora, could go either way. And he already knew which way fate was destined to take her.

The sun would be going down soon at his castle, which meant it would be well past dark there. He could have appeared before her in an instant but he decided to take himself upstairs to his room and change clothes first, dawning the scaly jacket he was so fond of wearing to make deals these days. As he changed, he summoned his crystal ball from his workspace. It was, perhaps, time to make that deal with Regina. But he didn't walk into potential deals without the necessary knowledge to complete them.

"Show me what I need to know," he ordered, changing out his shirt.

What he needed to know was apparently a series of images. Regina had joined the hunt for Snow White, just as she'd sworn she would, that was no surprise to him. What was surprising to him was the violence. He watched Regina, but he hadn't been keeping a close enough eye on her. In his ball, he saw homes set to fire by her faceless guards while she watched in the distance. He saw men taken away from their families as women and children cried in the distance. He saw Regina search home after home after home, barns, shops, taverns, nothing was exempt from her gaze when it came to Snow White. He saw death at her hands. An entire town murdered at her orders. And all along he could see in the ball what she could not…Snow White in the forest, running to safety yet again.

He had mixed feelings. He needed that death and destruction, he knew that. He needed her to become the Evil Queen the Seer told him she was bound to become in order to enact his curse. But so much death and destruction…he hadn't been prepared for that. Her obsession was becoming unquenchable. He knew what had to be done to stop it. Either bring about Snow White's death, change the future, and cut himself off from Bae forever. Or stir the future forward.

Yes, now was the time to bring about that deal.

He waited for her in her room, a place he hadn't been since before the King had died. The genie was here, somewhere, there was no doubt about that. He knew that the creature had been cursed inside of a mirror, how he haunted Regina and helped her, it was one of the reasons that he continued to keep the mirror that connected him to her covered all the time now. Before he'd always known Regina couldn't be there all the time to watch him, now she had a little spy built-in for her. Potentially. Which was why he began to look about for the creature. If he could see him, study him for himself, he might be able to make a potion that could shut him out of his castle while still keeping the mirror connection intact.

But where was he?! The crystal ball by her couch seemed like a good place to start, after all his crystal was one of the most powerful objects he'd ever claimed. Not as powerful as a fairy wand, of course, but certainly powerful enough.

And yet Regina's was useless. The second he sat down and picked it up, he could tell that there was no magic within it. It was simply ordinary decoration, he didn't need daylight to see that.

"Where else could you be…" he growled looking around.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" he heard Regina cry out as she came striding into her dressing room, clearly upset that he'd ignored her call for so long.

"Well, it seems you've taken to power quite well," he muttered from his spot on the couch. "Gives your cheeks a nice rosy color."

"I don't understand them!" she yelled, moving closer. "I offer these peasants a fortune, and they still protect Snow White! Why are they loyal to her and not me? I am their Queen!"

He nodded and set the ball aside so he could face her, and also sweep the room for other hiding places. "You did just slaughter an entire village. Maybe that's why they call you the 'Evil Queen'!" he joked, thinking back to the Seer's name for her. Maybe it was time she embraced that title. It would certainly move things forward where he was concerned.

"I am not evil," she sneered. He nodded, but what he really wanted to do was roll his eyes as he walked away from her. He'd expected her to say something like that, of course, the worst of the worst always did. It was the one thing that still brought him hope. He was a monster, but he knew he was. Regina was becoming an evil wretch and still in denial. It was why she'd taken more offense to being called "evil" just now, instead of defending her actions against the towns she'd destroyed. "They call me that because of her! She's the evil one!"

Oh, so they were already calling her the Evil Queen! What a joyous occasion! The Seer had been right again, and he couldn't wait to move forward and see her come face to face with the Swan!

"They're her people, dearie!" he cried over his shoulder as he moved away. Her vanity mirror-where better to keep a genie? "You're gonna have to be content with the fear. They'll never love you."

"Yes, they will," she insisted almost dreamily. He moved to her vanity but saw nothing in that mirror, either. Instead, he leaned over her dressing table to smell the fresh flowers there that were cut so that she wouldn't guess that he was searching for her mirror friend. Flowers would look lovely in the foyer. Perhaps he could take some, and that might give his little maid an idea…not to mention something to do. He'd hate to see what idle hands on her would do when there wasn't a prisoner he needed her to interrogate. "When she is gone, when Snow is dead, then they will see my kindness."

"Through the charred remains of their homes. I'm sure that will be perfectly clear," he stated, moving about again. Where else could the creature be? If he could just sense his energy, understand how it worked, he might be able to come up with something!

"Well, in time, it will be. Her death will allow it. And I'm going to find her. Apparently, I have to do it myself."

He picked up a small handheld mirror that she kept on her vanity and sat in the chair with it. A mirror by a mirror, how odd unless one of them revealed a genie. Nothing! Though he could feel the same kind of magic he felt at the vanity, he saw nothing. He tapped it a few times as she spoke, but no genie appeared.

"Well, in that outfit, finding her should be easy," he joked, tapping again. Perhaps genie magic would always baffle him. It wasn't like him to give up, but he had a prisoner to question, and the blanket over the mirror would keep the magical man's prying eyes out of his home. He had to have his priorities.

"Teach me my mother's shape-shifting spell!" Regina gasped, suddenly excited. "Allow me to hide."

He resisted his urge to laugh, one had to remain calm and in control when making a deal, after all. Besides, while he was desperate to make the deal, it had to be for the right thing. He wanted it done now, and learning that spell was not something that could happen overnight. Regina needed something to work a bit quicker than the months it would take. Or rather, someone.

"It took your mother months to learn that. You? Well, in a week, you'll be able to, uh, change your hair? Highlights? Maybe."

Now it was Regina who angrily rolled her eyes and turned away from him, mad and upset…until the thought he wanted finally came to her, and she spun herself around.

"If I can't do the spell, you can!" she realized, coming closer. "Put it on me!"

Now…there was a request he would work a deal with.

"If I do, you won't control it," he warned, setting the mirror aside and rising once more. He'd have to investigate the genie later. "And you won't have any magic while the spell is working."

"I won't need magic," she insisted in a low and crazed tone. "Just as long as I can get close enough to snap her neck with my bare hands." Her jaw was set, her teeth were clenched, and in her eyes he saw the kind of blackness he needed for her to cast his curse. It was a risk, he supposed, letting her go out there to hunt the Princess that he needed alive. But the Seer hadn't been wrong yet. If this was to be, he had to assume that there was a lesson to be learned by Regina, a deal to be made for him, and life to give to Snow White and her future False Prince.

"I can see you're determined. And when the deed is done, call upon me," he instructed as she stood a distance away and prepared herself. "Only I can return you to your regal self."

"Hold on!" she burst out suddenly as he began to pull magic into him. He stopped and looked her over as her own eyes squinted suspiciously at him. "What's the price?"

"Boring matter of state," he smiled. "I need you to cut off all trade with King George's realm."

"King George? Why?"

"I need him to be bankrupt! What's it to you?!"

"Fine. Fine!" she cried, ending their spat. Why she suddenly cared about his affairs was beyond him. He was pleased to see her finally shaking her body in preparation, as if she were about to run a race instead of just have a spell placed on her. His business was his business. "Just do it. Time is of the essence."

He summoned his magic back into him again and began to pull an image into his head, an image of opposites. Instead of smooth well-done hair, he imagined the hair of a peasant, uncombed and unkempt. Instead of tall, he pictured short. He imagined weathered hands and skin in place of younger skin that had never worked a day in their life. He changed the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the subtly of her smile, even altered those cheekbones of hers. The final touch was what she wore. The regal clothes of a queen were too much for what he was trying to accomplish. Rags. He summoned them forth. Clothes made from poor quality wool that had been spun by a talentless hack, weaved together by someone just desperate to make copper. Then he released the image along with his magic. And when the smoke cleared, the woman he'd created in his mind's eye stood before him; rags and all. He let out a laugh. That had been even better than he imaged!

Regina, quite obviously, disagreed. Her smile instantly fell.

"I don't feel any different…" she looked herself up and down but immediately gravitated to what she was wearing. Naturally. He doubted she'd ever worn anything as poor as this in her entire spoiled life. Her dear mother would have a heart attack at the very thought. "Other than these ghastly rags…"

He wanted to jump up and down and clap his hands with happiness. "Ghastly rags." That was exactly what he'd been aiming for! He pointed toward her genieless vanity and escorted her to where she could see herself.

"This is what the world will see." Regina gasped as she looked in the mirror and saw the image he'd conjured in his head for her.

"Excellent!" she smiled turning this way and that. "I'm about as regal as a potato…"

If only she knew his origins, if only she'd seen her own mother once upon a time, she might look down a little less at the peasants around her. Which reminded him…

"Careful, dearie," he warned, biting his tongue. "A Queen strutting amongst peasants might not like what she hears."

Powerful as she was, she was also sheltered. Cora had seen to that and now he'd seen to it in her later years. She'd never not lived in a palace, and while the simple girl who'd wanted so desperately to run away a decade ago would have probably done well on her own, now Regina was a different person than she'd been. Now she was a queen, one who knew magic and had a fire in her heart for death. He knew she wasn't prepared for what awaited her out there. In the end, he hoped he could use it to his advantage.

"Won't matter," she laughed, wrapping a thin shawl around her. "When I'm done, they'll be singing my praises over her smoldering, villainous remains."

"If you say so," he muttered over her shoulder and into her ear. "Now…our deal…" he summoned into his hand a perfectly drafted royal decree, one that would bring an immediate halt to all trade with King George's land and force him to look elsewhere for allies, like King Midas' Kingdom perhaps where he knew there was so much more to trade than goods.

"Yes, yes," she took a quill that he offered and signed her name to it, not bothering to question how he'd already made sure her wax seal was on it perfectly. "I'll send it along-"

"Oh, don't worry about such things!" he scoffed, rolling it up and sending it to Theseus' Palace for Pirithous to find. "I've a little bird who can do the pesky paperwork for us."

"Fortunately, so do I…"

Ah yes…her black bird messengers…that annoying little habit she'd picked up from Maleficent. He watched as she waved her hand, probably attempting to summon one, but he smiled when he felt no flare of magic and she appeared confused. Had she forgotten already? This was going to be quite an interesting adventure for her.

"Don't forget, dearie! No magic!" he reminded her. "I'll take care of the paperwork. You just worry about your hunt…good luck!"

Now and Then Ch.1

Summary: You've had weird dreams before, right? Hell, who hasn't? Some were crazy even. It's completely normal, though. But unfortunately for you, they're becoming more vivid. More consistent. More intense. All while seeing someone… familiar? They all feel like you were there in the moment and you're really hoping they'll be calming down anytime soon. Or so you think…

This takes place many years after 'Who Killed Markiplier' and the viewer is you, the reader (if that makes any sense, I'm sorry). Some details of the WKM series will be tweaked but this is just my take of what happened after that night.

A/N: I'm really excited to have this story out. I kept this one in my drafts for sooo long. Years. Seriously, I've had it for years. It was for a different fandom but I thought WKM was a better fit for it. Keep in mind that this will be a "Xfem!Reader" story as it originally was a long time ago.

@justwritingscibbles @clanwarrior-tumbly @lcthebtswriter I'm tagging you guys because you truly inspire me to write and I can't thank you enough for that (I'd love your guy's feedback!). I really hope you enjoy.🧡

TW: Blood

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A warm glow of the morning sun gently hits your cheek and onto your desk through the classroom window. You were wearing a crimson colored t-shirt with a black knitted cardigan designed with a light brown aztec pattern your grandmother, who surprisingly has a good fashion sense, gave you as a gift followed by black leggings and classic black and white sneakers. While absentmindedly stroking the ends of your loose side-pony, soft chatter goes on as you and your classmates await for your professor’s arrival.

Although the volumes of the other conversations were tolerable, you made the mistake of sitting in front of two women who obviously don’t know what the word ‘whisper’ is. “Did you hear what Cindy did to get herself out of a speeding ticket after last night’s party?” Big parties were never your thing and you weren't exactly the kind of person who would be influenced by the wrong crowd. Her friend replying in the same manner, "Yeah! I heard they used his handcuffs and everything! Kinky, don't you think?”. You roll your eyes, 'Can anything be proper nowadays?', you thought.

All conversations come to a close as your psychology professor enters the room. The essence of old chalk lightly fills the room as the professor illustrates today’s topic and finishes with an opening to begin lecture. “The human brain. What wonders it can do to the body. Where perception completely goes out the window and twists it to make its own. It's your greatest strength, but it can also be your worst weakness. Let me tell you why…”

They go on about the lecture as you took your notes. Your concentration weighs on you as you haven't been sleeping well lately. Not to mention that the headache pulsating in your temple isn't helping your case here. The obnoxious women still go on gossiping behind you, not even paying attention to the class. This is getting frustrating to say the least. Finally as the professor explains the details of the next assignment, the campus bell chimes. Thank God.

Everyone exits the classroom, you collect your things and make a bee-line straight to the library as it was pouring rain. It's the one place you can really relax and get things done.. with the sacrifice of sleep, nonetheless. The library is quite big and surprisingly homey. Both floors and shelves are cherrywood, old chandeliers cover the ceiling as they beautifully accent the building with lighting that's not too bright but enough to get yourself lost into it's endless aisles. You head towards the back where nearly nobody goes and set your belongings down on the table. Letting out a small sigh, you basically plop yourself down onto the chair and begin studying.

Hours have passed by and your head has been bobbing for a bit now trying to power through it. Slumber ultimately wins, of course and you lay your head on your textbook. The atmosphere immediately changes and so does your outfit. You never understood why but it has been the same as all your other dreams. An early 1900s red dress with a nude colored shall, your hair and makeup neatly done up and held together with a nice black hat and pair of shoes. You seem to be in a really dark corridor with only a few doors on each side. By the end of the hall, you see a dimly lit entrance room and head towards there. This is giving you so many bad feelings about even walking through here. You're aware that your strange dreams have been happening more often and not only that you're curious, it's getting to the point to where it's seriously frightening you - even in your conscious state - and you need answers.... now.

You get to the room and everything looks like it has been before in the last dream you recall. Fresh blood still pooled on the ground, an elegant mirror cracked, and a revolver sitting on a couch nearby. You look around and there's not a soul in sight, you went to go investigate further. The entire building is well lit as you ventured on. You feel a strong presence that's not exactly inviting all around the house. 'This is a bad idea...', you thought. The air has gotten a little more chilly and the light seems to be dimming. You reach the den of the enormous house, you see that white tape still lies in the middle. With a loud clash making you startled, everything turns pitch black. You frantically turn around, trying to find a way out of this hell... until a figure randomly appears. You can barely see but they come ever so slightly closer to you. "Hello??", You call out - not earning any response. A moment passes and you try again, "Can you hear me? Where am I?". You suddenly feel defeated. You're not getting anywhere like this, you thought. That is until they finally respond but with a whisper, "You're back.... you have no idea.... how much I've missed you...". The voice is male, that much you can make out. It's deep but soft enough to where it can be enticing but by the way he just spoke, he's terrified and hurt. As the figure gets closer, you start to see clearly of who he is. He wears a nice black suit, white shirt slightly unbuttoned, hair ruffled and a little out of place. He has a strong physique as far as you can tell. His facial expression is damn near undetectable of what his true intentions are.... He's stalking his prey. This frightens you immediately and you head towards the opposite way to get the hell out.

The second you turned, the same man appeared right in front of you. But he looks different.... he's more put together, hair and shirt fixed to their rightful places. What distinguished him from the other figure was his face. He's scared, scared of what the other will do to you if he gets to you. Wasting no time, the other figure screams, " Y/N, GO!! RUN!!!!!" You suddenly violently awaken along with the sound of a thunder crash. You're back at the library again and it's near closing time. Panting, trying to catch your breath, you hold your head in your hands trying to process what had just happened. Something drips down your cheek. A tear? Or was it a cold sweat? You couldn't really tell at this point.. Of all the dreams you've had, this was the one that had actually left you terrified.....

Final Weapon

Jinhwan/JAY Scenario

Request: 7 + Jinhwan please for the prompt fic request hehehe

Prompt:  “Why do people give flowers? It’s not like you can eat or do something with it, I mean just buy me food.”

“You know what?”

“What.”

“You’re really fucking short.”

“Wow.”

“Stop asking me about which flower should you get for this freshman girl, what’s her name again? Uh… Suhyun? Yeah, that girl!”

Jinhwan groaned. “How’s that relevant to my height?!”

“I just feel the need to insult you that’s all.” You shrugged casually. “Why do people like getting flowers anyway?”

“What do you mean? Giving someone a bouquet of flowers is a great way to show your feelings, you know.” The man replied back with a sassy tone.

“How would I know? It’s not like I’ve been given any before...” You rolled your eyes.

“Ah yes, I forgot you’re one inexperienced little shit.” He stuck out his tongue, mocking you.

“Shut up, midget.”

Being friends with Jinhwan for the past five months had been one hell of a ride. You both met at the university, had a few same classes in both of your schedules, and clicked because one group project. Despite having quite the opposite life, him being kind of the popular guy while you on the other hand, not that much of a social person, you both became good friends anyway. Being friends with the oh-so popular guy, had two disadvantages: One being you got people talking behind your back, not that you really care, but it’s a downside alright, and two being he constantly got into and out of a relationship like he was changing clothes.

Not that him being somewhat of a playboy was your business, but it was a bit irritating that he would date one girl and brag it constantly to you, rubbing it on your face, since you had never been in a relationship before, or he would nag you and ask about what clothes he should wear on the date and stuff like that. But oh well, he was still tolerable, not that he had ever been in a stable relationship anyway. Besides, you out-sassed him, and that was a skill you could use in handling him.

“But seriously though, why do people give flowers? It’s not like you can eat or do something with it, I mean just buy me food.” You laughed. “I’ll be the happiest!”

“Are you looking for a partner or uber eats?” Jinhwan looked at you in disbelief.

“Definitely uber eats. Feeling some Taco Bell?” You said as you turned your back, laying down on the bed.

The guy sighed in defeat as a smile crept on his lips. “Why not.”

“Let’s order some for Junhoe too!”

“Ah, sure…”

**

The next few days, you went to Jinhwan’s dorm again, to finish the project you were doing last time. The project was due in four weeks, so both of you had scheduled to meet at least three times a week to finish it. But, you being you, you couldn’t work well with an empty stomach, but then again, you have class in an hour, so you decided to just wait and eat afterwards.

And long story short, you finished your “weekly group project session”, or whatever, and your Economy class. You went back straight to your dorm, hungry, planning to just drop your bag and go to the canteen, but then a text notification suddenly popped up in your phone. It was Jinhwan.

“Pizza? My treat.” 

You frowned. First of all, it was kind of a weird time for pizza, but meh, you loved a good pizza anytime so whatever. Secondly, it was even weirder for Jinhwan to suddenly ask you to eat with him, moreover, treating you. But then again there was reason number one so…

“Jinhwan?” You called as you entered his dorm room. “Oh, hey June.”

“Hey.” The tall guy greeted back. “Anyway, thanks for the Taco, I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet.”

“No probs! Just let me see some of your poetries again next time!”

“Hold on, you’ve seen his poetry?” Jinhwan suddenly butted in. “This asshole wouldn’t even let me touch the book!”

“It’s because we have Literature class together.” Junhoe reasoned.

“Sure, mate.” Jinhwan rolled his eyes. “Let’s go, I’m hungry.” He whined.

“Is he on his period?” Junhoe laughed.

You shrugged. “See ya, June!”

After ordering the food, both of you finally sat down and talk.

“So what’s this about?” You asked as you took a bite onto your pizza. “Is this about Suhyun cause I—“

“It’s about you.”

“Oh, it’s about— wait, WHAT?!” You almost spat out your food.

“I like you.”

“OOOOKAAY WH—” You coughed. “Are you drunk?! For fucks sake, the sun’s still up!”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m just messing around with you, chill.”

The hint of seriousness scared you for a good second, before it confused you. There was no way in heavens that a guy like him would suddenly like you romantically. Jinhwan liking you as a friend was bizarre enough for you. Neither he was drunk or his joke was getting lamer.

“Seriously though, anything you wanna talk about?”

“Do you have any idea what kind of place does a girl like Suhyun would probably like to go on a date?”

You scoffed. “So I was right!” Groaning, as you took another bite of the pizza. “She seems like a very sweet girl, so probably a cafe or an amusement park?”

“Hmm... what about you then?”

“What about me?”

“If someone were to take you on a date, where would be your go to?”

“Cinema sounds fun, but I don’t know, how would I know?!” You laughed. “But movie date really sounds like fun, you should probably ask Suhyun to go out for a movie this week...”

“Maybe.” He shrugged.

**

“Hey, wanna watch Aquaman this Saturday?”

“Eh?” You looked at your friend in disbelief. “Why? Don’t you hate superhero movies?!”

“Well, I wanna get on the trend, you know? Can’t risk not knowing anything when someone ask me about it.” He shrugged.

“Geez... whatever, it’s not like I got anything better to do.”

**

“The poster’s finally done!” You said loudly, grinning at your laptop screen. “Are you done with your part?”

“Almost.” Jinhwan said without taking his eyes of his work.

“Guys, can I borrow an eraser? I think I lost mine.” Junhoe suddenly said.

“Here— whoa! You’re growing out your hair?” You looked at the guy in excitement.

He took the eraser on your palm. “Nah, just too lazy to get it cut right now. I’ll probably get it cut next week.”

“It looks good! You should probably keep it for a while.”

**

“I think you need to cut your bangs...”

“Why?” Jinhwan said as he blew air towards his bangs.

“It clearly disturbs you as you write.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes. “I thought you didn’t like having your bangs growing out like that.”

Jinhwan didn’t reply, instead he groaned and suddenly stormed out from the room.

“What’s wrong with that guy?!” You said in total confusion.

“I’m so done with both of you...” Junhoe laughed.

**

The next morning, you texted Jinhwan and asked him about yesterday. You knew the guy could sometimes be a pain in the bum, but if something truly bothered him, you wanted to know. After all, he was still your dear friend and you cared about him.

But after finishing your class, waiting and waiting for him to respond, nothing. It was weird because Jinhwan was always the one to reply text very quickly, and you didn’t even see him outside your class. You wanted to brush it off because you know how moody the guy could be sometimes, but deep down you know you couldn’t.

It was until at ten in nighttime that a text notification from Jinhwan popped up on your phone, asking if you were asleep, telling that he wanted to meet.

As soon as you replied, confirming that you were awake, a knock came from your door. When you opened, you were greeted by the sight of Jinhwan with flowers in a small vase in his hands.

“Eh?”

“I’m sorry, at the end, you probably won’t get it unless I get you flowers...” He looked away. “Don’t worry, this one’s still practical, they’re artificial and you can... I don’t know, have it on your desk or something...”

“Jinhwan I... I don’t get it, you— d-do you?”

“I like you.” He smiled and sighed. “Feels great letting that out.”

“B-But how? I— wha— why???” You couldn’t form a complete sentence.

“Well, I bought you food, took you to see a movie, and even grew out my hair because you fucking said it looks good on Junhoe, but since you’re one tough shell, I guess I have to launch my last weapon.” He puffed his cheeks in annoyance.

“I’m so so sorry...” The guilt started to fill you up. “I— what should I do?”

He shrugged. “Since you have the hots for Junhoe, the answer is probably nothing.”

“WHAT?! No I don’t—“ You stopped when you realized you were literally screaming in front of your dorm room. “I think you should come in...”

“Finally!” He chuckled. “Oh, Hayi’s not here?”

“Be grateful that she isn’t, you know how nosy she could be sometimes...” You said as you sat down on your bed. “So again, I’m not into Junhoe.”

The guy smiled, this time more sincerely, then handed you the flowers. “Well, either way, this is yours now...”

You looked down to the flowers and went silent for a good second, before putting it down on your desk, near the window. You could felt something weird inside your stomach and it was practically killing you. Never once the thought of Jinhwan having feelings for you crossed your damn mind, and now that you were facing the situation, your mind was not prepared for it. But oddly, you didn’t feel bad about it, even stranger, you actually felt somewhat glad that it was him, and not someone else.

“I should probably go now, I’m only here to give you that.” He pointed to the flowers. “I know they’re artificial but take good care of them, alright?” He laughed.

“Wait...”

“T-Thanks...” You looked down. “I’m sorry I have to make you literally spell it out for me.”

He smiled. It was honestly calming seeing him this way rather than his usual sassy self. “Nah, it felt good saying it out loud.”

“Since when?” You asked nervously.

“Around months ago.” He casually said. “Couldn’t recall what time exactly.”

“Does that mean you didn’t actually like Suhyun?”

“I feel bad for using her as an excuse to get to know your dating preferences, but it happens.” He shrugged like it was nothing.

“I can’t believe I’m actually this dumb...” You facepalmed.

“Hey...” He stepped back closer. “Can’t force you to like me back, right?”

He moved even closer, and before actually realizing it, he was already inches away from your face, smiling. You were taken aback, so bad that all you could do was standing still like an idiot. When he moved again, you flinched, as you expected him to attack you, but nothing happened. Looking up, you saw him smiling before kissing your forehead softly.

“But winning your heart, that I can do.” He smirked.

Uh-oh, this is bad.

This is my first time ever writing something on Jinhwan, and honestly, this is fun, considering out of all iKON members, he is the one that I kinda find hard to think about romantically (idk why tho) 

I really see Jinhwan as a sassy guy but different kind of sassy than Junhoe, you feel me? 😅

As per usual, I’ll prolly come back here and then fixing up some grammatical errors and stuff :D

Hope yall like this story! 💖

crush 1/2

Hey, @high-seas-swan ! I was your secret santa! I’’m terribly sorry that this is so late and that I’m only posting one part of it. I suddenly took ill yesterday and I couldn’t get out of bed, let alone write. I hope you like the story! AUs are not my strong point but I did my best. I’ll try to post the next part as soon as possible.

If Killian is being honest, the whole reason he meets Emma Swan is all because of those damn Pop Tarts.

 He doesn’t normally get unholy cravings for junk food at strange hours, but there’s a first for everything, Killian supposes as he enters the grocery store at 9 pm, pulling his beanie down over his eyes self consciously, hoping desperately that he doesn’t get noticed. The last thing he needs is for a line of fans asking for his autograph. And Killian, soft hearted fool that he is, can never bring himself to deny them.

 He’s studiously browsing the selection of Pop Tarts like any normal, functioning adult, when someone steps beside him, saying, “I recommend the chocolate ones. They’re pretty damn awesome.”

 Killian freezes in place for a moment before turning to look at the owner of the voice. It’s a young woman who looks to be about his age. She’s bloody gorgeous, with her long golden curls and sparkling green eyes. Killian does his best not to stare, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. She doesn’t seem to recognize who he is, thankfully.

 “The chocolate?” he manages to get out, hoping his blush isn’t too obvious. She nods.

 “They’re perfect for anyone with a sweet tooth.”

 Killian picks up the box and offers her a smile. “Well, thank you for your input, Miss…?”

 She smirks and he does his best to look innocent, knowing his attempt to find out her marital status wasn’t exactly subtle. She doesn’t seem offended though, so there’s that.

 “Swan. Emma Swan.”

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you then, Swan.”

 Emma grins at his use of her last name and tips her head in a nod, picking up her own box of Pop Tarts and walking away. Killian stares after her for a few moments, a dazed look on his face. He isn’t one to develop schoolboy crushes, especially not at his age but damn.

Emma Swan is truly the loveliest woman he’s met in a while and although he’s only talked to her for about thirty seconds, Killian can’t help but hope he’ll see her again.

 When he heads back home, Pop Tarts in tow and sits at his laptop, he can feel the writer’s block that had plagued him for the last couple of days slip away. Killian types away for the next couple of hours before he finally gets up, stretching his limbs, to gorge on the sugary snack that he definitely has no business eating.

 (It’s delicious.)

 “Henry, I got your snacks,” Emma calls out as she shuts the apartment door behind her. Her twelve year old son is curled up on the couch with a book, other novels of  the same series scattered around him. Emma grins when he doesn’t even lift his head, clearly engrossed in what he’s reading.

 She clears her throat. “Kid.”

 Henry looks up, then. “Oh, hey, mom,” he puts his book down and jumps off the couch to relieve her of the snacks. Emma glances around at the cluttered living room and sighs.

 “Let’s clear this mess up and then eat, kid.”

 Henry grumbles, but does as she says gathering up his books in his arms to put away. Emma picks up the one he missed, idly flicking open the cover and her jaw drops.

 The photo of the author, Killian Jones, is the cute guy she met in the grocery store.

 “Oh my god,” Emma mutters. Henry will never let her hear the end of it he gets to know that she ran into his favorite author and didn’t even get him an autograph. In Emma’s defense, he didn’t really look like a bestselling author. Sure, he was ridiculously hot, but in an adorable kind of way, with his rumpled hair sticking out from under his beanie and his bright, absurdly blue eyes. Of course, this explains the deer-in-headlights look on his face when she spoke to him. He was probably afraid of being recognized.

 Shaking her head, Emma puts the book down. Really, what were the chances that she ran into a famous author at a grocery store of all places? It sounds absurd and she’s sure that Henry would be skeptical if she told him.

 Well, there’s no use dwelling on it.

 It’s not like she’s ever going to see the guy ever again.

  Between working on his novel and attending fan conventions, Killian barely has any time to think about Emma Swan.

 But once everything has settled down and his only real responsibility is finishing the final draft of his book and taking care of himself (he’s incredibly bad at the latter, and he’s sure his brother would give him hell about it if he were here.), Killian finds himself visiting the store where he met Emma more and more, clinging on to a rather pathetic hope of seeing her. He feels like a bloody teenager with a crush and knows he should’ve asked for her number when he met her, but here he is.

 And a couple of weeks later, Killian actually does run into her.

 It’s not at the grocery store, but in a bookshop run by a dear friend of Killian’s, Belle French. He stops at the counter, chatting with her, when Emma Swan sweeps into the shop past him, her blonde hair swinging over her shoulder.

 Killian makes some kind of hasty excuse to Belle and ignoring her knowing smirk, he hurries after Emma.

 “Hello, Swan!” Her body stills and when she turns to face him, to Killian’s relief, she at least seems to remember him.

 “Oh, hey,” Emma gives him a kind of hesitant smile, fiddling with her bag. “Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

 “This happens to be one of my favorite haunts, Swan.”

 Emma laughs. “I guess it would be surprising if it weren’t, seeing as you’re a writer and all that.” At his stunned look, she smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t really who you were until I got home and saw my son buried in one of your books.”

“Ah, I see,” Killian chuckles. “It’s rather refreshing to not be recognized, I suppose. You have a son, you said? How old is the lad?”

 Emma smiles proudly. “Twelve. His name is Henry. He loves reading, and he loves your books even more. In fact-you’ve got to give me an autograph for him. He’ll be furious if he knows that I met you and I didn’t get him an autograph.”

 “Well, we can’t have that, now,” Killian pulls a notepad out of his pocket and grins at her incredulous look. “Writer, love.”

 Along with his autograph, Killian leaves a little message for Henry. After a bit of hesitation, he writes his number on another sheet and hands both pages to Emma. She raises a brow at it.

 “You’re subtle,” Emma says drily. Killian laughs nervously.

 “You can’t blame a man for trying, love.”

 “Look-“ Emma hesitates and Killian feels his heart sink. “I’m really not-I’m really not up for dating right now. You’re really sweet, but-“

 “That’s alright, love,” Killian interrupts. “I suppose I was too forward, anyhow.”

 “No, no,” she reassures him. “You weren’t, I’m just-not ready, I guess.”

 Killian nods. “I understand, Swan,” He really does. After he lost his wife, Milah in a car accident, he’d been in a terrible place and it had taken almost five years to even consider dating again. “I would, however, be honored to have the pleasure of your friendship.”

 Emma’s eyes widen and she looks rather suspicious. “Really?”

 “Really,” Killian confirms. “I may be a bestselling author, but I don’t exactly have a lot of friends, and I’d love to have you as one. I solemnly swear that I will not attempt to woo you-unless you wish for it, of course.” He waggles his eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes.

 “Keep dreaming, buddy,” but she’s smiling, and clutches the papers a little tighter. “But, uh, thanks for the autograph. Henry will be over the moon. Speaking of which-“ she checks her watch. “I’d better pick up Henry’s book for him now if I don’t want to be late for work.”

 “Which book?”

 “One of yours, actually. The book which was released lately.”

 “Ah. Well, I hope he’ll enjoy it,” Killian says. “I must be off, myself. But I trust I’ll hear from you soon?”

 Emma laughs and shakes her head. “Sure thing.”

 Killian heads home and nothing can take the wide, goofy smile off his face for the rest of the day.

 He might not have gotten the right to court Emma yet, but he has gotten her friendship and that in itself is a true gift.

 “You met Killian Jones?!” Henry nearly screeches.

 Emma smiles at his excitement and holds out the autograph wordlessly. Henry takes it almost reverently, his mouth hanging open as he tries to process the news.

 “What was he like?” Henry asks breathlessly.

 Oh, you know. Hot, kind of adorable and he sort of asked me out. But none of those are appropriate answers. Emma shrugs in an attempt to be casual. “He was…interesting.”

 Henry is no longer listening, too absorbed in the autograph. Emma grins and leaves him to it, shutting herself in her room before she takes out the sheet of paper with Killian’s number on it.

 If she’s being honest, the idea of dating him is pretty appealing. He’s cute, funny and clearly interested in her. Emma knows that by societal standards, she’s crazy for saying no. But something about the way she feels drawn to this man and finds herself laughing and smiling in his presence a bit more than usual is dangerous. The last time Emma opened her heart to someone, it backfired in the worst way possible.

 She can’t take that risk again.

 Killian had taken her by surprise, though. Few of the men who have asked her out over the years were interested in nothing more than getting into her pants. But this man-he took her rejection gracefully and even asked for her friendship, to boot.

 Emma hesitates for just a few minutes longer before she messages him.

 Hey.

 It’s Emma, from the bookstore.

 It takes a few more minutes, but he responds.

 Hello, love. Good to hear from you.

 Emma grins widely at the reply, firmly ignoring the flutter in her chest at being called ‘love’ even over text.

 Henry was thrilled with the autograph.

 Killian replies immediately.

 Glad to hear it! How does he like the new book?

 He just started it, which probably means I won’t get a peep out of him till tomorrow morning.

 Well, that’s quite flattering. :)

 Emma snorts at the message, shaking her head.

 Someone’s got a big ego.

 Guilty as charged, love.

 They text for a while longer, but Emma has to cut the conversation short soon so she can see about getting Henry’s dinner ready. But long after, and through dinner, Killian lingers on her mind.

 It’s nice to have a friend. Emma doesn’t have all that many. If she thinks about it, she can only count David, her partner in the BPD and his wife, a sweet school teacher named Mary Margaret. They’re both perfectly lovely and are like the family Emma never had, but she never got along with them as quickly as she is with Killian.

 The thought should worry her, but it’s only friendship, so it’s going to be okay, right?

 (At least, Emma hopes so. She has a habit of screwing up all her relationships.)

 When she’s getting ready for bed, she receives another message from Killian.

 You mentioned a job, but I still don’t know what your chosen profession is, Swan.

 Emma stifles a laugh at his over-the-top way of asking about her work and replies.

 I’m a detective in the BPD.

 He sends her a shocked emoji in reply and Emma can’t hold back her laughter this time.

 That sounds exciting! Got any intense cop stories for me?

 That depends, are you going to be entirely unoriginal and use them in your books?

 I would never!

 Well then, there was this one time…

  When the phone rings, Killian looks up from his computer in interest, hoping it’s Emma and sinks a little in disappointment when he realizes it’s only his editor.

 He’s developed a fairly good friendship with Emma over the past week. Their constant texting might be distracting him from his work, but at least he’s finished the final draft of his book, right? They talk about every topic imaginable-from perks and cons of their jobs to their plans for the Christmas holidays-which are three months away. (She’ll be spending the holidays in Boston itself with Henry. Killian will have his brother, Liam and his wife, Elsa, visiting him.)

 It’s been a good week.

 “Good evening, Tink,” Killian greets his editor. She’s become a close friend over the years and her services as his editor have been invaluable. “Did you read the draft?”

 “I did,” Tink says. “And I noticed something pretty interesting.”

 Killian frowns and opens up the draft on his laptop. He doesn’t think there is anything particularly extraordinary in it. “What did you notice?”

 “It has a bit of an emotional tinge to it,” Tink observes. “Your stories tend to focus more on the plot and as such, but there’s more emphasis on the relationships, this time. Particularly the romantic ones.”

 Killian shifts uncomfortably. He has an inkling of why that happened. “Is that a problem?”

 “Oh no, not at all,” Tink assures him. “It’s just…did you meet someone recently?”

 Killian winces. He’d been dreading this. He loves Tink, he really does, but her love for match making can be…trying, at times.

 “Maybe,” He says evasively and then quickly, before she can question him further, “But how was the draft?”

 “Good,” Tink says briskly, all business now. “It needs plenty of tweaking, of course, but this has great potential, Killian. It could be your best book yet.”

 Killian sags in relief. “That’s good to hear.”

 “Mm. Well, I’ve gotta go. I’ll send you my thoughts on it later.”

 “Thanks, Tink.”

 “No problem.” She hangs up and Killian stares at his phone with a grin, feeling excitement bubble up in him. His best book yet…that certainly sounds promising.

 He messages Emma immediately.

 Swan!

 Her reply comes almost immediately. What?

 I have wonderful news. My next book is coming along pretty well.

 I’d be concerned if it didn’t. You are a professional writer, after all.

 Hush, Swan, why can’t you be as enthused as I am and congratulate me?

 And feed your ever growing ego? Perish the thought.

 Killian frowns, and calls her.

 “Must you be so heartless, Swan?”

 “Always,” comes the cheerful reply. “I’m sure you have thousands of fans building up that pride of yours…someone has to bring you back down to earth.”

 “I’m starting to rethink my offer of friendship, love.”

 Emma laughs and the sound makes his heart jump. “Too late, Jones. You’re already in way too deep.”

 “I suppose I am,” Killian mutters with a sigh.

 If knowing Emma for but a week already has him blushing like a schoolboy at her calls and having her on his mind all the time, then, he’s bloody well buggered, isn’t he?

 It would be so incredibly easy to fall in love with her.

 And Killian isn’t sure if he wants to stop himself from doing so.

  “Mom, who are you texting?”

 Emma freezes guiltily, fingers hovering over her phone. Henry, of course, still has no idea that she’s struck up an unlikely friendship with his favorite author. She knew she had to tell him at some point, but she just couldn’t figure out how.

 It seems he’s beat her to it.

 “Killian Jones,” she mumbles and Henry’s eyes go wide.

 “What?” Before Emma can protest, he snatches the phone out of her hands and stares at the chain of texts in amazement. “Mom! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

 Emma shrugs helplessly and holds out her hand for her phone. Henry gives it back before launching into an interrogation.

 “When did this start? Why are you guys texting anyway? Did he tell you anything about his new book?”

 Emma patiently answers all these questions as well as she can. At the end of her explanation, Henry’s eyes are shining with excitement and he’s practically bouncing in his seat.

 “Mom, you’ve got to invite him over for dinner.”

 Emma blinks in surprise. “Henry…” she begins. “He’s a busy man, I don’t think…”

 Henry waves his hand impatiently. “He can’t be all that busy if he finds the time to send you funny cat videos, Mom,” Emma blushes at that and Henry continues, oblivious to her embarrassment. “Mr. Jones is my favorite author. It’s not fair that you’re the only one getting to talk to him all the time!”

 Realizing that there’s no way Henry’s going to let up on this and having a feeling that Killian would be all too delighted to come over, Emma relents with a sigh. “Fine, kid. I’ll see what I can do.”

 “Yes!” Henry bounds off his chair and hugs her. “You’re the best, Mom!”

 Emma smiles and kisses his hair and begins to think that this may not be such a bad idea, after all.

Ready to Leap (Chapter 33)

AU with B as a band teacher and reader as an English teacher. Fluff and smut. Chapters 1-32 can be found on my Masterlist.

Brendon x reader. Warnings: language and dirty talk and oral. I didn’t proofread this; I finished it at 8pm and then fell asleep as I was copying and pasting it here.

Word count: 4.2k

-||-

You’re humming to yourself as you pass back test papers and the kids exchange glances. You notice but assume, reasonably, that they’re trying to communicate silently about their grades.

“He must have fucked her good; she’s in a better mood.”

“Right? It’s amazing what a good dick can do to a bitch.”

You freeze and pivot on your heel. Brian and Eric go pale and Jessica lets out a squeal of panic. “What did you just say?” Your voice is cold and level and you think Jessica might faint. Neither comment was hers of course; this was an exchange solely between Brian and Eric but she seems the most frightened. That’s probably justified, as far as the boys are concerned, all things considered. “Perhaps I was not clear. What. Did. You. Just. Say?” You’re quieter now and Eric opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Brian is a deep flushed red and you wait.

“I- we-“ Eric finally manages before he falls silent and you close your eyes for a moment. When you open them, both boys are frozen, petrified.

“Get out.” They don’t move. “Was I unclear? Get out of my room.” They stand and head for the door and you shake your head. “Oh no, take your things. You will not be back in my room today.”

“Are we going to the main office or Mr. Franklin’s office?” It’s a reasonable question; if you don’t have time to send the referral to the main office, they’ll go to Mr. Franklin’s office, otherwise known as the holding room. They aren’t looking at you.

“Neither.” You wait until they look up at you in confusion. “You’re going to Mr. Urie’s.” And just when you thought they couldn’t get paler... “And you’re going to tell him what you just said and explain to him why you thought it was an appropriate thing to say. And after that, I don’t know what will happen, because I’m leaving it up to him. You want to talk about his fiancée?” You might be crossing a line but you’re so angry that you don’t really care. You wave your left hand at them and you think they might throw up. Anyone who has either you or Brendon as a teacher knows how besotted he is with you; now that you’ve come home, and not that the students know this but, he’s more protective and devoted than ever. He’s going to lose his fucking mind when he hears this. “Fine. Talk about me. But there are consequences and you get to deal with him now. Good luck, gentlemen. Good luck.” You let out a short peal of laughter as you usher them out of the room and shut the door behind them.

-||-

Brendon’s eyes narrow in confusion. “Gentlemen.” He pauses, the open door in his hand. “How can I help you?”

Brian and Eric exchange glances and Eric speaks. “Ms. Milton sent us.” Brendon’s eyes change instinctively at the mention of your name, but he’s even more alert now. He told you early in your time at the school to send kids who were pissing you off to him so both parties could cool down and that moment has arrived. Brendon ushers them in and they linger by his office door. “We’re...uh...we’re supposed to tell you what we said to her.” Eric mumbles. Brian gives him an elbow and Eric shoots him a dirty look. “You know she’s going to tell him anyway and then we’ll only get in trouble for not following her instructions.”

“Gentlemen.” Brendon is growing impatient. His class is growing restless. There’s a prickling sensation going up the back of his neck; these kids have done something to you, he can tell. “Why are you here?”

Eric and Brian look at each other again and, resignation in their eyes, repeat in a low voice the exchange that got them sent to Brendon in the first place.

Brendon reels. He must have blacked out. Surely he misheard. No fucking way these kids actually said that to you. About you. Whichever. “You said what?” They have the decency to look humiliated and Brian shakes his head anxiously. “Oh no,” Brendon snaps, “you said it once and were clearly quite pleased with yourselves, so you can say it again. I want to be absolutely sure of what I’m hearing, of what you said to that woman.” He’s furious. The class behind him is mute. They didn’t hear what Eric and Brian said, but they must be able to tell from Brendon’s words and posture that it’s serious. “What did you say?” They repeat it again, even more quietly this time, and Brendon has to count backwards from ten with his eyes shut before he can even think about discipline. He’s so glad you sent them to him; so glad he gets to be the one to drop the hammer. Right now though, he can’t even look at them. “I can’t even begin to express how upset I am,” he tells them. “Truly. I am just stunned and disappointed. Not just as a teacher hearing this from a student, but as a man, hell, as a person. The amount of disrespect you showed Ms. Milton -I- my god, I cannot even look at you. I am so disappointed.” His voice doesn’t betray his emotions, but his eyes do. He’s furious. He’s livid. His eyes aren’t his own; they’re sharp and narrow and more suited to a wolf, teeth bared and body tense, prepared to defend its mate. He realizes in this moment he would kill for you. Not these two morons, but in general. “You need to go sit in the corner and so help me god, do not let me see you until the end of class when I speak to you again.”

-||-

“So what do you feel is an appropriate punishment?” Brendon is leaning against his desk in the last five minutes of class and the boys cower on the couch opposite. His eyes haven’t changed, despite his casual body language.

Eric is quick to speak. “A letter of apology to you both.”

Brendon raises an eyebrow. “And?”

Brian’s turn. “And a letter of apology to the class. We disrupted class and took Ms. Milton’s time away from others and it was rude.”

Brendon nods. That’s surprisingly perceptive of them. “And?”

“And probably ISS.”

Brendon nods. “I’d agree with all of those. Two letters each, two days of ISS each. And that’s just from me. Administration might have more in store. Now,” and he smiles, “get out of my room. Mr. Franklin will be expecting you by the time you arrive.”

-||-

The late bell for second block is just ending and you’re about to pull your door shut, but your hand freezes in the air. He’s headed down the hall towards you. You step back into the hall and he steps closer, closing the door behind you. “Hi,” you whisper, smiling.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, holding out his arms. You step into them and he wraps you tightly in them. “The flowers I ordered for today haven’t arrived yet and I thought about waiting for them so I could deliver them myself, but I couldn’t wait to see you.”

“But your stu-“

“They’ll be fine. And I’m not staying long. But seriously, I couldn’t go another ninety minutes without seeing you, holding you. Not after that stunt those guys pulled.” You make a face. “I can’t tell you how angry I was. I’m still pissed, honestly. You’re just -“ his voice breaks off and he takes a deep breath. “Thank you for letting me handle them.” His voice is soft now and you step back to look at him and he takes your hand and rubs his thumb over the back of it. “Seriously. I can’t believe they said that.”

“I’m not surprised, honestly. Teenage boys can be awful.”

Brendon frowns and you shrug, going up on your tiptoes to give him a simple, chaste kiss. He smiles and you see the tension leave his shoulders. “Are you in a better mood though? Since we-?” He lets the question hang in the air and he raises his eyebrows suggestively. You nod and he grins. “So they were right. Inappropriate-“ he says quickly, holding up his hands when he sees your face, “-but right.”

“Technically,” you admit grudgingly and his grin widens. “But we will never repeat that.”

”Never,” Brendon swears, kissing your forehead. “Hey,” he says after a moment. “I’m gonna let you go teach your class, you know, do your job, but come see me during planning?”

“Okay.” You squeeze his hand and smile up at him. “I’ll see you later. I love you more.”

He breaks out into a smile. “I love you more too.”

-||-

“Homecoming is this Friday,” Brendon tells you, and you nod, well aware. Your kids have been shirking their homework in favor of floats. “And were chaperoning the dance Saturday.”

“Agh.” You let out a short groan. “I remember that now.” You catch the look on his face and speak quickly. “I’m excited, don’t get me wrong. But there’s just so much work to do. The end of November is always a rough month, grading-wise.”

“You’ll still come to the game though, right?” Brendon looks worried and you nod.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it. I know the band does a different performance for homecoming.”

“Yeah,” Brendon rolls his eyes. “Fucking Can You Feel The Love Tonight.” He grimaces. “But the crowd loves it, so…”

“And you know how to please.” You cross the space between you to kiss him softly. He grins and curves a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place and you sigh happily when his tongue finds yours. You both linger in the embrace, slowly teasing the other and it’s not until his hand starts creeping up your thigh and under your skirt that you pull back, a little breathless. “Yeah, Brendon, you know how to please, fuck, baby...” you’re captivated by him, the swell of his lower lip and the way he bites it in concentration as his fingers work their way higher, tracing over the lace he finds there.

“Yeah I do, but you’re the only one I really care about pleasing,” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours before moving swiftly to your earlobe and down your neck, pressing firmly. “Gonna let me?”

“Shouldn’t,” you whisper, grinning. “Shouldn’t, because I’ll get worked up and distracted and won’t be able to focus and then I’ll do a bad job in class.”

He pouts and pulls his hand out. “You’ve never said no.”

You take a teasing tone. “I’m trying this new thing called being responsible. I hate it so far.” You grin and kiss him firmly. “But it kinda makes everything sexier, right? Saying no, delaying until we’re home? Keeping us both on edge, wanting…”

He gives you an incredulous look. “Babygirl, I’m always on edge, wanting you.” You whimper at the name and he grins, tapping your nose. “But you want to say no and delay. So we’re gonna delay. And I bet you’ll be begging for it by the time we get home.” He eyes you longingly. “I want you to be begging for it.”

-||-

His lips ghost over your shoulder. “Call in sick tomorrow.” You’re tangled up in each other, arms and legs a mess in the sheets that are clinging to you. You’re drowsy; four orgasms tends to do that to you. You’re just starting to fall asleep when his lips first touched your skin, and a thrill went through you; you thought he wanted to go for a fifth. “Seriously. Call in sick tomorrow.”

“Don’t you mean today?” You turn in his arms and he nips at you playfully when you point at the alarm clock, glowing with a time just past midnight.

“Technicality.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes with one hand. God, he’s gorgeous.

“Whatever. Call in sick? Brendon…” you sound unsure and he runs his hand over your hip. “It does sound nice.”

“‘Course it does.” He’s nuzzling your shoulder again before looking at you with his “let me fuck you” eyes. Fuck, they’re working. “Lazy morning sex, breakfast in bed, more sex, binge watching movies and Chinese food for lunch, afternoon sex followed by a long, steamy shower,” his mouth moves up quickly to linger by your ear. “During which I will almost definitely eat you out again and get you coming on my face,” and his lips are moving down your neck as his fingers tease down into the curve of your hip bone. “Snuggling on the couch, falling asleep all tangled up in each other, mouths and hands all over each other, and really,” and his fingers slip against you, “really,” and he’s stroking you so slowly and gently, “really,” and then his fingers are in you, curving and spreading, “drawn out, slow,” and his mouth moves back up your neck to your ear, “passionate,” and his tongue traces the shell of your ear, “sex.” His hand moves against you gently, the palm of his hand massaging your clit as his fingers work. You laugh and he pulls back, looking only slightly offended. “Excuse me. Why are you laughing?”

You try to stifle your laugh. “I didn’t expect the word ‘sex,’ that’s all.”

Brendon chuckles now too, his fingers stilling. You whimper and roll against his palm, and he kisses your forehead. “Sorry, baby.” His fingers start moving again. “As for my word choice, ‘fucking’ felt wrong. I don’t intend to fuck you.”

“Ooooh,” you say playfully, batting your eyelashes at him. “We gonna make loooooove instead?”

“Maybe,” Brendon murmurs, his free hand caressing your face. “Maybe we are. Maybe I’m going to make love to my gorgeous wife.” He cradles your head in his hand and kisses you firmly, tongue finding yours and fingers slowing but curling exactly how you need. You moan against his lips and tangle your hands in his hair, arching and rolling against him. “But,” and he pulls back to look at you longingly. “That can only happen if we call in sick.” You hesitate and consider. He can see you weakening. “Do it. Call in sick. Just do it.” He grins and kisses you again. “You know you wanna.”

“Okay, fine,” you say with a laugh, burying your face in his chest. “But I expect really good breakfast in bed. French toast.”

“You can have French toast for breakfast.”

You must look confused. “What are you going to have for breakfast then?”

“I’m gonna eat your pussy for breakfast.” His tone is level, neutral almost, and you can’t tell if he’s kidding or not. “Til you’re screaming my name.”

“You make a very compelling offer, Mr. Urie,” you murmur, stretching under him. “Good thing I have emergency sub plans written.”

-||-

“One more,” Brendon coaxes, kissing your inner thigh as his fingers piston in and out of you. “One more for me, baby.” You’re reclining on the couch, your knees are bent and he’s stretched out between your legs, his lips slick and swollen.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, biting your lip. “I’m gonna fucking-“

“Here’s a challenge,” he says with a grin. “You’re not allowed to use the word ‘fuck’ for the rest of the day.”

“But-“ you begin to protest, and he shakes his head, trying not to laugh. “Fine,” you say softly, both hands gripping his head. “Just eat me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, licking at you eagerly. “My good girl can be bossy when she really wants it, huh?”

“I just don’t like being teased like this,” you tell him and he chuckles, promising he’d never tease you too long.

“I love this too,” he reminds you. “Maybe more than you.” You must give him a face that reflects your doubt and he grins, running his tongue over you with a happy sigh. “I do. I love the smooth skin of your inner thighs, how you clench around my face, the way you get so fucking wet for me and you’re just...god, you’re just ready for me and you’re so willing and you just…” he stares up at you almost reverently. “You just spread your legs and you’re so good and so sweet and God, so responsive and the way you grab my hair and grind against my face and ride my tongue...if this was the only thing we could ever do in bed, it would be more than enough for me. I could, and do, get off when you come on my face.” And with that, he’s back between your legs, making the dirtiest sounds, gasping and moaning, as his tongue goes deep.

“I love you so much,” you gasp, your hips rolling and your hands tugging at his hair. “Don’t stop, God, Brendon, please don’t stop.” He groans and you hook your toe into the waistband of his sweatpants and push. He doesn’t stop licking and sucking but rocks his hips hard and using his free hand, the one that had been gripping your ass, he shoves his sweatpants down and kicks them off, grinding against the couch cushions and panting. He pulls back suddenly and breathes hard, staring at you. “Why’d you - what?” You blush, shifting and reaching for the blanket on the back of the couch to cover yourself, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“No, don’t,” he says softly, stopping you. “You’re- god. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever - and in this lighting-“ and you shift again, feeling the warm sun come in through the living room windows “ - god, you’re…fuck, babygirl, you’re just...you’re breathtaking,” he manages, eyes still wide. “Can I touch myself?” You nod and he groans happily, closing his fist around his erection and stroking roughly while his eyes take you all in. “I love you so much.” Hand still working, he rests his head on your lower stomach, breathing hard.

“I love you too,” you whisper, stroking his hair. “God, I love you too.” He’s kissing your stomach so gently, tenderly, as he moves back down to where you both want him most. “Brendon,” you sigh, and he kisses and licks at you, eyes on yours. “Make me come, baby.”

His eyes, damn, his eyes are wide and dark and locked on yours; his mouth is moving over you, licking and stroking with his tongue. You could die from the hot pressure of his tongue and lips; he’s moaning again as he moves up higher and his top lip rests on your pelvis as his tongue rolls frantically, greedily over your wetness. His moaning is lower now and he’s abandoned his hand to really grind into the couch, hips flexing.

“Brendon,” you tug at his hair. “Baby.” He pauses, confused, and you smile sleepily. “Don’t come on the couch. Not as easy to clean as the bedsheets.”

“Well,” he says with a quick smile, “I’d better stop then. Want me to order lunch?”

You nod and he crawls up over you and you wiggle forward so he can stretch out between you and the back of the couch. You can feel the heavy, hot weight of his erection against you and you whimper, wiggling back against him. He’s almost in you; the tip of his cock is brushing against you. “Sesame chicken please,” you tell him. He kisses your neck and dials the phone.

As soon as he starts talking, you snake a hand back and in between your bodies so you can grasp his erection and hold him in place. “Oh fuck,” he gasps quietly when you brace yourself against the couch arm with one hand and sink down onto him. You stretch a leg out and rest it on top of him, so he can thrust and you can grind freely.

“So hard for me,” you sigh happily as you start to move your hips in small circles. “And leaking too; so sexy when I play with your cock and you’re already wet and slick, ready to come in me.” He’s trying to focus on the phone call but you’re definitely distracting him. “Gonna come in me, baby? Love when you bite my neck and your hips rock forward and you come in me. Feels so good, so hot, so possessive. Love having your cum in me for the rest of the day, reminding me how good you made me feel and how you’re gonna give it to me so good later again...damn, Brendon,” and you rock back against him, squeezing tightly. .

“Baby,” Brendon hisses, his free hand moving to your breasts. “I’m almost-“ and he takes a shuddering breath. “Yes ma’am, that’s everything. Yes.” He confirms the address and thanks her again before hanging up and dropping his phone. His lips attach to your neck and his hand closes over your hip. “Ah, fuck, now…” he groans, body stiffening and you feel him start to come. “Oh fuck,” he mutters, resting his head in the crook of your neck as he grabs your hip and pulls you closer as his hips buck rapidly behind you. “My sweet girl, my good girl.” He wraps an arm around your waist while the arm in between his body and the couch slips up and thumbs over your nipple at the exact moment his teeth sink into your neck. You don’t mean to, but you let out a piercing squeal as you come, and he moves his fingers from your breast to your mouth, and you suck greedily, moaning around his fingers as you both tremble with your orgasms. “That’s it babygirl, suck,” he says in a tight voice, cock still twitching deep in you. “That’s my good girl.”

You feel your climax subside and while you’re still faint from it, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with an exhausted whimper. “You came a lot,” you mumble, squeezing around his length again. “Feel so full.”

“You made me come a lot,” he corrects you with a yawn. “Jesus, I need…I don’t even know what I need.”

“Chinese food. We need Chinese food,” you tell him, raising your hips and letting his cock slip from you before you turn in his arms and slip down the length of his body. He grabs your hair and groans when you take him in your mouth and you pull off of his length with a smile. “Gotta clean you up.”

“Jesus Christ,” he moans, watching your head move as you take him deeper before you pull back to suckle at the tip, tongue teasing the slit. “I’ve got nothing else to give you, babygirl,” he tells you in a tight voice. “Trust me, I’d love to come in your mouth, but I am tapped out.”

You kiss the tip and smile up at him. “That’s okay. I just like sucking your dick.” You swallow him down again, whimpering in pleasure when he groans and your fingers slide in deep. “And,” you say with a gasp, “love fingering myself after you come in me.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Brendon groans, cupping your face. “You gorgeous thing.”

-||-

“Damn,” Brendon murmurs, holding you at arm’s length. “You look good.”

You blush and roll your eyes. It’s Friday night and it’s time for the homecoming game and you forgot how cold it gets at night, so Brendon slipped his band jacket onto your body with a kiss on your forehead. “I don’t.” He frowns at you and taps your nose. “Fine, I look good.”

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees, grinning. “You always look good in my clothes. You gonna be warm enough?” You nod and stick your hands in the pockets. “Okay.” He looks uncertain. “Let me know. I probably have blankets somewhere.” He checks his watch. “But we gotta go for march-on. Come on, baby.” He tucks you under his arm and you set off to meet the band where they’re warming up behind the home end zone.

The march-on goes smoothly, the fight song is great as usual, and you retreat to the stands to watch the game. Brendon keeps you under his arm, snuggled in against his body, his lips brushing against your temple often and his hand holding yours whenever the band isn’t playing.

When halftime comes, you both make your way back down to the field. They march on and form a heart. “Cute,” you tell him, and he groans under his breath. Marissa scales the drum major’s stand and brings them to attention, and they’re off.

He stands behind you, arms wrapped tight around your waist. “Can you feel the cock tonight?” He sings quietly in your ear. “The peace love making brings…” You elbow him, giggling, and he chuckles, hips rocking forward imperceptibly, just enough for you to feel the stirrings of his erection. “Am I gonna get lucky after the game?” He murmurs, kissing your cheek.

“As long as you don’t wanna hook up under the bleachers,” you say with a grin. “I’m sure something can be arranged.”

We only see as far as the headlights - Chapter 3: The Change

Wednesdays become Alec's favourite days and he finds himself thinking about Magnus quite often. Later, there's a Lightwood family meeting, that Alec's not so eager to attend…

read on ao3

Alec never thought Wednesday would become his favourite day of the week.

He finds himself always waiting for this day to come. Their deal has been going on for about four weeks now, and Alec is delighted with it.

He has no idea why Magnus came up with it, but how could he refuse him? When he was looking back at him, with those beautiful eyes, and when he gripped his arm… Alec actually felt the electricity rushing through his skin from the touch.

And to be honest it’s a great deal. But he hasn’t really told anyone about it yet…

Only Lydia knows, since she sees him on the campus, and of course she noticed Alec leaving the same car every Wednesday. He’ll never hear the end of it, but he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t feel good to share a bit about Magnus with someone. And Lydia has always been a great listener. She doesn’t mind hearing about him, actually she’s very happy to see Alec happy.

But still, he doesn’t tell his siblings. Jace would get overprotective again, and no doubt he’d go and interrogate Magnus, since he’s a man, and he’s spending a bit of time with Alec. He’d tell Izzy, but his sister lacks the ability to keep her mouth shut sometimes, so if she knows, Jace knows too.

And it’s way too soon for that. He still doesn’t know Magnus very well.

But somehow, he still finds himself wanting to share something with him. Like he did on their second drive. When he told him about Max. He’s not sure how it came up, but it just feels easy to talk to Magnus. Easier than to anyone else. He wasn’t sure if Magnus would know his brother, but turns out he did, so he for sure knows about Max’s illness. And Alec is grateful that he didn’t push the subject more, didn’t ask how Alec feels about this whole thing. That’s what Mr Fell is for, what Alec needs is just a friend.

At least for now.

There’s no doubt that he’s developing some kind of crush on Magnus. He can’t help it. This man is handsome, well spoken, has an actual heart of the angel and for sure a lot things more, that Alec wants to find out about him.

They keep their conversations light, not diving into some existential shit, not trying to think deep. Just some words about work, college. Alec tells him about his siblings, Magnus shares some stories from his first year as a volunteer, and Alec is truly amazed by it. How Magnus is selfless and caring for others. For people that he doesn’t even know. Alec’s sure he wouldn’t be able to willingly watch some strangers suffering. To just hold their hand when every breath might be the last. He’s barely dealing with seeing Max being so miserable. But it’s different. Max is his family, he’ll always be the most important. It just hurts more to see your family in pain. Knowing, that there’s really nothing more you can do for them.

On their fourth drive, Alec admitted that he works as a writer for the local newspaper. That it’s his way of earning some money, so he and his siblings can pay for the apartment they share. He explains that Jace works in an advertising company, and Izzy has her own little business with jewellery making. And somehow they manage.

Magnus takes it all in, but doesn’t ask about his parents. And Alec’s glad he isn’t, since he’s in a such a good mood while being with Magnus, that he doesn’t want the conversation about his parents to ruin this.

Magnus tells him a bit about his friends from work. About his scowling boss, who is not so scary when you get to know him (but to Alec he seems terrifying, from the stories he heard from Magnus). He works with a lovely woman Dorothea, who sounds like an angel and Alec’s sure he would like her.

They continue to get to know each other better, and Alec’s not sure where this is going, but he’s glad with how things are escalating.

 Tuesday drags on for like forever, and Alec is almost falling asleep during his family law class as he watches the cars slowly passing by the streets outside the window, it’s raining and the weather isn’t making Alec feel any less tired then he is.

He basically jumps as the bells sounds and everyone starts to quickly gather their stuff and leave the room. That’s when Lydia turns to him.

“Already excited for tomorrow?” She prompts, and Alec sighs. Sometimes he does wish he could keep this all from Lydia, she’s getting annoying with this teasing. “You practically zoned out during the entire class.”

“I’m just tired.” Alec admits and moves to put his things into his backpack.

“Are you okay?” Lydia asks, now in pure concern, gripping his arm lightly.

“Fine.” Alec exhales heavily. “I just stayed up late writing some articles.”

Lydia smiles understandingly and nods.

“You need rest too, remember that.” She advices, as she always does, when she notices that Alec is way too overworked.

He just nods, and then they get out of the class and stroll to the bus stop together.

When he gets home, he finds Isabelle sitting nervously on the couch, clearly awaiting his return.

“Hi Iz.” He greets and his sister and she flashes him an uneasy smile. “What’s up?”

“Our parents want to meet.” She replies bluntly. Like she always does. Izzy’s not the one who prepares you for any kind of confession, she just fires it at you. But also, she knows Alec will see right through her, if she even tries to lead him on, or refuse to say anything.

Alec just exhales heavily and closes his eyes briefly, as she sits in the armchair in from of the couch, where Isabelle is settled.

“What for?” He asks, still not opening his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Izzy resorts, and Alec’s gaze focuses at her to see her shrug. “They just said they want to meet. With all of us.”

“Why would they want to see me?” Alec questions, and Isabelle sighs. “What, you know they would never speak to me willingly again.”

“Alec, maybe they figured out their wrongs, and just want to talk-“

“Like hell they did.” Alec snorts. “I don’t want to see them, and the last time I checked, the feeling was mutual.”

Isabelle is actually the only one who keeps in touch with their parents. She’s always been their father’s favourite, just like Jace was their mother’s. He was the golden boy, he was perfect to them, until he decided on his career path, and they didn’t quite like his idea of making a living. The only jobs that seem to be approved form them are lawyers, doctors, engineers, or other that would bring you a lot of money. Izzy still fits in. She’s going to become an amazing forensic pathologist, Alec’s sure of that. And their parents accept that. More than, they’re even proud of her. She was the only one they said they will actually miss, when she left home. But Isabelle was aware of how her parents treated her brothers. It was never that bad with Jace. They were easy on him, mostly because he had a hard time adjusting, after they adopted him, when his parents died in a car accident. They did want him to feel good. At some point, they succeeded. The only problem was, he decided to stand up to their idea of perfection, of a successful job. He had it his way, because it’s just the way Jace is. And deep down, Robert and Maryse knew that, so they just let their son get away with it.

It’s completely different with Alec.

He is their first born and they always expected nothing less than perfection from him. He needed to be the best in class, the greatest role model for his siblings, a perfect brother, flawless son.

And Alec did deliver, through more than a half of his life.

And somehow it was never good enough.

His parents always found some mistake. Something he missed. And he picked up on it. Tried even harder, but deep down he knew, that he would never make it up to his parents standards. Not with being who he is. Not with the way he is.

Still, he decided to come out to his parents. And it might have been the worst decision of his life, because with that, he destroyed every little ounce of love his parents might have felt for him. He ruined the perfect image he created, became a completely different person in his parents eyes. They didn’t see their son, they saw someone who used to be him.

And the years that followed were just awful.

His father acted like Alec never existed. He threw insults on every step, like Alec wasn’t even in a room. His mother was just quiet, basically didn’t speak to him. He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse.

He came close to ending it all, more than a few times. But something was always holding him back. The thought of his siblings, or of the life he could have if he finally cut this parents off. Just start to live on his own.

But he couldn’t just leave. Not with Max still being there. He would never leave his baby brother, he needs to be close to him, always. The only good thing, is that with their parents being lawyers, they spend most of their days in the office. So it was mostly Alec who took care of him, as the oldest. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves him, and to be able to watch him grow was a joy. Isabelle and Jace helped a lot too. And with their parents out, and his siblings close, Alec finally had some time to breathe.

But still, most of the time, he felt like he was suffocating. Breathing only felt a little bit easier when he finally moved out.

He’s glad Jace and Izzy came along. It’s great to have them around. Even if they get a bit annoying at times. They all hated the way their parents treated Alec, but back then it was nothing they could do, but to offer words of reassurance. And they were sick of the atmosphere in the house, and if there was a side to opt for, it was always their big brother’s.

Isabelle still stares at Alec, expression turning pleading and he exhales slowly.

“What do you want me to say?” He asks resigned.

“That you’ll come to the meeting.” Izzy pleads. “I know that you don’t want to see them. I know it’s hard for you, but think about Max, if this is something about him-“

“If this was something about Max I would know.” Alec resorts. “I’m signed into the hospital’s data base as the contact info too.”

“Okay.” Isabelle starts again. “So just do this for us, please. I swear if you’ll get uncomfortable, or they’ll dare to insult you again, we’re all leaving. I promise.”

He sees how important it is for his sister, so there’s only one thing he can do.

“When is the meeting?” He asks shortly, and a bit of smile is creeping onto Izzy’s face.

“Tomorrow, 5pm.” Izzy announces.

“Does Jace know about this?” Alec continues. Jace is probably still at work, but his brother needs to know what’s going on.

“He does, I called to tell him.” Isabelle says. “He said he’ll go if you go.” She adds with a smile, and Alec feels as his own is making its way up to his face, at how he and his brother are in tune with each other.

“So I guess he’s going then.”

 Alec almost forgets it’s Wednesday when he wakes up. He’s still buzzed from the conversation he had with Izzy last light, that brought back some his worst memories of their home. And he’s quite nervous about today’s meeting. But somehow, the thought of seeing Magnus kinda sooths him.

Since he started driving with Magnus, even his sessions with Mr Fell don’t feel that bad now. He feels like they’re actually making some progress. His psychologist is not aware of the source of his sudden better moods, but he doesn’t ask. Not now, at least. But today, he must have noticed something is different.

“Is everything all right?” He asks, after they’ve been through a few questions, but Alec still must appear tensed and nervous.

“My parents want to meet with me.” He admits. “All of us, I mean. The rest of my siblings too, but also me.”

Mr Fell nods, and then they don’t speak for a moment.

He knows a bit of how his parents treated him. Not everything, but enough to give him a solid picture of how Alec’s childhood was like.

“So you’re nervous about it.” He states, and Alec just nods. “Do you know what they would like to talk about?”

“I have no idea.” Alec resorts. “I guess that’s what scares me.”

“Why would it scare you?”

“I don’t know…” Alec sighs as he tries to form his words. “I think I’m more afraid of meeting them. I’m scared that all those bad memories will come back when I see them.”

“When did you see them last?”

“A few months ago… we see each other briefly, when they visit Max or something, but we never actually talk.”

“It’s your choice.” Mr Fell reminds him. “You can choose just not to go.”

“I know, but…” Alec breathes in a few times to compose himself. “it’s just important for Jace and Izzy…”

“Yes, I’m aware it is.” Mr Fell agrees. “But I’m sure they wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Alec just nods in agreement and the doctor smiles gently at him.

“Just remember, that no one can force you into this, if you’re not ready.”

And with these words their time basically runs out.

 He meets Magnus in his car, quickly sliding the passenger’s doors shut, not to let any more of the cold air get into the warm space.

“Hi.” Magnus greets enthusiastically, and when he smiles Alec feels a bit more relaxed. “How are you?”

“Good.” Alec replies and nods, more to reassure himself that he is. Which is not exactly true. “You?”

Magnus eyes him cautiously for a moment, but then starts the car as he answers.

“Everything’s fine.” He’s still smiling, but as Alec tries to reciprocate, he can’t quite let himself do that. He doesn’t want to fool Magnus, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to bother him with his stupid worries.

They drive in silence for a while, but then it seems like Magnus can’t stand it, so he asks.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He briefly glances at him with concern in his eyes. “You just seem… I don’t know, tense? Are you nervous about something? Is it another exam…” He trails of, as if giving Alec an option to say what’s on his mind, or to just brush him of.

“No, it’s not an exam.” Alec states, not actually meeting his eyes, when Magnus looks at him again. He takes another breath and then speaks, deciding to let it out. “It’s about my parents.”

Again, he realises how easy it is to just vocalize his thoughts in Magnus’ company. How he finds himself trusting this man, that he shares about twenty minutes with weekly. He spends more time with his psychologist, and he still hasn’t opened up to him as he does it with Magnus. It’s not like him. It’s scary. But somehow, not as scary as it should be.

Magnus doesn’t say anything, but Alec knows he’s listening, like he always does, so he continues.

“They want to meet with me, and let’s just say…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “that we don’t get on well. Never really have.”

Magnus hums, in a thoughtful tone, and then speaks.

“You never really talked about them.” He points out. “You talk about your siblings all the time, but not a word for your parents. But I didn’t want to ask, I didn’t know if you’d like to-“

“It’s fine.” Alec interrupts. “That’s true. I don’t speak a lot about them, ‘cause there’s nothing to talk about really. I became someone they never wanted me to be. I guess I always was, but for more than a half of my life I pretended otherwise.”

“I’m sorry.” Magnus begins. “We don’t need to talk about it, but if you’d ever want to… I’m here.”

Alec smiles lightly at that statement.

“Thanks.” He says. “I’m just quite nervous about tonight, since we don’t see each other often.”

Magnus nods understandingly, and then there’s another thought forming itself in Alec’s brain, and he feels quite guilty for it.

“I’m sorry.” He starts, and Magnus throws him a confused gaze. “I’m just putting all of my worries on you, and you probably have enough of your own-“

“Hey, stop this. I told you I’m here. It’s fine, we can talk about anything you want.” Magnus stops as if hesitating to say the next words. “That’s what friends do, right?”

So they’re friends. It’s some kind of a progress in their relationship. But does it mean Magnus wants to be only friends? Is he giving his some weird signals?

Alec, stop overthinking this, you’re friends. Just friends. Alec’s brain tells him, but he’s not sure if it’s the whole thing…

“Yeah,” Alec agrees after he shakes of his thoughts. “exactly. So you can talk about anything you want too.”

Magnus turns and smiles at him, as they stop at a red light. Alec can’t help but smile wider too.

“Can I give you an advice then?” Magnus asks, and Alec nods in answer. “I may not know, what exactly happened between you and your parents, but try to give them a chance. Maybe they want to make things better with you? Who knows. But, you might regret it, if you don’t do it now. One day it might be too late.”

He adds the last words in an incredibly sad tone, as his eyes wander back to the road, face twisted in some emotions Alec has never seen there yet. It’s weird to see him like this. He’s always so cheerful, enthusiastic, full of life, and now he looks just… hollow.

He did recovers from it quite quickly, as he shakes his head and adds with a smile.

“But you’ll do what you want to. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, I…” Alec nods lightly. “I’ll think about it.”

They drive in silence then, and Alec can’t help the strange feeling again. Can’t help the ease he feels while watching Magnus as he drives. He’s just steady. And Alec needs steady in his life. Something to hold on to. He catches himself staring at his lips way to often than it is appropriate, and if Magnus’ eyes weren’t focused on the road, it would get totally awkward.

He can’t help it, but he hopes, even after Magnus words, that they could be more than friends. Sometimes, at the corner of his eyes he sees Magnus looking at him, as if taking him in, but his gaze lingers a bit too long for it to be just that. Like this time back in the hallway when they first met.

And Alec not only lets himself hope, but also want, and he hasn’t wanted anything that much for a very long time. Maybe even ever.

And as he thinks of his words, then maybe Magnus as well as Izzy are right. Maybe his parents finally came to their senses and they want to make it all better? Alec is willing to try, to give them this chance.

When leaves Magnus’ car this time, he just feels a bit lighter.

 Classes fly by pretty fast. He tells Lydia about the meeting with his parents tonight, and she offers basically the same advice as his sister and Magnus. In the end he decides to go, so after classes he quickly hops on the bus and gets to the restaurant Izzy send him an address of. It’s a fancy one, it always is. As if only to show the power and success by how stuffed their wallets are. But Alec tries to let go of the negativity. He enters the restaurant and almost immediately spots Isabelle, as she waves at him to join them at the table.

On her left, there’s Jace, offering Alec a reassuring smile when he see his brother letting out a shaky exhales. Opposite him, at the table, there’s his mother, and she stands from her chair, something maybe even resembling a smile on her face as Alec makes his way closer to them.

“Alec,” she starts and moves to hug him. Hug him. She hasn’t done that in years. He lets her, but can’t help the look on surprised on his face when they pull back.

Maryse doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to.

Another surprise is the lack of their father’s presence. And as if seeing the question written on Alec’s face, Maryse speaks to clear everything out.

“Your father get held up in work, he’ll be there soon.”

Alec manages a slight nod, and then he slides into a chair next to his brother. Jace claps his hand lightly on his shoulder.

“How have you been?” Maryse speaks again, and Alec’s not sure if the question is directed to him, but as no one else speaks he thinks that it might. Which is weird. His mother didn’t care about how he is, not for the last four years at least.

“I’m good.” Alec states and nods. Izzy smiles at him brightly, kind of like she is saying I told you so, but something is still weird, and Alec can’t let himself relax just yet.

“How’s school?” Maryse prompts again.

“Great.” Alec resorts. “Challenging and busy, but it’s fine. I know that’s what I want to do so… I’ll get through this.”

Maryse nods and Alec swears he can see a glimpse of smile on her face.

Maybe Jace and Izzy talked to her before. Told her that his mental health wasn’t in the best condition recently. That he’s been seeing a psychologist. Maybe that’s why his mother is trying to be gentle? But deep down he knows, that his siblings wouldn’t just spill those information. They know that Alec is not proud of how things turned out. That he feels weak, and ashamed of needing this help. About not dealing with something that is supposed to be simple. It’s not. Once it’s better, sometimes it’s worse, and Alec couldn’t be more thankful for his siblings, that they noticed the problem, when he just couldn’t bring himself up to speak about it, and that they got him help, when he couldn’t ask for it himself. Even if he was sceptical at the beginning, it was a good choice to accept the help.

And he lets himself hope. That Izzy, Magnus and Lydia were right. That his parents will try to fix it. Fix them. And Alec will try to forgive them all these years of insults and basically avoiding each other.

But he also let himself hope before. That maybe such an important matter as Max’s illness is would get them all closer again. But it was exactly the opposite, it only made them drift apart even more.

And now, as his father enters the restaurant, all the hope disappears again.

He doesn’t spare a glance at Alec. Moves to greet Isabelle with a hug, and Jace with a handshake. It’s like Alec isn’t even there, which is basically same as always. He doesn’t feel bothered. Not anymore. It became normal to him after a few meetings in this atmosphere. He just hangs his head down and stares at the table. If his father doesn’t care, he doesn’t either.

Robert sits down next to Maryse, asks a few questions about Isabelle’s studies and Jace’s work. His brother glances at Alec worriedly, but Alec just shrugs, as if trying to tell him to let go. There’s no point in making a scene. Nothing is going to change anyway.

But something still feels different. And when he looks up from the table, he catches him mother staring at him. Almost worry, showing in her eyes.

They both quickly look away, but it’s obvious he saw it.

Then, they order some dinner, conversation still floating mostly between Isabelle and Robert. After their food is served, Jace begins to speak, knowing that their parents didn’t want to meet for a friendly chat. He’s probably getting sick of the small talk.

Well, he’s not the only one.

“So, is there any particular reason you wanted to meet?” Jace asks, and both Maryse and Robert slowly nod.

“There is.” Their mother states and clears his throat as she begins to explain. “We got a big deal, from a client in work. We decided to take it, but it compels us to get away for a while. To Chicago.”

“What?” Alec stars and it’s probably the first word he said after Robert entered this place. “What about Max?”

“That’s why we need to ask you to take care of him.” Robert states calmly and Alec feels the anger boil up inside him.

“So what do you think we were doing this whole time?” He asks, to which Robert only glares at him in confusion. “We’ve always been taking care of him, you don’t need to ask us to do this. Each of us is in a hospital day after day. We go see him more than you do.”

Robert’s gaze turns sharp, as he looks back at Alec, but when he speaks, his voice is calm.

“That’s because we have our job. We’re busy-“

“And you think we’re not?” Alec fires back. He’s never spoken to his father with his attitude, with this kind of judgement. He’s been on a receiving end of that tone lots of times. But this whole thing is just stupid. He and his siblings take better care of Max than them. They always did. It was always Alec who sang or read him to sleep, carried him to bed after he felt so bad he could barely walk, Izzy who rumbled to him about every subject she could find only to take his mind of the obvious, and Jace who played with him in every stupid game he could find to make him stop worrying. At least for a bit of time.

Maybe their parents where there, but they never actually got to know their own son. Any of their children. In Izzy, they only see a future forensic pathologist, not a young independent woman, who loves fashion and is so passionate about the jewellery she makes that she spends a whole night creating it. In Jace, they saw a promising lawyer, not a sport loving man, that wants to choose his own path. And in Alec…

They've probably never seen anything in him. Maybe once, their son, but now…

“You think we’re not busy,” Alec continues. “with school, and our jobs, so we can pay for our apartment-“

“Nobody asked you to move out.” His father interrupts, but Alec only snorts to that.

“But not everyone was welcomed to stay.” He says and glares with his father with just as much heat as he does.

Silence falls around them. An uncomfortable one. Robert looks like he wants to say something, but he has got no words. Maryse stares down at the table, her head hang down, same as Izzy, but Alec catches a little smile on her face. Same with Jace.

“How long will you be gone?” Alec asks, when nobody decides to.

“Two months.” Maryse answers. “Maybe less.”

Alec nods and suppresses the urge to snort. It’s so their parents style to just go away. Put money and career first, before their own, sick child. But to be honest he’s not surprised. Not anymore.

“Does Max know?” Alec questions next, and his mother nods again.

“Yes. We told him today.”

“What does he think about it?”

And as Maryse struggles to find her words, Alec can already figure out the answer and before he knows it, a hollow laugh escapes him.

“Right,” He starts. “You haven’t even asked about his opinion. You just informed him that you’re leaving.”

“Alec, it’s not like we really had a choice-“ His mother tries to justify, but Alec cuts her off.

“You said you decided to take the offer. You could refuse.” He states firmly. “What if Max needs you?”

He doesn’t see the reason why he would, but he still asks, just hypothetically.

“Then we’d get on a plane instantly.” Maryse claims, her expression serious. “Look,” she starts and turns to look at all of her children. “we would never leave if, we knew Max didn’t have anyone that could take care of him. But he has you. And I should probably thank you for being there for him much earlier, but I’m doing it now.” Alec feels a bit taken aback at her words, since she looks right at him as she says it. “So thank you. I know you take the best care of him. We just wanted to inform you that we won’t be that available in the next two months, but still, if anything happens inform us instantly. If not you the hospital will.”

The siblings nod at her words, and she mirrors the gesture as she leans back in her chair.

“It was nice catching up with you.” She states then. “But we need get going. We have a flight tomorrow night.”

They all get up and exchanges goodbyes. Maryse hugs Alec again, and her sight lingers on him a bit longer than the rest of her children, but she doesn’t say anything more. Neither does Alec.

Soon they’re all out of the restaurant and they part way.

That’s it for seeing their parents for another two months. Or even longer.

Jace lets out a long exhale, as he starts to lead them all in the direction of the car.

“Well, that was kind of unexpected.” He states and the rest nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I can’t believe they chose to just leave.” Alec shakes his head again, as if trying to get these thoughts away.

“I didn’t exactly mean that.” Jace says, and he looks at Alec now. “I mean your talk with Robert. You never really raise your voice or anything, and you sounded furious.”

His brother’s tone isn’t accusing or judging. Maybe it’s even a bit proud. Alec decides it is, when he sees that smirk on Jace’s face.

“Well, our brother never ceases to amaze us.” Isabelle states as she hooks her hand around Alec’s arm. “But seriously, he deserved that. They’re stupid to leave now.”

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t convince them otherwise.” Alec replies, after hearing the sight guilt in his sister’s voice. Isabelle just nods and she snuggles closer to Alec. “It’s not like a lot will change. We’re at the hospital every day anyway. But we need to talk to Max, about how he feels with all this.”

They all agree with a nod and soon they reach the car.

As they get settled in, Jace in the driver seat with Alec next to him, and Isabelle in the back, Alec rests his head against the window and can’t help the thoughts of his mother returning to him. The way her expression changed, when she was looking at him. He hasn’t seen her looking at him like that, probably since he was a child. It was almost loving. He kind of wishes he could talk to her more, and finds himself hoping, that there will be another occasion for an honest conversation. And hopefully without his father around.

“Hey, you okay?” Jace nudges him with his elbow, and Alec realises that they’re already back home.

He quickly shakes of his shock and clears his throat before answering.

“Yeah, fine.” He smiles and his brother reciprocates.

Then they all get into their apartment, and Alec feels the exhaustion setting down on him. All he wants to is to go to bed, and get some sleep before tomorrow’s long day. So he kisses Izzy’s forehead goodnight, and clasps Jace on the shoulder on his way to the bedroom.

And when he finally slumps down on the bed, face-first, he can’t help his thoughts from wandering to Magnus again.

Because at some point, he was right. Judging by his mother’s expression something broke in her. And Alec will find out what, but it’s something good. He can feel it.

He also thinks about the courage and fearlessness he felt when he spoke to his father. He doesn’t know what brought that up, but he hopes the rush will stay with him for a bit longer.

But for now it’s enough emotions for one day.

ALBUM REVIEW - King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard & Mild High Club, Sketches of Brunswick East

In a LONG overdue review, we’re looking at the 3rd album of a promised 5 to come out THIS YEAR alone, from Australian Psych rock outfit King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. King Gizzard are a frankly crazy and exciting group, both with their weird lo-fi sound, unique and bizarre aesthetic and the sheer volume of work they produce, with a discography of 11 studio records since 2010.

If King Gizzard aren’t known for their sound, they’re certainly known for their album concepts, which have included fully acoustic albums (Paper Maché Dream Balloon), albums using microtonal instruments (Flying Microtonal Banana), a 40 minute album featuring only 4 tracks (Quarters!) and even a album in the form of a spoken word fantasy space opera earlier this year (Murder of the Universe).

However for this most recent release, king gizzard have set their sights on a much more unambitious concept, a Jazz record, enlisting the help of the much lesser known and honestly less interesting jazz project Mild High Club.

So, how does Sketches of Brunswick East actually sound? and how does it compare to other releases from the extended Gizzverse?

The album opens with the first of 3 title tracks that frame the record. The first is a brief instrumental intro, driven predominantly by a simple piano line and flute lead. This intro does a brilliant job of setting the albums mainly breezy and lowkey tone and establishes the heavy use of background noise on the record, with the sort of cold open to the track and the sounds of a train station. A solid start.

Countdown is straight away immediate and groovy in its instrumental, coupled with raspy vocals from Gizz lead singer Stu Mackenzie, which have their trademark doom, cultist undertones in the lyrics. This track has a nostalgic and warm feel to it, present on the entire album, as well as a lot of swagger. Close to the tracks close is a smooth guitar line, along with a reprisal of the chorus. A solid track.

We go straight into the next track, D-day, opening with fitting church bell and explosion samples. This track is the first to bring in some trademark King Gizzard sounds, including a strong and bizarre horn lead and tinny drums. For a very similar and much better track of this type, i’d look to the much more substantial Rattlesnake from Flying Microtonal Banana. 

Tezeta is next, with a smooth gloomy guitar intro that turns into a bizarre and groovy choir, then devolves into a summery and chilled out guitar and snare driven series of verses. This track also includes a bizarre series of spoken word samples, that Gizzard fans will recognise this as the voice of Han-Tyumi on Murder of the Universe, who here is much more witty and less vomit obsessed. A distorted and loud guitar solo is the tracks centrepiece, giving an extremely breezy song a more dark edge. definitely a standout track, and the most substantial so far.

Cranes, Planes, Migraines could be considered an interlude with its short run time and lack of vocals. It’s a fun yet bizarre addition, which makes good use of some very moody subway ambience.

The Spider and Me is the most relaxing and watery track so far, especially with the use of fountain ambience and loud bird song. The xylophone and drum fronted instrumental gives the track a clear psychadelic vibe, and puts me in mind of music of its type from the 60s combined with traditional children TV of the time. This song clearly and unapologetically wants to create the feeling of a country garden full of hippies, and it is all the better for it.

The center of the record is our second title track, this one being much longer in length. The track opens with a weird crackling, vaudeville-esque sample, followed by a drum beat and flute based instrumental alongside some groovy and meandering electric organ, mainly in the same key and to the same tune as the intro. the track also includes at various moments the same noise of church bells, as well as general ambience. This track is extremely atmospheric and airy, and like with much of the album has a very sincere and DIY live quality to it, as if everything has been recorded in one take. A personal favourite.

Dusk to Dawn on Lygon Street is as immediate as it is traditionally jazzy. Much of its overall sound sums up the sound present across the whole album. Every musical signature as it were on the record crops up in some form here. The inclusion of what appears to be the ambience of a crowded bar and street is some of the best use of sound effects in my opinion, creating the feeling the track is being played live.

The Book, while still holding its jazz aesthetic and musical palette, is perhaps the closest we get to a “standard” King Gizzard song. The tracks opener is the grating organ lead we’ve heard on many tracks from the band, however here it soon turns into a groovy and dense jazz tune. This track has the strongest vocals and lyrics on the entire album. Stu’s performance here is awesome and witty, with tongue in cheek and luckily unpretentious lyrics, where he muses on religion and his own atheist beliefs. The use of varied and unorthodox live instruments makes the whole track feel playful, and provides energy present nowhere else on the record. I especially enjoy the cowbell. By far my favourite track on the album!

A Journey to S(Hell) is the weirdest shorter track on the album and a good follow up to The Book. A heavily packed instrumental makes uses of a whole array of horror style sound effects and ambience, with a ever building synth that creates an anxiety inducing feeling. The track constantly twists and turns, even switching off and on again at one point. The tracks close and transition to the next is also very funny with a sudden shift back to the woozy dreamy sound of the rest of the album.

Rolling Stoned has been a fan favourite, and is the best put together of the more dreamy styled songs. The flute lead keeps it simple and relaxed at first, with the substance of the song appearing as the song progresses. My main criticism of this track and others of its type, is that the use of repetition makes some tracks border boring in places. luckily none of them are entirely boring, but its something that does hinder the album.

You Can Be Your Silhouette has a very french quality to its instrumental, and is a track that is truly better for its simplicity. There’s not much to be said about it honestly, other than it’s a good song.

The album closes with the 3rd title track, a woozy lo fi short outdo, that feels like a sleepy goodbye to the album in a way, reprising the flute tune of the previous two title tracks. A decent close.

Overall, Sketches of Brunswick is an Extremely consistent album in terms of sound and quality, and is a record that sounds unique in the context of King Gizzard’s discography, its closest counterpart being Paper Maché Dream Balloon.

Despite this, its also their most subtle and unassuming album, something I think will result in it being overlooked and underrated by fans and critics alike. 

In my opinion, while there are better King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard records available, this album is a fab set of lo fi  and off kilter jazz music, as well as a good introduction to Stu and the group’s diverse and recognisable sound.

I give it a 7/10

BEST TRACKS - The Book, Tezeta, Dusk and Dawn on Lygon Street, Sketches of Brunswick East II, You Can Be Your Silhouette

LEAST FAVOURITE TRACKS - D-day, Countdown

Listen HERE 

Rough draft to my short film.

Fade in:

 EXT. Driveway- Dusk

GARRET, American mutt, mid 20’s, revels in dark humor, nihilistic commentary, and self-destructive behavior, refuses to cope with pain in a healthy manor, preferring to charge into impulse decisions with reckless abandon. Smalls sparks of his previous “happy” life style are quickly over cast by self-proclaimed pathetic despair. Dark when he doesn’t want to be, desperately wants this chapter to end.

[GARRET is walking up his drive way as he answers a phone call from his friend JOHN asking about the party.]

J: So dude, did you end up hooking up with that girl the other night at the party?

G:What girl? You know I never remember anything from nights like that.

J: That dime piece in the little black dress that was basically eye fucking you all night.

G:yea, not ringing any bells man, I honestly don’t know why you even bother asking my shit like this at this point.

J: Nah, you’d remember her, that girl was like a goddess.

“well im flattered, but goddess seems like a bit much.”

[As GARRET enters his room he see a beautiful girl sitting on his bed]

G: uh John, what exactly did that dime piece look like again?

[JOHN proceed to describe the girl sitting on GARRETS bed perfectly]

G: yeah, I got to go man, somthings popped up.

S:It’s Sam in case you forgot, obviously your little fuckboy friend did.

G: Um, what are you doing in my room?

S: I’m hurt. But if you need a reminder Garret, I’m here to help you end it all.

G: uh huh, ok yup. Look sweetie you got the wrong craigslist ad but it’s all good, I’m sure this shit happens all the time, so just let me get the door for you aanndd…

[as Garret turns around to get to open the door to his bedroom Sam suddenly appears in front of him]

G: woah what the fuck?!

S: You might not remember it but I’m here to help you end aaalll your suffering because you’re the one begging for it.

G: ok, ignoring whatever the hell just happened you’ve still got to have the wrong guy, you’re making it sound like I just wanna blow my brains out and I’m not interested.

S: oh poor baby.You might not be deepthroating the barrel of that little revolver you have buried in your sock drawer, but with the habits you’ve picked up the past few months…you’ve done nothing but cry for help. Just look at the damage you’ve put your body through.

All the drugs…

[Flashback to montage of GARRET doing various drugs]

Taking anything and everything  people offer you just try and pick yourself up out of a whole you dug self into. You start rolling away and dive head first into self-destruction, and for what? When it’s 4am, and your all alone high as kite driving the streets she’s never going to invite back over to vent on her front steps again.

[GARRET has a subtle hint of pure shock on his face, just trying to process details to memories he thought he didn’t have anymore.]

All the drinking…

[Flashback to montage of GARRET binge drinking]

Your poor liver. It’s only been maybe 6 months but I doubt your BAC has come down to a legal limit once has it?

Your friends…or at least the ones you have left must think you’re one of those real cultured hipsters with all you know about liquor.

But we know the truth, don’t we?

The only reason you know so much by now is because nothing works forever.

The rum won’t get you through the day anymore, the whiskey won’t help you sleep, and all your stories with tequila don’t end so cathartic, do they?

So now you just try to forget. By any means you can, you just drink and drink till every night’s a black out and every sunrise has to be met at the bottom of a bottle because alcohol poisoning sounds more appealing than facing your fucking problems.

[GARRET sits down on the bed, now visibly unable to comprehend how someone he thought was a stranger knows so much about him.]

[SAM seductively walks over to the bed, clearly with motive, mounts on top of GARRET and begins to whisper into his ear]

And the women…

[Flashback to montage of GARRET bringing different women back to his bed, like the way SAM is taking GARRET now.]

You can’t fill the void she left in you by filling up every girl with pretty face that smiles your way.

What was your plan?

Was fucking your friends supposed to make you feel better?

Was fucking HER friends supposed to make you feel better?

All the random little trollops you’ve found weren’t going to magically replace her.

But I suppose I can’t blame you, with a dick like that I can’t imagine id do things any differently;)

[GARRET pushes SAM off of him and gets up off the bed to finally confront her]

G: Alright that’s enough! I get it! I’m fucking bastard. And you clearly get that I’m a obvious mess too, so what the hell do you want?

S: I told you baby, I’m here to end all this pain you’ve been feeling.

[SAM’s eyes suddenly turn pitch black]

You see Garret, you swipe right enough on tinder and eventually you run into a girl like me. All I want is fulfill every fantasy you can imagine so that for a night you can forget all about your pain.

G:yea well you sound like a robot on tinder.

S: Perhaps, but I’m the real deal.

G: the real deal comes with a catch, so what is it.

S: No catch here, it’s a win/win.

G: Bullshit.

S: You get to have me; however you want for whole night and then a few days later I end all your pain. Then I move on to the next one, win/win.

G: stop being so vague and just fucking tell me!

[SAM erupts, cracks form around her eyes and mouth, manicured nails transform into talons]

S: I’m here for your soul you ignorant little heathen!

[GARRET now terrified on the floor in front of SAM]

G: Then….the why are we even having this conversation? Why didn’t you just kill me when I walked in?

[SAM now attempting to calm down]

S: Because, your different.

I’ve done this so many times and it always plays out the same way.

I look for the heart broken man, their the easiest prey.

They tell me their sob stories, I brighten their miserable lives for a night, and then I come back a few days later to simply take what they no longer value. Their soul.

And most of the time it’s not hard because they’re usually begging me to come back.

But you, oooohhh you. You’re an anomaly I just can’t get out of my head.

Sure there are men that hurt than you,

but your despair is like an intoxicating cologne I can’t escape.

The regret I taste on you is something I can’t resist.

The air around you is dark but greets me with a warm embrace.

Your pain excites me to no end,

But it’s this faint, awkward little glimmer of hope you don’t let anyone see that really gets me.

You force yourself to suffer with every moment you get to yourself, every time you picture her face.

But you don’t want her back.

G: I just want better for her…

S: But why?!

I can’t count on 1 hand how many women I can thing of who deserve a man like that and yet her you are just throwing it at her every day.

She only showed you compassion when it was convenient,

She was emotionally distant,

She was just using you for sex because, and I quote “You’re the only one who knows how to fuck me right.”

And to top it all off she cheated on you.

G: Yeah, and my emotionally wrecked response to that is really what ended that relationship.

S: A relationship she didn’t deserve!

Look, im supposed to come back here and just suck the life right out of you and move on.

But I want to offer you a deal instead.

Be mine,

Show me the endless passion you’ve shown this girl.

And I’ll help you forget.

The pain is like a scar and it never truly fades but I can make you forget her name,

Let you move on.

[GARRET stands to his feet and lets the choice weigh on him]

G: So all I have to do to keep my life, and spend the rest of eternity fulfilling all my fantasies with a smoking hot demon is let you make me forget her?

S: that’s right, anything you want.

G: well in that case,my answer is…..

No.

[SAM recoils from GARRET’s response]

S: are you fucking insane?!

G: yeah obviously.

S:This isn’t some indie art house short film!

You don’t get some magic award for being the most depressing, self-destructive glass cannon in the room!

G:This is simply who I am, and I’m tired of making decisions based on what other people think I am.

You’ve painted me in a dark and pathetic light But you need to get your fucking fakes straight.

I’m not some broken little play thing that needs to be rescued and fixed.

I may not have made the right choices to cope with my problems but they we’re still MY choices and I CHOOSE to live with them.

So you can take your offer and shove it up your ass.

[SAM licking her lips now]

S: MMmmmm, I would have let you do it had you chosen differently.

[SAM grabs GARRET by the throat, suspending him up against the wall]

What a shame, the good ones always make the worst decisions.

[GARRET smirks, as if somehow, he’s one a battle with his inner demons.  Camera fades to black as SAM’s claws swing toward GARRET’s throat.]

Bob Dylan: The Rolling Stone Interview

Bob Dylan: The Rolling Stone Interview

Bob Dylan Unleashed by Mikal Gilmore [September 27, 2012]

The singer-songwriter opens up about the 1966 motorcycle crash and strikes back at his critics in one of his most rattling interviews ever

I’m trying to explain something that can’t be explained,“ says Bob Dylan. "Help me out.” It’s a midsummer day, an hour or so before evening, and we are seated at a table on a shaded patio, at the rear of a Santa Monica restaurant. Dylan is dressed warmer than the Southern California weather invited, in a buttoned black leather jacket over a thick white T-shirt. He also wears a ski cap – black around its lower half, white at its dome – pulled down over his ears and low on his forehead. A fringe of moptop-style reddish-blond hair, clearly a wig, curls slightly out from the front of the cap, above his eyebrows. He has a glass of cold water in front of him. In the 15 years since his 1997 album, Time Out of Mind, Dylan – who is now 71 – has enjoyed the most sustained period of creativity of his lifetime. His new album, Tempest, tells tales of mortal ends, moral faithlessness and hard-earned (if arbitrary) grace, culminating in a swirling, 14-minute epic about the Titanic, which mixes fact and fantasy, followed by a loving, mystical song about his late friend and peer John Lennon. It’s unlikely, though, that Dylan will ever eclipse the renown of his explosion of music and style in the 1960s, which transformed him into a definitive mythic force of those times. But Dylan wasn’t always comfortable with the effects of that reputation. In 1966, following a series of mind-blazing and controversial electric performances, the young hero removed himself from his own moment after he was laid low by a motorcycle accident, in Woodstock. The music that he returned with, in the late 1960s – John Wesley Harding and Nashville Skyline – sounded as if Dylan had become a different man. In truth, he now says, that’s what he was – or rather, what he was becoming. What Bob Dylan believes really happened to him after he survived his radical pinnacle is much more transformational than he has fully revealed before. This was an incident he’d alluded to briefly in his 2004 autobiography, Chronicles: Volume One, but in this interview the matter took on deeper implications. At moments, I pushed in on some questions, and Dylan pushed back. We continued the conversation over the next many days, on the phone and by way of some written responses. Dylan didn’t hedge or attempt to guard himself as we went along. Just the opposite: He opened up unflinchingly, with no apologies. This is Bob Dylan as you’ve never known him before. Do you see Tempest as an eventful album, like Time Out of Mind or Love and Theft? Tempest was like all the rest of them: The songs just fall together. It’s not the album I wanted to make, though. I had another one in mind. I wanted to make something more religious. That takes a lot more concentration – to pull that off 10 times with the same thread – than it does with a record like I ended up with, where anything goes and you just gotta believe it will make sense. Nonetheless, this seems among your bigger works, like Time Out of Mind, though more outward, less inward. Well … the Time Out of Mind record, that was the beginning of me making records for an audience that I was playing to night after night. They were different people from different walks of life, different environments and ages. There was no reason for these new people to hear songs I’d written 30 years earlier for different purposes. If I was going to continue on, what I needed were new songs, and I had to write them, not necessarily to make records, but to play for the public. The songs on Time Out of Mind weren’t meant for somebody to listen to at home. Most of the songs work, whereas before, there might have been better records, but the songs don’t work. So I’ll stick with what I was doing after Time Out of Mind, rather than what I was doing in the Seventies and Eighties, where the songs just don’t work. That album was plainly received as a turning point. It began a sustained winning streak. Everything since then is a body of work that can stand on its own. I hope it can. It should connect with people. The thing about it is that there is the old and the new, and you have to connect with them both. The old goes out and the new comes in, but there is no sharp borderline. The old is still happening while the new enters the scene, sometimes unnoticed. The new is overlapping at the same time the old is weakening its hold. It goes on and on like that. Forever through the centuries. Sooner or later, before you know it, everything is new, and what happened to the old? It’s like a magician trick, but you have to keep connecting with it. It’s just like when talking about the Sixties. If you were here around that time, you would know that the early Sixties, up to maybe ‘64, '65, was really the Fifties, the late Fifties. They were still the Fifties, still the same culture, in America anyway. And it was still going strong but fading away. By '66, the new Sixties probably started coming in somewhere along that time and had taken over by the end of the decade. Then, by the time of Woodstock, there was no more Fifties. I really wasn’t so much a part of what they call “the Sixties.” Even though you’re so identified with it? Evidently I was, and maybe even still am. I was there during that time, but I really couldn’t identify with what was happening. It didn’t mean that much to me. I had my own family by then. You know, for instance, [Timothy] Leary and others like him, they wouldn’t have lasted a second in earlier days. Of course, the Vietnam War didn’t help any. Do you ever worry that people interpreted your work in misguided ways? For example, some people still see “Rainy Day Women” as coded about getting high. It doesn’t surprise me that some people would see it that way. But these are people that aren’t familiar with the Book of Acts. Sometimes you seem to have a distaste for the 1960s. The Fifties were a simpler time, at least for me and the situation I was in. I didn’t really experience what a lot of the other people my age experienced, from the more mainstream towns and cities. Where I grew up was as far from the cultural center as you could get. It was way out of the beaten path. You had the whole town to roam around in, though, and there didn’t seem to be any sadness or fear or insecurity. It was just woods and sky and rivers and streams, winter and summer, spring, autumn. The changing of the seasons. The culture was mainly circuses and carnivals, preachers and barnstorming pilots, hillbilly shows and comedians, big bands and whatnot. Powerful radio shows and powerful radio music. This was before supermarkets and malls and multiplexes and Home Depot and all the rest. You know, it was a lot simpler. And when you grow up that way, it stays in you. Then I left, which was, I guess, toward the end of the Fifties, but I saw and felt a lot of things in the Fifties, which generates me to this day. It’s sort of who I am. I guess the Fifties would have ended in about '65. I don’t really have a warm feeling for that period of time. Why would I? Those days were cruel. Why is that? Was it just too much upheaval, being at the white-hot center of it? Yeah, that and a whole lot of other stuff. Things were beginning to get corporatized. That wouldn’t have mattered to me, but it was happening to the music, too. And I truly loved the music. I saw the death of what I love and a certain way of life that I’d come to take for granted. Yet people thought your music spoke to and reflected the 1960s. Do you feel that’s also the case with your music since 1997? Sure, my music is always speaking to times that are recent. But let’s not forget human nature isn’t bound to any specific time in history. And it always starts with that. My songs are personal music; they’re not communal. I wouldn’t want people singing along with me. It would sound funny. I’m not playing campfire meetings. I don’t remember anyone singing along with Elvis, or Carl Perkins, or Little Richard. The thing you have to do is make people feel their own emotions. A performer, if he’s doing what he’s supposed to do, doesn’t feel any emotion at all. It’s a certain kind of alchemy that a performer has. Don’t you think you’re a particularly American voice – for how your songs reference our history, or have commented on it? They’re historical. But they’re also biographical and geographical. They represent a particular state of mind. A particular territory. What others think about me, or feel about me, that’s so irrelevant. Any more than it is for me, when I go see a movie, say, Wuthering Heights or something, and have to wonder what’s Laurence Olivier really like. When I see an actor on the stage or something, I don’t think about what they’re like. I’m there because I want to forget about myself, forget about what I care or do not care about. Entertaining is a type of sport. [Dylan suddenly seems excited.] Let me show you something. I want to show you something. You might be interested in this. You might take this someplace. You might want to rephrase your questions, or think of new ones [laughs]. Let me show you this. [Gets up and walks to another table.] You want me to come with you? No, no, no, I got it right here. I thought this might interest you. [Brings a weathered paperback to the table!] See this book? Ever heard of this guy? [Shows me Hell’s Angel: The Life and Times of Sonny Barger and the Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Club, by Sonny Barger.] Yeah, sure. He’s a Hell’s Angel. He was “the” Hell’s Angel. Look who wrote this book. [Points at coauthors’ names, Keith Zimmerman and Kent Zimmerman.] Do those names ring a bell? Do they look familiar? Do they? You wonder, “What’s that got to do with me?” But they do look familiar, don’t they? And there’s two of them there. Aren’t there two? One’s not enough? Right? [Dylan’s now seated, smiling.] I’m going to refer to this place here. [Opens the book to a dog-eared page.] Read it out loud here. Just read it out loud into your tape recorder. “One of the early presidents of the Berdoo Hell’s Angels was Bobby Zimmerman. On our way home from the 1964 Bass Lake Run, Bobby was riding in his customary spot – front left �� when his muffler fell off his bike. Thinking he could go back and retrieve it, Bobby whipped a quick U-turn from the front of the pack. At that same moment, a Richmond Hell’s Angel named Jack Egan was hauling ass from the back of the pack toward the front. Egan was on the wrong side of the road, passing a long line of speeding bikes, just as Bobby whipped his U-turn. Jack broadsided poor Bobby and instantly killed him. We dragged Bobby’s lifeless body to the side of the road. There was nothing we could do but to send somebody on to town for help.” Poor Bobby. Yeah, poor Bobby. You know what this is called? It’s called transfiguration. Have you ever heard of it? Yes. Well, you’re looking at somebody. That … has been transfigured? Yeah, absolutely. I’m not like you, am I? I’m not like him, either. I’m not like too many others. I’m only like another person who’s been transfigured. How many people like that or like me do you know? By transfiguration, you mean it in the sense of being transformed? Or do you mean transmigration, when a soul passes into a different body? Transmigration is not what we are talking about. This is something else. I had a motorcycle accident in 1966.1 already explained to you about new and old. Right? Now, you can put this together any way you want. You can work on it any way you want. Transfiguration: You can go and learn about it from the Catholic Church, you can learn about it in some old mystical books, but it’s a real concept. It’s happened throughout the ages. Nobody knows who it’s happened to, or why. But you get real proof of it here and there. It’s not like something you can dream up and think. It’s not like conjuring up a reality or like reincarnation – or like when you might think you’re somebody from the past but have no proof. It’s not anything to do with the past or the future. So when you ask some of your questions, you’re asking them to a person who’s long dead. You’re asking them to a person that doesn’t exist. But people make that mistake about me all the time. I’ve lived through a lot. Have you ever heard of a book called No Man Knows My History? It’s about Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet. The title could refer to me. Transfiguration is what allows you to crawl out from under the chaos and fly above it. That’s how I can still do what I do and write the songs I sing and just keep on moving. When you say I’m talking to a person that’s dead, do you mean the motorcyclist Bobby Zimmerman, or do you mean Bob Dylan? Bob Dylan’s here! You’re talking to him. Then your transfiguration is … It is whatever it is. I couldn’t go back and find Bobby in a million years. Neither could you or anybody else on the face of the Earth. He’s gone. If I could, I would go back. I’d like to go back. At this point in time, I would love to go back and find him, put out my hand. And tell him he’s got a friend. But I can’t. He’s gone. He doesn’t exist. OK, so when you speak of transfiguration … I only know what I told you. You’ll have to go and do the work yourself to find out what it’s about. I’m trying to determine whom you’ve been transfigured from, or as. I just showed you. Go read the book. That’s who you have in mind? What could the connection to that Bobby Zimmerman be other than name? I don’t have it in mind. I didn’t write that book. I didn’t make it up. I didn’t dream that. I’m not telling you I had a dream last night. Remember the song “Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream”? I didn’t write that, either. I’m showing you a book that’s been written and published. I mean, look at all the connecting things: motorcycles, Bobby Zimmerman, Keith and Kent Zimmerman, 1964, 1966. And there’s more to it than even that. If you went to find this guy’s family, you’d find a whole bunch more that connected. I’m just explaining it to you. Go to the grave site. When did you come across this book? Uh, you know. When did I come across that book? Somebody put it in my hand years ago. I’d met Sonny Barger in the Sixties, but didn’t know him very well. He was friends with Jerry Garcia. Maybe I saw it on a bookshelf out there and the bookseller slipped it into my hand. But I began to read it, and I thought I was reading about Sonny, but then I got to that part and realized it wasn’t about him at all. I didn’t even really check the authors’ names until later and that blew my mind, too. About a year later, I went to a library in Rome and I found a book about transfiguration, because it’s nothing you really hear about every day, and it’s in that mystical realm, and I found out only enough to know that, uh, OK, I’m not an authority on it, but it kind of sets you straight on what sets you apart. I’d always been different than other people, but this book told me why. Like certain people are set apart. You know, it’s just like the phrase, “peers” – I mean, I see this, “Well, your peers this, your peers that.” And I’ve always wondered, who are my peers? When I received the Medal of Freedom I started thinking more about it. Like, who are they? But then it became clear. My peers are Aretha Franklin, Duke Ellington, B.B. King, John Glenn, Madeleine Albright, Pat Summitt, Toni Morrison, Jasper Johns, Martha Graham, Sidney Poitier. People like that, and they are set apart, too. And I’m proud to be counted among them. You don’t write the kind of songs I write just being a conventional type of songwriter. And I don’t think anybody will write them like this again, any more than anybody will ever write a Hank Williams or Irving Berlin song. That’s pretty much for sure. I just think I’ve taken things to a new level because I’ve had to. Because I’ve been forced to. You have to constantly reshape things because everything keeps expanding on you. Life has a way of spreading out. Why do you have that need to constantly reshape things? Because that’s the nature of existence. Nothing stays where it is for very long. Trees grow tall, leaves fall, rivers dry up and flowers die. New people are born every day. Life doesn’t stop. Is that part of what touring is about for you? Touring is about anything you want it to be about. Is there something strange about touring? About playing live shows? If there is, tell me what it is. Willie [Nelson]’s been playing them for years, and nobody ever asks him why he still tours. Look, you travel to different places and you encounter things that you might not encounter every day if you stayed home. And you get to play music for the people – all of the people, every nationality and in every country. Ask any performer or entertainer that does this, they’ll all tell you the same thing. That they like doing it and that it means a lot to people. It’s just like any other line of work, only different. Yet for a long time, from, 1966 to 1974, you left touring behind. Did you always expect to return to live performance, as part of doing what it is that you do? I know I left it behind, but then I picked it up again. Things change. Also, there are performers that don’t go on the road. They might go to Vegas and just stay there. You could do it that way – who knows, I may do that, too, someday. There are a lot of worse ways to end up. It’s always been this way for everybody who’s ever done it, going back to those ancient days. The carnival came to town, the carnival left and you ran off with them. It’s just what you did. You don’t travel to the end of the line until someone gives you a gold watch and a pat on the back. That’s not the way the game works. People really don’t retire. They fade away. They run out of steam. People aren’t interested in them anymore. What do you think of Bruce Springsteen? U2? I love Bruce like a brother. He’s a powerful performer – unlike anybody. I care about him deeply. U2’s a force to be reckoned with. Bono’s energy has far-reaching effects, and in some ways, he’s his own tempest. Miles Davis had this idea that music was best heard in the moments in which it was performed – that that’s where music is truly alive. Is your view similar? Yeah, it’s exactly the same as Miles’ is. We used to talk about that. Songs don’t come alive in a recording studio. You try your best, but there’s always something missing. What’s missing is a live audience. Sinatra used to make records like that – used to bring people into the studio as an audience. It helped him get into the songs better. So live performance is a purpose you find fulfilling? If you’re not fulfilled in other ways, performing can never make you happy. Performing is something you have to learn how to do. You do it, you get better at it and you keep going. And if you don’t get better at it, you have to give it up. Is it a fulfilling way of life? Well, what kind of way of life is fulfilling? No kind of life is fulfilling if your soul hasn’t been redeemed. You’ve described what you do not as a career but as a calling. Everybody has a calling, don’t they? Some have a high calling, some have a low calling. Everybody is called but few are chosen. There’s a lot of distraction for people, so you might not never find the real you. A lot of people don’t. How would you describe your calling? Mine? Not any different than anybody else’s. Some people are called to be a good sailor. Some people have a calling to be a good tiller of the land. Some people are called to be a good friend. You have to be the best at whatever you are called at. Whatever you do. You ought to be the best at it – highly skilled. It’s about confidence, not arrogance. You have to know that you’re the best whether anybody else tells you that or not. And that you’ll be around, in one way or another, longer than anybody else. Somewhere inside of you, you have to believe that. Some of us have seen your calling as somebody who has done his best to pay witness to the world, and the history that made that world. History’s a funny thing, isn’t it? History can be changed. The past can be changed and distorted and used for propaganda purposes. Things we’ve been told happened might not have happened at all. And things that we were told that didn’t happen actually might have happened. Newspapers do it all the time; history books do it all the time. Everybody changes the past in their own way. It’s habitual, you know? We always see things the way they really weren’t, or we see them the way we want to see them. We can’t change the present or the future. We can only change the past, and we do it all the time. There’s that old wisdom “History is written by the victors.” Absolutely. And then there’s Henry Ford. He didn’t have much use for history at all. But you have a use for it. In Chronicles, you wrote about your interest in Civil War history. You said that the spirit of division in that time made a template for what you’ve written about in your music. You wrote about reading the accounts from that time. Reading, say, Grant’s remembrances is different than reading Shelby Foote’s history of the Civil War. The reports are hardly the same. Shelby Foote is looking down from a high mountain, and Grant is actually down there in it. Shelby Foote wasn’t there. Neither were any of those guys who fight Civil War re-enactments. Grant was there, but he was off leading his army. He only wrote about it all once it was over. If you want to know what it was about, read the daily newspapers from that time from both the North and South. You’ll see things that you won’t believe. There is just too much to go into here, but it’s nothing like what you read in the history books. It’s way more deadly and hateful. There doesn’t seem to be anything heroic or honorable about it at all. It was suicidal. Four years of looting and plunder and murder done the American way. It’s amazing what you see in those newspaper articles. Places like the Pittsburgh Gazette, where they were warning workers that if the Southern states have their way, they are going to overthrow our factories and use slave labor in place of our workers and put an end to our way of life. There’s all kinds of stuff like that, and that’s even before the first shot was fired. But there were also claims and rumors from the South about the North … There’s a lot of that, too, about states’ rights and loyalty to our state. But that didn’t make any sense. The Southern states already had rights. Sometimes more than the Northern states. The North just wanted them to stop slavery, not even put an end to it – just stop exporting it. They weren’t trying to take the slaves away. They just wanted to keep slavery from spreading. That’s the only right that was being contested. Slavery didn’t provide a working wage for people. If that economic system was allowed to spread, then people in the North were going to take up arms. There was a lot of fear about slavery spreading. Do you see any parallels between the 1860s and present-day America? Mmm, I don’t know how to put it. It’s like … the United States burned and destroyed itself for the sake of slavery. The USA wouldn’t give it up. It had to be grinded out. The whole system had to be ripped out with force. A lot of killing. What, like, 500,000 people? A lot of destruction to end slavery. And that’s what it really was all about. This country is just too fucked up about color. It’s a distraction. People at each other’s throats just because they are of a different color. It’s the height of insanity, and it will hold any nation back – or any neighborhood back. Or any anything back. Blacks know that some whites didn’t want to give up slavery – that if they had their way, they would still be under the yoke, and they can’t pretend they don’t know that. If you got a slave master or Klan in your blood, blacks can sense that. That stuff lingers to this day. Just like Jews can sense Nazi blood and the Serbs can sense Croatian blood. It’s doubtful that America’s ever going to get rid of that stigmatization. It’s a country founded on the backs of slaves. You know what I mean? Because it goes way back. It’s the root cause. If slavery had been given up in a more peaceful way, America would be far ahead today. Whoever invented the idea “lost cause … .” There’s nothing heroic about any lost cause. No such thing, though there are people who still believe it. Did you hope or imagine that the election of President Obama would signal a shift, or that it was in fact a sea change? I don’t have any opinion on that. You have to change your heart if you want to change. Since his election, there’s been a great reaction by some against him They did the same to Bush, didn’t they? They did the same thing to Clinton, too, and Jimmy Carter before that. Look what they did to Kennedy. Anybody who’s going to take that job is going to be in for a rough time. Don’t you think some of the reaction has stemmed from that kind of racial resonance you were talking about? I don’t know. I don’t know, but I don’t think that’s the same thing. I have no idea what they are saying for or against him. I really don’t. I don’t know how deep it goes or how shallow it is. You are aware that he’s been branded as un-American or a socialist — You can’t pay any attention to that kind of stuff, as if you’ve never heard those kind of words before. Eisenhower was accused of being un-American. And wasn’t Nixon a socialist? Look what he did in China. They’ll say bad things about the next guy, too. So you don’t think some of the reaction against Obama has been in reaction to the event that a black man has become president of the United States? Do you want me to repeat what I just said, word for word? What are you talking about? People loved the guy when he was elected. So what are we talking about? People changing their minds? Well, who are these people that changed their minds? Talk to them. What are they changing their minds for? What’d they vote for him for? They should’ve voted for somebody else if they didn’t think they were going to like him. The point I’m making is that perhaps lingering American resentments about race are resonant in the opposition to President Obama, which has not been a quiet opposition. You mean in the press? I don’t know anybody personally that’s saying this stuff that you’re just saying. The press says all kinds of stuff. I don’t know what they would be saying. Or why they would be saying it. You can’t believe what you read in the press anyway. Do you vote? Uh … Should we do that? Should we vote? Yeah, why not vote? I respect the voting process. Everybody ought to have the right to vote. We live in a democracy. What do you want me to say? Voting is a good thing. I was curious if you vote. [Smiling] Huh? What’s your estimation of President Obama been when you’ve met him? What do I think of him? I like him. But you’re asking the wrong person. You know who you should be asking that to? You should be asking his wife what she thinks of him. She’s the only one that matters. Look, I only met him a few times. I mean, what do you want me to say? He loves music. He’s personable. He dresses good. What the fuck do you want me to say? You live in these times, you have reactions to various national ups and downs. Are you, for example, disappointed by the resistance the president has met with? Would you like to see him re-elected? I’ve lived through a lot of presidents! And you have too! Some are re-elected and some aren’t. Being re-elected isn’t the mark of a great president. Sometimes the guy you get rid of is the guy you wish you had back. I’ve brought up the subject partly because of something you said the night he was elected: “It looks like things are gonna change now.” Do you feel that the change you anticipated has been borne out? You want to repeat that again? I have no idea what I said. It was Election Night 2008. Onstage at the University of Minnesota, introducing your band’s members, you indicated your bassist and said, “Tony Gamier, wearing the Obama button. Tony likes to think it’s a brand-new time right now. An age of light. Me, I was born in 1941 – that’s the year they bombed Pearl Harbor. Well, I been living in a world of darkness ever since. But it looks like things are gonna change now.” I don’t know what I said or didn’t say. As far as Tony goes, yeah, maybe he was wearing an Obama button and maybe I said some stuff because right there in the moment it all made sense. Maybe I said things looked like they could change. And maybe they did change. I don’t think I could have predicted how they would change, but whatever was said, it was said for people in that hall for that night. You know what I’m saying? It wasn’t said to be played on a record forever. Or did I go down to the middle of town and give a speech? It was onstage. It was on the streets? Stage. Stage. OK. It was on the stage. I don’t know what I could have meant by that. You say things sometimes, you don’t know what the hell you mean. But you’re sincere when you say it. I would hope that things have changed. That’s all I can say, for whatever it is that I said. I’m not going to deny what I said, but I would have hoped that things would’ve changed. I certainly hope they have. I get the impression when we talk that you’re reluctant to say much about the president or how he’s been criticized. Well, you know, I told you what I could. In that case, let’s return to Tempest. Can you talk a little about your songwriting method these days? I can write a song in a crowded room. Inspiration can hit you anywhere. It’s magical. It’s really beyond me. What about your role as a producer? How would you describe the sound that you were trying to achieve here? The sound goes with the song. But that’s funny. Somebody was telling me that Justin Bieber couldn’t sing any of these songs. I said I couldn’t sing any of his songs either. And that person said, “Baby, I’m so grateful for that.” There’s a fair amount of mortality, certainly in the last three songs – “Tin Angel,” “Tempest” and “Roll On John.” People come to hard endings. The people in “Frankie and Johnny,” “Stagger Lee” and “El Paso” have come to hard endings, too, and definitely it’s that way in one of my favorite songs, “Delia.” I can name you a hundred songs where everything ends in tragedy. It’s called tradition, and that’s what I deal in. Traditional, with a capital T. Maybe people have to have a simplistic way of identifying something, if they can’t grasp it properly – use some term that they think they can understand, like mortality. Oh, like, “These songs must be about mortality. I mean, Dylan, isn’t he an old guy? He must be thinking about that.” You know what I say to that horseshit? I say these idiots don’t know what they’re talking about. Go find somebody else to pick on. There’s plenty of death songs. You may well know, in folk music every other song deals with death. Everybody sings them. Death is a part of life. The sooner you know that, the better off you’ll be. That’s the only way to look at it. As far as agreeing with what the common consensus is of what my songs mean or don’t mean, it’s just foolish. I can’t really verify or not verify what other people say my songs are about. It was interesting that in the aftermath of the “Titanic” sinking there were many folk and blues and country songs on the subject. Why do you think that was? Folk musicians, blues musicians did write a lot of songs about the Titanic. That’s what I feel that I’m best at, being a folk musician or a blues musician, so in my mind it’s there to be done. If you’re a folk singer, blues singer, rock & roll singer, whatever, in that realm, you oughta write a song about the Titanic, because that’s the bar you have to pass. Today we have so much media that before something happens, you see it. You know about it or you think you do. No one can tell you a thing. You don’t need a song about the fire that happened in Chinatown last night because it was all over the news. In songs, you have to tell people about something they didn’t see and weren’t there for, and you have to do it as if you were. Nobody can contradict you on a song about the Titanic any more than they can contradict you on a song about Billy the Kid. Those folk musicians, though, were people who never would’ve been let aboard the “Titanic,” or would’ve been in steerage. No, but all the old country singers, country blues, hillbilly singers, rock & roll singers, what they all had in common was a powerful imagination. And I have that, too. It’s not that unusual for me to write a song about the Titanic tragedy any more than it was for Leadbelly. It might be unusual to write such a long ballad about it, but not necessarily about the disaster itself. In some “Titanic” songs, there were those who saw the event as a judgment on modern times, on mankind for assuming that it could be unsinkable. Is there some of that in your song? No, no, I try to stay away from all that stuff. I don’t imply any of it. I’m not interested in it. I’m just interested in showing you what happened, on the level that it happened on. That’s all. The meaning of it is beyond me. You also have a song about John Lennon, “Roll On John,” on this album. What moved you to record this now? I can’t remember – I just felt like doing it, and now would be as good a time as any. I wasn’t even sure that song fit on this record. I just took a chance and stuck it on there. I think I might’ve finished it to include it. It’s not like it was just written yesterday. I started practicing it late last year on some stages. Lennon said that he was inspired by you, but also felt competitive with you. You and Lennon were cultural lions in the 1960s and 1970s. Did that ever make for unease or for a sense of competition in each other’s company? I think we covered peers a while back, did we not? John came from the northern regions of Britain. The hinterlands. Just like I did in America, so we had some kind of environmental things in common. Both places were pretty isolated. Though mine was more landlocked than his. But everything is stacked against you when you come from that. You have to have the talent to overcome everything. That was something I had in common with him. We were all about the same age and heard the same exact things growing up. Our paths crossed at a certain time, and we both had faced a lot of adversity. We even had that in common. I wish that he was still here because we could talk about a lot of things now. You went to visit Liverpool, where Lennon grew up. How long ago was that? A couple years ago? Strawberry Field is right in back of his house. Didn’t know that. Evidently, he grew up with his aunt. He’d be out there in the Strawberry Field, a park behind his house that was fenced off. Being in Britain, there’s all this hanging history, chopping off heads. I mean, you grow up with that, if you’re a Brit. I didn’t quite understand the line about getting hung – “Nothing to get hung about” – well, time had moved on, it was like “hung up,” nothing to be hung up about. But he was speaking literally: “What are you doing out there, John?” “Don’t worry, Mum, nothing they’re going to hang me about, nothing to get hung about.” I found that kind of interesting. In “Roll On John,” there’s a sense that Lennon was trapped in America, far away from home. Did you feel empathy for those experiences? How could you not? There’s so much you can say about any person’s life. It’s endless, really. I just picked out stuff that I thought that I was close enough to, to understand. I hear various sources and tributes in Tempest and your other recent music, including the sounds of Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf, the spirit of Charley Patton. Do you think of yourself as a bluesman? Bluesmen lead lives of great hardship. And I’ve got too much rock & roll in my blood to call myself a blues singer. Country blues, folk music and rock & roll make up the kind of music that I play. I also hear echoes of Bing Crosby, going all the may back to Nashville Skyline. Does he bear influence for you? A lot of people would like to sing like Bing Crosby, but very few could match his phrasing or depth of tone. He’s influenced every real singer whether they know it or not. I used to hear Bing Crosby as a kid and not really pay attention to him. But he got inside me nevertheless. Him and Nat King Cole were my father’s favorite singers, and those records played in our house. You said that you originally wanted to make a more religious album this time – can you tell me more about that? The songs on Tempest were worked out in rehearsals on stages during sound-checks before live shows. The religious songs maybe I felt were too similar to each other to release as an album. Someplace along the line, I had to go with one or the other, and Tempest is what I went with. I’m still not sure it was the right decision. When you say religious songs … Newly written songs, but ones that are traditionally motivated. More like “Slow Train Coming”? No. No. Not at all. They’re more like “Just a Closer Walk With Thee.” From the 1980s on, there’s been a lot of dark territory in your songs. Has any of this been a reflection of an ongoing religious struggle for you? Nah, I don’t have any of those religious struggles. I just showed you that book. Transfiguration eliminates all that stuff. You don’t have those kinds of struggles. You never did, and you never will. No. You have to amplify your faith. Those are struggles for other people. Other people that you don’t know and never will. Everybody’s facing some kind of struggle for sure. Has your sense of your faith changed? Certainly it has, o ye of little faith. Who’s to say that I even have any faith or what kind? I see God’s hand in everything. Every person, place and thing, every situation. I mean, we can have faith in just about anything. Can’t we? You might have faith in that bloody mary you’re drinking. It might quiet your nerves. [Laughs] It’s water – not a bloody mary. Well [laughs], it looks like a bloody mary to me. I’m gonna say that it is. I’ll rewrite your history for you. You’ve been willing to talk about these matters before. Yeah, but that was before and this is now. I have enough faith for me to be faithful to myself. Faith is good – it could move mountains. Not that bloody-mary faith that you have, but the kind of faith that people like me have. You can tell whether other people have faith or no faith by the way they behave, by the shit that comes out of their mouths. A little faith can go a long ways. It’s the right thing for people to have. When we have little else, that will do. But it takes a while to acquire it. You just got to keep looking. Sometimes people have acquired it, then feel like they lose faith. Yeah, absolutely. You get hit hard in life. People get hit with everything. We all do. We all get hit upside the head. And some of us get hit harder than others. Some of us get no chance at all. Some of us get more than one chance. No two are alike. You have to push on. Make the best of it. Just like the Woody Guthrie song “Hard Travelin’.” Clearly, the language of the Bible still provides imagery in your songs. Of course, what else could there be? I believe in the Book of Revelation. I believe in disclosure, you know? There’s truth in all books. In some kind of way. Confucius, Sun Tzu, Marcus Aurelius, the Koran, the Torah, the New Testament, the Buddhist sutras, the Bhagavad-Gita, the Egyptian Book of the Dead, and many thousands more. You can’t go through life without reading some kind of book. “Time Out of Mind” started with this image of somebody walking through streets that are dead. A lot of walking in that record, right? I’ve heard that. When that narrator talks about walking this or that road, do you have pictures of those roads in your mind? Yeah, but not in a specific kind of way. You can feel it, without being able to see it. It’s an old-time thing: the walking blues. The walking could be what somebody witnesses. It could be the road to death; it could be the road to illumination. Sure, all those roads. How many roads must a man walk down? Not run down, drive down or crawl down? I’ve been raised on that. The walking blues. “Walking to New Orleans,” “Cadillac Walk,” “Hand Me Down My Walkin’ Cane.” It’s the only way I know. It comes natural. The person who’s walking in these songs, is he walking alone? Sometimes, but then again, sometimes not. Sometimes you got to get into your own space for a while. It never really dawns on me, though, whether I’m walking alone or not. Seems like I’m always walking with somebody. In “Sugar Baby,” on “Love and Theft,” you sang, “Every moment of existence seems like some dirty trick.” Did these words convey a significant change from how you may have felt before? No, there’s been no change whatsoever. I used to think most people felt that way about existence, and I still think that. I want to know more about the matter of transfiguration. Is there a specific moment in which you became aware of it? Yeah, I can refer you to the book [the Sonny Barger biography]. It happens gradually. I’d say that that accident, however, if you want to call it that, I think that was about '64? [Referring to the death of Bobby Zimmerman, which, in fact, took place in 1961.] As I said earlier, I had a motorcycle accident myself, in '66, so we’re talking maybe about two years – a gradual kind of slipping away, and, uh, some kind of something else appearing out of nowhere. And it makes perfect sense, because in the truth world, nothing does begin or end. You know, it’s like things begin while something else is ending. There’s never any sharp borderline or dividing line. We’ve talked about this. You know how we have dividing lines between countries. We have boundaries. Well, boundaries in the cosmological world don’t really exist, any more than they do between night and day. After your motorcycle accident, you were in some ways a different person? I’m trying to explain something that can’t be explained. Help me out. Read the pages of the book. Some people never really develop into who they’re supposed to be. They get cut off. They go off another way. It happens a lot. We all see people that that’s happened to. We see them on the street. It’s like they have a sign hanging on them. Did you have an inkling of this before you read the Barger book? I didn’t know who I was before I read the Barger book. Here’s one way of looking at this: In the 1960s, people saw you as a revolutionary fireball up until the motorcycle accident. Afterward, with the music made in Woodstock with the Band, and with “John Wesley Harding” and “Nashville Skyline,” some were bewildered by your transformation. You came back from that hiatus looking different, sounding different, in voice, music and words. Why is it that when people talk about me they have to go crazy? What the fuck is the matter with them? Sure, I had a motorcycle accident. Sure, I played with the Band. Yeah, I made a record called John Wesley Harding. And sure, I sounded different. So fucking what? They want to know what can’t be known. They are searching – they are seekers. Like in the Pete Townshend song where he’s trying to find his way to 50 million fables. For what? Why are they doing this? They don’t really know. It’s sad. It really is. May the Lord have mercy on them. They are lost souls. They really don’t know. It’s sad – it really is. It’s sad for me, and it’s sad for them. Why do you think that is the case? I don’t have a clue. If you ever find out, come and tell me. Are you saying that you can’t really be known? Nobody knows nothing. Who knows who’s been transfigured and who has not? Who knows? Maybe Aristotle? Maybe he was transfigured? I can’t say. Maybe Julius Caesar was transfigured. I have no idea. Maybe Shakespeare. Maybe Dante. Maybe Napoleon. Maybe Churchill. You just never know, because it doesn’t figure into the history books. That’s all I’m saying. Sometimes we can deepen ourselves or give aid to other people by trying to know them. If we’re responsible to ourselves, then we can be responsible for other people, too. But we have to know ourselves first. People listen to my songs and they must think I’m a certain type of way, and maybe I am. But there’s more to it than that. I think they can listen to my songs and figure out who they are, too. When you say that those who conjecture about you don’t really know what they’re talking about, does that mean that you feel misunderstood? It doesn’t mean that at all! [Laughs] I mean, what’s there, like, to understand? I mean – no, no. Just the opposite. Who’s supposed to understand? My in-laws? Am I supposed to be some misunderstood artist living in an attic? You tell me. What’s there to understand? Please, can we stop now? With this sort of question? Just one more: In the past 10 years, you’ve written an autobiography; there was a fictional film biography, I’m Not There; and there was Martin Scorsese’s documentary, No Direction Home – three big attempts to come to terms with your history, the biggest being your book, Chronicles. Wasn’t that, in a way, an attempt to explain certain things about your life? If you read Chronicles, you know it doesn’t attempt to be any more than what it is. You’re not going to find the meaning of life in it. Mine or anyone else’s. And if you’ve seen No Direction Home, you might have noticed that it ended in '66. And I’m Not There – I don’t know anything about that movie. All I know is they licensed about 30 of my songs for it. Did you like I’m Not There? Yeah, I thought it was all right. Do you think that the director was worried that people would understand it or not? I don’t think he cared one bit. I just think he wanted to make a good movie. I thought it looked good, and those actors were incredible. I think the movie grew from a long-stated perception of you as somebody with a lot of phases and identities. I don’t see myself that way. But what does it matter? It’s only a movie. In Chronicles, you wrote about declining to write songs for a 1971 play by Archibald MacLeish because you thought the play, Scratch, “spelled death for society with humanity lying facedown in its own blood.” Wouldn’t that same vision apply to the 2003 film you co-wrote, Masked and Anonymous? Uh, yeah. You could look at it that way. Were you happy with Masked and Anonymous? No. Whatever vision I had for that movie, that never could’ve carried to the screen. When you want to make a film and you’re using outside money, there’s just too many people you have to listen to. I love that film. I’m glad some people like it. I know people who do. There’s some performances in there. John Goodman. Isn’t he great? And Jessica Lange. Everybody was really good in it. Everybody except me. Ha-ha! I had no business being in it, to tell you the truth. What’s her name, Cate Blanchett [among the actors who played Dylan in I’m Not There], should’ve played the character that I played. It probably would’ve been a hit movie. Will there be a Chronicles 2? Oh, let’s hope so. I’m always working on parts of it. But the last Chronicles I did all by myself. I’m not even really so sure I had a proper editor for that. I don’t want really to say too much about that. But it’s a lot of work. I don’t mind writing it, but it’s the rereading it and the time it takes to reread it – that for me is difficult. You’ve said before there are certain things you just don’t remember. I came away from Chronicles thinking that you remember almost everything. Why didn’t you ever talk before about that life of the mind you’ve gone through? It’s not like I have a great memory. I remember what I want to remember. And what I want to forget, I forget. When you’re writing like that, it’s just kind of like one thing leads to another and another, you just keep opening doors and sliding in and finding a way out. It’s like links in a chain – you make connections as you go along. In recent years, you’ve received numerous high honors, including one recently at the White House, where you were presented with a Medal of Freedom. You weren’t always comfortable with this sort of event. What makes you more accepting now of these laurels? I turn down far more of those medals and honors than I pick up. They come in from all over the place – all parts of the world. Most of them will get turned down because I can’t physically be there to get them all. But every once in a while, there’s something that is important, an incredibly high honor that I would never have dreamed to be receiving, like the Medal of Freedom. There’s no way I would turn that down. Do you accept the awards in part for your family, for your posterity? I accept them for myself and myself only. And I don’t think about it any other way, and I don’t waste a lot of time over-thinking it. It’s an incredible honor. Receiving the Medal of Freedom had to be a bit of a thrill. Oh, of course it’s a thrill! I mean, who wouldn’t want to get a letter from the White House? And the kind of people they were putting me in the category with was just amazing. People like John Glenn and Madeleine Albright, Toni Morrison and Pat Summitt, John Doer, William Foege and some others, too. These people who have done incredible things and have outstanding achievements. Pat Summitt alone has won more basketball games with her teams than any NCAA coach. John Glenn, we all know what he did. And Toni Morrison is as good as it gets. I loved spending time with them. What’s the alternative? Hanging around with hedge-fund hucksters or Hollywood gigolos? You know what I mean? The Medal of Freedom, it’s an encircled star on a ribbon that hangs around your neck? Yeah, I guess so. You should’ve told me you wanted to see it. I’d’ve brought it by and you could look at it, if you wanted. Maybe next time. Yeah. Sure, next time. In July 2009, the police picked you up in Long Branch, New Jersey, while you were on a walk, supposedly looking for Bruce Springsteen’s old home. What happened on that occasion? We were staying at a hotel. The bus was pulling out; I just decided I’d go for a walk. It was raining, and I guess that in that neck of the woods, they’re not used to seeing people walking in the rain. I was the only one on the street. Somebody saw me out of a window and reported me. Next thing I know, a cop car pulled up and asked me for ID. Well, I didn’t have any [laughs]. I wear so many changes of clothes all the time. The woman who was the police officer, she didn’t know me. Because most people don’t. They’ve heard the name. I might be in a place, nobody knows me. Right? All of a sudden, somebody will walk in who knows me, and I’ll have to tell everybody in the place, and then … it gets uncomfortable. That’s the side of people I see. People like to betray people. There’s something in people that they just want to betray somebody. “That’s him over there.” They want to deliver you up. Like they delivered Jesus. They want to be the one to do it. There’s something in people that’s just like that. I’ve experienced that. A lot. Before we end the conversation, I want to ask about the controversy over your quotations in your songs from the works of other writers, such as Japanese author Junichi Saga’s “Confessions of a Yakuza,” and the Civil War poetry of Henry Timrod. Some critics say that you didn ’t cite your sources clearly. Yet in folk and jazz, quotation is a rich and enriching tradition. What’s your response to those kinds of charges? Oh, yeah, in folk and jazz, quotation is a rich and enriching tradition. That certainly is true. It’s true for everybody, but me. I mean, everyone else can do it but not me. There are different rules for me. And as far as Henry Timrod is concerned, have you even heard of him? Who’s been reading him lately? And who’s pushed him to the forefront? Who’s been making you read him? And ask his descendants what they think of the hoopla. And if you think it’s so easy to quote him and it can help your work, do it yourself and see how far you can get. Wussies and pussies complain about that stuff. It’s an old thing – it’s part of the tradition. It goes way back. These are the same people that tried to pin the name Judas on me. Judas, the most hated name in human history! If you think you’ve been called a bad name, try to work your way out from under that. Yeah, and for what? For playing an electric guitar? As if that is in some kind of way equitable to betraying our Lord and delivering him up to be crucified. All those evil motherfuckers can rot in hell. Seriously? I’m working within my art form. It’s that simple. I work within the rules and limitations of it. There are authoritarian figures that can explain that kind of art form better to you than I can. It’s called songwriting. It has to do with melody and rhythm, and then after that, anything goes. You make everything yours. We all do it. When those lines make their way into a song, you’re conscious of it happening? Well, not really. But even if you are, you let it go. I’m not going to limit what I can say. I have to be true to the song. It’s a particular art form that has its own rules. It’s a different type of thing. All my stuff comes out of the folk tradition – it’s not necessarily akin to the pop world. Do you find that sort of criticism irrelevant, or silly? I try to get past all that. I have to. When you ask me if I find criticism of my work irrelevant or silly, no, not if it’s constructive. If someone could point out here or there where my work could be improved upon, I guess I’d be willing to listen. The people who are obsessed with criticism – it’s not honest criticism. They are not the people who I play to anyway. But surely you’ve heard about this particular controversy? People have tried to stop me every inch of the way. They’ve always had bad stuff to say about me. Newsweek magazine lit the fuse way back when. Newsweek printed that some kid from New Jersey wrote “Blowin’ in the Wind” and it wasn’t me at all. And when that didn’t fly, people accused me of stealing the melody from a 16th-century Protestant hymn. And when that didn’t work, they said they made a mistake and it was really an old Negro spiritual. So what’s so different? It’s gone on for so long I might not be able to live without it now. Fuck 'em. I’ll see them all in their graves. Everything people say about you or me, they are saying about themselves. They’re telling about themselves. Ever notice that? In my case, there’s a whole world of scholars, professors and Dylanologists, and everything I do affects them in some way. And, you know, in some ways, I’ve given them life. They’d be nowhere without me. And inspiration. No, they’re not good for that. The flip side of people being critical … Yeah, to hold someone in high admiration [laughs]. The flip side is, there’s also the audience that really loves you. Of course. They think they do. They love the music and songs I play, not me. Why do you say that? Because that’s the way people are. People say they love a lot of things, but they really don’t. It’s just a word that’s been overused. When you put your life on the line for somebody, that’s love. But you’ll never know it until you’re in the moment. When someone will die for you, that’s love, too.