#Quick Look: Disc Jam

[microtonalmatt]

Redesigning Aife

Hey so it's been a while since I did or said anything with/about Beeknighted. After the launch of the demo disc, I updated the game feverishly for a couple weeks, but I got into some dire financial straits and was looking for more work for a long while. I also took a break from Beeknighted to work on Star Crucible, which was only intended to be a one-month quick little project for a game jam that has spiraled out of control. It's still in the back pocket but I need to let it simmer for a while I refine some of its ideas.

I'm now working on a third project, this time something I'm telling myself I'll actually get done in a short time (I know, I know). But I just couldn't stop thinking about things I wanted to do with Beeknighted. I've been writing characters, chunks of the main quest, designing weapons and items, all just on paper because I haven't really had a chance to properly work on it for a while. But I thought I shouldn't set aside both Beeknighted and Star Crucible without at least dropping a crumb or two, so I've been working on the redesign of Aife, the bee.

First off, why the redesign?

The bee was the first full 3D model I had ever created, textured, and animated. Period. It had...a lot of problems and beginner mistakes. And I didn't just wake up one day and bust out a perfect model of what was in my head. Version 1.0 of the bee was...quite frankly horrifying.

Yeah, it...it was bad. It was made in 3 days for a game jam using youtube tutorials for a guide (which was not the fault of the tutorials at all, simply user error). When I decided to develop the game further, I set about retexturing the model, thinking I could save the geometry. I really just cleaned up the face and body.

But this didn't fix the underlying faults with the model. The rig was just plain bad. There were weird issues with weights where if you bent the character too far forward the head would shrink, the hair couldn't animate well, there are no shoulder bones so no shoulder movement, lots of issues all around. Those weren't easily fixed when I already had made around 40 animations using the rig.

There were also issues with the body geometry. The arms/hands/legs/feet/wings were all fine, but the head, thorax, and abdomen, to get technical, were all imperfect. There's weird shading issues you can see on the body that are a result of bad topology. A failure to properly triangulate the abdomen caused it to look weird at some angles. And the head is just poorly modeled overall. It uses a lot more triangles than necessary and doesn't achieve the intended design goal. Heads are hard, faces even more so. She doesn't even have a nose.

Even if you can excuse the mediocre rigging and amateur geometry, you can't excuse the biggest problem of all: my crime against video game collision shapes:

I shouldn't even be allowed to touch a computer after this atrocity.

It was really important to me that the collision represent the shape of the character for the combat to feel precise. But this disaster meant platforming is all over the place. Not to mention if the character gets horizontally wedged between two walls, there's no escape because the character can't turn around. I had thought "Spyro did it [an oddly shaped character], so can I" but I am not a seasoned Insomniac developer. Even so, I don't know how I was allowed to sneak in this egregious sin against video games for so long.

So in short, these changes had been a long time coming.

The goals of the redesign:

First and foremost, the bee had to stand more upright (or else more horizontal, not diagonal) so that I could use a regular upright collision capsule. At the same time, I wanted to maintain as many bee elements as possible.

The abdomen had to be a bit smaller and more out of the way so the player could always see where the feet were landing for platforming purposes. This was a bigger problem than you'd think.

The character had to appear older but still look small. This was simply a mistake in the old design that the face looked too young by the nature of me struggling to draw faces + the bad geometry. The bangs were meant to hang down more but the model didn't allow for it.

Details needed to be crisper, bolder, and chunkier. When I played the demo on my CRT, I noticed the thinner points of limbs threatened to get lost on screen. N64 characters tend to be noticeably more chunky to compensate.

My inspirations for the initial character came from a range of sources. Obviously with the game being inspired by N64 graphics, I picked inspirational references from contemporary characters, as well as characters from media that had been created/released in the run-up to the N64 that might have inspired later works. I wanted the bee to look like a mix between a silent JRPG protagonist (or, y'know, Link wouldn't be a bad pick) and classic fantasy/horror anime female protagonists (the ones that all have that same long hairstyle, black/dark hair, poofy bangs in the front).

My moodboard included Yuuko from Valis, Utena from Revolutionary Girl Utena, Popful Mail, Aika and Fina from Skies of Arcadia, a handful of leading ladies from late 80s/early 90s horror OVAs (like the kind Madhouse was putting out at the time, but usually worse), and some Fire Emblem characters.

The N64 doesn't really have a lot of 3D "anime" characters to use for references. You've got the oft-maligned Quest 64, some of the bosses from the Goemon games (all the npcs are very chibi), and some of the more anime-inspired characters from the Zelda games and a handful from Megaman 64, though Megaman's art style and way of 3D modelling is fairly unique in its own right.

I suppose I should emphasize that while the main character and some of the side characters are anime-inspired, the point was not to make an anime game per se. I chose the look because of its potential to create expressive and amusing faces because I wanted the bee to have as much character as, say, Link from Wind Waker, who is constantly emoting about anything and everything.

The New Version

Aife's new model sports a totally remade head and body. While using the old limbs, I thickened them up a bit for visibility while still trying to maintain that bug-like spindliness. The abdomen is slightly smaller and the geometry is simplified. I simply didn't need that many triangles. She stands more upright, and the head is in a more natural place above the shoulders, and the human-ish proportions are better. The redone body uses vertex colors, rather than textures, but leaves the option open to texture new costumes. I also redesigned the bangs to drape lower on the face but not get in the way of the expression. The old bangs made the character look too childish, imo. All of the textures have been redrawn, simplified, and cleaned up. She now has a nose.

Despite all of the improvements and added details, the model weighs in at 100 fewer triangles than the old model, for a total of 672 tris.

I'm much more confident that this new Aife will be better suited to the highly animated gameplay required of her, and can't wait to dive into the rigging/animating process. But that's all for now!

[theamateurbaker]

This. In college I would make cookies to de-stress, but I couldn't possibly eat them all so I would leave them out with a sign in the common room.

People were always hype to get them and it was nice to be able to do something for someone at a relatively low cost.

Cake mix cookies are my go-to affordable quick and easy cookies, recipe below.

Cake Mix Cookies

One box cake mix of your choice

2 eggs

1/3 cup oil or melted butter

Mix that up and you got dough!

I usually go for about a tablespoon of dough per cookie, 12 to a cookie pan. You can make em bigger or smaller as long as you adjust bake time accordingly. Line the pan with parchment paper for easy cleanup. Afterward!

Should get about 2 dozen.

Set the oven to 325-350 (325 for softer, 350 for crisper) and bake on the middle rack for approximately 12 minutes. Ovens vary so you might have to experiment to get to know yours.

Tip: you can roll the dough into a tube with parchment paper and then wrap it snug with plastic wrap like a store bought dough roll and chill it overnight for nicer dough, or to store it in the freezer. This method allows for easy slicing of dough into discs and you can portion out the dough into a ziplock once it's solid and take out a few at a time for fresh cookies whenever you want!

The great thing about this recipe is that it's so customizable. You can use any flavour of cake mix and you can mix in any topping you can think of!

My favourite combinations:

Black forest - cherry chip cake mix, 1/4 cup cocoa powder, optional chocolate chips. Top with white chips to look like whipped cream and a maraschino cherry in the middle.

Lemon Meringue - lemon cake mix, yogurt chips, top with marshmallow.

Carrot cake - spice cake mix, glaze some grated carrot with brown sugar and butter, optional whiskey. (I like fireball) Cook carrots til softened, let cool and drain excess liquid. Add to dough along with cream cheese flavoured baking chips. You can add raisins or walnuts as well. Try glazing the raisins along with the carrots!

Strawberry shortcake - strawberry cake mix, white chocolate chips, optional freeze dried strawberry or sandwiched with strawberry jam

Seriously the world is your oyster, think of your favourite dessert and try to assemble a cookie tribute to it. I like to find out my friends and neighbors favourite dessert and challenge myself to cookie it, then surprise them with the cookies ❤️

[yasyas79811]

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[tuppencetrinkets]

Star Wars: Outlaws. Kay Vess dialogue, part 2.

I - I think I got turned around somewhere.

I almost feel bad winning like this.

I already found everything.

I can do better.

I can win them back.

I can't get a shot through!

I can't get away from them, they're everywhere.

I can't shake them, they keep finding me.

I cant' move, oh come on.

I didn't do anything, I promise.

I don't give up so easy.

I don't like this.

I feel good about this one.

I got you.

I guess they brought their friends.

I guess, you, you're with the Hutts, that's just great.

I had such a good feeling about that one too.

I hear you.

I know exactly what you're planning.

I know, I know. I got it.

I like this one's odds.

I like this one, this is a good one.

I like this track, you into this one?

I might regret this.

I need a second.

I need Nix.

I need the Trailblazer.

I never thought we'd see something like this.

I see cameras.

I think they are in trouble.

I think we lost them.

I think we're in the clear.

I think we're in trouble, buddy.

I think we're safe now.

I think you need more practice.

I thought that was an easy win.

I thought you were supposed to be good.

I was just warming up.

I'm sorry, okay.

I'll be back.

I'll find it later, not right now.

I'll get back to you.

I'll get you back.

I'll go easy on you.

I'll keep an eye out.

I'll make it up to them later.

I'll take that as a win.

I'll try not to be too hard on you.

I'll try this.

I'll walk it off. I'll watch for them.

I'm attracting a lot of heat.

I'm coming buddy, just a second.

I'm counting on you.

I'm fine, really -- ouch, ouch.

I'm going to get you out of there, just hold on buddy.

I'm heading out.

I'm just getting started.

I'm just here to join up with the Pykes.

I'm not feeling lucky.

I'm not getting through!

I'm off.

I'm okay.

I'm on it, I'm on it!

I'm so glad I ran into an Imperial.

I'm the best in the Galaxy.

I'm up for it all right.

I've got this.

I've never cheated in my whole life.

I, uh, I like what you did with the place.

I, uh, think I took a wrong turn.

It can only go up from here.

It could be worse.

It might have something useful.

It's going to be okay.

It's my fault, I'm sorry.

It's not over yet.

It's not your day, sorry.

It's over.

It's pouring, so rainy.

It's showtime, buddy.

It's you or me.

Jump time.

Just business.

Just give me a second, sorry.

Just making things interesting.

Just passing through.

Keep the credits, keep my chips, I'm out.

Kriff, it's hot out here.

Later. The racetrack can wait.

Less talking, more playing.

Let me show you how it's done.

Let's do this.

Let's get a better look.

Let's get out of here.

Let's get this done.

Let's give those little feet a rest.

Let's go quiet.

Let's go.

Let's jam them.

Let's just stay quiet and try not to be spotted.

Let's keep a low profile here.

Let's lose this heat.

Let's make some noise.

Let's move quick, this place is crawling with troopers.

Let's punch it.

Let's put more heat on them.

Let's see how quiet we can be, huh.

Let's see what you can do.

Let's see what you got.

Let's see what's on the menu.

Let's sit this one out.

Let's take a breather.

Light out, sleep tight.

Like a whisper.

Listen, I'm not here to cause trouble.

Listen, let's just talk about this.

Listen, me and the Pyke, we get along great.

Listen, the Dawn and I go way back.

Look at that flyer, it's got something.

Look at that, guess we're making friends, huh.

Look, I - I've just got to deliver uh, uh something, and then I'm gone.

Look, I can explain.

Look, I don't want trouble, okay.

Look, I'm a friend of the Dawn.

Look, let's just you and me talk about this.

Look, this is just a misunderstanding.

Look, we can make a deal, right?

Look, you and I, we should work together.

Looks good - you want to split something?

Looks like backup.

Looks like I'm on the wrong world, doesn't it.

Looks like it's my lucky day.

Looks like reinforcements.

Looks like that pod's going to crash.

Looks like there's a holo disc around here.

Looks like they got help.

Looks like they want some help.

Looks like they're getting to know me.

Looks like they're guarding something.

Looks like they're in trouble.

Looks like they're running.

Looks like we found them all.

Looks like we're in big trouble, pal.

Lost them.

Lots of company ahead.

Lots of trouble over there.

Luck's holding out.

Lucky thoughts.

Making enemies.

Maybe this isn't your type of game.

Maybe this will help.

Maybe we can still be friends.

Might be able to find something here.

Might have something valuable.

Might have something worthwhile in that sand crawler.

Nearly got us that time.

Need a distraction!

Need more credits.

Need some light.

Need to be extra careful out here.

Never even knew we were there.

Next up.

Nice try, lost him.

Nice!

Nice! That's the last part.

Nice, we're stuck.

Nice. As expected.

Night night.

No hiding now.

No one even suspected us, sneakiest time in the Galaxy.

No one even suspected us.

No one saw us.

No problem.

No races today, I guess.

No risk, no reward. You win some, you lose some.

Now, where was I?

Nobody sees us, nobody blasts us.

Not a chance, can't catch me.

Not doing anything without Nix.

Not everyone counts cards.

Not looking good.

Not until Nix is back.

Nothing left to do around here.

Nothing like this on Canto.

Nothing personal.

Nothing's better than getting paid.

Nothing's broken, I think.

Now or never. Let's do it, let's go.

Now that's what I call flying.

Now this is a speeder.

Now, what are they up to?

Now, who looks like a winner.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Once an iconic New York City street food, the Charlotte Russe is a Push Pop–style confection encased in a cardboard shell with a movable bottom.

https://citylore.org/taste-charlotte-russe-from-holtermanns-bakery/

Once an iconic New York City street food, the Charlotte Russe is a Push Pop–style confection encased in a cardboard shell with a movable bottom. Inside, a disc of sponge cake is topped with a dollop of jam and crowned with spirals of whipped cream and a nut-dusted Maraschino cherry. As you eat it, you push the bottom up with your thumb, permitting access to the pastry’s deeper layers.

My search for the elusive treat led me to Holtermann’s Bakery, reportedly the only place in the five boroughs to make Charlotte Russes today (until a few years ago, Bay Ridge’s Leske’s sold a delicious version available by pre-order). Founded in 1878, Holtermann’s is the oldest family-owned bakery on Staten Island.

The pastry, however, receives no fanfare at Holtermann’s: there’s no banner proclaiming the shop the last bastion of Charlotte Russes in New York; the little turbaned pastries are not set apart on a golden tray. In fact, they sit in a corner of the display case on a plastic tray alongside their pastry peers. While I’d raced across the Verrazano, afraid they’d sell out, on the day of my visit the other customers were buying rye bread, doughnuts, and apple cake.

According to an article on the lost foods of New York, the Charlotte Russe—reportedly pronounced “Charley Roosh” and nicknamed “the Brooklyn Ambrosia”—was sold in the early to mid-1900s from street carts, candy stores, and bakeries as a quick after-school treat. Kids loved the novelty of pushing the cake upward, licking their way through the layers of cream, jam, and cake, and the challenge of achieving the right proportions of each in a single bite.

Though it looks heavy, the Charlotte Russe is actually airy. Removing the cherry—and savoring its waxy, syrupy, one-bite burst—reveals the enticing hole at the center of the cream spiral. The only way to eat the cream is to scoop at it with one’s top lip, rotating the cardboard shell as you go. Once the cream has leveled out with the scalloped top of the cardboard (which can be licked clean later), you start to crave a new texture. It’s time to start pushing it!

You position your thumb at the center of the bottom of the shell and urge the pastry upward. With a squeaky rasp of waxed cardboard, the concoction rises like an elevator, revealing the golden coin of cake and leaving the Swiss-dotted cardboard behind like a discarded pinafore.

After conquering the pastry’s crown, the real joy of the Charlotte Russe begins: the contrast of textures between the cloud of cream; the cool, sticky dab of jam; and the spongy, grainy cake. As one schoolchild I know observed, it’s not unlike a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the Charlotte Russe’s successor in the realm of after-school treats: sweet and salty; smooth and crumbly; creamy and acidic. No matter how many times we’ve eaten it, it always surprised and delights us with its symphony of contrasts—not unlike New York City itself.

A BOILER ISSUE. National Pulse

Hollywood actress and far-left host of The View Whoopi Golberg claims a New York bakery refused to take her order for a birthday cake because of her political views. Goldberg made the claims during the Wednesday episode of The View as she and her co-hosts celebrated her 69th birthday. However, the allegations have proven questionable at best, with the bakery owner publicly refuting them just days later.

“It’s a sponge cake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. I should tell you…the place that made these refused to make them for me,” Goldberg said on Wednesday while she and her co-hosts enjoyed the cake on-air. She added: “They said that their ovens had gone down, but folks went and got them anyway, which is why I’m not telling you who made them. It’s not… because I’m a woman, but perhaps they did not like my politics.”

However, the bakery in question, Holtermann’s of Staten Island, is pushing back against the accusation leveled by The View co-host. Jill Holtermann, the bakery’s current owner, says she informed Goldberg that she could not fulfill the order because of a boiler problem. The owner says she explained that the bakery is in a 130-year-old building and that she could not commit to having the cake done on time since she was unsure how long it would take for repairs.

Holtermann insists her initial denial of Golderber’s order was not because of politics but rather the simple fact she didn’t know whether she would actually be able to bake the cake. She notes that the order was completed after the boiler was quickly repaired.

Goldberg has a long history of making bizarre claims on The View. Recently, she suggested Trump will deport mixed-race couples and admitted she frequently defecates in her pants.

@dflogerzi and everyone,

I have been following the most amazing story the last couple of days.

Whoopi made some disparaging remark about cupcakes. That she said wasn't delivered in time for her birthday. The bakery was on Staten Island and family run. She said it was because of her being a liberal.

It ended up that the machine had a mechanical issue and once fixed all was fine. It had nothing to do with anything other than that.

Whoopi, maybe thought she could harm or cancel this business. Maybe. Why else mention their name?

But no way. The entire town and beyond came out to support this business. Even gave a press conference with all of Staten Island in support. It was extraordinary. The bakery was overwhelmed.

I like some of Whoopi's movies. I choose not to watch the View, but know others like it. And I have never believed in cancel culture. @dflogerzi and so many others served to protect all of our rights. We can differ. That is not a bad thing.

So now this bakery will thrive even more. Because this was a community who cared about each other. The NYP goes into more detail.

I am only raising the liberal part because Whoopi did. And btw, I come from and still live in one of the most liberal states. But cupcakes do not care about politics. Those who break their backs working do not either.

I cannot believe being from Boston I would love this NY story. Lol And I am going to be ordering from them over the holidays.

Thought it was just a nice story about nice people who live and work in a great community.

[saintsofwarding]

EMBRYO

Chapter 4: Electricity Puns

Her boots hit the pavement with a bone-jarring wham. Mold tendrils trailed around Rose's body, unsticking from the building; they'd taken the brunt of her impact. She straightened, looking up at her open window, then grinned. Glee rushed through her, wild and fizzing. Okay, that was pretty cool. She should pull that in gym class.

Rose pulled her hood over her hair and hurried off into the night.

Traffic rushed past her, a blur of light and engine roar. Even at this time of night, a few passersby were with her on the sidewalks, coming home from or heading to late shifts, going downtown for some of Regent City's famous nightlife. Nothing was gonna jump out at her here- too much activity. The monster in the alley hadn't gone for the obvious target. It began with the dumpster. That meant that even in its mutated state, it still had animal instincts. If she wanted an opponent, she'd have to make herself a much easier target.

Rose made a turn down an alley and beneath an underpass, down a flight of concrete steps and through a dark side street, hurrying past rows of closed store-fronts, the laundromat where she and Heisenberg went to wash stuff, the corner diner that had been shut down by the health department multiple times in the eight months they'd lived in Regent City. The rain torrented down, running in rivulets over the pavement. Rose broke into a jog, and within a few minutes she'd reached what she was looking for.

The park was no more than a couple blocks of grass and trees, a small dirty creek bisecting the place diagonally. The wishing bridge looked like what it was wishing for most was a fresh coat of paint. Rose squished onto the soaked grass, watching the shadows, the park benches, the pockets of impenetrable darkness beneath the trees. In daylight, the place was almost cute- kids playing on the rusty old playground, parents chatting to one another on benches, the atmosphere shabby but sweet. Now, lit only by the filtering haze of sodium light from the border streets' lamps, it was a black, wet, freezing hole.

Hands deep in her pockets, she made her way to the middle of the park, slowing near the playground. Swings creaked in the breeze; rainwater sluiced from the jungle gym, and over by a copse of trees, the carousel revolved slowly, its central disc slightly off-kilter.

Rose glanced around the darkness once more, chewing on her lower lip.

"Here, monsters," she muttered. "Come and get it."

Nothing happened.

She went to a swing and shook off the worst of the rain, then folded into it. It was so close to the ground she had to fold her spindly legs like jackknives. Giving the ground a light kick, she rocked back and forth, rain soaking into her shoulders and turning her loose hair into wet, pale ropes. Nothing moved but the rain, the wind in the bushes, the headlights of the occasional car on a nearby street.

No monsters.

Not even a raccoon, dammit.

"This is so stupid," Rose announced into the night.

Heat crept up her cheeks. What was she thinking? Running off like a dumbass, leaving her nice, warm, dry room so she could sit in the rain and wait around for a monster that likely didn't even exist. That one in the alleyway must have been a fluke. She and Heisenberg hadn't encountered anything super-weird for like a year and a half beforehand, had lived a peaceful, if understated, existence since that one zombie in the supermarket incident, and- hey, maybe that had just been someone having a really bad day-

Well, his face had been sloughing off, and he had tried to bite into her neck like a chicken wing, and Heisenberg had sort of crushed his skull into strawberry jam with a quick-thinking intervention of his powers and a jumbo-size can of clam chowder-

Still, the logic held. Sam had just been scared and would have said anything to help the situation make more sense to her. There were no monsters anymore, not since the village, not since the mountainside, the lycan army, the vast pale draconic creature in the snow that had stolen her into her living nightmares. No monsters in Regent City except for her and Heisenberg.

The wind picked up. Rose shivered. Something ached in the pit of her skull.

No.

Not an ache.

Cold swept down her spine. Her nerve endings flared, each one a lit match. She sat bolt upright on the swingset. The darkness spread around her.

In it-

Something rustled in the bushes. Rose squinted, not moving from her uncomfortable folded position on the child's swing. The leaves shook near the ground, and she saw something rummaging around in there.

Rose slowly let out her breath. That small, it had to be a raccoon after all. The leaves parted; a shape nosed from the leaves, onto the wet grass. For a moment Rose thought it was indeed some small stray animal.

Then it wandered into a pool of lamplight. The orange sodium light glistened off grayish-black flesh, tinged with pink where it shone through veiny, jellylike translucence. Rose couldn't focus on its shape; it kept changing. About a foot long, it seemed to roll and crawl along like it had no internal structure; on occasion a limb would extend, split into a clawed hand, feel around on the grass, pull itself forward. Orifices gaped, sniffing at the air. It looked like nothing more than an ambulatory wad of chewed gum.

Slowly, trying not to make a sound, Rose got up from the swing. The thing crawled a ways on, pausing every so often to sniff, to wave various protuberances around.

Rose's heartbeat settled somewhere around the level of her stomach as she stared at the weird little creature. Whatever this thing was- lump of living meat, mutant raccoon, parasite disconnected from a host body- it would go out with one good stomp, much less a jumbo-size can of clam chowder. Now, unlike then, Heisenberg wasn't here to get her out of a sticky situation. Now, unlike then, Rose could take care of herself.

"You lost or something?" she said. She stepped from beneath the swingset, toward the creature. It didn't divert from its path across the grass. "What are you, anyway? Kind of creepy-looking, to be honest."

She shrugged. "Not that I should judge."

As Rose walked, she lifted one hand. Black veined from her palm, wrapping around her fingers. "But I'm kind of on the lookout for creepy things," she went on. "And, I'm sorry, but I think you're up to no good, and that means it's curtains-"

The thing swiveled.

It was like watching a wave hit a rock. It surged, springing from the ground and expanding in the same movement, a spray of gelatinous gray-pink-black matter. Rose could only fling herself back and scream as it lunged toward her. Her foot twisted on the wet grass; she fell backwards, hard, on her ass.

Her breath whooshed from her; her head cracked against the foot of the swingset. White burst in her vision.

When it cleared-

Oh, fuck-

It writhed before her, matter slicking and twisting into shape, a gangly, ill-proportioned humanoid, its limbs too long and bending backwards at their joints, its head a mere lump of translucent flesh atop its shoulders. Extra arms unfurled from its back. Illuminated from behind by the streetlight, Rose could see through it, could see the cloudy silhouette of some kind of organ system pulsing within its torso.

"Holy shit!" Rose yelled.

She shoved herself backward as the thing took its first step toward her. It tipped its head sideways; features rippled through its...meat? Jelly? Rose recognized with a kind of plunging, gutless horror her own features, her long nose and open mouth, even her wide eyes, one on the thing's forehead, another on its cheek.

They blurred again as the thing advanced again.

Rose found her limbs. Gotta be fast, kid. She flipped onto her hands and knees and pushed herself up, breaking into a sprint.

Her whole body shook. She clenched her fists as she ran; she heard the thing following her, heard the slick sound of its matter sloshing against itself. Mold rippled around her; she twisted on one foot- her ankle gave a hot throb of pain- and flung out her arms.

Darkness reared from the wet grass, from her hands, eating up the space between her and the monster.

"Hah!" Rose yelled.

Her glee died fast.

The thing's whipping, too-long arms crossed before it, their matter hardening into long talon-blades of milky crystal. They shattered through the mold, sending it sluicing in waves, passing harmlessly around the thing. The mold disintegrated into black dust, billowing away in smoky clouds, soon lost in the rain.

"No," Rose choked. She stepped back. Her ankle throbbed again; she must have twisted it bad. "No. Shit. No."

The thing flicked its arms, blades transforming again to jelly flesh as it advanced. Rose's heartbeat pounded inside her, so hard it hurt. She threw her arms forward again, heaving everything she had at the thing.

Mold exploded in jagged shards from the ground, hardening into spear-sharp points. They sliced past the thing, taking chunks of jelly with it.

Its head split open; a shriek ripped through the rain, long tendrils of matter flailing as the thing reared back, stumbling a little.

"That's right!" Rose yelled, her voice shaking. "Stay back, you little-"

Before she could finish her threat to the monster it whirled, and in a single leap, it began to lope away, toward the nearby thoroughfare, toward lights and movement.

Toward more people.

"No," Rose said. "Oh, shit, no-"

Ignoring the pain in her twisted ankle, she sprinted after the thing. It pelted across the road and squeezed between two buildings, wriggling out of sight. Rose plunged after it; she shoved herself through the narrow, smoky alleyway and burst, skidding on the wet pavement, into a blaze of headlights. The thoroughfare, a relatively-busy shopping street, still occupied even this time of night. Three lanes of traffic roared before her, pedestrians stumbling aside as a drenched, wild-eyed, mud-assed girl shoved into their midst.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" someone said, but Rose barely heard them; she looked around frantically for any sign of monsters.

A scream lit the night. A commotion, near the entrance to one of Regent City's subway stations. "Sorry!" Rose said as she shoved off someone and flung herself toward the commotion. She glimpsed something huge, much bigger than the gangly teenager-sized monster the thing was in the park, glistening that rotting-flesh color, for an instant before it vanished through the crowd, into the subway station.

Is it drawing me away?

Healing up so it can hit me again?

Wants me to follow so it can kill me for real?

Didn't matter. Down there, in the subterranean confines, people would be sitting ducks. She had to get after it and find out a way to stop it, or get totally fucked up trying. Scrubbing her hand over her mouth, Rose ducked past the crowd and plunged into the tiled stairwell that led down to the station.

Watery echoes surrounded her as she hurried down the steps. Neon light from informative signs cast glossy reflections on the grimy white tiles; dark fluid streaked the concrete floor, as if tracked there by a long, loping gait.

The distance between fluid streaks increased by the meter, and as Rose hurried deeper into the station, passing darkened ticket booths and empty waiting areas, a few people huddled, terrified, in corners, dread pulsed alongside her heartbeat.

Was this thing growing the more she fought it?

Only one way to find out.

"Get back to the surface," she yelled at a group of girls around her own age, clutching shopping bags. "This place isn't safe right now."

"Mara's down there!" one of them said, her face streaked with tears. "She was in the bathroom- she doesn't know about that- that thing-"

"I'll get her out," Rose said. She sounded braver than she felt.

"How?"

"Just get out," Rose said. "Now!"

They got out.

Rose pushed onward.

She leaped the turnstile and continued down, down, down. Rumbles vibrated through her boot soles as her gait slowed, as she reached the subway station itself. Fluorescent lights flickered, casting a sickly light over the platform, the gaping mouth of the tunnel, the rust and oil-streaked tracks snaking off into the darkness.

Something else hummed: the third rail. Heisenberg might conduct electricity like some kind of weird eel-man, but she figured she should keep well enough away. Nothing like a zillion volts applied straight to her brain to really screw up her night.

"Mara?" Rose called.

No answer. She began along the platform, toward the bathrooms at the far end. "Mara?" she called.

Something clattered; something went yelp that might have been a cut-off scream. Rose hurried faster.

Dark liquid oozed beneath the door, glistening red in the fluorescent lights.

Her dread sharpened to a point. Rose pushed open the door with one shoulder, her hands raised, calling her mold. The red was a rivulet of blood down the middle of the dingy bathrooms, wicking into the spilled paper towel bin, pooling over the tiles.

A wet tearing filled the air, low, weird hisses and snarls slithering to Rose's core. She rounded a corner and into the long row of stalls, reflected back on themselves by mirrors over the sink.

One of the sinks was on and overflowing. Water dripped onto the floor, mixing in pinkish swirls with the blood.

The monster hunched before her, its once-gelatinous shoulders hardened into spikes of crystalline armor. Its head was down; a body was splayed before it. Another teenage girl, her reddish curls haloing her head. The thing had hold of her leg. Her eyes were open, glazed in agony.

She was alive.

She saw Rose.

"Help...me," she whispered.

The monster whirled. Rose jolted back as it lifted its head from Mara's mauled leg, rising- up, and up, and up. She felt the blood drain from her face, her lips parted, her eyes wide as she took the thing in. Changed. Massive. It towered six and a half feet or more, its back and shoulders and upper arms spiked with that crystal armor. A great, distended sac hung from its belly, full of those organ-shadows. Tentacles writhed from its split-open head-jaws, triple lopes hanging with glistening ropes of toothless mouthparts.

One smacked a mirror as it writhed, leaving smears of bloody mucus across the glass. The thing's smell hit Rose, hard enough to make her gag: rotting meat and blood and digestive acid, bitter and stinging as a noseful of bleach.

Her nerves frayed. They snapped. Rose backed off, one step, another, boots squeaking on the bloody tiles. The thing advanced, wet snarls echoing over Mara's pleas for help. Underfoot, Rose felt the tell-tale vibration of a subway train passing on a lower track.

She spun on a heel and ran. The monster leaped after her; she felt its weight leave the floor, felt the impact of its footsteps shake the ground after her. Rose burst through the bathroom door and onto the platform, leaving bloody footprints behind her; a beat of silence- then the door smashed off its hinges, armor plating screeching against the doorframe as the thing forced its way through. It screeched, tentacles splayed like the mantle of a hunting squid.

A few people had collected on the platform- maybe they'd heard Mara's cries for help. A chorus of screams and yelps filled the air as Rose pelted toward the edge of the platform, the monster hot on her heels, going down on its knuckles to pursue her on all fours.

The edge of the platform rushed toward her. Bitter acid crept up her throat. Don't think. Just do. Rose leaped into empty air; the rails rushed past. She overshot the electrified rail and crashed to the greasy gravel on the far side. White pain sheared through her ankle; with a scream she went to her knee, palms grinding into the gravel.

Shadow fell over her. She looked up as the monster gathered itself to leap after her, station lights shining through its weird half-translucent body, its matter writhing and pulsating, amassing size even as she watched.

"That is how you work, isn't it?" Rose panted. "Get bigger and bigger the more you fight me?"

Well. She wouldn't give it the chance for more.

Far down the tunnel-

Light glanced off dirty concrete walls.

She felt it in her palms. The gravel jumped and vibrated. She pushed herself to her feet, limping back, back, until she hit the far wall. Wind stirred her sweaty hair.

The monster leaped. Rose ducked; it crashed into the ground just in front of her, just atop the electrified rail. The sound it made was a buzz-saw in her brain, a high-pitched howl that filled the tunnel, louder even than the roar of the approaching train. Blue lightning crackled and arced over its body, leaving blackened, glistening gashes in its matter everywhere it touched. The thing went rigid, claws splayed, tentacles lit eerie blue from within.

The gashes sealed within seconds, but Rose wasn't counting on the electricity alone. She ducked under its claw and toward the edge of the platform. The train's roar grew, and grew; wind howled past her, hot and metal-scented, the air itself shoved out of the way as the massive hunk of steel and plastic hurtled toward her at fifty miles an hour.

Her heartbeat was rabbit-fast, stringy and panicky. Fuck the monster; she was about to get hit by a fucking train.

Light blazed, and its horn sounded, vibrating in the pit of her stomach.

She flung out her hands. Strands of mold shot from the far wall of the platform like webbing. She pulled, hard; her boots left the ground and she sailed over the platform's edge moments before the train roared past.

The sound was devastating. A truckful of watermelons crushed. The monster's screech cut off in the wet splashing-cracking-tearing; fluid spattered Rose as she flipped onto her back, breathing hard, eyes huge, watching the train blur past. People approached; someone said something. She couldn't hear it over the sound of blood rushing through her ears.

The train vanished once more into the tunnel. Nothing was left of the monster save for lumps of blackened meat strewn across the tracks, and-

Was that-

Somehow, Rose managed to get up. "I'm fine," she said, dully, to the small crowd that had gathered around her. Ignoring any protests, she hopped down gingerly onto the tracks, her twisted ankle letting out little shoots of pain.

Embedded in one of the meat lumps was what looked like a round disc of metal. Rose paused, then pulled her shirt sleeve over her hand before digging it out. She cleaned off the goo with her thumb. It was covered in fine engraved numbers and what looked like a barcode. None of it made any sense. Near the bottom, though, were words.

EMBRYO- TEST 005

"What the hell was that thing?" someone on the platform said. "Someone called an ambulance already- is this blood yours?"

Blood. The word kick-started Rose's brain.

Oh. Shit.

"Mara," she said.

She scrambled back onto the platform and limp-ran into the bathroom. Mara was curled against the far wall, clutching her leg. Deep burns oozing clear fluid wrapped around her calf and ankle, her jeans melted away like candle wax.

Rose fell to her knees by the girl's side. "Mara," she said again. "Oh, god- Mara, are you okay? Can you speak?"

Her eyes fluttered open. "You...again..."

"Yes, me." Rose couldn't stop her grin of pure relief. "Hi."

"I thought...you were gonna leave me."

"No chance."

"That thing..."

"Fried."

Mara let out a weak laugh. "Cool."

"I think so." She sniffed, her eyes hot. "Listen, can you hang tight? Help is coming, okay?"

Mara managed a nod.

Rose stayed with her until she heard voices from outside, until paramedics muscled their way into the bathroom. She gave Mara's hand a final squeeze, then slipped out, a skinny shadow dressed all in muck-encrusted black. Someone called after her, but she ducked into the crowd and back up through the station, back into the rainy night.

Cop cars made a barricade around the subway entrance, cops already cordoning off the area, but in the crowd of emergency workers and people rushing from the subway station Rose was beneath notice.

She didn't look back, didn't stop until she was halfway home, her ankle screaming with pain on every step, her soaked clothes icy against her skin. She folded against a telephone pole and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back a wash of tears.

"It's okay," she told herself. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

The scream echoed through her head again and again. The vibration of the approaching train. The smell of the monster's digestive fluids, the sickening pulse of its matter. All at once Rose's breathing was too tight, her limbs watery. She couldn't be out here. All she wanted was her room, her bed, to pull the covers over her head and cry until she didn't feel anything anymore.

***

She ran home, despite the pain in her ankle, despite her exhaustion. The climb up to her room was rough, but she made it, pulling herself up by her mold-strands. Her window was still open, her laundry hamper still in place by the door.

She pulled the window shut, cutting off the sound of the rain. She changed quickly, stuffing her monster-gut-covered clothes in the bottom of the laundry hamper and pulling on a clean pair of pajamas. Rose went to shower, hurrying into the bathroom- in case Heisenberg was lurking outside her door with more platitudes- and turning up the heat to scorching levels. As she waited for the water to heat up she stared at herself in the mirror, her long draggled hair, the bruises already pooling on her skin, the scrapes all over her knees and elbows.

Her ankle was swollen, painful to the touch. Maybe Heisenberg wouldn't notice. He hadn't noticed when she'd dyed her hair green that one time.

The shower helped drown out the memory of the subway train, the monster, the feeling of its goo on her skin. Rose went and curled up in her room, making a nest in the middle of her bed, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. She didn't think she'd be able to sleep, but maybe if she just stayed there, everything would get better.

A knock came on her door.

"Kid?" Heisenberg said.

Rose was silent for a good ten seconds. Then- "Come in."

He did. He opened the door, pushing aside the hamper, and stood in the doorway. His eyes roved over her room.

"This place," he said, "looks like shit."

Rose didn't alter her fetal position on the bed. "I clean every Friday."

"Tomorrow's Friday. You'd better put your money where your mouth is or your ass is grass."

"Uh-huh."

He kicked aside her laundry hamper and stepped into her room, clearing the stuff off her bedside chair with a sweep of his arm.

He sat, slowly.

"Heh. Nice," he said, pointing at the poster of Gillian Anderson.

"Yeah."

"You make that yourself?"

"Obviously."

He peered sideways at her, one gray eye narrowed. "You still sulking?"

Sure. Let's go with that. "Yeah."

"Fair enough. Let me know when you're ready to not be a bitch baby." He made as if to get up, bracing his hands on his knees.

Rose's hand shot out, catching him by one burly wrist.

"Wait," she said, quietly.

He sat again, watching her. He smelled, she realized, of cold, of metal, sweat and gasoline. He rarely let on what he did all day, how he got the money that kept them afloat. Rose never asked. Their lives were one of careful balance and cautious camaraderie. And, now, secrets. When she was a little kid she shared everything with him, gabbling away about her innermost thoughts, her dreams and fancies and fears. She'd never been afraid before to tell him what was bothering her.

What had changed? Rose had no idea. All she did know was that she wanted him to keep sitting next to her, to stay there until she fell asleep, to be what he'd always been: a warm presence by her side, keeping away the nightmares.

But the nightmares were inside her. Had they always been?

"Heisenberg," she began.

She stopped. He said nothing. His eyes glinted in the low lamplight, his focus sharp. She'd never been able to read him well, and now more so than ever.

"Who am I?" Rose asked, at last.

He didn't answer immediately. He leaned back in the chair; the wood creaked. "You're you," he said. "Whoever you want to be."

"That's not what I mean. My...my dad." She had only vague memories, a warm glow, a bloody hand on her cheek. "He died to save me."

He paused again. "Yeah."

"You've never told me more. I remember...Lady Dimitrescu in the snow...the mountainside, the lycan army, all that. But that's it. Who you were before that. Who my dad was. If I even have a mom somewhere..."

"The past's the past, kid. Doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters," Rose said. "It matters to me. Maybe if I know, if I can...understand, then my powers..."

"Enough about your goddamn powers," Heisenberg said. "You think you're some kind of freak because folks condemn what they don't understand. Fuck what the mortals think. There's nothing wrong with you."

"But I care!" Rose burst out, lifting her head. "I care! Doesn't that matter to you?"

"'Course it does-"

"Then act like it! And tell me!"

He watched her for a long time. Again, that razor focus. Again, that impenetrable mask. He put his hand over hers.

"I meant what I said," he told her. "I'll always have your back, Rose. That's the long and short of it. That's all you need to know."

He got up and went to the doorway, then pointed at her with one scarred finger. "Clean your room," he told her, and was gone, pulling the door shut behind him.

Rose lay there in the semidarkness. The panic had ebbed away, replaced with a rigid clench in her guts. After a minute she swung out of bed, went to the hamper, dug around, and re-emerged with the metal disc. It shone in the fairy lights.

Embryo test number 5.

If that meant what she thought it meant, then there had been four more of these things running around Regent City. Someone would have noticed. If she could find where they'd been, what they'd done, track them down, then maybe she could get to the bottom of this.

But she needed to be prepared. She'd gone up against this thing and it had nearly kicked her ass to the moon and back. If she hadn't gotten lucky with the train, she'd be just another bloodstain on the tiles. She had approximately thirteen dollars to her name, so she'd need some funds if she was to get some better gear.

Her hand clenched around the metal disc. It didn't matter. She would find out the truth. She would put all these monster sons-of-bitches in the dirt.

Or, y'know, she'd die trying.

Whichever happened first.

[wh6res]

chase — renhyuck

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

tw bullying, violence, swearing, yandere themes, possessive themes, blood, weapons (a gun, a grenade), implied noncon, implied kidnapping, mentions of stalking

disc i dont condone this behavior

wc 5k

‏‏‎ ‎

29 hours before the annual purge

“hold her down—i said hold her down, idiot!”

putting everything into account, they saw you more like a glorified chew toy than an actual person. 

they ruined your life simultaneously and it's ironic, that despite being sworn rivals, it seems you were their neutral ground—after one has had their own fun, you’re passed on to the other person so they can deliver that final, shattering blow that weakens your resolve. 

it was meant to be that way because it had always been that way. you’re the unlucky loser that ignited the worse sides of both lee haechan and huang renjun. 

they’re like oil and water; they don’t mix but with you, they found a compromise. stealing your lunch money, trashing your homework, quickies in between lectures. all of these should’ve been enough to give them a good power trip. but they’ve developed a hunger so severe that these past instances are but mere crumbs that hardly satisfy their cravings. 

it was beyond exhausting, being caught in between two headstrong people that were unwilling to back down at any cost. their aggression and anger towards each other directly being channeled onto you as they shove and swing you around like some ragdoll. 

you weren’t a bunch of kids, you knew that. you don’t cry and sob and say that it’s unfair, you hold your chin high and walk up to the guidance counselor’s office to report them for bullying. but you never should’ve underestimated the power of money and their respective families’ broad network of connections. 

without a doubt, the empty promises for justice is what broke your heart the most. it breaks with every bruise, every tight grip, and every nasty name the people willingly turned a blind eye to. 

it’s sad but it was a reality you taught yourself to get used to—the meek mouse learning how to evade the cats hot on her trail. 

but you weren’t as lucky today. 

“i am holding her down.”

a pair of lips comes in contact with your neck. its feathery and light at first until its biting down to mark you with his teeth. not too strong to draw blood, but enough to dent the surface of the skin. 

haechan has an oral fixation. biting his lips. his nails. whenever you see him, he always has a lollipop on his mouth and if he doesn’t, he’s painting hickeys across your skin. you hated his oral fixation, especially when makeup and clothes proved useless to hide the marks he gives you. 

“why run?” renjun asks you, slipping his fingers underneath your skirt as he kneels. “you know you have nowhere to hide in the campus.”

haechan snorts. “or anywhere else.”

it’s always the same thing. you go to school. you sit in your first period for thirty minutes until one of them shows up. then the other boy probably felt a gut instinct that he’s missing out on the fun. last time, it was an empty classroom in the abandoned left wing. 

they like taking you there all the time, it was always dark, the blinds pulled and shut tight. not to mention it was incredibly dusty. but both male knew you’re afraid of the dark, exactly why it’s their favorite spot. but empty classrooms and supply closets are close seconds, too. 

“you’re so pathetic. useless—only know how to whine like a fucking pornstar,” he quickly comments, feeling you arch against him when renjun’s tongue comes in contact with the pearl between your legs. “my cumdump.”

you feel a sharp exhale against your lower lips. you shudder. renjun clicks his tongue in annoyance. “can you shut up? you’re making my dick soft with all that talking.”

but haechan had ignored him completely, blissfully ignorant of the petite boy’s frustrations as he angles your head up to crash his lips onto yours. when he slightly pulls away, still playfully nibbling your bottom lip, what he said next made your blood run cold. 

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6 hours before the annual purge

the price to pay for protection started rising again this year and you, much like your neighbors, are in a sense of turmoil. jamming the doors with cabinets and nailing your windows with wood is hardly enough to satisfy the gnawing feeling in your stomach. much less when you didn’t even have a weapon to wield other than a wooden bat and a cheap taser you bought on sale. 

“its not like anyone will be coming for you, right?” the little girl says, touching the randomest stuff in your apartment. her name was naeun and she never really liked pink and sparkles like most girls her age, maybe that’s why she took a liking to you. 

her mom works a 9 to 5 and her grandma stays with her on occasion. but the old lady loved to sleep, naeun said, so she gets the chance to slip out and come knocking on your door. you tried shooing her out of your apartment countless times but she’s stubborn. 

she reminds you of yourself. 

“well, i hope no one does.” you joked, putting on a turtleneck. 

naeun’s mom doesn't like you as much as it is, but if you yourself let naeun see the bruises on your skin? you’d hate yourself forever. “now, come on little missy, go back to your grandma. i need to head over to the bank to settle my protection fees.”

“but you just said no one is going to come for you anyway,” she whines stomping towards the door. “mom already settled ours yesterday becase grammy forced her to. mommy said it was just a waste of money because who’d bother to rob us anyway?”

a memory flashes in your head. two boys who’ve sandwiched you between them in the dark of a fucking supply closet at uni. wandering hands, labored whispers, curt giggles, one pair of lips trailing up your neck while the other up your inner thigh.

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

you needed that protection. that was no slip up because haechan never makes mistakes. if he wanted to make you feel like some animal on the run after catching a whiff of trouble then he sure is doing a good job. 

“hey! i think you just went someplace else there,” naeun says, nudging your side irritably to get your attention again. 

you try forcing out a chuckle but it doesn't work, still deeply peeved by a memory from last week replaying vividly in your mind. if they ever mean what they meant (which you know they do) then this is now more than just trying to get through the night—you have to survive, prepare, and pray neither of them finds you. 

“i think your grandma’s right in doing what she did, naeun. with humans, you’ll never know.”

and just like that naeun went silent, bid you goodbye, and disappeared behind the apartment door.

the bank was a quick walk from your apartment. you hardly broke much sweat and you even managed to stop by the grocery store to make some last-minute runs. the store’s nearly empty, deserted of any human being as the seconds slowly but surely ticked away. it was only when you walked past aisle seven did you pause, the hairs on your back standing as a slow chill crawled up your spine. 

you look over your shoulder. 

no one’s there. 

you swallow, quickly looking down your watch to check the time as you made your way to counter. 3 hours before the annual purge. you needed to get your ass moving. you just need to grab one more thing and you’ll best be on your way. 

you practically ran towards the dairy section and just as you spin around, strawberry ice cream pint in your hands, you jump as he appears before you in thin air and you drop whatever you’re holding. 

“such a skittish little kitten,” renjun clicks his tongue, bending down to retrieve the ice cream on the floor. “here you go.”

you couldn’t even stare at him in the eye. your hands shook but it wasn’t because of the cold desert. now you get it. it’s his eyes you felt on you earlier, ever intrusive and piercing as he watched you from afar. was he stalking you?

“i didn’t quite catch a thank you, kitty.”

how foolish of you to think he’ll let you duck away without at least speaking to him, hm?

“thank… thank you?”

renjun grins, satisfied with your stuttering as he raises a hand to ruffle your hair—he ignores how you flinched away from him—before walking away with one hand in his coat pocket, whistling an eerie tune that can haunt your nightmares way after purge night. 

“see you later, kitten.”

if it wasn’t the whistling that set you on edge or that clear promise of your doom—it’s the pack of zip ties and duct tape in his hands.‏‏‎ ‎

you were watching a rerun of your favorite morning reality tv when it cuts to the dreaded blue screen showing the flag of korea. 

this is not a test.

this is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the south korean government. 

weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. all other weapons are restricted. 

commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. 

police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 am when the purge concludes. 

may god be with you all.

you’ll never get used to the blaring siren that echoes through the empty streets. you can feel the floor vibrating and it travels throughout your whole body as the dread starts sinking deep into your skin. 

you’ve already double checked all your windows and the front door. activated the security system provided by the bank. and you’ve also already charged your taser and have hammered down nails into your wooden bat. fine. if they wanted to scare and bully you into a panicked frenzy, it did its job but fuck no will you go down without a fight. 

you shut all the lights, the apartment basking in the moonlight glow brought by the translucent curtains as you make your way to your bedroom, nearest the emergency exit just in case they barge through your front door by force. 

at first, nothing happened. it was peaceful. tranquil. you can hear a pin drop with how quiet it was. both inside and outside. you were almost tempted to cover your mouth in case you were breathing too loud. 

it’s silent. until it wasn’t.

your phone rings. it’s there, vibrating on your desk and you make long strides until you’re face to face with a set of numbers on your screen. an unregistered contact. there’s a debate inside your head whether to answer it or not, fingers hovering between the red and green button… until it eventually lands on the green. 

you put it up to your ear, hands sweating as you wait with bated breath for the person on the other end to speak. 

“kitten?”

it’s renjun. you don’t answer. 

“i can hear you breathing, you know. i can’t wait to see you. we’ll have so much fun together. it’s sad that i have to share with that imbecile but better half of you than nothing of you, right?” he laughs and you feel a rush of anger surge through you. yet, you don’t bother to give him the satisfaction of a reply. 

“i can see you’re angry, little kitty. while it’s cute and hot… don’t be. turn that frown upside down for me, wouldn’t you?”

but the blinds are drawn he couldn’t have seen you—

“you’re never going to get me, you fucking bastard. i’m not scared of you,” you sure do hope he can’t hear the tremble in your voice. “whatever you plan on doing to me, you’ll fail.”

you walk back slowly, eyes darting everywhere to look for a camera they could’ve installed in your room. they have connections and the money to do it so you won’t put it past them. 

“oh, my stupid kitty. how can we fail when we already got a head start?” 

the floorboard behind you creaks and before you could turn around, someone slams your head against the desk. you hear a crack, whether it’s the screen of your laptop or your nose, you couldn’t tell. the person is agile and silent as he maneuvers you to the ground and seals your lips with duct tape. 

“after all,” haechan giggles. “you can’t lock out what’s already inside, kitten.”

your phone lands somewhere near your head. renjun has already dropped the call and the line goes silent. 

squirming, you glared at the person on top of you. is this how you’re gonna go? you can’t deny, even you yourself find this pathetic. the security alarms you bought, the nail-studded bat, your taser, everything was all for naught? just because you didn’t check under your bed to make sure no one was there?

how long was haechan waiting? when naeun was still here? when you went out to buy groceries? 

you thought it would be fear you’ll be feeling as you get caught but the emotion isn’t present at all. instead, it’s white hot anger that overrides your system and forces you to act without thinking—and it just fucking saved your life. 

haechan always saw you as a vulnerable, sad little human being who couldn’t do shit on her own. it’s easy to underestimate you and that’s his first mistake. 

the second is rather foolish—not tying your legs up first. it’s all too easy to slam your forehead against his before jerking your leg up to knee him in the balls. 

you can see the anger in his eyes clear as day as you made a run for it to the kitchen, having come up with another escape plan—because surely if you went down the emergency exit, haechan would’ve caught up easily with those long legs after he’s recovered from your assault. 

your nose was probably bleeding and your head is in the early stages of a full blown migraine, at least you were able to function enough to wobble your way towards the trash chute situated near the stove. you had cursed that chute the first day you moved in here (who would put a trash chute next to a fucking stove) but the day has come for you to thank the gods that you have that in your house. 

going for a swim in all your neighbors’ trash is disgusting and unplanned (plus, falling down maybe six floors to your doom) but you’ll choose that over lee haechan and huang renjun any day. 

“don’t you dare fucking think about it!”

you flashed him the middle finger to tick him off. a petty retaliation for all the bullshit he and renjun put you through but it felt good nonetheless. 

“catch me if you fuckers can.”

and you were falling down the trash chute.‏‏‎ ‎

okay, yeah—maybe you should’ve thought it through before hurling yourself six floors down only for some half-filled dumpster to catch you but at least you’re still alive, right? alive and free, mind you. but you don’t have time to celebrate. 

it smelled awful and you swear your knees and elbows are bruised but you scramble to climb out and run away as fast as you can. 

it was only haechan inside your apartment. no sign of renjun but he did see you somehow and you have no doubt it was a camera inside that room. you didn’t have much time to ponder for how long they were installed in your room. it’s the least of your worries at the moment.

you’re outside. 

during purge night.

even if you did manage to escape it felt more like a win than a lose, forced out of your own apartment in nothing but shorts and a shirt—heck, you don’t even have shoes on!—it felt like they won. again. 

if you’re not going to die in the hands of some other wacko, you’ll die of hypothermia. how nice. 

you didn’t know where you were running to, the only thing you knew was you need to get the hell out of this neighborhood as fast as you can. you didn’t want to run in alleyways and risk getting stabbed for fun. maybe the sewer system… oh, right. you don’t have your phone on you and it’ll probably be pitch black down there. 

you really, truly, genuinely didn’t want to run so out in the open but it was the best you can impulsively come up with. 

when you feel like you’ve put a reasonable distance between you and the apartment, you stop, hands resting flat on your knees as you crouch to catch a breath. just as quick the adrenaline appeared as fast as it had disappeared. you feel the weight and tension crushing your legs, not to mention you’re really starting to feel that headache settle after headbutting haechan. 

you almost collapse against the brick wall. 

the last person you ever thought you’ll see jumps out from the corner of the alleyway and you almost broke their nose. 

until you saw who it was. 

“NAEUN?”

their apartment got raided, some buffy sickos who they had the misfortune of breaking into their house to purge. luckily they got away, but after getting attacked on the streets, naeun got separated after she ran for her life just like you did. you can’t help but feel sorry for the little girl, who experienced the full effect of this godforsaken holiday. 

this is bad. you can’t leave her but it’s tough enough to have to fend for yourself. you’re not so sure whether you can protect another human being but you’ll have to try. 

“did your mom or grandma tell you anything? anything at all?” you ask, crouching to her eye level. “you said your mom knew the way… where? what do you mean?”

“mom said they’re providing refuge on the other side of town but it’s a 30-minute drive. walking would take longer.”

shit. you didn’t want to risk it. you don’t have a car and you’d rather die right here right now than walk another step out in the streets—

“who’s ‘they’?”

“i don’t… i don’t know. she didn’t say.”

you licked your chapped lips. you can’t trust what she’s saying, not when you didn’t even know these people. it’s too risky, not to mention you’re already running from not one, but two people.

naeun sits next to you against the bricked wall of the alley, looking down at her lap. “i’m scared,” she admits. you hear a tremble in her voice. “are mom and grammy de—”

“no,” you cut her off, pulling her tiny body against yours. when you feel her fists clutching your jacket, you swear to protect this girl with your life. “no, they’re not. i’m sure they’re heading there now to the refuge center just like we are.”

her head pokes out, looking up towards you. “we’re going? i thought you didn’t want to.”

you shake your head, wiping her tears. “well, it’s the one way for you to meet your mom and grammy, right?”‏‏‎ ‎

walking down the streets during purge night—man, this has got to be the most ballsy thing you’ve ever done after that one time you spat at renjun in the eye. you managed to find a litter of bodies way into thirty minutes of walking and you nearly sent naeun flying onto the asphalt with how hard you pushed her back. she couldn’t see this mess, you’d be damned to allow a nine-year-old walk right into psychological trauma. 

you pocket a gun—you didn’t have enough courage to fight with a knife. you wiped the blood off using your shirt before shoving them down onto the garter of your shorts. you didn’t bother to take their shoes, none of them would’ve fit you anyway and it’ll just slow you down. 

“hey, are you alright? is that blood—”

“it’s not mine, naeun. come on, let’s get moving.”

for two hours you walked towards this mysterious refuge center on the other side of town and both you and naeun managed to evade death three times. 

the first attack: a group of high schoolers with their uniforms on. there were three of them, about your height, and while you weren’t responsible for the blood on your shirt, you’re not so sure about their lot. they looked crazy, excited even, but sloppy in the way they flung their knives and bats around. their first purge, you assumed, so it was fairly easy to take them down. a bullet to the head worked like a charm. naeun didn’t say anything when you urged her out of her hiding place to flee the scene. three bullets left. 

the second attack: it was a surprise, one that got you stabbed in the shin of your right leg. it was a drunkard with a knife, you could smell him as you walked past by his slumped form in the sidewalk. he wasn’t moving, so you thought he was dead and it was poor judgement on your part. it’s pathetic getting injured this way, you thought, but at least it was you who faced the consequences and not naeun. two bullets left.

the third attack: two men but deadlier than the girls and the drunk. you didn’t get to reason out with either of them, not when they drove their cadillac at 140 miles per hour and nearly ran you over. a chill crept up your spine when you saw the bloody, naked women strapped down onto the hood. victims. you didn’t engage in any form of combat, it’s impossible, so you took naeun in your arms and ran straight to the back alleys. number of bullets remain the same.

three lucky strikes. 

three times you’ve cheated death. 

but time is up and your luck has run out. 

“beating up a girl? what a coward, if you ask me,” you say, spitting out a tooth after someone kneed you in the face. you were in no position to say such things when they’ve got you busted up and bloody, left eye swollen after one hard punch. 

naeun is nowhere to be seen. 

good. 

who knows what these assholes could’ve done to her. you told her to run so she better fucking run and make sure she lives through this nightmare. 

another kick flies to your ribs and you lie sprawled on the dirty pavement of an alleyway—what an uncool way to die but at least you’ll die with a clear conscience. 

you passed by city hall a few minutes ago. surely, the refuge center is not too far from there. naeun will make it safe. she’ll make it. 

“what’s that look on her face? is she dead?”

another one scoffs. “well… if they’re after her then she’s as good as dead.”

you blacked out. ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

you hate the scent of disinfectant. it crawls up your nose and you hate how the stench is so strong you can taste it on your tongue. this isn’t heaven, not when you know you’re better off burning in hellfire.

unless you weren’t dead—your eyes shoot open, sitting up in haste as you clutch the thin blanket. 

rows upon rows of the same cot you were lying on greets you. people injured, some standing, some sitting. there were people treating them, too, but they were in normal clothes so this can’t be a hospital. in fact, it looked like you’re in some warehouse, stacks of metal crates sealing off all entrances. 

“it’s the refuge,” you whisper. 

“you’re awake!” before you could even turn around, a body launches itself onto you and nearly makes the cot collapse. judging by the small frame and the pitchy voice—

“naeun, be careful!” her mother hisses but the girl in between your arms couldn’t care less. if she’d been an adult, she’d be squeezing the life out of you. when she pulls you closer, your healing ribs made a strike of pain surge through you. 

you groan, bowing in the pain. distantly, you can hear the mother and daughter fighting and it was a banter you’ve never experienced with your own mom. it nearly made you tear up from the overwhelming wave of emotions you were feeling but all else disappears when a person tenderly grips your shoulder. 

“thank you for taking care of my granddaughter.” the old lady was smiling appreciatively as she stared at you. 

that was it. it could’ve been the happy ending to a gruesome and bloody storyline—it should’ve been, family of three reunites again and that was all thanks to you, right?

but even heroes have their own bad endings. 

you heard the ticking of the grenade only seconds before it detonates. the other refugees didn’t even have the time to take cover as some closest to the sealed doors were sent flying so far back they crashed into the row of crates behind you. 

you were severely injured, limping, ribs broken, and you only had one good eye to rely on—yet the first thing you thought of was protecting naeun. maybe the midget had a way of worming herself into your heart. but before you even push yourself off the cot, a figure emerges from the smoke. 

petite and harmless, pretty as the tips of his hair grazed porcelain cheekbones. renjun’s eyes are as cold and calculating as can be and it’s the only thing that terrifies you to no end. when he opens his mouth, anger is hidden well underneath that calm tone. 

“i’ll give you one minute to come here willingly.”

there’s no room for bargain, he needn’t when he knows you have absolutely nothing to offer him but yourself. he doesn’t finish his sentence but he trusts you’re smart enough to figure out the silent threat—come, or he’ll turn this place into a fucking bloodbath. 

cornered and weak, defenseless. weird how they have a fixation for calling you ‘kitty’ when they’re the cats in this chase. 

“naeun,” you whisper, trying to crane your neck to look for her in the filth of rocks and debris. please don’t be hurt.

you freeze when you feel a barrel pointing at your head. it was only there for seconds, haechan probably doesn’t have the guts to hurt you in any way permanently (unless it’s inflicted with his own hands and not through some other medium). 

“ah, look. now we have matching black eyes,” he giggles like a madman, craning your neck up and the leather in his globes brings discomfort to your skin. 

you see the way the other refugees looked at you—scum, dirt on their feet that brought about trouble in their lives. they were already badly hurt as it is and now, this happened? you don’t blame them. 

not one man tried to stand up for you as haechan hauls you up and throws you down on renjun’s feet. your ribs were screaming and you’re cold and so, so afraid. with shaky fingers, you gestured towards the crowd. “just... please, don’t hurt them. they don’t have anything to do with this.”

renjun coos. such a cruel smirk for a pretty face. “aw, such an angel my darling is. always thinking of others instead of her own safety. funny because i don’t think you’ve ever done such a thing for me and haechan, though. i wonder why...”

the latter digs his heel in your injured legs and you scream as black starts to surround the corners of your vision. you tried to crane your neck back, pleading eyes wanting to look at the assaulter but renjun’s calloused hand is gripping your chin too tight.

“should we make a bargain, kitten?”

you stare deep into renjun’s eyes. he knows you don’t have anything left, he can see it in your glassy eyes, too wide and vulnerable. he’s doing this all for show, trying to make you even more desperate and self-aware of your eventual demise.

and you thought haechan was the only cunning one.

“what… what bargain?"

renjun practically gleams in pride. “i’ll let everyone walk free—even your precious little naeun—that’s her name, right? the little girl you’ve been protecting the whole night?—we’ll let her and everyone in this building walk away unharmed. that’s my bargain. you know how those work, right? now, you need to give me something i want.”

forcing you to offer yourself up to them.

what a brutal way to crush your pride.

choice wasn’t an option. if you don’t oblige and choose to run away on your own, they’ll kill them and still hunt you down. you gotta say, it was a tempting bargain that appealed to the sense of heroics in your heart. naturally, you have to choose where there is less blood shed. and as renjun lets go of your chin and lets you look over your shoulder to meet little naeun’s eyes, how she sobbed against her mother’s arms and shook her head and screamed…

“hurry, kitten. i don’t like to be kept waiting.”

you know what needs to be done.

“me. i’ll give you… me.”‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎

they stood playing a game of pool in the dead of night. it’s peaceful inside the estate while the city beyond rampaged and burned. they achieved their goal, had finally seen an end to a plan that had been set in motion for years. they’ve succeeded and the broken woman lying on the bed meters from the pool table is proof of their victory. 

“don’t you just love it when an elaborate plan works like clockwork, injun?” he asks, voice like trickling honey as he hits number 9 with the cue ball. 

the other, more petite male, rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. “oh, please, people like us always triumph, donghyuck. it’s nothing new. although i am surprised that little girl and her so-called “family” played along so well. almost had me fooled.”

“i agree. it's such a shame they had to go.”

‎

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‎

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Seibu Lions Stadium in Tokorozawa, Japan - November 3, 1982

(x)

This is the final concert of the year. Although the show is traditionally attributed to Tokyo, Seibu Lions Stadium is in the suburb "Tokorozawa."

Although the song would never be performed on stage, during soundcheck the band run Football Fight from the Flash Gordon soundtrack.

They perform the full version of Teo Torriatte once again, but in the encore, which makes room for Save Me one last time.

Queen's first live video was released in Japan in 1983 on VHS, simply entitled "Live In Japan", comprised of about an hour of material from this concert. No songs were edited (except for Brian May's solo spot), and no overdubs were done. Besides standard mixing, the only alterations done were in Put Out The Fire, where a bit of Freddie's vocal improv at the beginning of the song was muted (he can be seen singing in the distant shot on the video), and in We Are The Champions, where Freddie's lead vocal was brought down in the mix to obscure a voice crack in the second chorus.

Around the time of its release, in December 1983, about a thousand lucky Japanese fan club members had the privilege of seing the complete show on video over five screenings in Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya. It hasn't been seen since.

The edited video was later re-released on laserdisc, and about half of the footage (the italicized tracks) found its way onto disc 2 of the "Queen On Fire - Live At The Bowl" DVD release:

Flash (tape), The Hero, Now I'm Here, Put Out The Fire, Dragon Attack, Now I'm Here (reprise), Love Of My Life, Save Me, guitar solo [cut], Under Pressure, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Bohemian Rhapsody, Tie Your Mother Down, Teo Torriatte, We Will Rock You, We Are The Champions, God Save The Queen

Brian's solo includes the only known footage of him playing the traditional Japanese song "Sakura."

Freddie's voice, although still strong at many points, just couldn't remain stable for the entire evening after 7 months of touring. His voice cracks badly on the first line of Play The Game, and several times in Body Language. But there are plenty of great Freddie moments tonight as well, like his excellent ending of Action This Day, something which he never executed the same way twice.

After an exhausting year of touring, there is no doubt that the band were looking forward to some time off. The tempos of many songs are very fast, and many nuances in songs like Save Me and Get Down Make Love aren't there like they were on previous tours. Still, the band are clearly having fun on stage at many points during this last show (as seen on the video), particularly during Crazy Little Thing Called Love. Freddie even stops playing his guitar for a couple bars to have a quick swig of beer. It is perhaps the definitive version of the song, with a long jam at the end, prominently highlighting Fred Mandel on the piano. This would be Mandel's last show with the band. He would go on to play with artists like Supertramp and Sir Elton John, one of his idols.

The band jam for a while in the middle section of Another One Bites The Dust. Freddie queues the snare fill to bring them into the breakdown thus: "I'm ready for you, Rog."

Bearing in mind that this was an outdoor stadium show, it must have been a cold November night in central Japan, as their breath can often be seen on the video. Instruments managed to stay in tune.

In a 1984 interview John Deacon says they didn't enjoy the larger stadium shows in Japan, and says the band would prefer to remain in venues like the Budokan.

Here is a very detailed account of the official video release (among many other things): http://www.ultimatequeen.co.uk

The audio of the great version of Calling All Girls from this show can be heard on disc 2 of the Live At The Bowl DVD as the picture gallery is shown. It was also released a bonus track (with a bit of compression added) on the 2011 remaster of Hot Space, along with Action This Day from this show (also included on this track is Freddie's vocal exchange with the audience, which actually happened after Play The Game). The fast version of We Will Rock You was also released as a bonus track on the 2011 News Of The World remaster. All but five tracks from this show have now been officially released in one form or another.

The pictures were snapped by Peter "Ratty" Hince, the head of the Queen crew.

Tonight would be Queen's final performances of The Hero, the fast We Will Rock You, Action This Day, Play The Game, Calling All Girls, Put Out The Fire, Save Me, Get Down Make Love, Body Language, Fat Bottomed Girls, and Teo Torriatte. They wouldn't play another concert for nearly two years.

(x)

[katherinewilliams221b]

A Very Walsh Christmas

Part 3/3

Summary: Charlie and Kate spend the day before Christmas at Kate’s grandfather’s house.  Set in 1995 but I apologise if there’s some inaccuracies (Don’t think so but…)

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc

You technically could read this as a one shot but you maybe miss out some things.

[Part 1] - [Part 2]

The day after the evening with the Walsh family, I woke up with a pleasant feeling in my body; the dim light coming in through the window, the warmth of the sheets and a sleeping Kate next to me made the world peaceful for a moment.

I did not recognise the room immediately, it took me several blinks to adjust my memories.

I stared at the ceiling for a while, concentrating on my breathing, and I smiled to myself remembering the Muggle story my father used to read to us. Or was it a song?

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Not quite, I thought. The door was closed, but I have no qualms about boasting that my hearing was good enough to hear some faint music.

I got up very carefully, trying not to wake her up, although I started to shake so violently that I was afraid that the chattering of my teeth would ruin everything.

I immediately put on the jumper I had brought with me, and for the moment it was enough.

I heard a sound of sheets and turned to see Kate looking for me with one hand in her dreams. I couldn’t help smiling, and selfishly thought of coming closer and having her find me, but the day ahead would require at least one more hour of sleep for her.

I realised too late that I left the room in my pyjamas and contemplated my options; Kate’s parents had already left, and they were the ones who worried me the most, so without further thought I followed the Christmas music downstairs.

The dining room table had plates and spoons, it was almost ready for breakfast and only with that detail I understood Bernard’s need to keep us in his house as long as possible. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go to Grimmauld Place.

A piano version of Gloria In Excelsis Deo came out of a record player in the dining room. I wondered why Mr Walsh hadn’t turned on the machine with the smaller discs, since he seemed so happy with it, so much so he convinced Kate to buy one. I didn’t think it was a bad idea, but we wouldn’t get anything from the Weird Sisters in a Muggle shop.

I found Bernard serving tea in a single cup. Although the slippers I was wearing were very quiet, he turned to see who was entering the kitchen.

“Merry Christmas, Charlie.” He commented with a small smile and continued to serve tea, “Katie told me you were an early bird.”

“Good morning, and Merry Christmas to you too. What time is it?” I sighed with relief when I saw the striped pyjamas he was wearing.

“It’ll be seven in a while. You can sleep a little longer if you like, Cornelia and her husband are still asleep...”

“Oh, no, I like this time of the day. Everything is silent, and the world seems to be in its place.” I laughed, “That’s what Kate says, but at three in the morning.” Bernard huffed a laugh and gave me a tray with glasses to take to the table.

“I’m with you on this. Things have to be done when there’s light. Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Together we sat at the table while the song changed to a slow version of Oh Christmas Tree.

“How do you celebrate Christmas at home, son?”

Every Christmas at home went through my mind like a movie, all different and special in its own way.

“Well, they got more complicated with each new sibling.” We both laughed, and the complicity in his eyes for understanding me reached my heart. “There’s always a big banquet, Mom cooks for a battalion... but between you and me: there’s never much food left.”

He smiled, but I saw something strange in his eyes. He looked down, but I decided not to ask questions about it, I was afraid to remove delicate feelings. “This is the first year I’ve seen them at Christmas since I left for Romania,” I continued, but he interrupted me.

“Don’t tell me that! That can’t be, no.” He raised an accusing finger and pointed it at me to scold me like when Mum did it when I was a child. “Let me tell you something: some people don’t like Christmas. They don’t want to give presents, or have to prepare food, or see those pesky cousins,” he put his hand on my wrist and with a calmer tone he continued, “but the family, the family, Charlie, has to be taken care of and the perfect excuse is this season.”

He tapped my hand and nodded sharply, ending his speech. I sighed, knowing that he was right, but a dark part of me had enjoyed the holidays on my own in the reserve tent and the first Christmas alone with Kate.

I adored my family, of course, but I could not deny that particular and inexplicable fullness of those years.

“After this year, who knows if we will be able to get together again.” I took the cup to my mouth, the liquid comforted my throat but not so much that the words kept coming out.

“I know something is happening. The atmosphere in the chess club has changed, there are men working in the ministry, you know? And last night...”

I looked up, but I bit my tongue. It would be better if Kate explained everything when we got to Grimmauld Place.

“It’s a bit long to explain. When we’re in a safe place, you’ll know everything.”

Or not. In saying this, it occurred to me that perhaps Kate would not want to involve her grandfather in what the Order and Dumbledore were up to, yet she agreed when I proposed that he accompany us to Sirius’ house.

The record had stopped spinning as we spoke, allowing us to hear voices coming down the stairs. Kate’s uncle, Secondo, and her aunt, Cornelia, joined us in the dining room.

“Dad! Merry Christmas!” Cornelia threw herself into Bernard’s arms and he caught her in a warm embrace. I couldn’t wait to hug my father like that.

“Merry Christmas, A stóirín.” He chuckled, “I’ll start preparing breakfast.”

Cornelia wished me a Merry Christmas with a kiss on the cheek and went to the kitchen with Bernard. Secondo patted my shoulder and went after them.

“We’ll prepare everything and I’m sure Kate won’t be able to resist the smell of coffee.” Bernard announced.

Together we started to take out cups and plates, we went around carrying tea, biscuits, coffee cups, milk, toast... at some point Bernard turned the record around, playing The Holly and The Ivy. The domesticity of the moment relaxed me, and although I had been with Kate for many years, it was only at that moment that I began to be part of the family.

It was a strange situation, no doubt, that made me contemplate how Kate put down roots in our home, how mum and dad and all my brothers adopted her immediately, long before we became a couple and, I dare say, before we became friends. Bill had been the first to meet her and obviously spoke of her with great esteem and admiration, despite the fact that we were only children. Mum already adored her and had never even seen her.

I understood at that moment, with a jar of jam in my hand and with some slippers on that were not mine, that this was what she had lacked during her life and that she found behind the doors of the Burrow.

I prayed to some Muggle god I didn’t believe in so she could make up for lost time with her grandfather.

With the first notes of Sans Day Carol, Kate appeared through the kitchen door dishevelled and with her eyes almost closed, but with a big smile that made me breathe deeply.

Congratulations and hugs began immediately, followed by frantic and chaotic conversations of which I could only discern a few words. I didn’t mind staying out of the family moment, I just enjoyed watching Kate trying to act like a human being before breakfast.

When she came to me, I couldn’t resist planting a kiss in the square on her mouth; she accepted it in surprise and a laugh escaped on the way. She asked me with an eyebrow, but I only shook my head.

“Don’t move.” She listened to me (have someone write down the date on the calendar), and when she saw a finger approaching her face, she closed her eyes.

I carefully pulled out the sleepy dust that was stuck to her tear duct and she smiled at me in gratitude. I left her free, and she trotted to the table to proceed with her breakfast.

“We must leave in a while,” announced Cornelia, “Secondo’s parents are waiting for us.”

“Of course, of course...” agreed Bernard, but I noticed the sadness in his words. Home For The Holidays just added more melancholy to the moment, and I looked at the record player as if the object could understand what I was asking for.

It made a strange noise that startled me; I hadn’t done that. Do You Hear What I Hear replaced the previous tune. I looked at Kate, who already had her eyes on me, and she blinked very slowly behind the cup she had taken to her mouth.

Although I already knew this, every time something like this happened I was overcome with a deep admiration for being able to speak without words. I agreed with Ginny internally, for being the first to point it out.

If anyone at the table observed the exchange, no one made any comments about it.

 After Kate’s aunt and uncle left, she, Bernard and I were left alone in the house.

“Is there anything you’d like to do today, Grandpa?” Kate asked after drying the last of the dishes.

Bernard took the pick out of the record player and turned his back on us while he put the vinyl away.

“I have some errands...”

“All right, we’ll go with you...”

“No, no, why don’t you go directly to that mysterious place of yours and I will join you later?”

“You don’t even know where it is, Grandpa.”

He remained sullen as he brushed the crumbs off the tablecloth with a kind of brush that I had never seen before.

“Do you want to go and see Grandma?” Kate suggested.

“Yes, but it’s unnecessary to go all together, really, it’s something very quick that...”

“I feel like it too.” She interrupted before addressing me, “Charlie, could you take our things to the house? I’ll accompany my grandfather to the cemetery.”

I nodded, this would give me time to explain to Mom that we would have one more guest.

“I’ll stop by the hospital first.”

 “Really, you don’t have to do this.”

“But I want to!” She gave him a half hug, and a shy smile appeared under his moustache.

“It’s decided. See you in Gr...” Kate’s withering gaze silenced me and I raised my hands to declare my innocence.

“Let’s get our stuff together.”

From the cupboard under the stairs we took out the bags we had brought for my family. I was a little embarrassed to have gifts as simple as socks or candy, but it was what I could afford to have gifts for everyone.

“And if I’m not there, whose arm are you going to hold on to when you get dizzy from apparating?” I teased her when I handed her her coat.

“Very funny, my knight errant, but I can manage on my own.” The huff of false indignation blew a little curl from her forehead that had fallen when she bent over, and I had to laugh at her attitude.

“Remember that St Mungo’s is crowded at Christmas. If they make you wait too long to see your father, find Madame Louise and tell her I sent you.”

I nodded, memorising the name, and after checking the cupboard, we left all the things by the door and went upstairs to get dressed.

 --

Either someone had lied to me or my father had vanished because no one knew where to find him.

With a thousand bags in each hand, I left St Mungo’s and walked into an alley.

It had taken us quite a while to leave the Walsh house, so I showed up at Grimmauld Place, hoping that Mum had taken him out of the hospital.

Pulling out my wand was quite a feat and opening the door was even more difficult, but in the end I managed to get in.

The painting of Sirius’ mother almost tore my ears with its rales and I had to throw away all the things I had in my hand to be able to cover the bloody woman with a bed sheet.

“But what is this scandal? Fred, George! What are you doing? Charlie, darling...” Mum appeared wiping her hands on her apron and when she saw me she rushed to receive me with open arms. “Oh, but what joy you have given me, son. But where is Kate, I thought she would come?”

“She’s with her grandfather now, she’ll come later.”

“Well, she’ll have a plate of food when she comes...” With a grip stronger than one would expect for a woman of her size, she dragged me through the corridor.

“I’ve invited her grandfather, Bernard, to join us, is that okay?”

“But of course, darling! I’m delighted to meet someone from her family. That girl is so reserved... Ginny, love, look who I’ve found!”

“Mom, there’s something I wanted to ask you...” As if a cannonball had hit me, my sister threw herself at me with all the strength she had.

“Charlie! I thought you weren’t coming!”

I caught her in the air and anchored her so she wouldn’t fall. At that moment I heard a couple of ‘pop’ sounds behind my back and two identical redheads surrounded me.

“Oh! The favourite brother has arrived!”

“It’s actually Bill, but since he’s not here, we’ll settle for you.” Fred and George hung on to my arms and my knees almost dropped me.

“Thanks a lot, boys, I love you too.”

 “Let my poor boy breathe, we have no spare.” I blew Ginny’s hair out of my face as best I could, and over her shoulder I saw Dad leaning against the door. My heart turned over when I saw him in that state, but the relief I felt was greater than the fear of what almost happened to him.

I tried hard not to think about it, and after kissing Ginny on the forehead, I took her off my torso so I could say hello to him.

I tried not to press too hard on the hug, and I noticed that he was grateful. I felt a few taps on my shoulder and found Ron waiting to greet me.

I didn’t hold back from him; in this case, I held him as long as I could until he felt embarrassed or suffocated, whichever came first.

It was the embarrassment, of course, but I couldn’t care less.

I saw Sirius Black sitting in the kitchen and went over to squeeze his hand cordially and wish him a merry Christmas. He turned out to be a nice bloke, against all odds, and I made a mental note to thank him for what he was doing for the Order.

Ron’s friend, Hermione, came to the door and greeted me after whispering something in his ear. I returned the greeting and saw them marching up the stairs.

“They’re going to be with Harry, the poor angel’s having a hard time lately.” Mum explained. “He hardly says a word.”

Dad sat down on one of the chairs around the table and I put a hand on his shoulder. He patted it before drinking from his cup.

“Isn’t Kate with you?” I was surprised that it was Sirius who asked, but I shook my head with a question in my eyes. “Dumbledore has asked me to deliver a letter to her.”

“Hey, Charles, did you bring us any presents?” George asked.

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Mum said. I just laughed and pointed to the front door where I had thrown all the bags. They both stampeded out in that direction.

“I’ll take the one I like best!” announced Fred. My father and I laughed, and I sat down next to him for a chat.

--

 Kate and Bernard didn’t show up until long after the meal. I looked for something in their expression that would tell me what had taken them so long, but I saved the questions for another time.

“Have you eaten anything?” I asked her as I hung up her coat.

“Yes, I’m sorry. We talked a lot and walked around. We ate in the street. And your father?”

“He’s here! They brought him from the hospital this morning.” I could not contain my enthusiasm when I revealed that the family was almost complete. I was saddened by the situation with Percy I felt like giving him a hug too.

“Another thing: Sirius has something from Dumbledore for you.” The surprise on her face was understandable.

“Do you have any idea what it is?”

“A letter. I don’t know more.”

Bernard came up to us and I reached out my hand for his scarf and hat.

“I think we need to make introductions, don’t you?”

“Yes, come on, my mother is looking forward to meeting you.”

My parents were delighted with Bernard Walsh, and George and Fred soon became friends with him; Kate’s grandfather matched the mischief of the twins and quickly made his way into the family.

When he was in good company, I left the kitchen to look for Kate, but I ran into Ginny in the hallway.

“You should talk to her, she seems worried.” She pointed to the stairs and went into the kitchen with the rest.

Upstairs I found Ron and Hermione on the landing, knocking on one of the doors where Harry Potter was probably hiding.

To my right, I saw part of Kate’s green dress on the other side of an ajar door. I met her and closed the door behind me.

“Read this.” She handed me a scroll, and I recognised Professor Dumbledore’s fancy calligraphy. I scanned the document and raised my eyebrows.

“Durmstrang?”

Kate mouthed a ‘yup’ and sat on a purple divan next to a really ugly lamp.

“A mission of the Order in a school. Can you believe it?”

I read the letter again, frantically searching for the date of departure, and I felt like collapsing when I saw that it was sooner than I would have liked.

“In less than two weeks! For how long?” She looked at her hands, afraid to tell me. I read the paper again and at the end of it all was the unfortunate word: ‘indefinitely’.

“You’d better get that thing sorted out as quickly as possible.” That was the only thing I could think of to say.

I sat down next to her and put a hand on her knee. She covered it with hers immediately and put the other hand around my arm, leaving me anchored to her leg.

We stayed like this for a while in silence until I suddenly stood up and extended my hand to her.

“Come on. Now is not the time.” She agreed, and we followed the voices, not to the kitchen but to a small living room.

Everyone was crowded around a table where two people were sitting. We approached Hermione, who was watching cross-armed from the door.

“What’s going on?”

“Well, Harry doesn’t want to talk to anyone.” She commented, raising her shoulder.

“I meant, what’s going on here?”

“Ron has decided to play chess with your grandfather, Kate.”

Her eyes widened, and she let go of my hand to join the group. I followed happily because something had managed to distract us.

Bernard and Ron looked at the board in silence, each one concentrating on their own strategy. I must admit that I’m not a bad player, but until now I didn’t know anyone who had beaten Ron, Harry perhaps.

However, Kate had told me that her grandfather was a fierce and ruthless player so I would not have bet my galleons on Ron.

My brother shook his head and toppled his queen, declaring his defeat.

“You beat me in three.” He stated.

Bernard smiled, and his eyes shone behind his glasses. He extended his hand to Ron, and he shook it, sealing the game. Bernard raised his index finger before moving one of my brother’s pawns to another square.

“Can’t you see? You could have blocked the knight.”

Ron put his hand to his head and let out a shy laugh before nodding.

“You’ve got talent, kid. You play better than some lads from the Club.”

“Oh, this was wonderful!” exclaimed Mom. “I didn’t understand a thing.”

“Another one?” Ron proposed and Bernard nodded. With a twist of the hand, the pieces flew across the board to opposite sides. Now Ron would play with white.

I left Kate and the others in the room watching the game, except for Dad, who came out into the hall with me.

“We forgot! We have presents for you too!” I hugged him by the shoulders and we went into the kitchen. “Somebody’s going to have to explain to that nice gentleman why we’re here.” He whispered.

“Kate may have already done that. Now let’s enjoy what’s left of Christmas and that you’re here with us.”

“Son, I couldn’t agree more.”

-

A/N It wasnt very christmas-y but it felt right writing all of that.

[arcstral]

See Stars, Not Make Stars.

Marth  &  Lyon.        ◞        @resurrectionpact        ◞        Gauntlets +1

               From armory to boutique to bazaar to fishmonger, business in town has taken him as far as the disc in the sky. Shadows cast by the sun now fanning wide across hovels and cobbles, touching the bright commercial utopia of the castle-town with a lowering grey. It is a signal to leave and retire to their homes for some; for others, a more covert signal to stay and, as he notices, even to gather towards the gambling dens beneath notice of the daylight. The townspeople of an earnest living and their authorities. Not him.

              This discretion, this atmosphere. It is similar to the Knorda Market he remembers of his own lands, the slippery and almost, but not quite, unnoticeable feeling in the air that gave rise to every manner of wicked pleasure and vice. Marth has seen the light that Fòdlan has to offer with its saints and righteous doctrines, but a part of him too would know of its darkness. Like he knew Archanea’s, as prince and witness, then king and arbiter. A bloody slave-trade economy; fashioned of plainsmen aboriginals and gladiators. 

               Perhaps it is all a stone’s throw too close to home. When he catches that there is a popular—suspicious—gambling cockpit of fighters about the area. With form aglow beneath the torchlights, he makes to follow in the footsteps of the drunkard shortly ahead for no reason but the truth. A bit of curiosity as well, if he were to be any more honest, and this path leads him into a secret stone passage between two hedges. The flute of the passageway flares out into a wider room, packed to the brim with a noisy crowd converged around a ring. He finds himself pushed along until squeezed between a hard wall and another.

              A glaring fault of overcapacity, his elbow jams into the fellow beside him. He veers to don an apologetic smile only for it meld into a friendly curve, a sudden realization dawning quick: before him was a new student from the academy! Lyon, if he correctly recalls, a royal mage who appeared as out-of-place here as a lamb might a den of wolves. He almost looks as if he has lost his way home, Marth thinks, though not yet sympathetically, if only because one could never assume whether the number of men another has killed was zero. Or a thousand.   “  Pardon me, I could not help but notice. You are a student of the academy from Magvel, yes? We had not yet met, though I suppose now we have! What finds y—  “

               It is a struggle to be heard over the excited din of the arena as a pugilist tumbles to his defeat over the rope barrier. All around, men either raise their betting sticks with roaring triumph or throw them down like sullied napkins into the refuse. Collecting his voice, the king tries again, cupping his mouth with a hand.   “  —Oh, forgive me; what finds you here?  “

[gaming]

Indie Game Spotlight: Floppy Knights

Time to clean out your storage and take out those old floppy discs! In this week’s Indie Game Spotlight, we’re talking Floppy Knights, which offers a fresh take on two familiar genres. It combines tactics and deckbuilding, all wrapped up in a colorful fantasy-meets-80s-tech aesthetic!

We had the pleasure of speaking with Marlowe Dobbe, the creative director of Floppy Knights, about all things relating to inspiration, characters, and good gameplay. Read on!

What were some inspirations for the game?

Floppy Knights pulls a lot of inspiration from games we’re big fans of. It’s a new sort of mash-up between deck-building games like Dominion and tactical games like Advance Wars. I’d say a lot of the color palette and the overall visual saturation and brightness come from Advance Wars as well.

The game’s concept originally came from a game jam two years ago. What has the journey been like since then?

This is the longest I’ve ever sat on an idea that I’ve liked this much. It was really interesting having it on the back burner and kind of thinking about the characters and world just in my own headspace. When we finally had the opportunity to start working on the game, I already felt very familiar with the world and knew how to flesh it out. Bringing it to the team is what really got it from a rough concept to an actually viable game—particularly working with Christian on nailing down that really addictive gameplay. I wanted to evoke the same good-brain feelings I get from all my favorite tactics games!

Who are some of the characters we can expect to meet?

The main protagonist is called Phoebe. She’s a very smart but very lazy engineer who’s decked out her robotic arm, Carlton, to read floppy discs and turn them into tangible projections called “Floppy Knights.” With the help of these Floppy Knights, she’s taking on odd jobs around town to try and make a quick buck.

In addition to Phoebe, Carlton, and all the Floppy Knights we’ll meet, there’s a whole cast of characters that will cross paths with her as she gains more and more notoriety for her invention!

Did you design any characters that didn’t make it into the game?

Plenty! I’ve done a lot of concept art around what characters would look like in the world of the game. I designed way more Floppy Knights than we’ll ever need, and the jury’s still out on how many of those will actually make an appearance. We did a lot of work on the balance of the decks themselves and realized each deck should have roughly 5-7 different Floppy Knights—instead of the 10-15 I had initially designed. Cuts had to be made, but our favorite designs have made it so far, and the game’s way better for it.

Well, what are you waiting for? Time to boot up those discs! You can wishlist Floppy Knights right now on Steam, and stay tuned for their release in 2020!

[justanother-unluckysoul]

Working My Way Back To You 6/10

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

Merry Christmas to my lovely readers! Hope you all are having a lovely time. Here’s a bit of fluff before we get back into the heavier angst. For the prompt “baking.”

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Tagging @cocohook38 as requested :)

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

Baking

Killian’s certain he’s never going to get over the marvel that is hot running water. Showers continue to be one of his favourite things about this realm – that and toilets. Basic hygiene had never been so easy. In fact, everything is easy. He can flip a switch and flood the room with light far more powerful than any lantern. He can turn a knob and the metal plates on the counter heat up without a fire. Never mind such amazing things like washing machines or heaters or even cars. And this thing called a mixer, which whisks ingredients together at the flick of a switch. Henry is grinning at him as he demonstrates this, and Killian tries to wipe the expression of astonishment off his own face.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Henry says, “Much faster than doing it by hand. Otherwise we’d never get this done before mom gets home.”

It had been Henry’s idea to bake these biscuits today, on Christmas Eve, while Emma was out dealing with some “grinches” who were apparently trying to ruin Christmas. Killian didn’t know what that meant, but Emma had given him a quick kiss and promised she would be back soon, and he’d decided he’d question her meaning later. He’s honestly quite relieved that she feels he’s finally recovered enough not to need her constant supervision. His stitches were removed earlier in the week, and he’s reluctantly been to see Archie after further insistence from Emma. Though Killian wasn’t comfortable sharing much of his trauma with the cricket, and even less of his feelings about it, Archie had treated him with nothing but kindness and understanding, which Killian supposed shouldn’t have surprised him, but it had. And Killian’s beginning to feel a little better, both physically and mentally. Some things are still problematic without the use of his still-splinted fingers, but Killian is nothing if not adaptable, and he’s discovered there are a lot of tasks that can actually be managed, albeit awkwardly, with just his hook and his thumb. So here they were, Henry’s enthusiasm for his self-appointed task having quickly garnered Killian’s interest, leading to this moment, which is Henry explaining no we have to do it like this with flour smudged across his cheek and Killian giving him a raised eyebrow as he challenged does it really need that much sugar? He’s starting to get the feeling that for all Henry’s knowledge on these modern kitchen tools, the lad may not have actually made this particular cuisine before.

“Yes,” Henry says firmly, a tone that leaves no room for further questioning.

Killian lets it go. Emma does like sweet foods, and since Killian hasn’t ever made snickerdoodles before, he thinks he probably should allow Henry to take the lead on this; however much it pains him to watch Henry pour that much sugar into the bowl. But he can’t resist making one last comment-

“Are you sure you’re not just making this up as you go, lad? Because ‘snickerdoodles’ doesn’t sound like a real food.”

“I’m not making it up,” Henry insists, “I’ve helped mom make them before.”

“Then where’s the recipe?”

“I read it on wickapeedia.”

And Killian’s lost again. He hasn’t a clue what a wickapeedia is.

“On what?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s a website. It has information on everything. Like, an encyclopedia, but on the internet.”

“Do you always get your recipes from this wicka… whatever?”

“Of course not.” Henry looks affronted before turning his attention back to their task. “Now, crack two eggs into this bowl. I’ll get the salt.”

Killian takes two steps away to grab the required eggs before he remembers, and he grimaces at the realization, shame washing over him.

“Henry, I… I can’t…”

“What?”

It takes Henry a moment, the room falling into silence – well, not quiet silence because there’s still the ever-present festive music playing somewhat discordant strains in the background, because Henry insisted on it. It’s a long, agonizing moment of scrutiny and Killian’s explanation dies on his tongue, an intense discomfort creeping up his spine. He can’t bring himself to put to words how useless he is.

“Oh, crap,” Henry says intensely, finally, wide eyed, “I’m so sorry, Killian, I forgot. Uh, you…” he casts his gaze frantically around the kitchen for something Killian can do with only a thumb and a hook, and apparently comes up with nothing.

Killian looks away, swallowing hard. He had thought himself crippled all those years ago when the Crocodile took his hand, and all the painful days following it as he struggled to learn how to function as less than whole, his body and soul wrecked in an instant by Rumpelstiltskin’s callous actions. He’d thought at the time that was the worst fate that could have been laid on him. But now he doesn’t even have the use of his right hand and he’s the most useless he’s ever been. Killian is struck with a desperate need to get away. Perhaps he will find some calm on the Jolly Roger. He glances out the window. There is a bank of clouds gathering in the distance, but the sun is still shining brightly.

“Never mind, lad, I can-”

“No, wait, you’re in charge of the mixer. Here, let me just-”

Killian watches rather dejectedly as Henry places the necessary ingredients in the bowl and sets it in place to be mixed, leaving Killian with the meagre job of pressing the button. While he appreciates Henry’s attempt to include him, it hasn’t done anything to alleviate his feel of inadequacy. Damn the men who did this to him, to the deepest depths of the Underworld. Simply leaving them locked in a brig seems an insufficient penalty for what they’ve done, and Killian muses on better ways to punish them while he watches the mixer whisking the ingredients together. He gets some satisfaction out of his rather grisly fantasies. But he knows they’ll remain only fantasies. As badly as he desires to hurt his torturers like they hurt him, he’s better than that now, and he forces his thoughts away from it.

Once the “snickerdoodles” are in the oven, Killian settles onto the couch. There’s not much he can do around the house yet, not until his splints are removed, so he distracts himself by playing a game of chess with Henry. It feels good, getting him out of his own head again. He slips easily into verbal sparring, and he’s taught Henry well because the lad is almost able to match Killian’s quick wit during their banter – but he still can’t quite match Killian’s ability to win at chess. He’s just about to trap Henry into a checkmate when-

“What the hell is that?” Killian will never admit how high his voice went in his fright, as the house is suddenly filled with a deafening screaming sound.

Henry bolts to his feet and bumps the chess board roughly in his haste, sending pieces flying.

“The snickerdoodles!” he shouts over the noise.

Killian’s fairly sure it’s not the snickerdoodles. He can’t be certain, of course, but creating baked goods that scream seems a bit odd, even for this realm. But smoke is billowing out of the kitchen. Killian doesn’t know how neither of them noticed until now; apparently, they’d been too immersed in their chess match. Henry’s frantically trying to rescue the biscuits, or something, and Killian’s at a loss for what he should be doing. Perhaps they should abandon the house. Perhaps he should call Emma.

“Open some windows! We have to clear this smoke!” Henry shouts, and he’s coughing now, and Killian continues to stand by helplessly because he can’t even unlatch a bloody window.

“Henry, I-”

“Damn it,” says Henry, and then a quick “Sorry!” for his language before he scampers around opening the windows himself.

If she were here, Emma would have pulled him up on it. Killian thinks they have more pressing concerns at this point. It seems the snickerdoodles are beyond saving.

“How do we turn this bloody thing off?” Killian asks.

“There should be a button on it. Or something.” Henry looks frazzled, flapping his hands about as if he can shoo the smoke out the window faster by doing so.

Killian looks up at the offending object, a white disc fastened to the ceiling, and his mind finally settles into a strategy.

“Henry, use a dishtowel to move the smoke,” he instructs.

He uses his hook to drag a kitchen chair into place under the still-shrieking disc, giving him the height he needs to… He can’t see the button Henry mentioned and the close proximity to the horrid noise is making his head feel like it’ll burst. Ah, well, time for a new plan then. He jams his hook into the side of the disc, close to the ceiling, and yanks hard downwards. The disc comes loose with a cracking sound as something gives way, and the screaming cuts off immediately. The broken disc clatters to the floor, just as the front door bursts open.

“Henry! Killian!” shouts a remarkably familiar voice, and Killian instantly regrets his hasty plan-making.

“Mom,” Henry splutters, “Uh, we were… Um, just… Oops?”

Killian quickly clambers off the chair. The smoke has abated somewhat, thanks to Henry’s waving of the dishtowel. Emma’s eyes are wide, her breaths a little quick, her phone in her hand like she was about to make a call. She looks frightened.

“Apologies, love. It seems the snickerdoodles required a little more attention than we gave them,” Killian says lightly, hoping to put her at ease.

“I saw all the smoke and I thought…” she laughs shakily, clearly struggling to pull herself together.

“We’re fine, mom, really. It got a little smoky, but it was nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Henry gives her a reassuring smile. Thankfully, seeing them unharmed seems to be enough to calm her, because she doesn’t even complain about the acrid smell of burned biscuits still pervading the kitchen. She shoves her phone back into her pocket and pulls them both in for a hug instead.

“Killian, you destroyed the smoke alarm,” she says with a shaky laugh when they break apart.

Killian looks at the item in question.

“We were certainly alarmed enough about all this, without its infernal screaming,” he says wryly, “But I admit, I may have a been… a little hasty with my method. Henry told me there was a button that would silence it?”

“Yeah. It’s right there.” She points out the button on the disc, easily noticeable now that Killian’s not being deafened by it. “But it’s okay. We can replace it.”

Once the blackened snickerdoodles are sufficiently cooled, Henry takes them out to the trash, and Killian pulls Emma into another embrace.

“I am truly sorry for scaring you, love,” he says softly, “Henry wanted to give you a surprise gift, and he said you would enjoy these biscuits. We were playing chess while we waited for them to cook, and time got away from us. But there was no fire. We were actually quite safe, despite how it must have appeared.”

“It’s okay, really. I overreacted.” Emma sighs heavily, her fingers curling gently around the back of Killian’s neck, content just to be held for a moment. “Ugh. I do love it, but all this Christmas stuff is so stressful.”

Killian coaxes her chin up with his thumb so he can kiss her, just briefly, because Henry will be back shortly and will undoubtedly make some comment about how gross they are if he catches them in such a position.

“I’m sorry I’ve added to that stress,” he says remorsefully, still so close, his mouth reluctant to let go of hers.

“It’s fine, Killian. Hey, did I ever tell you about that time…”

Emma launches into a colourful tale of a past Christmas endeavour, and of mistakes far greater than the snickerdoodle incident, and when Henry returns, he too shares some hilarious anecdotes. And they end up laughing until Killian’s sides hurt and Emma is wiping tears from her eyes, and Henry has collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles. Killian wishes he could just stay in this moment and this feeling of pure joy for the rest of his life.

After dinner, all three of them settle onto the couch, basking in the warmth of the fire and the twinkling of the lights on the tree in the corner of the room. Emma’s chosen a movie for them to watch, one that is apparently a “Christmas classic.” Killian hasn’t seen it before, but he doesn’t find it very captivating, though he doesn’t let Emma or Henry know that. He is extremely appreciative that they are including him in their holiday traditions, though he doesn’t quite understand this whole Christmas thing. It seems rather like a bunch of disjointed stories all strung together, and Killian still doesn’t get the connection between the birth of a god and an overweight man climbing down a chimney to deliver gifts. But no matter. He’s all warm and cosy, and he feels completely safe – a feeling that has been all too rare recently. And he wonders how he got so lucky to find such a family. His family. By all the gods, he’s a lucky man. Despite everything he is, everything he’s done, they love him. And come tomorrow, Snow and David will visit with their child, eager to celebrate Christmas with them. The thought makes Killian feel both elated and terrified, because they want to spend time with him and Emma and Henry and he’s so fortunate to have people like that, but they probably both know how broken he is and he won’t be able to stand their looks of pity.

When they wake to Henry knocking on their bedroom door loudly and gleefully shouting that it’s a white Christmas, it’s barely daylight.

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Emma calls out, her voice a bit hoarse from sleep.

“Okay!” and they hear him rushing down the stairs.

Outside, there’s the strange sort of quiet that heralds the falling snow, and Emma only burrows deeper into the soft blankets surrounding them, clearly having no desire to leave the cosy warmth of their bed. Killian props himself up on his elbow, a small smile curving his lips as he looks at her.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers, sleepy, and utterly gorgeous.

He really wants to kiss her right on the mouth, but he knows from past experiences that it’ll make her pull away from him, because ‘morning breath’ and all that. So Killian kisses her cheek instead, soft and gentle, and a calm warmth settles in his chest. His heart has never felt so full.

“Merry Christmas, Emma.”

[soundofseventeen]

Pancakes? (Vernon Chwe)

Good morning!! Here’s a little drabble I thought of the other day! Enjoy! (I’m still working on a couple part 2′s to things and then a longer mingyu thing and then my dk series so yeet) -erin

You stretched your arms as you slowly woke up, letting them fall onto your bed as you opened your eyes. The sun was just shining through the crack in your curtains, giving a warm little glow to your room. Your covers were so warm and comfy and protective, that you could have just stayed here forever. You let out a sigh, looking over and seeing the spot next to you empty. Your furrowed your eyebrows a bit, not entirely sure were Vernon went. You then started to smell food cooking, and a small smile came to your face. You could smell bacon and toast and smoke and...

...Smoke? 

Your head shot up, looking towards the hallway. You heard some vague cursing, quickly getting up out of bed and starting to run towards the kitchen. 

“Vernon, what’s… What are you doing.” You said, walking in to see Vernon just standing there, hands on his hips, staring at the pan. He looked up at you, clearly not expecting you to be awake yet. 

“Oh hey.” He said, scratching his head. 

“What are you doing?” You asked again, a little more humor in your voice as you looked around at the mess of a kitchen. 

“I uh… I was trying something.” Vernon laughed, looking around at the mess he made himself. You walked towards him, eyeing the plate of toast that was a variety of cooked, from just barely to way over. 

“And that would be?” You looked at him, eyebrow raised. 

“Okay, so you told me about how your dad used to make a big breakfast every Saturday morning and it was one of the memories that you have of your childhood and one of the ones you have of him and I figured that since I’m going to be leaving for tour this week and this is probably our last day together for a while I just… I wanted to do something special.” Vernon explained, looking more defeated with each word. He started looking around the kitchen again, thinking that he probably shouldn’t have tried this at all. 

You, on the other hand, felt a massive grin form on your face. You walked over to Vernon, wrapped your arms around his waist, and lightly kissed his cheek. He looked at you, a little confused. 

“You’re sweet, you know that?” At that he got his big gummy grin on his face. 

“I try.” 

“Can I ask one question?” You looked at him, Vernon nodding his head. “What… What was that.” You looked at the round black disc in the pan. 

“...A pancake.” He said, you nodding your head. 

“What happened to it?” You asked next, Vernon letting out a small sigh. 

“...It caught on fire.” Your eyes widened and looked back at Vernon. 

“How the hell did you do that?” You blinked at him, Vernon thinking for a second. 

“I really wish I could tell you… I’m not even sure how. It was fine one second and then… It was on fire.” 

“I have so many questions.” 

“Me too.” Vernon said, a laugh coming from the both of you. 

“Alright, let’s clean this up and try again. At least you kind of made toast.” You said, taking a bite of one, immediately regretting it. 

“...I found a jam in the fridge…” He sheepishly said, a simple guilty smile on his face. “It may have expired…” 

“...Mhm.” You confirmed, throwing the rest of the toast in the trash. “Okay, let’s start again. Just… I love you, but throw everything away.” You laughed, Vernon nodding his head. 

“Okay yeah, let’s uh… Let’s start over.” He laughed himself, starting to clean up the kitchen. “Also just real quick?” 

“Hm?” Vernon leaned over and gave you a quick kiss, that gummy smile coming back. 

“I love you too.”

[jackalopingintothevoid]

Observing Holidays Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 TBA

John felt odd.

Not bad. He didn’t think it was a serious medical issue. Just odd. Or, well, not just odd but... primarily odd.

There was... pressure, inside his chest. But it wasn’t... it wasn’t an inward tightening, like a knot. It was an outward pressure, like something was inside his chest that was too big for it. Not too too big, it didn’t hurt, it was just enough that it was noticeable. In fact, the pressure didn’t feel uncomfortable at all.

He just felt... full.

Not so full that he struggled with lunch, of course. It was one thing to come to terms with the fact that genuine meat was readily available so soon after the war (it had been years, why couldn’t he remember it had been years?) but the spread before him now? That was a whole cooked turkey, juicy and bursting with flavour from the stuffing mix it was cooked with and strips of bacon wrapped around it. Roast potatoes, crispy coatings from his oil distribution, fluffy innards and so satisfying; roast parsnips, equally crispy outside but soft and sweet in the middle; steamed carrots cut into discs, with optional melting butter, that he could scoop a dozen of into his mouth at once; steamed sprouts, which regrettably had a very strong flavour but went down quickly; bread sauce, a thick, creamy, mild dollop that he’d happily eat a bowlful of; cranberry sauce, sweet and sharp, complimenting the salty bacon-infused turkey; two different types of gravy, one thicker and richer than the other; and something called pigs in blankets.

John didn’t think he’d ever felt such delight as when he found out that, many centuries ago, some genius decided that sausages could be improved with a bacon wrapping.

He had to admit, he probably ate more than his fair share. But he also had to admit that no one minded-- in fact, Mochou, Changming and Davis gave in and passed over food they didn’t have room for.

And it was strange, to sit in a group, listening to a conversation he wasn’t part of, and not feel like he was an intruder. Even if he wasn’t directly involved, they accommodated for him; things John wouldn’t be expected to know, they explained. He learned about local shops and services, amusing anecdotes from people’s pasts or about their relatives, plans for the new year and even talk of the political climate, but he was very focused on his little bacon-wrapped sausages for that discussion and took none of it in.

And then... dessert.

All of that food, and then dessert.

Two desserts.

One was a plate of pinwheel-shaped pastries filled with prune jam, and the other was a Bûche de Noël which looked like an awful lot of chocolate. While Riley had figuratively written the menu for the main meal this year, Alouette had been on the desserts with old family favourites, and she was eager to get John’s approval. And she most certainly did.

By the time the lunch was concluded, John felt bloated again and he kept smiling for no reason he could pin down.

They’d just settled in the living room, debating whether they wanted to play something or watch something, when Davis suddenly leapt up.

“Almost forgot a classic!” He declared, heading back into the kitchen even as others protested. John was curious despite the response-- what classic? 

Davis returned with a tray full of drinking glasses, each full of what looked like milk, and a small plastic dispenser.

“Alright,” Davis started, setting the tray on the coffee table despite the lethargic moaning of the group. “I got eggnog, I got cinnamon, who wants some?”

John sat up a little, but before he could move or speak Davis was laughing. “Yeah I know you want some big guy, don’t worry! I got you.”

There was one more glass than needed, John realised, and with that in mind he shouldn’t have been surprised when Davis offered him one with cinnamon and one without.

“There you go,” Davis said, seeming pleased with himself, “see how you like that.”

John remained silent, and Davis started to frown. John firmly reminded himself of the kitchen incident, and focused on the worry in the smaller man’s eyes.

“You okay, John?”

Say something, he thought, take the glasses.

He didn’t.

“John? Ça va?” Alouette had propped herself up from her dozing slump, and everyone else was looking at him with concern again.

He nodded and forced himself to reach out and take them, if only to stop everyone staring, and fought to find his voice. “Thanks.”

They were still staring.

“John...” Mochou murmured beside him. “You can tell us.”

She intended to say more, but Davis cut her off. “Alright, anybody else? C’mon I know you guys’ll love it once you have it, you’re all getting one, just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to cinnamon.”

Riley immediately started waving a hand clumsily as if to fend Davis off. “Noooooo I’m stuffed stop trying to make us faaaaaaaat.”

All eyes turned to them instead as they lazily kicked up a fuss, and John felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He looked down at the ‘eggnog’ in his hands and decided to push aside the unsettled feeling he couldn’t place and focus on the objective; he’d try the undoctored eggnog first to get the base flavour, then see how the cinnamon interacted with it.

“Ó.” The soft sound from Mochou distracted him, and a quick assessment made his innards squirm. She had that look on her face, when he said or did something that upset her-- she’d insisted repeatedly that it wasn’t his fault, but the correlation was consistent enough despite changing variables to reflect cause and effect. Unfortunately he was struggling to ascertain the pattern, so he didn’t yet have any action to take, and it was frustrating.

John tilted his head in question, but Mochou brightened suddenly, smiling and patting him on the leg before turning to Davis and calling, “Cinnamon, please!”

And now John was the one left perplexed. Had he misread her expression? Had it not been aimed at him but rather at something unrelated within her mind? Was she pleased that he was no longer agitated, or perhaps realised what the problem had been and deemed it resolved? The urge to ask for clarification came and went, and he sipped the plain glass of eggnog.

He liked it. ______________________________

It was, as the Crew dubbed it, Present Time.

John had tried to excuse himself, offering to wash up after the meal, but he’d been veritably shouted down. So now he was sat here as the Crew passed gifts to each other, feeling truly awkward for the first time in days.

He was admittedly curious, itching to know what they’d given each other, but he felt uncomfortably conspicuous spectating a tradition he wasn’t (couldn’t be) involved in. Simply the fact that he had nothing himself to give caused an uncomfortable almost-burning sensation in his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to walk out when Changming pulled out the cards John had written.

The effusive thanks he was met with were almost too much for him to take. (He’d clumsily handwritten the same hollow festive greeting over and over and they were praising him like they hadn’t saved his life; he swallowed back bile and dug his fingers into the couch cushions.)

He almost missed Riley’s voice calling his name.

Looking up, John froze. Riley was holding out a wrapped gift-- a Christmas present. The gift tag had his name on it.

Swallowing thickly, John said, “No.”

Riley startled, jerking back as their face fell, and guilt added to the sour churning in his guts.

All eyes on him.

(It wasn’t-- he couldn’t-- )

“I can’t,” he blurted, “I’m sorry.” ______________________________

He didn’t come back to himself until he felt the blast of cold air as he opened the door to step outside the apartment block.

Regretting his lack of clothing warmer than his hooded jacket, he pushed forward regardless. He wouldn’t be out long, he told himself. He just needed a moment. He just needed to breathe.

The crisp chill helped to clear his head, and he relished the deep breaths of fresh, unrecycled air. He found the cold weather much more pleasant with the knowledge that there was warmth to return to.

A sharp cry of alarm from nearby snapped his head around, and he caught sight of an elderly civilian fallen back against their car. Their arms were heavily laden with bags, overbalancing them, and with potential ice underfoot they might well do themself harm.

He crossed the distance and reached out, “It’s alright,” he reassured, “I’ve got you.”

“Oh! Oh, I--”

John gently took one load of bags, then carefully but firmly gripped their arm. His other hand steadily scooped the civilian off the surface of the car door, moving around to support their back as they got their feet under them.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh-- Oh my, you’re a strapping lad aren’t you? Thank you so much, I- I’m alright, didn’t quite do any damage!” They were startled but smiling gratefully.

John frowned. “Where do you need to go?”

“Oh, dear-- oh, just on the ground floor there.” They glanced up at him hopefully. “I don’t suppose you’d mind... ?”

“Not at all.” Said John, taking the other bags.

“Oh thank you dear, you are a treasure.”

They seemed surprised when John slipped all six bags onto one forearm, and beamed when he offered the other in support, making another comment about his being ‘impressive’. It seemed in good cheer, so he didn’t dwell on it.

On the short but slow walk back to the apartments, John learned that Makani had just come back from a lovely Christmas lunch with many of their friends, whereupon they’d received far heavier gifts they had expected. They hadn’t wanted anyone to fret, so they’d insisted they could get it all home safely, but clearly they’d only been partly right.

They seemed to be taking the near miss cheerfully, and had no qualms allowing John to support them with his “astonishing arms”, to the point that they made no attempt to let go of him after they were safely inside the building. He shivered at the difference in temperature, and Makani’s smile finally dropped.

They clucked their tongue. “Oh dear, you must be freezing young man! Come in, come in and have a hot drink.”

John hesitated. He knew the Crew were probably upset and worried about his absence, and he should really go back before they felt the need to look for him, but... he almost couldn’t stand the thought of facing them right now.

“And maybe,” Makani continued gently, a shrewd look in their gaze, “you can tell me all about whatever trouble’s got that look on your face.”

John immediately schooled his features, and Makani’s face scrunched in irritation.

“Oh, don’t do that. That’s unnerving, that.” At his lack of response, they sighed. “I only mean that it might help to put a voice to it, rather than running around in the freezing cold until you make yourself sick.”

Their eyebrow arched, and John felt his head dip in sheepish embarrassment. He didn’t particularly want another round of hypothermia.

“Either way, come in and warm up. A drink is the least I can do for lugging my sorry baggage to the door.”

They smiled and patted his arm, and John felt something inside of him pang with a strange longing. Something about Makani’s worn and wrinkled face made the acrid knots loosen in his belly, their dark eyes warm and welcoming. Despite himself, he nodded.

“I just...” For a moment John wrestled with himself, then huffed in frustration as he lost the words again.

But Makani seemed to understand. They nodded, like some unspoken question had been answered, and didn’t press. “Come in.” They urged again, and John gave in.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

To Give Him The World, Chpt.3

Main Characters: Thor x Ellie (original female character)

Summary: Ellie and Thor wake up together and receive an unexpected guest before breakfast. Thor learns to make pancakes.

Warnings/ Content: None really in this chapter. 

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note:  Hello lovelies! Hope you’re all having a good start to your week. I have a serious case of the Monday’s but I’m excited to get this chapter out to ya’ll. I’m going to try and keep posting every other day, the final outline is now 8 chapters + an epilogue. Thank you for reading, I truly appreciate all the love and comments for this fic so far ❤

To Give Him The World, Chapter Three

The sun shone in the bedroom window directly into Ellie’s eyes waking her with a start. She looked around disoriented for a moment until she realized where she was. Thor snored softly, pulling her eyes to him. The morning sun cast a golden glow to his skin and she imagined his hair would have been equally beautiful had it not been so dirty. Memories of the previous day flooded back to her and she smiled to herself. Ellie moved back into his arms to steal a few more minutes of quiet before he woke and they had to start their day. She had just gotten comfortable when she realized he was staring down at her. 

“Good morning.” Thor rumbled. He moved forward to kiss the top of her head in sleepy affection. 

“Morning.” She echoed, “You seem to have slept well.”

“Yes, first time in a long time. I could use more nights like that.” 

“I’m glad. You deserve some rest.” 

“Did you sleep well?” 

“Mmm yes, you make a wonderful pillow.” 

Thor laughed at that and curled his arms around her a little more snugly. For the first time Thor was thankful for his heavier body since it gave Ellie a pleasing spot to sleep. Ellie wiggled, needing to get up to use the bathroom. On her way back she grabbed her cellphone and sent a quick text to Valkyrie letting her know she wouldn’t be in. Ellie resumed her spot in Thor’s arms and they laid quietly together, absently stroking any skin they could reach on one another. Ellie heard her phone ringing but refused to leave the bed to get it, assuring Thor she could just check her voicemail once they got up. 

A few minutes later a loud bang came from inside the cottage followed by Valkyrie’s yell. “Odinson! Where are you, you bastard?” she bellowed.

Thor and Ellie’s eyes met, both surprised and a little guilty. They could hear Valkyrie stomping around the cottage and Ellie pulled the blanket up over her head, feebly trying to hide against Thor’s side. The bedroom door opened with another bang and Valkyrie stood holding onto the door jams on both sides. She lived up to her namesake, looking every bit an avenging Valkyrie ready for battle. 

“What in the name of the Allfather have you done now?” She demanded. 

Thor tried his best to play dumb, “Good morning to you too, Valkyrie. Now, what are you talking about?” 

“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t tell me you cleaned this place yourself. Ellie came over to clean and make sure you were alive yesterday. Sweet girl, short, blonde, curvy. Now she texts me that she’s not coming in today and isn’t picking up my calls. This has you written all over it.”

“I have done nothing untoward to that girl. She did a wonderful job cleaning while I napped yesterday.”

“Really, Odinson? Because she didn’t go home last night. And there seems to be an Ellie sized lump next to you in that bed.” 

Thor looked down, guilty. 

Ellie gave herself up, knowing it was inevitable. “Hi Valkyrie” she gave a small wave as she emerged from the covers. 

Valkyrie threw her hands up, exasperated. “Really, Odinson? You couldn’t leave this poor girl alone? And what now, you’ve sexed her brain away and into spending the day in your bed?” 

Thor did his best to look offended but he wanted to laugh at his friend’s outrage. “If only I possessed such powers. Did you know Ellie and I grew up together on Asgard?”

“You know this oaf?” Valkyrie turned her wrath on a startled looking Ellie.

“Yes, my mother ran the palace kitchens. We played together as children.” Ellie admitted. 

“So that’s why you jumped at the chance to come see him. I wondered why you were so excited to go clean but honestly you were the best bet. The others would have been bitches about it. How bad was it when you arrived? It looks spotless now.”

“It wasn’t... terrible.” Ellie lied and Valkyrie saw right through it.

“Yeah, sure it wasn’t.” Valkyrie pointed a finger at Thor, “You know the deal big guy. You take care of this place and yourself or you’re out. I’m not going to have you self destructing up here again.”

“Yes, I’m quite aware.” Thor grumbled, “And I’m doing just fine. Never better now that Ellie and I have reconnected. She was going to teach me how to make pancakes before you so rudely interrupted our morning.” 

“Yeah, sure ‘making pancakes’. I’ll leave you two be, but Ellie I will need you back on Monday.” 

“Not a problem boss. I’ll see you then.” Ellie assured her. 

“I’m off. You two behave yourselves.”  Valkyrie headed out without a goodbye and Ellie rolled over, hiding her face against Thor’s chest. 

“We got in trouble.” She giggled. 

Thor’s chest shook with a laugh, “She can be terrifying when she wants to be. But she let me keep you so I consider this a win.” 

“Mmm, agreed. Did you really want to learn how to make pancakes?”

“Yes, of course. Ready to get up?” 

Ellie nodded and pulled herself away from Thor begrudgingly. She stretched as she stood up and Thor couldn’t help but enjoy the way the shirt pulled up exposing more of her thighs. He wished it was just a little shorter so he could have a glimpse of her well rounded bottom as well. Ellie turned to catch him staring and his cheeks heated in embarrassment. 

“Enjoying the view?” She teased. 

Thor coughed, clearing his throat before he could speak, “Ahh… yes, I am. I hope you’re not offended.” 

Ellie shook her head. “Not at all. I’m enjoying the view from over here as well.”

Thor looked down and realized he was shirtless and the color drained from his face. It was one thing under the covers in the dark of night, but in daylight his self consciousness grew once again. 

Ellie noticed his reaction and could guess at the thought process going on in his head. “Thor,” she drew out his name slowly, cautiously, as she walked around the bed to stand in front of him. “Don’t get lost in those thoughts, okay?”

Thor’s beautiful mismatched eyes met hers, his uncertainty clear. 

She pressed both of her palms against his chest and he inhaled sharply. Ellie continued, “I like what I see Thor. Truly, I do. If I had to pick a perfect type, your body would be it.”

“But… why?” Thor was at a loss, years of self loathing clouding his judgement. 

“I don’t know. I like what I like. It’s like asking someone why they prefer chocolate ice cream over vanilla. It’s a preference.” 

“And I am your chocolate ice cream?”

“You are a chocolate sundae with sprinkles on top.” Ellie went up on her tiptoes to pull Thor down into a deep kiss. 

Thor groaned a little at her words and the kiss. “I’m glad then.” And he was. It was going to take time and Thor wasn’t sure he would ever really be comfortable in his own skin again but he liked pleasing Ellie. Her enjoyment of his body made it a little harder to hate it himself. Thor’s stomach growled and Ellie raised an eyebrow at the sound, “Come on you.” She pulled at his hand, “Pancake time.”

Thor resisted the urge to put on a shirt and followed. Ellie was moving around the kitchen as if it were her own. Thor watched her pull out the ingredients and supplies, setting everything up on the counter top. “Okay, this is pretty simple.” She began, handing him the box. Thor was entranced watching Ellie move around with such ease and grace, as if she was dancing. He listened attentively as she explained how to measure ingredients and how to mix things without making a total mess. Thor did his best but still ended up covering himself, and then her, with a dusting of pancake mix. He winced as the air cleared waiting for her to scold him as he was doing to himself mentally. Instead she laughed and wiped her hands down her shirt. “We’re going to need a shower after this.” She told him. 

Thor let out a relieved breath, “I suppose we will. I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, it happens. Cooking can be messy work. Hang on though, I’ll get you a towel to brush yourself off.” 

Ellie returned with a checkered dish towel and Thor tried to wipe the pancake mix off his chest and belly. He had been sweating a little and it didn’t all come off much to his dismay. 

Ellie took note of his forming distress, “We can take a shower later. The pan is hot, let’s just get moving on this.” 

Ellie patiently walked Thor through the steps to measure and pour the batter on the hot pan, and then how to flip it over. After the first one Ellie had him give it a try and after four misshapen, too raw, too burnt, and then completely collapsed pancakes, Thor flipped one perfect golden round disc over. Ellie gave a cheer and high fived him. Thor beamed under her praise as he flipped the pancake onto the waiting plate. The next one wasn’t as perfect but Ellie was a patient teacher and by the time the last of the batter was used Thor had become proficient at making them. Thor divided the pancakes between two plates and handed one to Ellie. She joined him at the small wooden kitchen table and they started in on their creations. 

Ellie gave up halfway through, the stacks they’d made were huge and she couldn’t even come close to finishing. Thor eyed up her plate and Ellie could tell he was still hungry as he took the last bite of his own. She pushed her plate to Thor, not wanting him to have to awkwardly ask when his inner dialogue seemed less than kind. 

“I really shouldn’t.” Thor rubbed his stomach self consciously but didn't look away from the food. 

“Thor, if you’re still hungry you can have them. I’m not going to judge you.” She said calmly. 

Thor still looked conflicted but his hunger finally won out and he accepted the offered plate. “I am. And they’re so good.” He admitted quietly. 

Ellie smiled at his sheepish admission. She stood up to take his plate and started loading the dishwasher while Thor quickly polished off the last of her pancakes. He handed her the empty plate and she added it to the rest of the load. 

“I could have done that.” Thor said giving Ellie’s shoulder a rub. 

“I know. But just let me take care of you a little, okay? I enjoy it.”

“You’re going to spoil me.” 

“Oh absolutely. You deserve it too. Now, we need a shower.”

“Do you want to go first?” 

Thor was missing her point and Ellie groaned internally, “Or we could save water and take one together?” 

Thor was caught between anxiety over being fully naked and raging desire to see all of Ellie’s perfect body. Desire won out in the end. “Well, we wouldn’t want to waste water.”

Tag list lovelies: @thorfanficwriter @lancsnerd

[criticswatch]

Giant Bomb: Quick Look: Disc Jam