#<- our swing flags were blowing all over us and they are white

[strawberrynova]

the wind is my greatest enemy what do you mean swing flag

[letaliabane]

The Light Within - (CARE FOR SERIES)

Pair: Thorin Oakenshield x Healer!Reader (a pretty short one too lol)

Genre: Another majorly angsty LONGGGGGGGG chapter (I am so sorry) with little smidges of fluff again if you squint but barelyyyy any (I’m sorry! I promise it gets better!)

Warning: Very angstyy gore, violence, mentions of rape (no rape), death of character

A/N: With Y/N now far from Thorin, will he be able to regain his senses and stop the orcs from their takeover of his Kingdom? Will these lovers be divided by death? Or will something else prevent them from having their chance?   

PREVIOUS (Through The Darkness)

I winced as Gandalf pressed a cold cloth to my neck, the skin now swollen, bruised from Thorin’s violent tossing. The very thought of the dwarf caused tears to rise, a small sob caught in my throat.

Since Gandalf had shepherded me and Bilbo away from the ramparts, Thorin had called on his kin from the Iron Hills, his cousin Dáin, Gandalf had told me specifically. The King turning his back on the battlefield had been the last I had seen of him before being ushered into Thranduil’s tent that had been left unattended. 

I looked up at Gandalf, my tears running freely down my cheeks.

‘Oh my dear.’ He said, wiping them away with the curve of his thumb gently. ‘I am so sorry. Your commitment to breaking Thorin out of his stupor, but that sickness runs deep in his family. That dark magic that was set on his grandfather now clutches his heart. And I believe the only one who will be able to break him free now is himself.’

I pushed away the hair that had fallen in front of my face, now covered in muck and dirt from our escape from the battle briefly. 

‘That dwarf ... that isn’t Thorin Oakenshield, that’s someone I’ve never seen before. And I know I shouldn’t worry now, and yet it still hurts so much.’ 

Gandalf’s deep chuckle made me look up, a small smile on his face. 

‘That is because you love him, my dear.’ 

I looked up at him in shock, words faltering as his fingertips grazed the braid that was now revealed my shoulder, the silver bead holding it together glinting in the light of the lantern sitting overhead. I couldn’t help the shaky sigh that left my lips. 

‘That I-I do. I do love him Gandalf! I can’t deny it anymore ...’ 

Gandalf smiled, taking my hands into his. ‘I knew you would find your way to one another. I knew it from the moment you both bickered when you first met. I knew it when you shared that precious moment within the walls of Beorn’s walls.’ 

I couldn’t stop the chuckle that fell from my lips, even as the tears glided down my cheeks. ‘I never thought you to be an eavesdropper Gandalf!’

He scoffed. 

‘I am no such thing my dear! When one wants secrecy, they must do it where no one shall overhear!’ 

The smile faded as soon as it appeared, shaking my head, ‘Gandalf I can’t give up on him. I can’t leave him behind.’ 

Gandalf sighed, eyes momentarily flicking to the entrance of the tent where Bilbo stood on watch, screams and shouts of war rising and growing louder by the second. He placed a hand on my cheek gently. 

‘Then don’t my dear, stay and hope that that dwarf comes to his senses. And if doesn’t we will find some way to bring him back.’ I nodded with a small smile, squeezing his hand as he got to his feet with a groan. ‘But first we must fight to live another day. Are you ready?’

Glancing down towards my sword, I gripped it, also getting to my feet. 

‘More than ever.’ 

A cry left my lips as I thrust my sword into the neck of an orc that had fallen to his knees before me, screeching wildly as I withdrew, blood spraying across ground as it collapsed. 

Gasping for air, I wiped away the ichor against my pants that stained my hand, leaning against the bridge as I looked over the bloodied field where the chaos raged on between all creatures, armour shining brightly against the harsh sunlight.  

The Orcs had descended upon the battle of the elves, humans and the dwarves, taking us all by surprise, their numbers far greater and far more powerful than all three parties combined. 

The kingdoms would be ripped apart if they weren’t stopped, and the company that hid within the mountain of Erebor would all but be overthrown. 

I turned as Bilbo stood beside me, covered in blood and muck, both of us standing in silence as we watched on. He took my hand in his, voice merely a whisper. ‘Y/N, do you think we will live to see another day?’

I looked to him at this, my eyes wide and glistening before turning away. The very thought of a new day rising after one such as this seemed unlikely, and it frightened me to even hold onto such hopes. Not when all I wanted hid within the mountain, the obsession of gold to strong for him-

Suddenly a deep rumble echoed across the plains, making me turn back towards the battlefield. There, standing upon the great dwarf statue of Erebor, was Bomber, blowing into a large horn.

The makeshift rampart was ripped apart, a magnificent golden bell ringing through the silence that had fallen upon the battlefield, all eyes watching. 

Before a familiar Khuzdul battle cry came forth. 

I couldn’t stop the loud gasp that had left my lips as Thorin emerged into the sunlight. Cloak and crown gone, instead a sword in hand, running onwards into the fight with the company at his side. 

I smiled through the blur of tears as the dwarves began to fight against the orcs alongside the elves and Dain’s army. I looked towards Gandalf with, after so long, a large smile, tears streaming down my face. 

‘They’re fighting back-Gandalf, their fighting back.’

He looked over us towards the mountain, his face instantly turning from a scowl to a small smile full of hope, almost like a child, ‘They’re rallying their king! There may be hope for us yet.’ 

However, that small bit of hope was stamped out when a raven flew over head, landing before me only moments later. I unclasped the note from around it’s foot, hurriedly unrolling it. 

‘Gandalf.’ 

He turned at my firm tone, making his way towards me along with Bilbo. 

‘Legolas sends word that Azog has another army attacking!’ 

‘From where? Where my dear?’

A chill ran down my spine as I read the messy elven handwriting, looking up towards the wizard. ‘From the North, right towards Ravenhill.’ 

Gandalf huffed, eyes wide in horror before looking towards the hilltop where the dwarves had headed for. ‘We must warn Fili, Kili and the others. If we don’t they’ll be in great danger once they enter the depths of Ravenhill. Bilbo, you know what to do.’

Bilbo nodded and set off immediately, disappearing into the crowd. But as I went to follow, Gandalf grabbed my shoulder, shaking his head. 

‘Not you my dear! You’ll take another route, and more importantly to Thorin. If it’s anyone he needs at his side right now, it’s you’

I nod at this before following him, fighting alongside him through the oncoming hoards of orcs before he led me to a group of eagles cawed as they fought of those who dared to attack, throwing them over the ramparts. 

Gandalf, leading me over to the largest of the group, gave me a boost up onto  the great creature. ‘Keep your head down and your heart full of courage. Get to Thorin and warn him of the oncoming dangers that are coming but be careful. I don’t want to lose my one good apprentice.’

I stared down at the wizard with a smile, shaking my head. 

‘Oh Gandalf, didn’t you know that getting into trouble is what I’m famous for?’

With one last smile towards me along with a nod, Gandalf raised his staff towards the eagle that let out a shriek before lifting off in flight, the rushing of wind welcoming me into its arms as I clung to the eagle’s beautiful feathers.

As we rose above the clouds, I could only pray that we would make it to the hill, and hope we were not too late. 

The ride to Ravenhill was a lot more dangerous than I had anticipated, on our descent the frost becoming like sharp glass against my skin, the eagles shrieking as they forced themselves through the storm. 

Through the fray of white, I sighted the peaks of the blackened ruins of Ravenhill, a ripped flag flailing in the winds violently, the howl of the wind echoing across the hilltop. 

I gripped my sword tightly, tightening my group as the eagle flew down towards the towers, giving me time to slip down before it took off to join its pack, continuing to circle above. 

Without a moments hesitation, I ran across the the length of the tower, careful of the mounds of snow that covered the path before reaching the crumbled window only to gasp in horror. Looking out over the frozen lake, I instantly recognised the dwarf that staggered across the ice, a towering one armed Orc trailing after him with a chained brick weapon, swinging it towards him. 

Thorin, now holding the beautifully elven crafted sword Orchrist, shining in the light of the rising sun, standing his ground against the pale Orc who roared. 

I ran down the first set of stairs I came across, down torn corridors and passages, before I slid across the frozen lake towards the duel. With Azog’s back turned to me, I easily found an open, slipping my sword across his side, slicing through the pale skin. 

I scurried backwards as the ugly beast reared its head towards me, along with his brick and chain, just catching the ice where I had just moments before stood upon. 

‘Y/N?!’ I glanced towards Thorin, and couldn’t stop the brief smile that broke across my face only to shriek as a brick came hauling at me, barely missing me this time. ‘Foolish girl! Leave now!’ 

‘I’m not leaving you! Not again!’ I screamed, dodging Azog’s sworded up, once again slashing him across the same wounded side, making him shriek, his black blood spilling out across the ice. 

I ran to Thorin, the dwarf catching me in his arms as I slipped. I gripped him tightly, regaining my breath as I looked up at him. 

‘W-We have to leave! Ano-Another army is set to attack from the North!’ 

His eyes widened in horror. ‘What?!’ 

‘Please, we must leave now before it’s too late-’

I gasped at the abrupt shrill high call of the Orc horn I had knew far too well, both of us turning to see the sight of a dark shadowed mass marching over the hill. Shaking my head, Thorin grasped my hand tightly as Azog dragged himself to his feet, growling. 

But through all the pain he felt, the monster still smirked, swinging the chained brick high above his head before slinging it towards us, both parting instantly to avoid it. 

We circled him, almost working as one as the Orc looked between us, snarling, thrashing his weapon around, all to be in vain, only to become lodged into the thick layer of ice. 

It was only when Azog’s gaze became altered over our shoulders I couldn’t help but take a glance, only to shriek as a group of much larger, magnificent and proud as they flew straight towards the oncoming army. And I couldn’t help but chuckle at the small figure of Radogast that sat comfortable upon one of the eagle. 

However, it was a moment that had distracted me for far too long, a unexpected sharp pain ran up my side, a scream leaving my lips as Azog swung his sworded arm across me, sending me to my knees. I bit down on my lip hard, trying to crawl away as the towering behemoth laughed aloud. 

But as he raised the sworded appendage above my head, he was stopped by Thorin as it came down, who thrust his whole body weight against Orchrist, sending Azog backwards. 

Dropping his sword and with all his might, Thorin threw the bricked chain back towards the Defiler, the creature tipping backwards and disappearing fast beneath the water. 

It was once the silence fell over us I let out a loud sigh, tears of earnest falling. I whimpered as arms wrapped around me carefully, bringing me to my feet. I smiled up at Thorin, even as he scowled, shaking his head. 

‘You foolish woman! Yo-You came back! After everything that happened-After everything I did you came back!’ 

I laughed softly, pressing a hand to his cheek, heart soaring as he leant into my cheek, nuzzling against my palm. ‘That wasn’t you. I knew you would come back to me, I just had to be there when you needed me.’

Tears glazed his eyes as the first real smile I had seen in months, drawing me close to press a kiss against my forehead. I leant my head against his chest, a tired but joyous smile upon my lips. 

It was over, the war was over. 

I peaked my eyes open, only to gasp in horror at the sight of Azog beneath our feet, that same dangerous smile painted across his features. 

A scream wrenched itself from Thorin, his grip painfully tight on my waist. Looking down in horror to see the familiar blade that belonged to Azog’s arm. Only to be thrown from the warm embrace as the shriek and crackle of ice, landing on the hard frozen lake. 

I looked up in time as Azog leapt up out of the ice, sending Thorin to the ground, barely pulling out his sword to stop the jagged metal from piercing his chest, arms shaking uncontrollably, barely able to hold his own against the towering Orc. 

I shakily got to my feet, gripping my sword before running at him, screaming as I drove my sword deep into Azog’s chest, a guttural, bloodied gasp leaving his lips before I pulled him off of Thorin. With him staring up at me, I swung my sword down, once more pushing deep into the already gaping wound in his chest. 

And as the light faltered in his eyes, I spat. ‘Burn in hell, filth.’ 

Without sparing a moment, I dropped to Thorin’s side, my hands clasping his face. 

‘Thorin can you hear me? Are you okay?’ 

‘Y-Y/N ...’ 

I smiled as he gripped my hand, only for it to fade at the scarlet that covered his hand. Looking down I noticed the wound in his chest, the tunic he wore beneath his coat soaked in blood. 

‘Oh lord Mahal-’ I whistled as loud as I could, looking up into the skies where the eagles continued to circle, their dark shadows passing amongst the cloud. Suddenly, I coughed violently, leaning away from Thorin, wiping at my mouth, only to find blood. 

‘No no no-’ 

Again I whistled, body shaking as I looked around. A hand pressed against my cheek, gasping as Thorin looked up at me, a gentle smile on his lips. 

‘It-it’s alright my dear one, it’s alright-’

I shook my head, pressing a firm kiss to his hand. ‘No no no Thorin. You are going to live! You will not die this day, you’ve just gotta stay awake for me, alright?’ 

‘I feel so sleepy ...’

I held back a sob, squeezing his hand. ‘I know, Thorin, I know but you have to keep your eyes open! Help is coming! Y-You made me promise you that we would try-that we would try a hand at us! You’ve gotta stay awake-’

However as the words left my lips, his eyelids slid closed, the grip faltering on my cheek as tiredness over took his entire body. 

‘Thorin don’t you dare close your eyes!’ I cried, gripping his cheek while the other hand pressed down on his wound, trying to stem the blood that flowed over my fingertips. I looked around once again, screaming into the smoke that rose over the frozen peaks of the waterfall. 

‘SOMEBODY HELP US! PLEASE SOMEBODY?!’ 

I screamed, and screamed, and screamed. 

Even when my voice became hoarse, I still screamed at the top of my lungs. 

Even as blood spilt down my clothes, I still cried out weakly. 

And even as the shadows crept across my vision as I lay beside my unconcious lover, and the blurred outline of a figure came into view, I whimpered.

‘H-Help us ...’ 

I groaned as I opened my eyes, blinded by the piercing light that entered through the overhead windows. Slowly I sat up, gasping in pain that filled my side, and then I remembered. 

The war, Azog. And Thorin. 

I rushed to get out of bed, shakily getting to my feet only to fall foward towards the stone floor. However I didn’t make impact, held up by Kili. 

‘What are you doing Y/N?! I’ve known you for being an early riser but you must stay in bed! Oin has commanded it!’ 

I gripped his arm as he helped me sit back on the soft mattress, sighing at the pounding in my head. Once blurring in my vision had faded, I really took in the scene around me to realise we were within the halls of Erebor. 

Dwarves and dwarrodams with medical pouches walked through the aisles, standing beside other injured soldiers, a calmness settled over the entire room that we hadn’t felt for months. I looked back up towards him with a small smile. 

‘It’s over isn’t it?’

He was hugging me before I could even register it, a small hiccup of pain leaving me before I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. I ran a hand through his hair, chuckling-or a sobbing-I couldn’t even tell.

‘Oh thank Mahal you’re alright!’ 

‘The others are too.’ I couldn’t help but relax against him at his words, pulling away to look at him up and down, inspecting him carefully. 

‘And you are not hurt?’ 

‘A few bruises and cuts, every soldier must to be able to tell the tales of war!’ 

I smiled, but once again thought back to the dwarf I had gone on that desperate mission to save. I gripped Kili’s hand painfully. ‘And Thorin? Is he-’

‘Alive and healing thanks to you.’ 

I sighed, this time an even greater weight lifting from me. Tears of relief rose in my eyes, looking up at the young dwarf who smiled down at me. 

‘May I-’

‘Of course you can. Just don’t tell Oin I’m going against his orders taking away from your time of resting!’ 

Once dressed in my clothes, which I found had been washed and dried, felt clean against my skin, Kili led me to Thorin’s chambers. More like carried me, taking on most of my body weight to avoid leaning on my right side. I couldn’t help but smile at other dwarves and dwarrodams we passed, earning many in return. 

We all had fought for this victory, and free of the Orc’s reign of darkness. Now we could finally smile without the fear of dying on the morrow. 

We reached an ornate corridor, adorned with gold and jewels across the walls from roof to the marble floors, and at the very end I could see two guards guarding a large oak door, much different to the room Thorin had taken when ill under the dragon sickness. 

There were two other dwarves standing before the entrance, chatting amongst themselves, turning to us as we arrived. With the door slightly ajar, I squinted, looking past the shoulders of the dwarves to see a Thorin, cleaned, bandaged, and peacefully resting, 

‘We are here to visit the King-’

The door was shut with a slam, Kili cut off by the one who looked the oldest, his pointed nose raised to us and voice firm. ‘No one is to enter these chambers besides the King’s healer or advisors!’ 

The Prince scoffed. ‘Do you know who you’re talking to? I am King Thorin’s nephew, I am his kin and I order you to allow us in to see the King!’ 

‘I know who you are laddie, and I certainly know who this woman is.’ 

Why did it seem that everyone knew me before I knew them?

I looked toward the dwarf with a raised eyebrow. ‘And who do you think I am?’ 

He smirked. ‘Word of you reached Ered Luin long before the company of Thorin Oakenshield even reached the cusp of our homeland. Must’ve been a good offer you made our King to join such a company-’

‘I offered my skills-’

‘And much more I think.’ 

I stared down the second dwarf, cringing inwardly at the ugly smile he sent my way as he looked me up and down, a stare I wasn’t unfamiliar with.  

I pushed off of Kili, now nose to nose with him. ‘Watch your tongue-’

‘And you will watch yours missy. You are nothing than a common woman with no title, no family, and nothing to give to this King, or this kingdom. And if word gets out that the King has fallen for a human? Oof, you better run further than the hills. You wouldn’t last a day-’ 

‘Is that a threat?’

‘No, it’s merely a warning! Because you will be ruined either way, whether you are dead, or defiled beyond reprieve.’

My gut churned at his words, an anger I hadn’t felt in a very long time burning inside me, the memories of my time as a prisoner at the hands of the orcs sweeping through my mind. Everything they had done to me, the way they tied me down, ripped my clothes off, and did nothing but violate me.

Kili, who hadn’t noticed my state, stepped forward in a rage. ‘How dare you speak of her in such a way! You are nothing but cowards! She saved the King’s life-’

‘Then that is her job done innit? Hurry along and find someone else to travel along with, maybe you’ll find some new purpose for yourself, become someone else’s bitch-’ 

I didn’t remain to hear the rest of the cruel dwarf’s words. Breathing uneven, tears streaming down my face, I ran through the halls, letting the calls of my name that rang out behind me fall deaf upon me. 

It felt like everything was spinning, blurred as I fell against a wall, catching my breath, the taste of iron on my tongue. I gripped the marble beneath my nails, as if it would ground myself to reality, distract me from the images of the laughing orcs who had held me down, to dissolve the ugly smiles and laughter that erupted from them once they were finished.  

‘Y/N? You silly woman, why are you out of bed? You should be resting! Your wound is bleeding again!’ 

My eyes shot open at the sight of Gandalf, standing tall over me. Almost instantly, the sternness in his features creased into worry, taking my face into his hands carefully, wiping away the tears. 

‘Breathe my dear, breathe.’

I gasped, inhaling as much air as I could, gripping the wizards arms as sobs left me. With the shaking not ceasing, I looked back up towards Gandalf, tears still trekking down my face. 

‘Please take me away from here Gandalf-’

‘Why? What has happened?’

I shook my head. ‘I can’t stay here, I-I can’t be here when Thorin wakes up. Please! Take me away from here!’ 

NEXT (The Aftemath - Coming soon)

A/N: I am so sorry this chapter took so long but here we are! Will it get better? We shall see! I’m sorry!! *runs away*

If your needy for more, read the original CARE FOR series or check out the Masterlist

CARE FOR TAG LIST: @alyhull , @bellastellaluna​ , @sdavid09 , @aidanturnersass , @letsbeinspiredby , @hiddenmangaka , @female-hux , @elia-the-bibliophile , @fangirlbitch02 @nickangel13​ @thatteluguchick​ 

[lambourngb]

re: your tags on that one post abt plotholes in rnm: what are the plotholes that make you lose the most sleep?

(this is my main btw, my rnm blog is @curlyguerin )

Hi! Okay... strap in, because there are a lot of little and big things that wiggle into my thoughts and makes me wonder ...am I the only one who couldn't follow that plotline?

In my opinion RNM suffers more from abandoned narratives and continuity errors than plot holes I guess, since we only have 2 seasons, with at least 2 more to go I guess I can hope they come back to these issues... but: [Under the cut plus some spoilers for season 3]

Things I would like explained :

1. What did Jesse Manes fund with family money in 1x08 ? I'm guessing it was surveillance of the town and the search for more aliens that could have escaped the military in 1947-1948. The idea that Jesse funded Caulfield is just laughable to me, along with how he was able to get his Army-assigned son moved from Germany to New Mexico for 5 years and no one noticed?? Caulfield has to be separate from whatever Jesse was doing in Roswell. Clearly there is still an ACTIVE military project focused on aliens because Flint isn't AWOL, Flint also takes Noah's body to Area 51, so where was Jesse in violation of his orders (Alex's threat to Jesse in 1x08 and then shipping him to Niger)? Surveilling citizens and setting up cameras all over town?

2. Did they ever build an Air Force base on the Fosters Homestead Ranch? (1x01-1x02) ...then it's never mentioned again.

3. I am aware I am the only one who cares about this little bit, but the show seemed to set up a narrative in season 1 about the spotlight Roswell shined white victims of crimes - like Katie and Jasmine, that the town of Roswell holds quite a lot of racism regarding justice- vilifying Rosa for over 10 years, ignoring the deaths of people around Ranchero Night, and then Noah kills Wyatt Long's best friend Hank Gibbons in 1x13. I dunno, I was expecting more from Wyatt in season 2 about this than picking a fight with Michael over Mimi's missing persons sheet and showing up with a crossbow in 2x04. And like, there was a theme of people going missing in season 2!! Mimi, Jenna, the weird twins from 2x06, Charlie -- but yet, no closer scrutiny by Sheriff Valenti other than her focus on Max Evans and the story about Mexico- Like this felt not like a plot hole, but a dropped narrative -- to wrap up the fate of Racist Hank in a missing persons sheet in 2x01. To treat him weirdly like all of Noah's other victims (who were women and men of color and poor), but for a few factors like he was white, he had actual lines in the show over a couple of episodes, and he's one of the few townspeople we learn his first and last name still sticks out in my mind as strange. The Doylist explanation is the actor wasn't available for season 2, but the Watson-perspective of this is just someone the in-show universe doesn't care about ...? Okay. I will keep that in mind, and try to ignore the fact that the town of Roswell swings wildly back to caring about white victims again in 2x13 with Jesse Manes.

4. The Alighting from 1x13 - just how far away was it from happening? Noah was ready to stick a sheriff's deputy, the town event planner and Michael (who probably would be been the only one to go missing without much fanfare, except maybe by Alex) into a pod...for how long? Months? Years? What was his endgame? how did he expect to go unnoticed by the town while he waited for his alien salvation/alien UBER to arrive? Could he just mindwarp everyone into forgetting about the pod squad? Since we didn't see any alien ships show up in the six months from 1x13 to 2x13, and no further follow up by any of our heroes about what Noah was babbling about... I'm going to say this should come back into play for season 3, otherwise it's the most egregious plot hole from season 1.

5. Why did Flint want to work with Helena? Jesse had this master plan that Helena knew all about apparently but she never shares the plan with Flint? Jesse never shares this plan with Flint either? Why? As far as I can tell from the plot of season 2, Jesse takes the console piece from Alex, he was going to kill Alex to keep him out of the way, use the console to blow up civilians, he created a paper trail that pointed the finger at Max, and then when everyone knew the truth about aliens, he was going to use HIS atomizer bomb to release the toxin that Charlie had already developed for Project Shepherd to kill all the aliens.... WHY would Flint want to stop that, especially since they fight in 2x11 over how slow Jesse was moving in his plans? Other than objecting to killing Alex, why would Flint turn Alex over to Helena to blackmail Michael into building a second atomizer bomb? He should have just kept Alex out of the way until it was all over and let Jesse proceed with his plans. Flint's desire to work with Helena Ortecho remains a plot hole to me, that is explained in the most flimsy way of he thinks his dad isn't serious about killing all the aliens even though he has the means? And if he takes Alex from Jesse's control so easily, why not steal the bomb Jesse had too?

6. These are more gripes about continuity, not really plot holes, but the fact we have this loose timeline of events but it doesn't match the weather of filming.... Like Heather Hemmens looked so gorgeous in that little silk outfit in 2x01, but she's wandering outside in Dec in Roswell New Mexico looking like that. I get that it was filmed in August/Sept of 2019 but come on... so my main frustration is I have no idea what season and month is supposed to be on screen. Universe timeline says Winter but filming schedule meant it was early fall with still having the heat of summer there...then the show ends in May/June in the universe, but we all know RNM wrapped in Dec 2019/Jan 2020 so they are all bundled up in winter again.

7. Also on continuity, small things like Rosa's birthday being wrong, the fact her astrological sign isn't Pieces for either date, openly letting Greg Manes see Rosa, not seeming to care that Liz's ex-fiance hears that Rosa is alive - like i'm sure her "dead" sister came up in conversation between Liz/Diego

- the show gives us this beautiful conversation with Michael sharing his background with Alex in 1x10, but then Alex completely forgets it in 2x04 by dropping some line like "this is what you do with family" when Michael expresses confusion about a height chart. Also, on the same note- the jabs about the Library being a dive bar, also felt like a drop in continuity because Alex knows that Michael just lost his mom (1x12) , the government IS studying aliens, and his brother is in a pod, so like, he has some very valid reasons to drink if that's what he wanted to do with in his life in early season 2!! but, also he knows Michael is a genius??

- Why Alex never mentions Rosa, Isobel's blackouts/why Michael gave up UNM, or even hint about what happened with his dad in the shed during his conversation with Maria in 2x05 is also beyond bizarre to me. It was an "information" dump conversation that Alex still doesn't share all the information he has about a situation and just ends up looking kind of judgmental in my opinion.

- the truck conversation in 2x06 between Maria and Alex, why Maria prompts a girl's name when Alex says he's never been in a real relationship INSTEAD of addressing the very real elephant in the room, Michael Guerin, that they had a conversation about in 2x05- also feels like a gap in continuity.

8. Science wise- the pathogen that Charlie developed? It was supposed to be so specific that it could kill a leader of Al Quada and all of their direct descendants but leave the rest of the population unharmed. [Which um, that's a war crime, but whatever!] How was Maria affected? the DNA they had at Caulfield to develop it - like, Maria was descended from Louise and Louise lived free. The only person that pathogen SHOULD have affected was Michael (if they used Nora to base it on) Unless you're telling me that there's some protein in "alien dna" that is so specific to aliens, that no other human shares it, but also so completely undetectable that Kyle couldn't find it in Maria's blood... ? I suppose it's possible. I hope we get more explanation about that in season 3. It makes me wonder why Caulfield/Project Shepherd ever let Patty Harris go after she volunteered for some study then, and remained content to just pay her medical bills through a fake insurance company? [But also didn't flag Mimi and all the doctors that Maria took her to???]

9. Michael's hand. I'm going to reserve judgment about this, because some of my salt on this is based on season 3 promo pictures, but I really thought that moment in 2x13 when he takes off his hat, while Alex is singing, you see him without the wrapping on his hand, that maybe he found some peace with Jesse dead and demolishing the shed with Alex. But then it looks like the hand-danna is all over season 3, right up until the finale of season 3, so... was that a mistake in wardrobe AND not a beautiful moment of character growth??? I wish I could extend some grace to RNM about that, but alas... see above for why I have trust issues.

10. Perhaps I wasn't watching season 1 closely, but I thought Noah's madness was brought on by the fact he was stuck in his pod? That it was "lower class travel accommodations" and Isobel's scream at 13 got his attention? I assumed that he stayed in the pod, possessing Isobel on and off, right up until he used her body to kill Rosa in 2008, absorbing enough power to break out. So how did Noah find Jim Valenti so quickly? If it was through Isobel's memories, then why did Jim not immediately have Noah, some random alien approaching him about his recently dead daughter, hauled off to Caulfield? Jim pays $1,000 for Rosa's body, putting her in a pod [Noah's broken pod??] and stores her, waiting for...something? An alien to come along to bring her back. So did Jim know about The Savior? Why would Jim work with Noah and vice versa? Again, I'm hoping we get more about this in season 3.

11. Was there a point of keeping Alex in the Air Force? He arranges a place for them to work on bringing Max back, but I feel like anyone could have done that? Like Isobel had money, she could have rented a storage facility. All of the equipment was borrowed from the hospital, not the military. The information about 1947-1948 was from the drives decoded from Caulfield or the AAR report left by Flint in the Project Shepherd bunker (which again was decommissioned, not an active military installation). I could support the decision if it had provided some richness to the plot or some conflict within the character, neither of which really happened. Alex hacking the government and going undercover in the Air Force to protect Michael is basically fanon. I love that fanon, but alas...

12. Finally, the time jump. What year are we jumping into? 2020? 2021? Why does it make me think none of those questions above will be answered.

[ericsonclan]

Pirate Island

Summary: The Ericson pirates travel uncharted seas, unsure when they will find land, when suddenly Willy spots an island.

Word Count: 7292

Read on A03:

Louis tilted his head back and let the warm sun pierce his skin as he took a deep breath. The smell of the sea, there was really nothing like it. It symbolized the endless potential of adventure. Today, Louis was sure, would be an adventure. It always was with the Ericson pirates whether that be through the many shenanigans on Ol’ Kickass or when they arrived at a port town.

Louis glanced out towards the sea; he hoped they’d find some sort of port town soon - their produce wouldn’t last much longer. Not only would that lose them precious ducats that they could spend on important things like sea shanties but it would also make the lower deck reek. The smell would linger for days and soon they would forget about all the dirt and grime they had on themselves and be overwhelmed by how it smelled like fruity death down there.

With a deep sigh Louis walked back towards the ship’s wheel where Marlon stood. His best friend’s eyes were focused ahead, his stance solid and his shoulders set. He was sure to ensure it was smooth sailing as long as he was in charge. He was so focused in fact that it wasn’t until Louis strolled up the stairs along with Rosie that Marlon even glanced over. Once he did, a warm smile appeared on his lips. “Hey there, Lou,” Marlon’s smile faltered when he saw the look deep within Louis’ eyes that he was trying to hide beneath a smile. “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm? Nothing, just thought I’d check on my first mate! I even brought the ever so lovely Rosie!” Louis gestured to the pitbull who barked happily. Trotting over, Rosie began to claw at Marlon’s leg for some attention. With a small chuckle Marlon obliged and gave some pats to the pitbull along with some scratches behind the ear. But soon the blond pirate’s focus returned to the sea.

“I’ve known you long enough, Lou. You don’t have to hide anything from me,” Marlon gently turned the wheel left to guide the ship away from a pile of rocks a fair distance away.

Louis looked surprised by his friend’s words for a second but his smile soon returned. “Damn, I thought I could pull a fast one on you,” He leaned on the rail in front of the ship’s wheel.

“Have you ever been able to pull a fast one on me?” Marlon gave a grin that made Louis chuckle.

“I don’t know, maybe when we were ten,” Louis turned his body around and glanced up at the upper deck of the ship. Brody was working on fixing the riggings along with Mitch. Every so often the two would hold hands for a moment before slipping them away from each other. It was obvious based on their giddy expressions and being overwhelmed by the smallest thing that this was the first serious relationship either of them had had.

The captain’s eyes continued to wander and paused when he saw Clementine happily sparring with AJ. Both of them were absolutely exhilarated by the chance to spar together. It was clear from the soft thwack that appeared every few seconds from their wooden swords colliding and the confident auras that both of them radiated. Both of them were trying to use smack talk to get the upperhand in the fight by throwing the other off their game. Neither of them were any good at it but they didn’t seem to mind and the rest of the crew seemed to enjoy the unique insults they were hurling each other’s way.

While the two of them were caught up in the joy of sparring together, Prisha and Aasim were busy gushing over things only the two of them seemed to care for out of the whole crew: cartography. Both of them spoke animatedly as Aasim held out a map, showing his friend the vast seas they had yet to explore. The pair were especially thrilled to head out towards the northwestern seas next. Soon the two of them passed Ruby and Tenn who were busy making sure medical supplies were set. The redheaded pirate spoke clearly and concisely as a wide smile pulled on her lips, happy to have an apprentice of sorts in terms of healing. Tenn mirrored Ruby’s smile although his smile was quieter as he nodded along to her lessons.

Louis took a deep breath and glanced back at Marlon. “Our produce is about to go bad and while the crew seems happy, I bet all of them want a break from Ol’ Kickass,”

Marlon nodded along to those words. “Yeah, it would probably be best if we found a port town to aim for and spend a few days there,”

“Yeah. I just remembered, last time I talked with Aasim he said we were heading into uncharted seas. I told him that that's where the adventure was waiting and didn’t think twice,” Louis lightly laughed at his own choice as he spun his pirate hat in his hands before placing it back on his head.

“Don’t go kicking yourself, Lou. I’m sure we’ll find land soon enough,” Marlon smiled reassuringly. Louis returned it, although his smile seemed less genuine.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Louis sighed and turned his focus on Rosie as his friend continued to steer the ship.

As luck would have it Marlon did turn out to be right. After half a day more of sailing Willy called out from the crow’s nest that Violet was squished in as well, clearly there because of Willy’s incessant begging.

“Marlon, we got a weird-looking island far out on the starboard side of the ship!” Willy cupped his hands, creating such volume that both Violet and Garbage seemed to be hissing at its force.

“Knowing Willy it's probably another island filled with squirrels,” Marlon sighed as he looked over at Louis.

“I don’t know, Squirrel Island was kind of fun,” Louis offered and noticed Marlon’s frown.

“Those squirrels were little terrors,” Marlon took a deep breath then called back to Willy.

“Alright, I’ll steer the ship towards there! Keep an eye out if it looks dangerous!”

“Aye, aye!’ Willy gave a toothy grin then went back to his story he was sharing with Violet while he held Garbage in his arms. Marlon and Louis shared a look then chuckled before Marlon set course for the island.

Soon with Louis’ instructions, Willy and Violet’s mixed directions and the teamwork of the crew they arrived at an island. From one glance it was clear this was no ordinary island. Palm trees grew everywhere around the entrance surrounded by white sands and rocky shores where dark blue waters crashed against a shipwreck that stood out proudly. On the shipwreck were nearly a dozen skeletons, all dressed as privateers with their deep blue coats and special hats. It was made in the sort of mocking way that made it obvious that those kinds weren’t welcome here.

Erupting from above the palm trees was a large cream-colored building where a black flag with crossbones and a skull flew proudly. This was pirate land. That became even more abundantly clear when the rowdy sounds of pirates filled the air as Ol’ Kickass anchored right by the docks. After making sure the anchor was placed and the sails were safely secured the crew gathered around Louis.

“Alright, crew! Here’s what we’re going to do. Prisha, Aasim, and Omar will go sell our wares along with me. The rest of you get a gist of the rules of this place but as of now, no fighting and no adventuring. Today is just a chore day,”

Those words made Willy and AJ groan loudly.

“I know, I know, boring,” Louis shook his head sadly.

“I think chore day is actually fun,” Aasim mumbled and readjusted his cravat in annoyance.

“But we gotta make sure this place is safe enough for us to rest for a few days and our fruit is this close to stinking up the place,” Louis held his fingers barely a hair’s breadth together. Everyone seemed to agree with their captain’s words and soon they were off doing their respective tasks. Louis led the way after he stole at least a dozen kisses from Clementine. Prisha, Omar and Aasim followed behind him. Ruby, Tenn and Brody headed out to search for medical supplies and as for the rest of them, save for Violet and Mitch who stayed behind to guard the ship while having spitting contests, they went searching around for any information they could get on this piratey island.

It was a fairly straightforward day. With Louis’ charm, Omar’s calmness and Prisha and Aasim’s ferocious need to barter they got great deals on their wares. Ruby, Brody and Tenn were able to find thread and needles as well as other medical supplies and alcohol that was sure to clean any kind of wound. Violet won the spitting contest which turned Mitch into the grumpiest pirate amongst the crew that day and as for the rest of them, they learned a few things about this island. It was an island where only pirates were allowed and there were no rules besides those that pirates abided by.

When the crew all returned to Ol’ Kickass they discussed whether to stay or not and after some long debate they decided to go for it. The news seemed to make Willy and AJ particularly happy. The two young pirates were beyond excited to go adventuring tomorrow, while listening to the words and rules of the older pirates of course.

Soon the night melted into a new day and the crew was ready to go exploring. Willy gave a mighty pirate call, swinging from one of the ropes and landing harshly onto the docks.

“Willy, don’t break anything!” Violet called out to the rambunctious pirate.

“Yeah! Not without me!” Mitch grinned at Willy and the glint in their eyes made it clear they wanted to find something explosively fun to do.

“Just don’t blow up part of the ship again,” Brody walked forward and stood beside Mitch.

“I won’t,” Mitch grumbled then added in a quieter voice, “I promise,” His fingers reached out for Brody’s and they soon intertwined.

“Good,” Brody smiled up at her love before pressing a kiss to his cheek which made it turn bright red.

“Damn, I didn’t know we had lobsters on our ship,” Louis teased Mitch, his arms wrapped around Clementine.

“Whatever,” Mitch flipped off the captain as he walked off the ship with his love but soon received some scolding from Brody for his action. It didn’t take long for the two of them to move past it though and soon they were lost in the excitement of exploring the island and their new relationship.

Louis hugged Clementine a bit tighter then planted a kiss on her cheek with a loud ‘mwuah’ sound. “Shall we go, m’lady? I think adventure and fun awaits!” He smiled at Clementine who immediately returned it.

“An adventure with you? Sounds perfect,” Clementine pressed a kiss to one of Louis’ hands which made him grow flustered. He couldn’t focus on it long though as Clementine held his hand and led the way off the ship.

“Ready, my treasure?” Aasim asked Ruby as his thumb brushed against the top of hers.

“I sure am! I heard from Marlon yesterday that he’d heard some pirates talk about a tavern that has the most divine dinners,” Ruby swung their joined hands as they casually strolled down the dock.

“Well then I will make sure you get the best food on all of this island,” Aasim stole a soft kiss from Ruby and the two were quickly in the middle of the pack. Behind them was Marlon who gave Rosie a special treat in thanks for her staying behind as watch before jogging forward to talk with Omar. AJ was behind them, talking animatedly with Tenn about how many cool pirate things they could draw here when suddenly Louis scooped up AJ.

“Wanna have a better view, little dude?” Louis placed AJ on his shoulders then handed up his pirate hat for the youngest pirate to wear.

“Yeah! This is awesome!” AJ shot out his hands and almost lost his balance but soon regained it by grabbing Louis’ dreads. “Oops, did I do a bad?”

Louis shook his head, only in part to shake off the pain of his dreads being yanked on. “Nope, little man. It’s all good,” He gave a thumbs up then returned his hand into Clementine’s.

Prisha and Violet led the back of the pack, casually talking about what they looked forward to doing on this island knowing that there was no risk of guards or privateers getting them. Both of them seemed absolutely lost in each other’s eyes when suddenly Garbage’s frantic hissing made them look back to see the pirate possum scampering forward. After a minute Garbage had successfully found Willy again and crawled up on his shoulder, leaving a few scratch marks along the way. Willy didn’t seem to mind though and eagerly chatted about his potential adventures with his favorite pirate pet.

The crew all walked happily together, quickly getting hit with the sounds of sea shanties which made the captain’s eyes sparkle with joy and he excitedly spoke to Clementine and AJ. The sea shanties that they were hearing along this particular stretch of the island all seemed to center around alcohol. A set of three pirates were singing All for Me Grog while a group of five across the way were belting out Whisky Johnny O’ .

“We definitely gotta pick up some sea shanties here!” Louis beamed over at Clementine who smiled and gave his hand a small squeeze.

“Sounds good to me,”

As the group continued forward they reached the inner workings of the island where life and chaos were happily coinciding. Pirates of all genders were flirting amongst each other, trying to impress others with their feats of strength while other pirates seemed to be itching for a fight and decided to pick it with the closest pirate they could find. The Ericson pirates steered clear of those types of pirates but were still enjoying their time there.

All of them were happy to finally be back on land, especially a piece of land that didn’t have people out for their heads. Their footsteps were lost amongst the lively sounds of life around them when suddenly Louis’ ears perked up when he heard the wonderful harmony of a hurdy gurdy, flute and some sort of percussion instruments. As he led the way he saw that the three pirate musicians were happily playing a tune so that any pirate could dance in the square to their heart’s content.

“Oh! We have to do this!” Louis ran forward with Clementine along with AJ on his shoulders. The captain soon took the center of the square while the majority of his crew watched. Placing AJ down, Louis did a quick bow with his hat. “M’lady, would you do this captain the honor of a dance?” Louis’ eyes looked up into Clementine’s eyes with a playful love within them. Before Clementine had a chance to say yes, AJ had grabbed her hands and pulled her towards him.

“I wanna dance with Clem first!” AJ smiled over at Louis who returned it. Within seconds AJ was spinning around with Clementine happily.

“Oh no! Whoever will I dance with now?” Louis placed the captain’s hat dramatically over his heart and waited until the music began to swell. With a mischievous grin he dashed over and grabbed Aasim’s hands. “I pick you!”

“Wait a minute!” Aasim protested but it was too late; he was thrown into the dance circle where Louis danced and spun him around.

“It’s time to let loose and dance, captain’s orders!” Louis teasingly told his crew who all waited to see who would make the next move. Prisha smiled over softly at Violet and was about to ask for a dance when Willy suddenly snagged her one good arm.

“Come on, Prisha! Let's dance!” Willy gave a toothy grin and Prisha couldn’t help but agree. Soon Willy was leading the way, dancing in his unique style as Prisha’s light laughter filled the air. Garbage bounced around on top of his head, fearfully hissing before the young pirate stopped abruptly. “You too, Mitch! Dance!”

“No fucking way!” Mitch waved a hand and tried to act cool when suddenly Brody pushed him into the circle. He gave a frown but soon was swept up in the dance circle.

“Let’s boogie!” Ruby grabbed Omar’s hands with a laugh and pulled him into the circle. The two danced around, kicking their feet together and laughing as the lively, heartwarming song ensued. The music continued for some time when all of a sudden Marlon began to clap to the beat and quickly got Brody to join the dance circle.

“Wanna dance, Vi?” Tenn looked up at Violet who gave a soft smile and a shrug.

“Sure,” Violet held Tenn’s hand and the two quietly joined.

Different members of the Ericson pirates began to clap to the beat as they danced in a circle, kicking feet with their partners before hooking arms and switching. Ruby and Brody laughed as they danced together, both on a mission to steal back their loves while Prisha kept trying to reach Violet but every time she got close Willy surprised her with another dance.

As the song reached its last section the different couples were determined and moved at a faster pace, working with their dance partners to reunite with their loves. Twirling around and using light footwork the couples got back together one by one and spun around again and again until the song stopped and the Ericson pirates all stood in the center. The crew caught their breaths, their chest heaving as their smiles grew. Moments like this together were absolutely priceless and they couldn’t wait to make more memories on this island.

After the dance, Willy quickly got distracted by having a palm tree climbing contest with AJ. Both of them threw large declarations that they were the best climbers before trying their best to prove it. Meanwhile Ruby and Aasim were happily sharing a quiet moment together off to the side as Aasim spoke words of affection and poetry to his fiery love. Prisha and Violet were sitting side by side sharing a few soft kisses. Violet then proceeded to place her head on Prisha’s shoulder. The taller pirate pressed a kiss to the top of her love’s head then rested her head on top of hers. Prisha looked out and watched in amusement as Mitch and Clementine were getting competitive.

“I can kick way more pirate ass than you!” Clementine stood up and got close to Mitch who looked shocked for a moment but a competitive grin soon pulled on his lips.

“Ha! Maybe when I’m eighty you’ll finally kick more ass than me!” Mitch smirked when he saw how annoyed Clementine was getting.

“Oh yeah? Let’s make a bet. Whoever can get the most ducats from pirate duels wins!” Clementine quickly spit in her hand and held it out. Mitch laughed and spat in his hand, slamming it into Clementine’s and giving it a firm shake.

“Deal. Winner gets all the ducats won,”

“Deal,”

“You got this, Clem!” Louis appeared from behind Clementine and surprised her with a kiss. That seemed to melt away the intimidating exterior of the pirate who soon returned the affection.

“Good luck, Mitch,” Brody gave her love a quick kiss on the cheek. Mitch grew incredibly flustered at that and Clementine saw her chance.

“Ready, set, go!” Clementine was off like a shot, already on her way to her first duel.

“Hey, wait! Fuck! That was cheap!” Mitch yelled and sprinted off with an angry cry as he tried to find his first opponent.

The competition lasted for quite some time and after a while Clementine and Mitch both collapsed onto the ground.

“I won, you little-” Clementine wheezed. “Shit,”

“”Fu-” Mitch gasped for air “Ck!”

The rest of the crew gathered around giving congratulations to both of them while Clementine flaunted her ducats and immediately bragged about how she'd spend them: half on dates and half on a new badass blade. A few minutes passed and the crew all decided to go grab some food at the local tavern. Clementine tried to get up but immediately felt her legs turned to jelly.

“Don’t worry, my darling!” Louis swept her up and carried her bridal style. “I’ll carry you!”

“Louis! Wait!” Clementine grew flustered but it was too late. Soon the others followed them with Mitch and Brody leading the back.

“I think you were pretty badass,” Brody gave Mitch’s hand a small squeeze. Those words made him smile and he immediately wrapped her up in a hug before pulling away quickly.

“It was no big deal,” The taller pirate tried to play it cool but Brody could see how much the words meant to him.

It didn’t take long for them to find the tavern where they supposedly had amazing food. Louis went about ordering the drinks and meals while the rest of them secured a few tables. Once they sat down Marlon noticed the wanted posters on the walls, placed there as a sign of pride for all the chaos the pirate captains and their crews had caused. Amongst them were pictures of all the Ericson pirates drawn in the usual inaccurate fashion.

“Wow, that Louis one is super accurate,” Violet commented, drawing the crews’ eyes to the wanted post which displayed Louis with a large evil smile and what looked to be a giant spider as his hair.

“Hey! I don’t look like that!” Louis huffed. “My hair looks even more spider-like in person,” Louis rolled with the joke and soon the others found the other wanted posters and pointed each out. Marlon’s looked like he had giant spikes on his head while Omar’s looked like he didn’t have any eyes. Willy’s wanted poster had him looking like a small gremlin pirate which the whole crew including him agreed was accurate.

Before they could spot all of the posters and talk about them though the food had arrived. Steaming plates of the finest seafood were brought before them along with fresh rolls. As AJ grabbed a roll he tore it open, revealing the soft, white, fluffy bread. Grabbing some butter he slathered it on the roll. The butter melted in an instant, soaking into the bread and enhancing its flavor.

While Willy and AJ chowed down on the rolls the rest dug into their seafood. The freshness of it was apparent in every bit as the flaky fish melted in their mouths. The crab was a particularly delicious choice as its subtle flavor tempted the palate to eat more and more. Garbage was just as happy with her food of choice: a simple apple that Willy had sliced for her. The possum licked the apple with happy hisses. Their time in the tavern was a simple joy. The crew talked, ate and drank happily without a care in the world when suddenly the tavern doors burst open.

In walked a man of alarming height. His outfit and demeanor made it clear he was the captain of his crew who all entered with wicked laughs, telling tales that left bad tastes in the Ericson pirates’ mouths. Behind them all was a curvy girl of average height. Her brown eyes peered from below her short black hair and seemed to hold a world of kindness in them. Kindness that was clearly not given to her as she struggled to carry around the crew’s treasure for seemingly no other reason than as a show of their wealth. The girl placed down the treasure and nearly fell over, a large bead of sweat trickling down her face.

“Wench! Get us drinks! Or else you may wish you sank with that ship that we saved your sorry hide from!” the captain shouted and his men laughed. The girl nodded and soon left to get the rum. The Ericson pirates watched on, all of them feeling their emotions roil due to the injustice they were seeing. The girl soon appeared back with drinks and the pirates heartily drank.

“Perhaps she can dance for us!” one of the pirates suggested and the others cheered in agreement.

The girl stood frozen in her spot, her hands by her side slowly curling into fists. “No,”

Her soft voice made the pirates glance her way.

“What do you mean no, girlie?” The captain spoke in a low tone. In an instant he grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. “I spared your life! Out of the entire ship only you lived, so show some fucking gratitiude or else,” His voice was filled with warning.

Violet felt her stomach twist. While she couldn’t see clearly she was sure what the implications of those words meant. The other members of the crew soon noticed some bruises on the girl’s arms; the anger in their hearts grew.

The captain chuckled and pulled her chin towards his. The pirate’s breath reek of old fish and alcohol. “I hate being disagreed with.”

All of the Ericson pirates wanted to stop this, to make a move and get that girl away from this awful crew. Violet’s fists curled tightly but she wasn’t the first to make a move. Instead that honor went to Ruby who slammed her tankard down onto the table hard, causing a thin hairline crack to appear along the side of it.

“Get your filthy hands off of her,” Ruby warned and the captain as well as his men looked over her way.

“Hmm? Something to say, wench? Care to join her as one of my servants?” The captain held a twisted smile on his lips. “You two match well,”

“How dare-”

Aasim was cut short as Ruby slammed her fist on the table, her eyes burning with anger. “I’d rather make you eat your teeth!”

Ruby’s words made the captain frown before he burst out in laughter. “What a fiery wench you are! Alright, I’ll humor you with an arm wrestling competition. If I win, you apologize to me and if you win-”

“I’m fine with the satisfaction of kicking your ass,” Ruby strode forward, looking small in comparison to the captain of this crew. His crew laughed in amusement and before any of the Ericson pirates could say otherwise Ruby was seated at a table across from the captain. Rolling up her sleeve, she positioned her arm and soon the captain did the same. Once they were all set one of the captain’s crew counted down.

As soon as the countdown was done Ruby’s eyes took on a threatening glint and with all her strength she slammed down the man’s hand. That action alone would be impressive but the fiery short redheaded pirate had gone a step further. Her strength had set the man off his center, causing him to tumble over with the force of the move and crash into a chair, smashing it to pieces. Both crews stood there in shock until Mitch spoke up.

“Fuck yeah! Fuck ‘em up, Ruby!” Mitch pumped his fist in the air.

“You little bitch!” The pirate captain coughed as he rose. With a mighty swing he tried to hit Ruby but she dodged it.

The fiery pirate curled her fist and sent it crashing into the captain’s stomach. “Better be ready, I’m about to whoop your ass!” Ruby slammed her fist into her open palm. Aasim felt himself at a loss for words as he stared at his love in all her glory. She was amazing.

This wasn’t a funny joke or game anymore. The opposing crew soon charged to take down the pirate that had made their captain look bad.

“You won’t touch her!” Aasim charged forward and swung his fist, breaking teeth and sending a pirate flying back.

All bets were off now and soon the tavern erupted into chaos. Pirates charged at the table with mighty cries. Mitch and Marlon shared a smile and lifted up their tankards. Clinking them together, they downed their drinks then used the empty tankards to smash in their enemies’ faces.

“This is what you get for being shit!” Marlon slammed his tankard once more into a pirate’s face.

Prisha backstepped, dancing around a pirate’s attack before she unsheathed her blade. Using the hilt of the sword, she jabbed it into the man’s gut repeatedly before proceeding to knock him out as he keeled over, her sword’s hilt colliding with his face and smashing his nose.

Violet stood on the table to get away from all the chaos of the tavern and have a decent chance at fighting. It wasn’t longer until an opponent arrived. Cautiously Violet dodged attack after attack until she grabbed a chair and with a heavy hit shattered it into pieces on top of the pirate’s body. Prisha was in absolute awe of her love’s strength and Violet looked over with a proud smile when suddenly she noticed a pirate sneaking up on Prisha.

“Prisha!” Violet called out and gave a signal to Prisha. Prisha immediately held out her arm and wrapped it around Violet as she landed. With a secure hold on Violet, Prisha swung her love to her side where Violet proceeded to knock out the enemy with her foot. After Prisha placed Violet down the two shared a quick smile then continued their fight.

AJ, Willy and Tenn worked together, tag teaming pirates left and right. With harsh punches from AJ to their weak spots in between the legs, brutal foot stompings by Tenn and slingshot attacks from Willy, any pirates who faced them were doomed. That was before accounting for the ferocious Garbage who hissed as she scampered about, crawling up pant legs and biting down on the enemies’ noses. Omar used the plates on the table as makeshift weapons, weakening the enemies with kicks before breaking dinnerware over their heads.

“I’ll pay for all the plates I break!” Omar called out to the tavern owner who was still processing what was happening.

The girl was overwhelmed by the sudden chaos but that didn’t stop her from getting some good punches in, knocking out a few of the pirates that had made her life hell. She was about to lash out again when Louis pulled her out of harm’s way at the last second.

“That was close!’ Louis smiled at the girl. “I’m Louis, and you are?”

“Nurgul,” the girl gave a soft smile. “Thanks,”

“Think nothing of it! Just an ordinary day for the Ericson pirates!” Louis grinned then used his sword to cut a tankard in half that was aimed for Nurgul’s head. “Hey! Don’t be an asshat!” Louis proceeded to beat the pirate who’d thrown the tankard in a swordfight then kick his butt into a nearby barrel. He gave a smile back at Nurgul then looked over to see Clementine weaving through an enemy pirate’s attacks, outmaneuvering him then using her peg leg to crush his toes. When the pirate cried out Clementine grabbed a bottle and harshly cracked it against his head, knocking him out.

“Whoa,” Louis whispered. An instant later he joined his love in fighting off the remaining enemies.

Brody dodged an attack then another before grabbing the man by the collar. With a harsh jab her knee collided with his crotch. The auburn pirate refused to give him a moment to recover and with a heavy slam she crushed his face into a table, cracking it slightly.

Mitch gave an impressed whistle. Brody may have called him a badass earlier but that move right there made it clear that she had him tied in that regard. He swore his love for her grew in that moment but he couldn’t stay in the moment long because all of a sudden another attack came his way. Mitch was about to counter when the booming voice of the tavern owner made everyone stop.

“Alrighty! That's enough, you scurvy dogs!” The tavern owner stood in between the captain and Ruby right before they were about to exchange blows, blocking both of them. “I won’t have you go and ruin my tavern anymore! In fact, one of you sorry lots is gonna have to pay for all the damage that was caused!” The tavern owner looked over at the Ericson pirates then at the other crew. “We’re gonna settle this the way we always do here on this great island. Get ready, ye about to have a pirate duel!”

The captain of the crew gave a hearty laugh. “I’m fine with that! In fact, I challenge your captain!” He pointed at Mitch who gave a scowl his way. “A fight to the death, winner gets to skip out on paying for this fine mess and gets the lass of their choosing from the opposite side,”

“You have a deal!” Louis’ voice rang out across the tavern as he stood on a table, his hands on his hips. “Except it won’t be a fight to the death, not on my end,” His eyes were level with the captain’s and his jaw firm. He was obviously still upset about how they had been treating Nurgul and on a battle high from the tavern fight. “When I win, you’re gonna regret ever treating Nurgul badly!”

“Who?” The captain scrunched his nose. “That don’t matter, what I’m confused about is that you out of all your crew is the captain. Are you pulling me leg?” He glanced back at the Ericson crew and saw that they were all upset by his accusation against Louis. He was their captain after all. The captain paused for a moment, his eyes glancing over at the wall of wanted posters. “Well, sink me! You lot are the Ericson pirates!” He began to laugh, holding his sides. “I suppose you have a bit more fire in ya than me and the other crews thought you did. Still, you’re a bunch of lily-livered wannabes who claim to be pirates when you all haven’t even done half the things a pirate should do,”

“We do the right thing. We follow our own pirate law,” Louis stared down at the man.

“Is that so? Well then I hope that my blade doesn’t rust from cowardly blood when I gut ya tomorrow,” The captain laughed then harshly pulled Nurgul forward, urging her to lead the way. “Till tomorrow, ‘captain’!” The captain gave a mocking, obscene gesture then left.

“Louis!” Clementine hurried forward and looked up at her love. “What are you doing?”

“The right thing,” Louis met his love’s gaze and Clementine could see he wouldn’t budge on this decision. There was only one thing to be done.

Clementine and the rest of the crew worked to make sure Louis was the best equipped and well-trained he could be for tomorrow’s duel. The sunlight bled through the sky at a rapid pace and before they knew it night was upon them that soon shed away when the sun rose once more. Hopefully all their work had been enough.

As they made their way to the dueling pit they heard the overwhelming cheers of pirates heartily drinking grog as they waited to see the bloodshed of the fight. The crew was soon guided over to an area for viewing. As they passed they noticed Nurgul standing at the sidelines of the fighting pit. Louis was left alone at the entrance of the arena with Clementine. His eyes focused on the tiny crabs that scattered about the soiled sands of the pit, mindless to all the noise around them.

“Louis, be careful,” Clementine held her love’s hand and tried to get him to look at her.

Louis remained silent for a moment. “Everyone is continuing on me so I gotta be. Can’t be the normal screw up that I am. One wrong step...” His voice faltered out as he continued to look off into the distance.

“Louis, you’re not a screw up. You’re a great captain and fighter. You’ll win,”

Those words made Louis glance over his love’s way. “I don’t know about that,” He took a deep breath and turned to face Clementine. “Alright, I need you to slap me. One good slap to make sure I can focus,” He tried to stand strong in front of her, his eyes pressed shut but every few seconds he’d peek out at Clementine, his head unconsciously flinching backwards. Clementine stood there, knowing that she wouldn’t hit him but she wasn’t sure what the right choice was. After a moment she decided to go with her heart. Getting up on her tiptoes and wrapping her hand behind his head she captured his lips in a soft kiss. Louis seemed surprised by this before his shoulders relaxed and he melted into the kiss, if only for a moment.

The dreadlocked captain pulled back from the kiss, his eyes filled with shock. “I... can’t tell if I feel more focused or less,” His lips pulled into a smile that Clementine immediately mirrored. The pair stood there, becoming lost in each other’s eyes when suddenly the announcer called for the two pirates to get in the pit. Louis was about to step forward when he felt Clementine’s hand grab his.

“I believe in you. So does AJ and so do the rest of the crew. There’s a reason you’re our captain and it's for choices like this,” Clementine gave a smile, hoping that it would find its way to Louis.

Louis returned the smile then kissed the top of her hand softly. “I gotta prove you and the others right then,” He slowly slipped his hand free of Clementine’s and stepped forward into the sunny arena where his ears were pierced with the cries and cheering of the pirate crowd.

Louis tried to show his charisma and held up his blade with a big smile. He rotated in a circle, catching the eyes of all the different sections of the crowd until he saw his crew. He could tell they were nervous but he also noticed the trust and belief in their eyes. He would win today.

After a moment or two the duel was set to begin. The signal was given and the captain of the other crew unsheathed his double shell guard cutlass. Not waiting a moment he slashed it down towards Louis’ face. Louis immediately lifted up his rapier, blocking the attack and causing the sound of metal colliding to ring throughout the arena.

“Let’s see how long you’re gonna last before you end up as shark bait,” The captain kicked up dirt, aiming it directly at Louis’ face. The young pirate coughed sharply and tried to regain his sight when suddenly he felt something slashing against his back. The cold feeling of metal slid across his back once more and Louis dodged a third strike before proceeding to block a fourth. His hand held up his blade as the captain smirked down at him. “Not long at all I’d wager,”

Louis felt his nerves rising but he knew that if he let them consume him he’d wind up dead. Studying the man’s legs he noticed that he was heavily favoring his right one. So Louis decided to take a page from his love’s book and with a mighty kick he forced his opponent off balance. Using the moment of uncertainty Louis hooked his blade with his opponent’s and with a well-timed twist forced the man to disarm. His cutlass flew through the air and landed in the sand beside Louis.

“Don’t count me out just yet,” Louis pointed the sword at his throat but the captain soon slapped it away and elbowed Louis deep in his gut. The young pirate gasped loudly, a thread of saliva falling from his lips and onto the dirt. He tumbled to the ground, dirt flying up the air and clouding the pit.

The captain laughed loudly and leaned over to pick up his blade when suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his left foot. Looking down, he saw Louis’ rapier embedded there.

“You’re not keeping that girl and you’re not gonna get any of my crew!” Louis grabbed the sides of the man’s head and headbutted it sharply. The action stunned the man but it also made Louis’ head ring. He couldn’t let that stop him from focusing on this fight though. With a wild cry Louis took his blade out of the man’s foot and used the hilt of his sword to pummel the man’s chest. Each hit brought him one step closer to winning and each made his opponent weaker. His hilt soon found its way to the bridge of the captain’s nose and with a mighty slam Louis shattered the man’s nose. The captain’s head swayed with the movement, his eyes stinging with tears due to the hit as blood slipped down his face.

“You little brat! I’ll be sure to send you to Davy Jones’ Locker myself!” he yelled, dodging an attack and sweeping up his sword. He immediately sliced his cutlass through the air, his blade colliding with Louis’ rapier. The two pressed their entire body weight into their blades, their feet digging into the dirt and sliding with the force. Neither of them were willing to lose an inch in this attack.

The captain once again tried to kick dirt into Louis’ face but the younger pirate danced around the attack. The sudden movement caused the man to slip forward and Louis decided to use some of the techniques he had tried to pick up from his crew. Aiming for the spot that Violet usually did with her iron knuckle studded gloves, he dug his fist into his opponent’s chest, cracking a rib. Soon he backstepped, changing towards Marlon’s stance of being well balanced with defense and offense, but leaned into a sturdy defense like Brody held. He carefully studied the captain’s movements, wanting to spot his weaknesses and exploit them the way that Aasim always did during his fights.

It took some time, precious time in which Louis worried his energy would flag and fail him, but at last he spotted the pattern the captain fought in. Louis cautiously backstepped, taking a page from Omar’s patient fighting style. He slowly dodged and parried each strike until he saw the shift in the man’s right leg. Not wanting to miss the moment, Louis feigned an attack, forcing the man to put all of his strength into a counterattack that would miss before he kicked out the man’s right leg once more and sent the hilt of his rapier crashing against the side of his head. With a loud thud the captain collapsed onto the ground. The pirate crowd grew silent as Louis’ chest heaved until suddenly a proud voice started to cheer.

“WOOO! That’s our captain!” AJ cheered, doing his signature happy dance. His sudden outburst made the other members of the crew cheer and holler, filling the entire arena with the overwhelming volume of their voices.

Louis took a shaky breath then grinned at his crew, thrusting his arm that held the rapier into the air. The action gained more cheers as the pirate audience applauded a fight well won. Louis’ eyes were entirely focused on his crew though, noticing how happy and proud they were of him. He returned their kindness with a bright smile then looked over towards Nurgul. “You’re free,”

[kingkatara]

Girl Meets Waitress: Opening Up

Disclaimer: I don’t own Waitress. I don’t own Girl Meets World. This is a fanfiction written just funsies.

Looking around, seeing the same things every day brings

          Maya woke up to darkness every morning. Her eyes peeled open after a mere six hours of sleep and were met with nothing. For a split second, there was only darkness in front of her, around her, within her. It was then that she and the world had their daily battle of wills, the war over who would break the stillness first and stir the other into motion. And always it was Maya who surrendered. Her eyes would adjust to the low light and a hot puff of breath would warm her face, still partly under the covers to avoid that first shiver of a New York morning that was always chilly no matter the season. She sat up in bed and surveyed the smoking battlefield of her bedroom, taking in her losses from the night before and wondering which of them would show on her face for the rest of the day. Beside her, the world’s weapon lay dormant, harmless unless she were to challenge the demands for peace. If she came quietly as the world beckoned her, he would slumber on. She didn’t look at him as she swung her legs over the bed and tapped her toes against the smooth hardwood floor beneath her. Her white flag of surrender was the tug on the long curtains that shielded the sunlight from shining into the apartment through the wide window on her side of the bed. This was her cry out into the world that she would not fight. And then the day would begin.

           Wake up, use the toilet, brush the teeth, comb the hair. Put the hair up. Makeup over the dark circles and fading yellow-green lump above the eyebrow. Panties, bra, uniform. Socks, then shoes. Purse. Nametag out of the purse and on the uniform. Every day, the routine was the same. There was ease to it, but it would be a lie not to admit that it was also repetitive. She didn’t know what her life was supposed to be like, but she couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was as though there was some missing ingredient that she had long ago forgotten to include in the recipe, which always left the dish edible, but unsatisfying. A ritual she had not shared with anyone in the six years of living in her Lower East Side apartment was that the last thing she did before giving in to the reality of her life was standing at her window and waiting for the first rays of light to peek over the buildings in her neighborhood. She never watched the sun fully rise up into the sky. She simply waited for it to appear and then raced it to work. She never won.

           The ride across town on the subway would have been daunting at best for a tourist, but for a born New Yorker like Maya, the odd little scenes playing out right before her eyes, even as early as six in the morning, were just as natural to the routine as tying her shoelaces. On the way to work, swaying gently along with the subway car, Maya would pull out her sketchbook (which wasn’t a sketchbook at all, but a pathetic server’s pad on which she took down her orders) and mimic the likeness of what she saw and sometimes, on her lowest days, what she felt. Today, there was a particularly amusing picture of an eccentric woman with some sort of hat, though Maya couldn’t quite bring herself to call it that. It was tall, a violent shade of purple, and topped with hot pink feathers. These feathers were of great interest to a small little girl, whose mother, wearing the scrubs of a nurse, was snoozing against the window of the subway car. The little girl was standing up on her seat, using the handrail for balance, and blowing on the feathers of the woman’s hat. The woman gave no indication of noticing this invasion of personal space and was instead muttering to herself about some sort of building with her name on it. The two of them were immediately transcribed into her notepad in short, quick lines of ink.

           From the subway, she made her way through the streets of the Lower East Side, weaving in and out of passerby with an expression that was as equally bored as it was underground. She didn’t look up at anyone and instead chose to keep her eyes down on her white sneakers. The less she looked open to communication or interest, the greater chance she had of making it to work having avoided any unwanted attention—because yes, some men really were in the mood before seven in the morning. Then finally, there was the diner. Where her life played out day by day, where the routine really began and always finished; the diner was more of a home to her than her own apartment, which, of course, wasn’t really hers at all. But the diner? It was the closest thing to belonging that she felt since being held in the arms of her mother so many years ago. She entered through the door in the back of the building that led to the kitchen.

           “Is it a woman thing?”

           “Excuse me?”

           “The being late. Every damn day. Is it a woman thing?”

           “Oh, shove it up your—”

           “Good morning! Who’s ready to start the day?”

           Of course, no home was complete without its inhabitants. Maya supposed she could have had it much worse when it came down to the universe selecting her partners for this life thing. She didn’t hate the people she worked with every day and she guessed that they didn’t hate her either. With that being said, however…These partners were no picnic either.

           There was Zay Babineaux, the cook. All Maya knew about him was that he was from a small town in Texas and he came to New York when he was a teenager. He still had a slight drawl to his snarky voice, the stubborn southern streak within him that refused to be beaten down by the hustle and bustle of the north. He never offered any detail into his personal life, like why he chose to be a cook or how he ended up at the diner, and Maya never asked. When he wasn’t flipping pancakes on the griddle, he could be found grumbling to anyone who would listen (and that was exactly no one) about how nothing in his life made sense and why women were the reason for that. Though he was technically her boss, he and Maya had an ongoing feud over who should be giving who orders within the unhallowed walls of their place of employment.

           Riley Lawrence was a young woman of thirty who was made up of sunshine and daisies. She married her high school sweetheart right on the heels of graduation and went to NYU for a degree in political science. A year into law school, she dropped out to start working at the diner in order to care for her husband, Charlie, who had suffered severe brain injuries in a freak bus accident. Though all of her dreams were now wasted, she still smiled like sunshine in the rain and danced like a daisy in the wind. It was for Riley’s sake that squabbles between Maya and Zay were quickly put to bed—neither of them had the gumption to disappoint a soul like Riley’s, who had endured so much already and never uttered a single complaint.

           “Me. Thirty minutes ago. Why are you women always late?”

           “Perhaps it’s because we know you can’t afford to fire us.” The newest addition to their band of misfits was Isadora, who for some reason allowed them all to address her by her ridiculous surname: Smackle. Even her nametag introduced her as such to the customers. She was a twenty-three year old grad student living the dream that Riley had once chased and for that reason, Maya and Zay tolerated her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t likable; she was nice enough. It was just that Maya had never met anyone who was more tightly wound. Smackle had a particular way of doing things and though the diner had never been cleaner, more organized, and more efficient than when Zay took her on, Maya simply didn’t appreciate changing her way of doing things just to fit Smackle’s compulsive need for order.

           “Actually, I can. I don’t own the place. I just run it. I wouldn’t lose anything but the weight of carrying this business if I had it my way and kicked you three to the—"

           “Business? It’s a diner. And it didn’t miss us for the fifteen minutes that we were late. But it will miss us for thirty if you keep us from actually doing our jobs with your whining.”

           “Alright, you know what? Get out of my kitchen. Get out.”

           Snickering, Maya led Riley and Smackle through the swinging door that led into the dining area. Though Riley sighed unhappily as they left Zay to his dramatics, the girls easily fell into their habitual duties for opening up. Riley got to work on the register, counting bills and setting up the front desk. Smackle wiped down each table and sorted the condiments in whatever order made sense to her otherworldly brain. Maya got to work on the pastry display case. The first thing she did every shift was rearrange it so she could display her creation of the day, which was dreamt up sometime before going to bed every night and arriving at work each morning. What made all the elbow grease she put into the job worthwhile was found underneath the diner in its basement: the bakery. Each dessert, particularly the pies, was made from the imagination of her mother. Every dressing coating its recipe, particularly the cakes, was designed from Maya’s. Serving the sacred combination to the diner’s patrons, who had no idea that they were seeing into the very essence of her being with every bite, was the most gratifying thing Maya got to experience in a montage of diner meals that left her secretly hungry for something more. In another life, perhaps Maya would have liked to be an artist. But she was living in this life and if she couldn’t be that, she supposed being a waitress that got to bake the cakes was the next best thing.

           “What’s the special today?”

           Maya’s fingers twitched towards her apron’s pocket where the sketch of her subway ride lived frozen in time between the pages of her server’s pad. She was planning on using it as inspiration for some kind of cake resembling that crazy old woman’s hat, but Riley’s hopeful expression was especially sweet this morning. Her brows lifted in the direction of her hairline ever so slightly, creating the barest traces of wrinkles that were not yet etched into the still youthful skin across her forehead. Her lips parted in a preciously premature smile of delight. Maya never wanted Riley to know the harsh truth that she did, that hope was for suckers, and so she never let Zay put Riley’s pie on the menu even though it was continuously requested by the regulars. As long as it wasn’t on the menu, Riley still got to hope every morning, for just a minute or two, that that would be the day that her pie was the special of the day.

         “Why, Aren’t You a Peach Polka-Dot Peach Pie, of course.” Maya painted on an indulgent smile and admired how Riley beamed sunlight at her.

         “Peaches, you shouldn’t!”

         “Too late, I already did. Today’s a good day to serve everyone a little Riley, I think. I know I could use a little of whatever it is you got.”

         “Well, I’m happy to share.”

         “Go check the stock downstairs and make sure we have enough kosher salt. We were running a little low the last I checked and I don’t think Zay is ordering new stock until tomorrow.” Riley abandoned the hostess station where she was organizing the trio’s sections as if they ever changed and raced downstairs into Maya’s sanctuary.

         “When am I going to get a pie made for me, Maya?” Smackle asked without accusation, just curiosity.

         “Maybe it’s not a pie. Maybe it’s a cake. Or a cookie.” The blonde answered thoughtfully, to which Smackle snorted and shot her a grin from across the room.

         “I am at least a brownie by now, thank you very much. How did Riley end up with a peach pie anyway? Because she calls you Peaches?”

         “Nah, she calls me peaches because that’s what the pie is.” Maya explained, “I don’t know, she’s just so nice. It kind of threw me off when we first met, being New Yorkers and all. When she learned about how I make the desserts and dress them up, a peach pie is the first thing I thought of when she asked me what kind of dessert she would be. The polka-dots came later when I thought about how she dresses out of uniform. That’s what makes it Riley.”

         Smackle hummed in understanding. “And what makes it yours, with that kind of personal touch. No one can bake like you can, huh?”

         “No one but my mother. I just try to do it like she would.” Maya answered with a casual shrug and brushed her hands against her apron as she finished up with the display case. Smackle was obviously done with the condiments as she had moved on to adjusting the number of napkins at each table. Maya regarded her for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to say so, but the spectacled girl had unwittingly stirred a feeling of warmth in her chest at the astute (and the very gracious, at that) compliment—the kind of warmth that spread slowly, like a pie crust in the heat of an oven. So she said nothing at all. Maya got through each day by watching the people she saw and jotting her notes down into her art, be it on the dish or on paper. She had never considered that Smackle might do the same. Dimly, she wondered where her coworker took her observations. Perhaps a scholarly notebook; that was presumably what a good NYU student like Smackle would use in her classes at school. Or maybe she just kept it all in that great big brain of hers. It probably was time for Smackle to get her own dessert by now, wasn’t it?

         Without Riley around to peer over her shoulder and ask questions, Maya pulled out the server’s pad from her pocket and flicked through its pages until she found her sketch from the subway ride. Some of her glimpses into inspiration never quite revealed their whole picture and without that, she couldn’t transcribe their stories into a cake. Maya had a gnawing ache deep in her gut that this lady and her crazy hat were one of those torturously brief peeks into something special that she would only ever wonder about for the rest of her life. Sighing, she walked over to the hostess stand, tore the sheet from the pad’s binding, and slid the sketch between the thick cardstock page of a menu and its plastic cover. This was the eulogy of all the subway sketches that never went on to become something more. The idea of one of the diner’s patrons finding it out of the blue and seeing what Maya saw, even if it was only for an instant, was exactly what Crazy Hat deserved. She deserved the chance to connect with a stranger who was not looking for her and make them wonder just like Maya did; if she was lucky, that stranger could do something to tell her story more truthfully than Maya ever could.

         Riley had returned from the bakery downstairs. “I think we should have enough to get through the day!” She announced joyously, waving a carton of the last of the kosher salt they had left over her head just to show them she was sure.

         “Great, but why did you bring it up here?” Maya chuckled, sliding the menu back into the stacks that would be passed around to the customers throughout the day. Riley’s smile faltered for just a second as realization came to her. As quickly as it left, her smile sprung back into place as if it was never gone, albeit the accompaniment of sheepish awkwardness was an endearing new factor in Riley’s sunshine.

         “I…I just…I’ll go put this back.”

         “No need.” Maya offered her a gentle look of reassurance, the expression well-rehearsed for the times that Riley, feeling especially Riley, looked to her for permission to go on exactly as she was. She did this as though Maya would ever want her to change. “I should probably get started anyway before the morning rush gets in. There’s some crust defrosting in the fridge, but I’ll have to make the filling from scratch. I’ll just bring it back down myself.”

         “Well, then get to it! I want my pie!” Riley pitched her the kosher salt that was not even in the same vicinity as her direction, which Maya had to scramble to catch in an almost cat-like maneuver. Smackle made a move to shoo her away in jest, but she was already hurrying along down the narrow spaces between tables to get a move on. She skipped the stairwell leading to the bakery and headed straight for the single bathroom in the back of the building.

         She couldn’t get the door open fast enough and she still had to find the dexterity in fingers that were not so nimble as they were when baking to lock it. The kosher salt was forgotten, carelessly thrown to the floor and forced open upon impact with the ground. Hard flakes of it dug into her bare knees as she dropped and flung her head into the waiting toilet bowl. It was the fourth time this week that Maya had emptied her insides at work. She didn’t think that anyone had noticed this theatrical display of her stomach’s hysterics, but if it went on, it would be impossible to keep hidden. She didn’t want to deal with that intervention, because that’s exactly what it would be with those two goofballs for coworkers, and she certainly didn’t want to have to deal with Zay. She didn’t want to deal with any of this, not at all. She didn’t know how. All she knew was the diner, the customers, the girls and the cook. The desserts. All she knew was being a waitress. If Maya added anything more to her plate, it would not be a matter of whether she would break, but when.

[crxwflowerwrites]

Maybe I'm Alive Cuz I Really Didn't Wanna Die

Chapter One of Nutshell | Anakin Skywalker x NB!Reader

Fate: (1) : the will or principle or determining cause by which things in general are believed to come to be as they are or events to happen as they do, (2) an inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end. Can fate—destiny—be avoided? That is the age-old question. When a unique opportunity presents itself, granting a second chance at life in exchange for trying to unravel the events leading to Anakin Skywalker's downfall, questions will be raised regarding accountability, compassion, metal health, and destiny. Can Anakin be saved from himself? Or was he always destined to bring ruin to the Galaxy?

---

"I'm a freak, I am afraid that All the blood escaping me won't end the pain And I'll be haunting all the lives that cared for me I died to be the white ghost Of the man that I was meant to be."-Ghost, Badflower Sounds of blaster fire and people screaming in pain fade dully in the background. All I can hear are my own ragged breaths as I desperately try to calm my thundering heart. Sweat rolls down my face, drawing lines on my soot-stained skin while ash falls peacefully to the ground amidst a battle where people are getting blown apart by incendiaries and innocent civilians are cut down where they stand. If I didn’t know any better, I would think it was snowing. Darkness splotches the edges of my vision, and my trembling hands feel clammy as I clutch my lightsaber pathetically. Only enough focus remains to block the blaster fire beaming in my direction. My knees are weak and my stance is poor. I cannot do this much longer. I’m tired.

I’ve always hated fighting. As a padawan, I wanted to dedicate my life to helping people with my force healing abilities, or maybe discovering ancient secrets through psychometry. I even considered being a teacher and working with the younglings. But this? War? I could have never foreseen the destruction of the Jedi Order. I never fathomed the return of the Sith. I never thought that Anakin Skywalker would betray us all.

He was our Chosen One. Our General. Our Hope.

But he was none of those things, only our downfall. His anger, his arrogance, his fear; it killed him and now it’s killing us.

I shouldn’t know any of this. The official story is that our beloved General was killed during Order 66, but I know the truth. After Padme’s death, Obi-Wan reached out to me to aid him in hiding away her twin children—Anakin’s children. My reputation for having a gentle heart and cool discretion made me an easy choice for the mission and I was more than happy to help protect children from the terrible fighting that began spreading like a contagion across the galaxy. I didn’t know the whole story, but I noticed that Obi-Wan had Anakin’s lightsaber. Out of curiosity, I touched it and...and I wished I never had.

It’s been months since then. I took shelter on this unnamed planet, hiding from those who hunt down the last remaining Jedi. There was peace in helping the common folk; healing them of their ailments and protecting them from wildlife, but the Empire found me. Found us. I put these people in danger, and now I must watch them succumb to the horrors of the invasion while I try, and fail, to protect them.

I know my life is over when I hear a lightsaber blaze to life behind me. With leaden feet, I turn in the mud to face the man who has come to kill me: Darth Vader. Anakin Skywalker. Dog to the Empire. My former friend. A traitor. A puppet. A murderer.

“Don’t do this,” I plead, my voice a pathetic croak.

“It is already done,” Darth Vader replies ominously.

There is barely any time to raise my lightsaber before the Sith Lord begins swinging blow after blow. The heat from the sabers singes my skin as he forces all his strength down upon me. I’m not strong enough to withstand this, so I roll away just before the red saber slices into the ground where my body was just moments before.

I shouldn’t try to talk, but I am going to die. I know it in my bones, so I might as well ask my questions why I still draw breath.

“Why are you doing this?” I dodge to the right, tripping in my fatigue.

“Because you are weak.”

“The Anakin I knew wouldn’t do this!”

“You didn’t know him. Nobody did—” he lunges at me, and I’m too slow. The red saber blazes through sinew and bone, severing my hand from my body. I think I scream. I’m not sure. All I see is my hand still clutching my saber as it plummets to the ground, lodging itself in the mud.

“—Anakin was weak, so I killed him, just as I will kill you.”

I watch in slow motion as Darth Vader brings his lightsaber over his head and brings it down over me. All I can think about is how he separates himself from the man he used to be. Just as the energy from the weapon kisses my skin with a magnificent, terrible burning, I am overwhelmed with the realization that I don’t want to die . There are still so many unanswered questions. I want to know how we got to this point. I need to understand the moment Anakin stopped being the hero and started being the villain. I think...I think I feel guilty. I should’ve seen the signs. All of us in the Jedi Order should have noticed all those little red flags. Why didn’t I say anything? Why did we do anything to stop him?

My thoughts are filled with wishes to start again, to have a chance to make things right. I want to save myself. I want to save my friends. I want to save Anakin from himself. I think a silent prayer, pleading for just one more shot to discover where it all went wrong. But it doesn’t work. I am dying, and the Force is silent. My destiny is to die here, kneeling in the mud as I stare back and forth from my dismembered hand to my former peer. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of something hopeful. I am aware of my body splitting apart in searing agony when something incredible happens.

The world falls silent. No more screaming. No more humming of the lightsaber. I open my eyes and see...nothing. The world is no more. All I can see is empty blackness; an absence of light and life. It’s unlike anything I have ever experienced before, and yet I’m not scared. Stunned, I blink. Perhaps I was expecting a clearer image to emerge from that darkness, but my eyes open to the sight of my quarters at the Jedi Temple.

What?

I lurch forward with a ragged breath. My lower body is tangled in the sheets, clothes from earlier in the day strewn on the floor with the rest of my dirty laundry. Confusion and panic claw at my heart, strangling in my throat. I inspect my hands: both intact. No scar where my severed hand was reattached. No jagged line where Darth Vader sliced through my body as if it were water. I suddenly realize that many of my scars I obtained through padawan training and my eventual knighthood are missing. Upon further inspection, my body appears much younger than it was just moments ago when I was on the brink of death. It’s softer, rounder without all the hardened muscles—unmarred and unbroken.

I stagger out of bed on unsteady legs, moving on instinct into the adjoined bathroom. A cold shiver whispers down my spine when my gaze meets my own in the mirror. The truth strikes me like blaster fire to the heart. I am a padawan again.

[queenbirbs]

the way home | Ch. 1 | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Word count: 2,048

Summary: In which traveling to the past is only half the battle; or: Elena finds her way back.

Warnings: language

Notes: This series is complete. I’ll be posting chapters on here and over on AO3. Title taken from Tony Anderson’s The Way Home.  Continue on to chapter two.

Inspired by @choicesmonthlychallenge day 16 prompt “tick tock / time.” 

------

“You heard what my colleague said.” Robert’s voice sounds from the backseat, pulling her from her study of the countryside. “If this doesn’t work, then we may get stuck somewhere else with no--”

“Fuck that,” Elena cuts him off. “It’s going to work.”

He rolls his eyes at her in the rearview mirror, but says nothing more. They’ve spent enough time together over the last two years that he’s learned when to stop bothering with trying to change her mind. 

“Damn straight it better work,” her sister Gabby says around a mouthful of sour gummy worms. “I didn’t put two-thousand miles on my car for you all to get skunked.” 

Robert makes a face at the unusual term. “Are you forgetting that if we get caught then you’re an accessory before the fact?” he points out. 

“Yeah, but that won’t really affect my trade-in value, now, will it?”

Up ahead along the highway, a yellow sign reads: Welcome to New Mexico; Land of Enchantment. With Colorado in the rearview now, Elena pushes out a breath, trying to calm her racing heart as the pockmarked landscape passes in a blur. 

She’s tired of having her fate sealed, printed onto expensive cardstock, and ogled by museum-goers. What a life she led! How tragic, though, about Captain Mortemer spending all that time searching for her! the people at the museum tut and shake their heads before moving on to the next room. Elena’s tired of coming back home, of staring at that portrait of him and wondering if it’s the last she would ever see of him. 

During their four trips to the past, she’d managed to find Edward only twice. Though she was glad to be leaving it behind, there was something to be said about the ease of communication in the twenty-first century. After their last return, Elena and Robert didn’t bother with the faulty compass or time anomalies. Every deadend, every long night of research, and every weekend trip to scope out a lead was for the assurance that this would be their final voyage to the past. There would be no more time-hopping, no more disappearing for months at a time. With each stone they overturned, there was hope that it would bring them here. Here, she bemuses, to the long stretch of empty highway between southern Colorado and northern New Mexico. 

The trip to South Dakota had been a last-ditch effort. Robert’s old colleague from Oxford let him know about a warehouse hidden away in the Badlands, rumored to house hundreds of artifacts -- including the one they were after. Convincing Gabby to be their getaway driver was the hardest part; putting on a show of being a damsel in distress with a broken-down car and incapacitating the guards was much easier, in Elena’s opinion. 

Under her touch, the artifact in her hand glows the same eerie shade of blue as the compass. The whistle is a tarnished gold, engraved with the initials of a sailor who escaped H.M.S. Fletcher after its sinking off Cape Horn in 1890. News articles about the event were vague. The sailor’s diary, however, detailed his two days trapped in an air pocket, blowing his whistle desperately for help, and suddenly appearing on the shore eight years in the past. The only corroboration was the event log of a fisherman who watched the man “step out of thin air.” By all accounts, the tale was nothing more than a fantastical story. 

They reach Urraca Mesa with plenty of light left -- surprising, given that they were forced to hike around the scout ranch that owns the property. The mesa glows crimson in the afternoon sun, towering above them as they make their way up the trail. Elena’s duffel bag smacks against her thigh with every step. Along the next rise, Robert stops and consults his map with a scowl. 

“The lodestone minerals makes navigating this place a pain in the arse,” he grumbles as his compass refuses to cooperate. The needle jerks back and forth, never settling on a clear direction. 

“Does it have to be exactly on the ley line?” Elena asks, fidgeting with her bag’s strap to move it to a less sweat-drenched part of her back. 

“Of course it does. That’s why we drove all the way down here in the first place. The electromagnetic energy is at its peak along--”

“Okay, okay!” Gabby interrupts. “How about we try something else: do you have the exact coordinates?”

“Yes, but a compass doesn’t work like that.”

“Yeah, but a phone does,” she snaps back, tugging her phone from her backpack. “Lemme have ‘em.”

“We’re too far out of range for cell service.”

“Maybe, but it’s worth a shot.”

Robert sighs, then flips his map over for the coordinates scribbled on the back. Gabby’s fingers fly across her screen. Within a minute, the automated voice is telling them to continue south for 256 feet.

“Verizon,” she offers at his look of surprise. 

You have arrived at your destination! the phone announces as they come to a copse of trees underneath the mesa’s shadow. Elena isn’t sure she really believes in all of Robert’s theories about magnetic fields, but there’s something different here. An odd sensation tingles down her spine and through her fingers, as if she’s touching a live wire. The smell of ozone is heavy, as if a tremendous rain fell moments ago, though the desert is bone-dry. 

“Well?” Robert motions to the whistle in her hand. 

She lifts the whistle to her lips and blows. Its shrill cry pierces the air, the mesa’s steep walls echoing the noise. At first, nothing. Then, as if ripping a seam through the fabric of reality, a portal cleaves the open air before them. That blinding blue-and-white color shimmers before them. 

“Holy fuck.” Gabby grabs her arm and squeezes. “You-- you weren’t making this shit up.” 

At that, Robert turns and lifts an eyebrow at her, a smirk stretching across his face. 

“You think we’d make you drive two-thousand miles for a practical joke?”

“I mean, we used to play them on each other growing up,” she says. “But this would be one hell of a trick.” 

“No trick,” Elena tells her, turning her attention away from the portal and back to her sister. “But it does mean…” she trails off, her throat too tight to finish the sentence. 

With tears welling in her eyes, Gabby throws her arms around her and hauls her in for a tight hug. The portal sparkles against Elena’s closed eyes; tears drip steadily down her face. 

“You’re really sweaty,” Gabby complains against her hair, prompting a laugh from her sister. “I hope you didn’t forget to bring anything, because there’s no CVS on the other side.”

“I’ll be okay. I have everything I need. And there’s always the local market.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re stock-full of tampons and condoms.” 

Robert clears his throat, gesturing to the portal when both sisters glance over at him. 

“I’m sorry, but we really need to go, sooner rather than later. I’m not sure how long the portal will stay open. If it closes, we may not get another chance.” 

Elena nods, crushing her sister against her one last time before letting go.

“I know you’ll have a badass sword or whatever, but make sure you use those moves I taught you,” Gabby tells her. “I didn’t close up shop at the gym for a whole day just for you to rely on weapons only.”

“Okay,” Elena nods. “I will.”  

“And try to get a message to me. I’ll keep an eye out for any new pirate documents and artifacts. There’s a subreddit I follow that keeps me up-to-date.”

“Okay, I will.”

“And tell that little boy of yours, whenever he comes along, that he has a really cool aunt.”

“Okay,” Elena promises, her voice breaking around the words, “I will.”

Nodding at Robert, she walks with him to the portal’s edge. This close, she can smell the salty wind and feel the humidity of the Caribbean. Glancing back at her sister, she gives her a watery smile. 

“Love you,” they say in tandem, prompting the other to chuckle. 

After a final wave, Elena turns and links her arm through Robert’s. 

“Ready?”

“Ready.” 

Together, they step into the portal, and the world closes up behind them. For the briefest moment, she glimpses that swirling mass of colors that surrounded the Intrepid during the chase with the Admiral. Then: white sand; a blazing, blue sky; palm trees swaying along the curve of a coastline. The salty wind that she caught the scent of earlier rushes past, a cool balm against her sweaty skin. Across the blue stretch in front of them, ships cruise toward the shore, their sails trimmed for an easy docking. Through the trees to the west, a bustling town sits above a busy port. 

“Where are we?” Elena asks, squinting at the buildings to see if she can recognize where they’ve landed. 

“Santo Domingo -- though you’d know it as the Dominican Republic,” Robert explains. “That white flag with the odd-looking red ex is a symbol of the Spanish empire. The ships out there are flying the same colors.”

“Okay. Now, more importantly, when are we?” she asks.

“The Spanish ruled this half of Hispaniola between 1697 and 1795.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” she scoffs, “just a hundred-year span of time.” 

“Quiet, I’m not finished. Do you notice something off about the buildings? Extensive damage like that isn’t caused by a tropical storm. That would be hurricane-force winds.” As he lectures, he swings the bag on his shoulder round and starts to dig through it. “In 1754, Santo Domingo was hit with what would’ve been a category three hurricane. Twelve ships were lost.”

“That history degree of yours is coming in clutch,” she says, grinning when he scowls at the slang term.

“Our only real way of knowing, of course, is to go into town and find out.” 

Pulling a tube from his bag, Robert bends to set it down in front of the portal. She forgot it was there at all, too excited at the prospect of returning home. “I’d advise you to retreat,” he tells her as he backs away, a pistol in his other hand. 

Elena heeds his warning and follows him several paces away. She claps her hands over her ears just as Robert pulls the trigger. The gunpowder explodes into a ball of fire, eating away at the portal until it collapses in on itself, blinking from existence. 

“So.” Her words sound muffled to her, still ringing from the blast. “That’s why you didn’t want to fly to South Dakota.”

“Not really. I just hate flying.”

“Convenient that you picked a century when airplanes haven’t been invented yet.” 

Robert grins at her and shrugs, though the jovial expression drops from his face as he gestures to the whistle, still clutched in her hand. 

“For the next item on the agenda, you need to get rid of that.”

“What? No!” Elena takes a step back and holds it against her chest. 

“Elena--”

“Not until I find Edward. If we went too far in time, then this was all for nothing.”

He settles his hands on his hips and shakes his head at her. 

“If you hold onto that, you’ll be drawing unwanted attention to yourself. There are those that can… sense power in objects. You’d be wise to toss that thing into the sea.”

“Later,” she snaps, then hesitates, trying to reign in the irritation at his lack of understanding. “Look, I know that for you, your goal is complete: you’re back. But mine isn’t.” 

Robert grimaces, glancing away and towards the ocean beyond. Finally, the set of his shoulders loosens and his breath escapes him in a sigh. He digs through the bag at his side for a moment, before pulling out a long, gold chain. 

“Here.” He takes the whistle from her and loops it through the chain. “So you don’t lose it in the meantime.” 

Elena settles the necklace across her chest; the whistle disappears into the top of her shirt, hidden from view. 

“Thanks.”

“Now,” Robert gestures towards the town, “let’s bury these bags and go see about this pirate of yours.”

------

References:

The warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands is a reference to Warehouse 13, a show about a warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands.

[kimjongdaely]

The Art of Sin [Chapter 5] [M]

Gang!AU, Racer!AU, Tattoo Artist!AU

Pairing: Chen x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations, vandalism

Summary: He’s an artist. He does it all for the ‘art.’ Tattooing. Racing. Sex. All because he thinks they’re beautiful. There’s no one here that doesn’t know his name, because it’s everywhere. On every graffiti-filled wall, every tattooed skin, every cheer of the crowd. His name is there somewhere, because it’s all his—this world. And when he lays his eyes on you—well, he’s never seen anything more beautiful. And he’s going to make you his masterpiece.

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3 [M]│Chapter 4 [M]│Chapter 5 [M]│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8 [M]

It’s two weeks later when Chen asks.

“Wanna date?”

For two weeks, you had been visiting EXO’s garage almost every day after you got off work. They welcomed you easily, a few shrugs and glances, because apparently it’s been a while since Chen had been with a girl.

You weren’t sure how you should act around Chen at first. You had sex, went on a date...learned what he really does. You should be terrified, but somehow, you’re not.

Chen never pushed you into anything. He was always casual, easy-going, laidback. He let you come, let you go, let you make your own decisions. You wonder if he knew that very first night that you wouldn’t be able to leave.

Like a butterfly caught in a spiderweb.

His question surprised you, but wasn’t exactly unexpected. The way you acted around each other felt couple-y already. He’s comfortable to be around, with that chill attitude, like nothing in the world really matters.

Your answer was, of course, “Sure.” You tried to act cool about it, calm and casual like the way he asked. It’s a lot harder than it seems, because your heart nearly jumped out of your throat, your hands clammy.

So that’s it. You’re dating him now. 

Making it ‘official’ didn’t really change much in your relationship. You went to him every afternoon, went to two or three races but you have yet to see him race. You see this guy known as Kai race a lot. Chen introduced you to him once after he won a race (you’re told he’s never lost...until...Chen didn’t finish that thought). He seems nice enough, flirty and smooth, but nice. There’s something in his eyes though, a kind of exhaustion that makes you worry for him.

Chen said that he would be racing tonight. Told you to wear something nicer, just to fit in. You’re ‘his’ girl now. Doesn’t seem too strange he’d want to show you off.

You wear skinny jeans, a black crop top and a leather jacket. Your hair is up in a high ponytail, because you know the races tend to get heated very quickly.  

When you get there, the crowd already seems to be pretty high and in full-swing. There are a lot more people than any race you’ve ever been to, a sight that makes you gulp nervously. It’s loud, so damn loud the floor pulses along with each note blasting through speakers, lights flashing all around.

You push through the crowd, trying to find EXO. They should be at the very front, next to the tracks.

“Excuse me.” You murmur, feeling incredibly small amongst the bodies of people. You almost get crushed a few times before you finally reach the front. You find Chen and his friends chatting, Kai is with him. He spots you, smiling and giving you a wave. 

When you reach him, he wraps you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Glad you could make it.“

“’Course.” You answer. “I wanted to see you race.”

He grins, sharing a glance with Kai who gives him a shrug.

“Well,” a deep voice rumbles in a chuckle, making a shiver run down your spine. You turn to face the speaker, a big man with a mean smile, ragged scars littered on his arms are shown off. “You ready for the race, boys?”

“Sure,” Kai answers easily, sharing another look with Chen. Kai doesn’t seem exactly pleased, though he keeps a cool composure. “You ain’t gonna back out from the deal, right?”

“’Course not, I’m a man of my word.” He says it humorously, gesturing at himself grandly. “I tell ya what? If you can win against me and my bro, I’ll buy all of your cars, no questions asked.”

Chen’s eyes shines. “Heh, pretty confident, aren’t ya?”

The man’s smile is wicked now, a threatening glint in his eyes. “’Course.”

Chen shrugs, an easy smile growing on his face. “Alright then. Let’s get this party started.”

You watch as the man and a friend of his gets into their respective cars. You can’t help but admire their cars; the guy just now has a shiny silver Subaru, not a speck of dirt on it.

Chen scoffs quietly beside you, Kai already getting ready to start. “Pity that car’s gonna get a few scars after tonight.”

“You’re really that confident?” You frown at him, feeling unease tickle your insides. They look tough, and scary. You wonder what kind of deal they made.

“Sure.” Chen winks at you. “Watch me, princess.”

He gets into his car, a white Nissan Skyline. You hear the engines rev to life, the flag girl blowing kisses to the crowd that cheers wildly, hyped for the upcoming race. When the flag goes down, the four cars zoom off, kicking up dirt.

You watch nervously as they glide smoothly down the track, Kai’s car clearly in the lead with the other team a close second. Chen is third. You watch his car intently, praying he’ll be able to override second place, but somehow it seems like that isn’t even his goal.

You watch in confusion as he seems to slow down, inching closer to the car in last place. He’s too close, and you can tell the other guy is nervous, afraid he’ll scratch or bump into his car, and he swerves left, trying hard to avoid him. Chen doesn’t let up though, continuing inching towards the guy’s car until he’s forced against the edges of the track. The guy tries to push back, tilting his car in hopes to get ahead of Chen, but the angle is off and he loses control of his car, spinning off the tracks. Chen speeds up as they come to a curve, going directly in front of the car that is in second place, replacing it. He blocks the car no matter which side it goes, as if Chen can predict his reactions.

He’s rigging the race! You gasp, wondering if anyone else notices, or if they even care. You glance at Chen’s friends, seeing the guy named Yeol smoke carelessly, looking bored out of his mind, his hand that isn’t holding the cigarette seemingly itching for something to do.

Either no one can see, or no one even cares. They just came for a good time, placing bets, drinking and getting high.

When they zoom past the finish line, it’s clear they Kai and Chen have won. The crowd is wild, cheering so loud you think you might go deaf. The other guy gets out of his car angrily, slamming the car door shut and stomping over to Chen, yelling at him.

You can see Chen’s easygoing smile, his careless shrug as Kai takes over. “A win is a win.” You can barely hear him say over the yelling, but you try reading his lips. “It’s our win, big guy.”

“You fucking cheated!” The other guy roars, face red and looking like he might explode at any second.

“What?” Chen looks convincingly shocked and offended. “You don’t have proof, man. Don’t be a sore loser.”

The man seems at loss for words now, sputtering incoherently before he stomps away with his friend.

When Chen and Kai come back, Kai obviously has a bitter look on his face, though he winks and grins at anyone who waves at him—especially the girls.

“Hey, good job guys.” Yeol says, blowing out smoke which you cough at. 

Kai huffs, a growl leaving his lips. “Yeah, whatever.” He pushes through the crowd, seemingly upset.

Chen shrugs at you, giving you a wink. “He’ll drink it off.”

“You rigged the race.” You hiss, eyes narrowing on him. 

He shrugs again, “And?”

“What do you mean ‘and?’” You exclaim in disbelief. “You cheated!”

“Yeah, well we gotta ensure a win somehow.” Chen says lowly, making sure no one hears. “This is our turf. We make the rules. Ain’t no one coming in here, challenge us and win. But it only happens occasionally, when we have a lot to lose. Most of the time we let Kai do his thing—he wins anyways, but sometimes we just need to make sure, ya know?”

You frown, deciding to hold your tongue. You knew they were the types to do illegal things to begin with. You decided to date him despite that. You don’t have any right to say what he’s doing is wrong—everything about him is wrong, but you’re with him regardless, isn’t that right?

“Aw, sweetheart.” He coos, pulling you close, lips finding that sweet spot below your ear. “Don’t be upset. It’s how we do things around here.”

“I’m not upset.” You lie, trying to act nonchalant. You chose him, and there’s no going back.

“How about we go for a ride?” He asks. “Get some air?”

“That sounds nice.” You manage a smile, a little excited you get to see him drive up close. And to get away from the sweaty, loud crowd and flashing lights. A drive sounds really, really nice right now. 

He ushers you towards his car, which is still surrounded by people after having finished the race. They let him through though, some clapping him on the back and giving him high-fives. You feel gazes on you that make you shiver, disgusted and Chen pulls you closer, throwing a glare at whoever looks at you wrong.

He opens the door to the passenger seat for you, making dramatic movements like a gentleman. You can’t help but laugh, getting in. He gets into the driver seat, revving up the engine and you can feel it rumble underneath you.

“This car’s my baby.” He says as he drives off, the crowd opening up a track for him to get out. It’s instantly quiet once he gets out the vicinity of EXO Customs. “92’ Nissan Skyline GT-R R32. Had it since college.”

“College?” You ask, never having head him mention it before. “What’d you study?”

“Art.” He answers, tone a little tighter than usual. His hold on the wheel is loose though, careless. You can’t help but stare at how good he looks driving like this, with his sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back from the wind, a lazy feel to him. “Always loved putting my mark on things. Seemed the obvious choice.”

“What about racing?” You watch him, see the way he glances at the rearview mirror, out the window. His neck is very pretty, you note, every time he turns his head. 

“Eh, racing is just another hobby.” He says casually. “When I met the guys, it’s all they did. Met them during high school. After we got out, I needed money to go to college, and they helped me with it. Couldn’t do it without ‘em.”

“Didn’t your parents pay for tuition?” You frown at that, wondering why an 18 year old kid fresh out of high school did things like that just to get into college.

You see his jaw clench, his hold on the wheel tightening, though his expression stays the same. “They weren’t the best.”

“Oh.” You don’t ask further. You feel like if you pushed it, he might snap at you, or just ignore you.

“Hey,” he says after a while of silence, a hand placed gently on your thigh. “I know a pretty place just up the hill.”

When he parks his car, you look up in awe at the stars glimmering in the sky. You rarely see stars in the middle of the city, but out here, it’s beautiful. You smile widely, counting the stars and wondering if you might be able to get to a million.

He chuckles. “You like it?”

“Yeah.” You beam at him. “Thanks, Chen.”

He seems pleased at your reaction, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“What do you wish for, Chen?” You ask, relaxing your body against the seat.

“I dunno.” He answers. “What about you?”

You think for a moment, watching how the stars shimmered like diamonds. “Maybe for you to be happy.”

He’s silent.

“Hey,” he pushes the seat back, climbing over to the backseat. He settles comfortably, patting his lap. “Come here.”

Hearing the growl in his voice, you instantly feel yourself grow hot. You climb to the back, sitting on his lap, your thighs on either side of him.

“Undress.” He murmurs, lips trailing your collarbone and your fingers are shaky when you peel off your leather jacket. It’s way too hot for that now.

His tongue peeks out to lick the dip of your collarbone, tracing the butterfly he tattooed for you. His tongue is searing on your skin, and his fingers trace circles against your waist.

You feel yourself begin to grow wet already. You move to take off your crop top, letting your breasts loose. 

He grins, pleased by the position as he moves to kiss them, nibbling and sucking, leaving hickeys. You’ve grown used to him leaving hickeys everywhere, and you always try to cover them up with concealer before you go to work.

“Keep going.” He growls against your skin as he feels you stop, arching against his mouth.

You let out a quiet whimper, feeling embarrassed for doing this yourself. Your trembling fingers move to your jeans, and you stand in order to push them off along with your underwear. When you settle back on him, the texture of his pants makes you moan.

“You sound so sexy.” He chuckles, his fingers dancing across your skin, down, down, down to tease at your entrance. “Wet already?”

You let out a soft whine, feeling him stroke you gently. It’s not enough though. You push his hand away, seeing him watch you with both surprise and amusement. You adjust yourself, shifting so you’re settled over his thigh, and you begin to slowly rock yourself.

He chuckles, clearly amused at what you’re trying to do. “Thigh riding, princess? You like this?” He presses his thigh harder against you and you moan, nodding as your hips go a little faster. The rough fabric of his pants adds a delicious bonus to your pleasure.

“Look at you.” He mumbles, his voice low and deep, vibrating through you and you clench harder, going faster to get more friction. “You’re so wet you’re staining my pants.”

“Chen.” You breathe out, your cheeks flushed and sweat beginning to bud on your skin. “I—”

“Want some help?” He grins, fingers coming to rub your clit slowly. “You gonna come, princess?”

You nod your head, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, letting his scent fill you. “G-Go faster.”

He complies, rubbing you faster as you continue going back and forth on his thigh, wanting to clench around something. You can feel your orgasm approach swiftly, almost there and you move your hips more desperately against him, your moans increasing in volume.

His fingers stop, and his hands come to hold your hips, halting you. “Wait princess,” he chuckles darkly as you whimper and whine, trying to shimmy your hips to no avail. “I can’t let you have all the fun now, can I?”

He unbuckles his pants and you wait in absolute torture as he slowly pulls out his dick, already rock hard with arousal. He sees how eager you are, so he leans back with his arms thrown over the seats, waiting for you to make your move. 

You hold him gently in your palms, running your fingers over his length, feeling smug when you hear him hiss at the feeling. You stroke his head, feeling the precum beading already. Some other time you’ll give him a blow job, you decide. But not today, because you’re too needy.

You pump him a few times, getting him ready although you know he’s plenty ready already. You slowly lift yourself, using his shoulders as leverage before you line yourself up with him, dropping as slowly as you can, clenching yourself around him torturously as revenge.

You feel his breath quicken, his hot puffs of breath mingling with yours. He holds your hips steady as you sink down fully, staying there for a moment to adjust.

“Fuck.” He swears, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so tight like this.”

You clench again at his deep, sexy voice, and he immediately growls in return. You get a better grip on his shoulders, wanting to kiss him but he’s already working on your neck, sucking the spot under your ear. You brace yourself, lifting yourself up before sinking down again, mewling at that beautiful feeling.

His hold on you tightens as he helps you find a rhythm, rocking him. You slowly build your pace, increasing in speed as you try to get a better position. He angles himself, timing it right and pushing up whenever you come back down, hitting your sweet spot. You throw your head back, practically screaming as he does so.

He adds his fingers, rubbing your clit again as your orgasm builds. Your grip on him tightens as your legs begin to grow weak from the pleasure. It’s hard to keep the pace, beginning to become sloppy. 

“You close?” He breathes out and you nod vigorously, whimpering when his fingers and hips move even faster. “Me too, princess. Cum with me.”

You nod again, finding it hard to breathe in this small space. He body is so close, so hot against yours and you suddenly wish he had taken all his clothes off too so you could feel his skin on yours.

“Ah, I-I’m—” You almost sob as you finally reach your high, feeling the pleasure spike and wrack through your body. You shudder, grinding hard against him and with a few more thrusts he comes too.

You continue rocking, grinding against him even after your highs, and he squeezes your hips to stop you. “Good job, princess.” He presses a kiss to your temple, the edge of your jaw as you whimper in response.

He removes you from him, getting some tissues he has in his car to clean you up before helping you back into your clothes.

“Ready to head back?” He asks and you nod, settling back into your seat, trying to catch your breath. He chuckles as he revs the engine again.

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A/N: Whew I finally finished writing this! I hope you enjoyed it~ (I know I am *wink wink*)

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Talk to me!

[freewithyourtempo]

Argue me tender, argue me true (pt. 8)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

Charles was zombing his way across the hall. He felt ashamed and vulnerable, with his guts inside out. He was on edge, waiting mindlessly for anyone to start laughing at his stupidity.

Not that he thought that he would make fun of what had happened…

When he heard someone calling his name, Charles considered ignoring them. He tried to sink in his own shoulders and turned towards the voice. The principal’s secretary was hurrying towards him and waving something shiny in his hand. “Xavier,” he huffed, reprimanding. His forehead was damp and he looked like he had spent the morning rolling up and down the sleeves of his shirt and moving boxes. “Here, keep this.” Something small and cylindric was hastily put in Charles’ hand. It was the key to his collar. “What is-” “Now that it is done, please tell your friend Erik Lehnsherr to reshape the locks of our offices and toilets. Maybe we can’t prove that it was his doing, but we certainly know it was. We are keeping an eye on him. Have a nice day.”

He stomped away leaving Charles gaping in the middle of the corridor. Charles looked down at the key in the center of his palm and closed his fingers around it. “Fuck. Couldn’t you be a bit less. Fuck you, Lehnsherr.” “I thought you were about to do just that.” Charles tiredly hauled his lips in a smile and faced his just arrived friend. “He didn’t like me that much, Moira.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “It happens.” Mora frowned in confusion and adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “How do you-” “I…” Charles rubbed his arm and looked away. “I may have told him that I liked him when I was drunk after Azazel’s party. He told me it was better if I went away.” Moira blinked and tilted her head. “It’s just… So weird.” She admitted frankly. “Like, really weird.” “How so?” “Have you seen Davis around, lately?” “I don’t even know who he’s supposed to be.” Moira rolled her eyes. “The bag of dicks that pushed you against the wall last week.” “Oh,” Charles said. He remembered that day for a different reason altogether. “What’s up with him?” Moira didn’t even try to hide her pleased, seraphic smile. “He has a black eye and a dislocated jaw. He hasn’t been able to mutter his homophobic and mutantphobic shit since that day.” She folded her arms and raised one suggestive eyebrow. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Charles stammered. “I-It doesn’t mean anything,” he denied. The bruise on Lehnsherr's face was freshly painted in his mind. His heart sunk in his stomach and started hammering there. “Lehnsherr has always advocated for mutants. He would have done the same for anyone.” Evidently. “He beat the shit out of him, Charles. He risked suspension. At best. Probably expulsion.” Moira eyed the key in his hand and stared. “Twice this week, I would say.” Charles shrugged again, because he didn't know what to say to that. 

Lehnsherr wasn't interested, had said that much. It was better not to dwell on things that almost were. Charles sighed. Or weren’t, apparently, because it was all in his head. He probably spent too much time in there. Moira huffed. “Do you think I should go thank him for this?” Charles asked, holding the key between his thumb and index. Moira linked their arms. “I really think you should, Charles, if you feel like it.”

Charles heard a commotion, then the door of the classroom swung open and banged against the opposite wall. Someone gasped. 

Hank appeared on the threshold, pale and agitated. 

“McCoy!” The professor exclaimed. “What on Earth is happening?” “I’m really, really sorry, professor,” Hank answered, and he was so upset that his skin was swinging between blue and white. “But I need Charles. Immediately.” Charles stood up and Hank turned towards him. “It’s about Alex. We’d ask Lehnsherr, but we can’t find him anywhere…” Charles pulled the key out of his back pocket and shoved it in the collar. It clicked open with a mechanical swish, and Charles tossed it on the desk. 

Voices arose in his head as he had just turned the volume on. “Where is he?” “Park, behind the cafeteria,” Hank answered. Charles hurried down the stairs and together they ran across the corridor. 

Alex was standing in the middle of the park, alone. The grass around him was scorched and greyish, and Charles could smell smoke. 

Alex’s shirt was pulsing red in correspondence of his chest. 

“Oh, thank you, fuck,” he said when he saw Charles stepping towards him, Hank on his tow. He was shivering from head to toe. “Just knock me out already.” “There’s no need for that, Alex,” Charles said, keeping his voice steady. His throat was tight. “Take it easy.” Alex scoffed angrily, and the red in his chest heightened. He clenched his fists and snarled. “Easy? I was about to explode in the middle of the Cafeteria, Xavier. Fucking explode.”

Charles could feel anger, and frustration, and biting terror howling and scratching at his shields like rabid dogs. Everything was flashing red and white, everything was swirling, his mind was cracking under the blows of panic. But above all else he felt a growing heat right over his stomach, boiling and buzzing, ready to cut through his flesh. 

“But you didn't, Alex. You controlled it.” “Barely.” Alex looked away, chest heaving. His muscles were strained in the effort of keeping the energy inside his body. “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t, why don’t you understand. I just can’t.” “But you do, you can,” Charles replied firmly, and stepped forward. “You have been here for months, don’t let one slip up mess with your head.” “My slip-ups could cost lives!” “Mine too,” Charles said, smiling sadly. “And Erik’s, or Janos’. You deserve to be here, Alex, and you're making wonderful progress every day. People want you here and will help you. I promise.”

The raw dogs had receded now, and while Alex looked him in the eyes, vulnerable and hopeful, Charles could only feel angry birds screeching. Terror was no longer stabbing his shields, but Alex's thoughts had to be directed elsewhere, or they could start collapsing on themselves all over again. “Besides, you can’t go before declaring yourself.” Alex’s mind snapped in surprise, as if kicked out of track. His eyes flashed towards a point behind Charles, where Hank had been fidgeting for the last five minutes. 

Hank held his breath loudly.

“You’re such a little shit,” Alex accused Charles, blushing furiously and looking at everything that wasn’t Hank. Charles smirked through a fog of embarrassed excitement. “I never said whom you should declare to, dear. But it has been a long time coming, so...” Alex glared under thick eyebrows, but at least his body had stopped trembling and glowing red. “You’re one to talk,” he huffed and folded his arms. “Clearly you and Lehnsherr still have your heads up your asses.” It was Charles’ turn to gape, but immediately stopped when he saw Alex sneering. “Your sources are unreliable, I’m afraid. There’s nothing between us.” Alex raised an eyebrow. “Says who.” Charles swallowed. “Says he.” “That’s not what--” Alex stopped and lifted his hands in surrender. “Know what. Not my business. Morons. Sexual tension is so thick between you two not even my blasts could cut through it. It’s disgusting.” “Mmh,” came Hank thoughtful voice. “I’ll have to vouch for that.” “Shut up,” Charles grumbled, cheeks flagging hot in embarrassment. “I came here to help, and look at what I have to endure. I don’t deserve this.” “You started it.” “Count to one hundred, and if you’re still not shooting lasers through your nostrils by then, you’re good to go. Undeserving scoundrel.”

This time Charles knocked. 

He had this whole speech prepared, schemingly littered with thankfulness and apologies about ill-time confessions, and closed by a joke to lighten up the mood. He felt clear-minded and self-possessed, with steady hands and a firm voice. He raised his mental shields. He swallowed against the heart in his throat. He also felt nauseous, but that was irrelevant, all things considered. He just needed to breathe and stick to the scenario sprawled out in his mind. No interruptions, no blubbering, no undignified ogling… 

The door swung open. Lehnsherr was steaming hot. Literally. Fat droplets of water clung to the wet tips of his hair and splashed on his neck to ran down the collar of his shirt, darkening the fabric. The bare skin of his arms and throat glistened and puffed slow swirls of steam. He was barefoot. Charles closed his mouth audibly and irritably. “Oh, fuck me.”

@helene-of-spain , @youarerageandserenity, @why-cant-people-just-think, @auri-moon , @starkqnthony, @docty-strange , @starkxavier, @ectoplasmaticpansexual, @season-four-is-imminent, @ unticka

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent Drabble - “Baker’s Creed” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have been competing with one another their entire relationship. Now, without knowing it, they're competing for their daughter's affection. Will they work things out before it destroys their kitchen? (2916 words)

Notes: Written to include the @klaineadvent 2019 prompts creed, lecture, and quarrel, as well as the @gleepotluckbigbang prompts cookies, sick, and charity.

Read on AO3.

Blaine wakes up to an empty bed, a script weighing down his chest, and the sinfully sweet smell of Kurt’s chocolate chip cookies wafting through the air.

“Mmm … cookies for breakfast,” he mutters through heavy lips. Next to sex, it’s his favorite way to wake up. He inhales deep. “Time to get myself some sugar.” He giggles at his own suggestive remark, giddy with sleep drunkenness. He moves the script to the side and stretches, using the opportunity of a (temporarily) empty bed to monopolize as much space as possible. The stiffness in his arms unravels, his back cracks, and a feeling of utter euphoria fills his body.

“Ahhhh. This is nice.”

He turns to Kurt’s side of the bed and blows it a kiss. It strikes him for a moment that Kurt being out of bed already is a bit odd, but he can’t remember why. So, as his mind starts to clear, he runs down the check list.

What day is today?

Thursday.

Okay. Makes sense then. Kurt should be up and getting ready for work.

Blaine smiles, rolling on his side and cozying up to his husband’s pillow. He inhales again.

Kurt’s pillowcase still smells like him.

Blaine hugs it, running his nose along the crease that once cradled Kurt’s ear.

“Yes, Kurt,” he whispers, imagining himself in the kitchen, standing behind his husband, arms wrapped over his as Kurt prepares dough for the baking sheet. “Let me help you roll some balls, hmm? Whaddya say? You always tell me how good I am at …”

No!

The word pings through Blaine’s brain like a paddle ball, knocking the daydream from right out of his head.

It’s not Thursday. It’s Friday. Yesterday was Thursday. That’s when Blaine got the script for his new pilot, Mutiny on the Bounty – a campy, madcap comedy about a team of armored car thieves/assassins who manage to pull off the most dangerous and insane heist of the year by screwing every single thing up. The writing is stellar, the cast (comprised entirely of LGBTQ actors) revolutionary. JVN has been on board with the project since go and Blaine couldn’t be more excited to share billing with him.

Best of all, his daughter Tracy – 14-years-old and a huge Queer Eye fan – now looks at Blaine as if he walks on water. Considering what raising a teenager has been like thus far, Blaine is ecstatic that he’s managed to pull that off.

They were going to celebrate last night by having dinner at Per Se, and then he and Kurt were going to do some adult style celebrating after Tracy fell asleep, but Kurt started running a fever and …

Shit!

Blaine sits straight up in bed, nearly tossing Kurt’s pillow across the room, becoming both sober and awake in a blink, which makes his head throb.

Kurt has the flu!

Blaine looks at the empty spot again. The last Blaine remembers of his husband, he was high on NyQuil and fast asleep.

So what was he doing in the kitchen baking cookies?

Memories start flying at him hard and fast, and that’s when it finally hits him.

Bake sale!

The bake sale to raise money for the field trip to Washington D. C. that Tracy has been looking forward to since they found out about it at the beginning of the school year.

The bake sale Tracy failed to remind them about until BEFORE BEDTIME!

The bake sale that parents are required to participate in as half of their children’s citizenship grade and which the school would not simply allow them to cut a check to avoid.

“We are not a charity, Mr. Anderson,” Mrs. Palmer, Tracy’s principal (who sort of reminds Blaine of the dean from Monsters University), had said when he asked. “We have the money in our budget to accommodate all of our children. But if we, too, cut a check every time a teachable moment arises, we wouldn’t be much of a school, now, would we?”

Blaine had agreed to her face then spent an entire ride back to their house in his Mercedes replaying that moment with the addition of him buying the school outright with a check and firing her just to make himself feel better.

Kurt had been determined to make those cookies. But Blaine told Kurt not to worry about it, go to bed and sleep off being sick. He’d take care of it in the morning. Blaine even set his alarm clock for three a.m. so that he could do it. He glances over at his phone, the time on the screen reading 3:45 a.m. He glares at it, wondering why the alarm didn’t go off when it should have. Squinting harder, he sees why.

The little clock icon beneath the numbers, the one that indicates an alarm has been set, is no longer there. Blaine remembers vividly it being there when he went to bed. He’d double checked.

Then triple checked.

Which means Kurt had been feigning sleep until Blaine passed out, then crept downstairs to make the cookies himself!

Because he’s stubborn.

And now, Blaine has to go into the den of the dragon and persuade him to abandon his cookies and come back to bed.

Fun.

Blaine sighs. He swings his legs over the side of the bed but he doesn’t let his feet touch the floor. Then he sighs again. He’s not looking forward to the Battle Royale he’s heading into, but he has to do it. He has to get his husband back to bed by any means necessary.

Parts of his body twitch in excitement when the image of him throwing Kurt over his shoulder and carrying him back to their room kicking and protesting leaps to mind, and he scowls.

“Not now,” he grumbles. He stands up, slides his feet into his slippers, and heads to the kitchen.

The sounds of his miserable husband baking while physically unwell come to him in stages.

First, the sharp ringing of metal utensils hitting the sides of metal bowls.

The mixer running is next, then a timer for the oven goes off.

Finally, the sniffling, the sneezing, and the coughing, which should be a giant red flag to someone like Kurt (both a perfectionist and a germaphobe) that baking isn’t the brightest idea right now.

Blaine’s not going to point that out. It’s simply an observation.

Blaine pads quietly into the kitchen. Kurt doesn’t seem to notice – eyes red-hot and blurry with fever. He slides past Blaine twice without looking his way, making Blaine wonder if his husband may, in fact, be sleep-baking.

“Kurt? Honey?” he says in a low, calm voice so as not to startle him. “It’s almost four in the morning. You have the flu. You have to get some sleep.”

Kurt sniffles. “I don’t care,” he says in a ragged, rough voice. “I’m not done! I have four more batches in the oven, nine on the counter ready to go. I have to finish before seven.”

“Then let me do it for you. I told you I would.”

“I can’t let you do it for me!” Kurt grumbles, stirring chocolate chips into a bowl that Blaine is 88% certain has nothing else in it. “I started these cookies and I’m going to finish them!”

“I don’t understand, Kurt! What’s the big deal? They’re just cookies!”

Kurt gasps, the quick intake of breath through his dry throat starting a massive coughing fit – one that Blaine stands patiently through till the end so that his husband can continue lecturing him. “They’re not just cookies! These are my mother’s chocolate chip cookies!”

“I know! And I’ve made them with you for over a decade so I can definitely finish these!”

“It’s not that you can’t do it! It’s that I don’t want you to do it!”

“Why not?”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Blaine!” Kurt argues, trading his chip-filled bowl for a baking sheet. “I have promises to keep! Oaths to uphold! A whole … a whole … baker’s creed!”

Blaine’s face pinches, but he keeps himself from laughing, even once, as that would not go well. “A … a baker’s creed?”

Kurt stops rushing from counter to oven with a baking sheet of uncooked dough in his hands long enough to glare at his husband with steely, red-rimmed eyes. “It’s a real thing, Blaine! Look it up!”

“How about I just take your word for it?”

“Whatever.”

“Come on, honey.” Blaine tries to cut Kurt off, tries to swipe the baking sheet from him, but he doesn’t have much success. “It’s not that big a deal!”

“Of course it’s not that big a deal to you, Mr. Big Movie Star who just landed a movie starring Jonathan Van Ness!” Kurt laughs, then snorts, then hacks so loudly his throat sounds like it’s going to explode. “You’ve won! Conquered the teenage years ahead of schedule, jumped to the head of the class!”

“Is that what this is all about?” Blaine asks, gesturing at the mess Kurt has made in the kitchen, completely out of character for him. He’s not baking for the enjoyment of it. He’s baking out of vengeance - to get back at Blaine. “Kurt! I worked hard to get that role!”

“I never said you didn’t! But there are a hundred things I’ve worked hard to accomplish here in this house! Accomplish with our precocious daughter! And right when I feel like I’m slipping back to the starting line again, you find a way to bypass all of that and leap ahead!” Kurt sighs. No – flattens is more the word. He sinks to the floor, sitting amidst starbursts of baking soda, and sets the baking sheet indelicately onto the tile. “The same way you always do.”

Blaine looks down at his poor husband, hugging his knees on the powder-covered ground. Then he looks around the kitchen, at the cookies Kurt had been throwing together in an attempt to have them all done by the morning – all wrapped up for Tracy to take. His mother’s chocolate chip cookies, by far the most popular cookie he bakes. It’s his signature cookie, all his by now since he’s made little tweaks here and there – a bit more brown sugar, a bit less white, one more egg yolk, cake flour instead of all-purpose, which Blaine would have advised against but, as always when it comes to baking matters, Kurt was right. These cookies have been Kurt’s claim to fame at PTA meetings and bake sales all over Manhattan for the entirety of Tracy’s life. But most of all, they’re the first cookies Tracy ever helped him make.

And they’re her favorites.

And whether making these cookies actually does anything to move the needle in Kurt’s favor, he needed to accomplish this by himself. For himself. Raising his self-esteem wasn’t dependent on Tracy so much as it was dependent upon Kurt.

Blaine sees that now.

“You’re right, Kurt,” Blaine says, sliding down the cabinet to join him. “I lucked out. I found the Golden Ticket, without even knowing that’s what it would turn out to be. But I didn’t do it to undermine you! I swear to God I didn’t!”

“Swearing to God doesn’t really help your case here.”

“And me getting one awesome role doesn’t wash away all the amazing things you’ve done for Tracy these past fourteen years - the homemade Halloween costumes, the sing-a-longs, the school plays you’ve volunteered to direct, the school trips you’ve chaperoned, the bake sales and the cookies and the birthday cupcakes.” He inches closer, bumps their shoulders together. “All the nightmares you’ve chased away, the tears you’ve dried. Kurt … one role in one stupid movie can’t compete with any of that. To tell you the truth, that’s why I was so over-the-moon when she got excited about it. Because I’m not the one she goes to when she wakes up in the middle of the night, or when she falls and scrapes her knee, or when she needs cookies for a bake sale. It’s you.”

Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand, weaves their fingers together. “She goes to you, too.”

Blaine shakes his head. “Not as much. Not since she was about seven. I don’t know what changed but she was your girl after that.”

Kurt peeks at Blaine, his head the one hanging now, gazing at their joined hands with watery eyes.

“It’s not a stupid movie,” Kurt says. “It’s going to be a kick-ass amazing movie, and you know it.”

“But it’s not as important as Tracy. Or you. And, yeah, she’s all gaga about it now, but I’m going to be gone for how many months?”

“Oh,” Kurt says sadly. “I didn’t think about that.”

Blaine’s head finds his husband’s shoulder and rests there. “There’s so many things we compete over. Tracy’s affection shouldn’t be one of them. She loves us both. I know that, even if I have to remind myself over and over some days.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just been hard lately, watching her follow you around like a puppy, begging to read through lines with you and talking about becoming an actress when yesterday she was reading over my copy for Vogue and talking about becoming a designer and asking Isabelle how old she has to be to intern and … oh …” Kurt repeats, realization springing to life in his brain at how often Tracy goes to the office with him, helps him pick through his photographs, gives her two cents on fabric choices, helps him accessorize models …

Oh …

“Yup,” Blaine says as if he can read his husband’s mind. “Tomorrow she might wake up and tell us she wants to be a neurosurgeon because Louis Tomlinson decided to give up singing and go to medical school so who knows? If you’ve taught me anything about raising kids it’s that they change their minds like the wind. In fact, pretty much everything I know about raising our daughter I’ve learned from you, and do you know why?”

“Hmm?”

“Because you’re an amazing father.”

Kurt smiles, kisses the top of Blaine’s head. “So are you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Blaine brings Kurt’s hand to his mouth and gives it a kiss. They melt into one another on the kitchen floor, content to remain there, nestled in their puddle of baking soda, surrounded by the scent of chocolate chip cookies, until sun up. But something in the vicinity of the oven pops, interrupting their serene moment.

“So, are you ready to power down the oven and head to bed?” Blaine asks, eyeing the appliance anxiously.

“But what about the cookies? The school needs them in four hours!”

“I’ll get them whipped up. No problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Blaine hops up and helps a wobbly Kurt to his feet. “You run along and climb under the covers. I’m going to check some things out down here, then I’ll come in and tuck you into bed.”

Kurt peers at Blaine, his mind working, searching for an argument. “I don’t know. I still think …” He starts to keel forward and Blaine catches him. And Kurt nods, that being the end of that. “All right. I’m going.”

“Good.” Blaine smacks his husband on the behind as he shuffles away. He can’t help it. Even under-the-weather, his nose as red and watery as his eyes, he’s the sexiest man in the universe.

Blaine decides to start with the oven, figuring he should check on whatever that was that exploded before it does it again and takes the whole house with it. Cautiously, he opens the oven door. Before he can peek inside, a disgustingly sharp smell assails his nose and stings his eyes, forcing him to back away. Through barely-open lids he sees Kurt’s latest batch, which has melded into one single cookie, weighing down the baking sheet so much, the wire rack has begun to buckle.

This, he decides, could be a problem.

“Uh … Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“What did you put in these?”

“The usual – sugar, butter, chocolate chips, vanilla …”

Blaine scans the kitchen while Kurt talks, finding each ingredient when he mentions it. Suspicious of one item in particular, he asks, “Did you put flour in these?”

“Of course I did! What do you take me for? An idiot?”

“No. Not at all. What flour did you use?”

“Cake flour.”

“Which bag?”

“That bag by the counter,” Kurt answers with a vague wave.

Blaine looks toward the counter, his eyes growing to comical width. “The one on the counter counter, or the one on the floor?”

“The one on the floor, I guess. What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Blaine says. “N-not at all.” But that’s a lie. Because the bag of flour on the floor isn’t flour. It’s cement, from the kitchen remodel they’ve been planning. “I think … I’m just going to shut the oven off for now and run a few errands.”

“Errands? What errands?” Kurt asks in alarm. “It’s four in the morning!”

“I know.” Blaine grabs his coat and keys. “I just … I’m going to go get some bagels. For breakfast …” Along with nine dozen replacement cookies and a HAZMAT suit.

“Well, don’t take too long. And be careful.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you.”

On his way out the door, Blaine giggles to himself.

Because he’s going to solve this problem by writing a check.

[infinitesimal-grey]

Prince Starved 7

Links to previous chapters in reblog

Sorry for being late but I have a lot going on for medical things all happening at once with missing a lot of school, anyway hope yall enjoy

Thank you to cowriter R and @hiddendreamer67 for beta reading

...

Virgil watched Roman leave, sighing quietly before turning to look around. With all the worrying about cleaning off cuts and mud he hadn't really gotten a chance to take a look around the place. Not that he could really go anywhere, but he could still look from the table.

Roman carefully worked around his open wounds and over his bruises. He watched dirt from his hair darken the water and swirl down the drain below him.

Virgil stood for at most a few seconds, humming and tapping his foot before letting out a sigh. Fuck it I'm gonna explore.

He turned, walking idly along the edge of the table, ending up wandering down and into the room to explore a little. He wasn't about to let some bruises and some big furniture stop him from seeing the room he'd only seen through video for so long.

Roman combed the last of the conditioner out with his fingers, and he turned the shower off with a creak of protest from the old knob. He quickly blow dried his hair and slipped on a comfortable pair of black and grey camo sweatpants he had in a drawer in cases he didn't want to go out in a towel and didn't bring clothes with him.

Roman ruffled his hair as he stepped out, looking right for Virgil but pausing when he didn't see him. Roman immediately looked to the floor but didn't see him there either. He walked further into the room, unknowingly standing right over the human he was looking for. "Virgil?" Insidious voices tried to convince Roman that his friend had left him.

Virgil had tried to move out to somewhere more visible when he'd heard Roman getting out, but just ended up standing pretty much right under the Giant. He turned his head to look up toward Roman's face, but Quickly decided against it, sighing quietly. "Right here, Ro."

"Virgil??" Roman called again, voice cracking ever so slightly. He hadn't heard Virgil's much quieter voice.

Ah fuck... he hadn't heard me... "Ro, try down" Virgil started taking steps away to try and get more in Romans' line of sight if he happened to glance toward the floor again, but he wasn't quite making the greatest progress.

Roman continued to be absolutely clueless and took a few shuffled steps forwards, walking right by Virgil. "Virgil!?"

Virgil stumbled back from Roman's feet, eyes widening. Holy shit he almost hit me. "Oh for the love of--Ro! Down Here!"

Roman yelped like a pubescent boy and turned, tripping on his own feet and falling right on his ass embarrassingly in front of Virgil. He gave an embarrassed half wave.

Virgil jumped, backpedaling a decent amount. He stared at the half dressed giant wide-eyed for a few moments, before managing to reboot and return himself to his signature deadpan expression. "Jesus christ, Ro. You almost hit me like, three times." He attempted to look elsewhere while he caught his breath but it's hard to look elsewhere when the damned giant takes up almost his enire view.

Roman gave a sheepish look, flipping himself over so he was laying facing Virgil on his stomach. "Sorry." Without his shirt his blush could be seen extending all the way to dust along his shoulders.

Virgil took a deep breath, letting out a chuckle as he sighed out. "Well, you didn't actually hit me so, It's good." He felt himself flush a bit as well, glancing away completely with the cover of running a hand through his hair. "I- ah- was exploring a bit while you were busy, since I've never been in a giant's place before.."

"Oh, not much interesting in here besides a few choice things, oh! I wanna show you something." He picked Virgil up and whisked him away to the wood plank paneled wall next to his bed. He started tapping on it with his nails, "Hmm.. here!" He slipped a nail between the wood panels. He ragged it down until something clicked and a panel of wood swung out, revealing a dark cubby. He slipped his hand along the upper lip and flipped a switch. LED strips lining shelves illuminated, showing off multi colored bottles of assorted liquors, airtight glass jars with the devils lettuce, and smoking glassware. "Logans in charge of the whole don't get caught sitch and he was complaining about us constantly leaving our illegals out so me being me I suggested this and a few weeks later... voila!" He finished excitedly.

Virgil blinked, still registering how Roman had just picked him up with almost less-than-no effort as the cubby swing open. "..huh. Cool."

"I take that as high praise from the dark edge lord himself. It took forever but it's so extra it's worth it, kind of antique prohibition-esque. I planned on showing you pictures but this is so much better." Roman grinned, "We had to repanel a bit more of the wall because I-uh-someone got a little carried away with the demolition part," He coughed knowing it's obvious whom, "but it worked out. Logan insisted the one meant for his room go in the living room above the mantel for easier access or whatever. I'm sure he had a reason but I zoned out pretty fast thinking about how I'd hide it behind a painting."

Virgil chuckled. "Yeah, cool t' see it in person. I guess it wouldn't quite be the same with pictures seeing as, well.. they'd make it just look normal-sized." He sighed slightly. "And could you slow your oversized princelyness down it may be like 3 o clock in the afternoon but still too early for space camp training."

Roman tried to ignore the need to wince at that, "Sorry I got excited and carried away when I remembered it. I'll be more careful next time." He laughed awkwardly at himself and grabbed the medical kit from the desk, he set Virgil down on his pillow and sat on the bed. He started getting to work on wiping the cuts from the pavement on his elbows and the blood from his elbows.

Virgil let himself relax, smiling softly and letting blush cover his cheeks while he thought Roman wasn't looking. "I can uh, help with your back n' stuff, if you need."

"I think I've got it," Roman wrapped his wounds, wincing only slightly when he pulled the last one tight. There was some roadrash deep enough to draw blood on the backs of his shoulder blades. He could feel those wounds the worst in the shower. He attempted to dab at them with a disinfecting wipe, but his arms fell short. Didn't stop him from trying, though.

Virgil hummed, crossing his arms as he watched. "You sure? Look like you're struggling a bit there. I let you do mine, so let me help with yours."

"I got it, I got it," he strained his arm, trying to will it to go further. It only succeeded in brushing the side and making Roman wince.

Virgil gave Roman a look, sliding down off the pillow so he could walk over to Roman, pulling himself up onto Roman's lap. "Ro, for goodness sake, just 'cuz you're bigger doesn't mean you get special privilege. It's your turn to lay down, so c'mon already. You obviously can't get it yourself."

Not expecting to find the human on his lap, he leaned back so he wasn't looking straight down and smirked when he realized even leaning back so far he was still above Virgil. He eyelevel was still a good few inches past the human's head.

"Oh alright alright. I guess I submit." Roman waved the white flag dramatically. He picked up Virgil by the back part of his hoodie teasingly and set him down gently on the blanket. Roman flipped himself over, careful not to hurt Virgil while doing it, but leaving Virgil falling towards Roman's side from the mattress' sudden incline.

Virgil kicked the air slightly, letting out a yelp of surprise as he tumbled onto Roman's side. He let out a huff, knowing how smug Roman's expression must be at that moment. He scaled Roman's arm up onto his shoulder blade. "Alright, I need the stuff so I can put it on ya' Ro."

Roman had to stop himself from moving at the feeling of Virgil on his lower back. That was certainly a new sensation.

"Just don't step on any bruises dumbass."

...

Asks and comments appreciated!♡♡

I try to fix any errors I find to make it the best it can be for yall but due to limited time some slip through, so spotting them isn't a bother at all

Tag list: @no-no-no-no-6 @thebadhalfofafandom @greyyy523 @arc852 @justanotherpurplebutterfly @tiny-enby @phlying-squirrel @thestrangedino @revairies @just-another-rainbowblog @that-smol-tired-gay @the-asexual-alien @authorized-trash @c-e-l-t-i-c-h-a-v-e-n @imtooaromaticforthis @random-fandom-dragon @enby-phoenix @brooky71

[khadij-al-kubra]

Thomas in Wonderland (ch 4)

Characters: Thomas (fictional), Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan, Remy, Emile, Joan, Talyn, Deceit, Nate, The Dragon Witch, fan adopted short vid characters

Word Count: 2400 (no betas, we die like mortals)

Summary: Thomas plays a game and says a swear word.

Author’s Note: *blows cloud of dust off this work that's accumulated since the last chapter* I know. It's been a while. Sincerest apologies. Apparently juggling multiple creative projects while also balancing personal life stuff is...trickier than I anticipated. Thank you to everyone who's still stuck around with this story, it truly means a lot. And trust me, you're going to like what's coming next, because we'll finally be seeing the sides! Starting with a certain necktie wearing blue caterpillar... ;D

I'll do my best to update more frequently, if not consistently since my posting schedule tends to get more sporadic than the Red Queen's mood swings. 

Now then, back to our irregularly scheduled madness...

<=PREV

Animals & Improv

Just keep swimming; just keep swimming, Thomas mentally sang to himself, even though he was not swimming but floating along rather peacefully. As Thomas let his body float along, he tried to keep a sharp eye out for anything he could use as a raft or flotation device. Or maybe a bank of dry land he could swim to. He still wanted to find the Black Rabbit, or at least a place to dry off.

“Come on, there’s gotta be a leaf or a log or somethi—Oof.“

The current made Thomas collide into something. It felt warm and soft, albeit damp. And the thing had a tiny hand clamped on the sleeve of his jacket. Oh dear lord please don’t let it be a killer sea creature!

“Sorry man,” said the something that was not a sea creature.  

It was a rat with brownish russet fur that almost looked orange in the sunlight. Poor thing was soaked ear to tail; yet he seemed to not be very much bothered by their current predicament. Frankly Thomas was a little bit impressed by this rat’s very chill attitude. As for the talking factor, well, at this point not much surprised him.

“Thought you were a raft,” said the Rat.

“Oh, no I’m not a raft,” said Thomas, happy to find he wasn’t alone. “I’m a Thomas.”

“Hello. I’m a Toby named Rat. Or a Rat named Toby. Depends on the day, and today, I’m Toby.”

“Nice to meet you Toby. Just wish the circumstances were better,” said Thomas. “Say, is there a raft around here though? Like a rescue party or something?”

“Dunno. Maybe,” said Toby. “What would a raft look like? Does it look anything like a rat? Oh I hope it’s not made of rats, or that would be bad news for me!”

“Umm it’s like a big, wide, sometimes flat thing you can float on,” said Thomas.

“Oh, you mean like that?” Toby asked, pointing over Thomas’s shoulder.

Thomas turned around to where Toby was pointing and saw that, indeed, there was a raft. Not one make of rats, thankfully, but rather of tied together branches drifting their way. It even had a mast with a rainbow flag tied on top and flapping in the breeze. There even seemed to be a few other animals riding on it as well.

“Yes! Yes, exactly like that. We’re SAVED!” Thomas cheered. “Come on Toby, we can swim straight toward—

“GAAAHHHH!!!” screamed Toby.

“What? What’s wrong, are you alright?” Thomas asked, worried that the Mouse might be drowning.

“How can you say such a cursed S word?” asked Toby, clearly aghast but very much not drowning.

“What, swim?”

“No, no, that’s as harmless as a cat.”

“…Saved?”

“Not yet we aren’t. Come on let’s swim ahead. They seem to be meeting us halfway, you silly goose.”

“I’m not a goose, I’m a man.”

“A goose can’t be a man too?”

“…You know what? Never mind.”

“Can’t never a mind if you haven’t got the right kind.”

Thomas was very confused but decided not to press the matter further. Goodness knows, he didn’t want to end up in a defensive argument again like he had with those mean flowers. So he and Toby swam forward until their fingertips touched the edge of the raft, which was indeed made out of wood and thankfully not rats. A shadow was cast over them, and Thomas looked up only to be faced with a rather large crab. Thomas might have been frightened of it under normal circumstances but by this point, the only thing that really would surprise him is if something relatively normal happen.

“Well hi there precious,” said the Crab, in a sort of southern drawl. “Looks like you’re in need of some assistance.”

“Yes! Yes we are,” Thomas said, relieved.

He expected the Crab to pull both him and Toby onto the safety of their raft.  However, they just kept a clawed grip on them as they bobbed along. After a pause the Crab spoke again, giving Thomas a pointedly expecting look.

“Yes aaand?” he asked.

“Um, yes and, I’d really appreciate it if you pulled me and Toby up onto your raft, please?” asked Thomas.

"Now that’s more like it sugar! Yes and sugar, I can certainly do that.”

The Crab pulled Thomas out of the water with one claw and Toby out with the other. Thomas was sopping wet and incredibly grateful to be on a solid dry surface again. He saw Toby shake himself out to dry his wet fur like a puppy would. Unfortunately Thomas wasn’t able to get dry that way, sadly, but he did take his shoes off and wring out his socks. I’m sure nobody will mind, Thomas though as he pulled off his left then right sneaker, then his right and left sock, and then wiggled his raisiny wrinkled toes. There was nothing worse than the feeling of wet socks, no matter what world within or without of a rabbit hole you were in. It was just a universal unpleasantness. Hopefully the suns warm rays would help dry him off a bit.

“You can call me Mike by the way,” said the wide faced Crab, whose name was Mike.

“Thank you Mike. My name’s Thomas and he’s Toby—“

“I don’t believe you,” said another voice.

Thomas turned towards the source and saw a Dodo bird wearing a French Revolution style jacket and three point hat with a rainbow feather in it. Despite Dodos being extinct and probably being nowhere near France, this honestly wasn’t the strangest thing Thomas has seen today. So it was somewhat believable that one would be talking to him.

“Um, but that is my name,” he said. “My name is Thomas Sanders—”

“Yes, and I am Magenta, Captain of this vessel, as you can tell from the feather in my hat. And these are my troupe of buccaneers.”

The endangered if not extinct Dodo gestured a stubby wing towards the two other creatures aboard the raft. There was Mike the crab, and a Duck whose name Thomas did not yet know. Along with him and Toby, they were a queer group to say the least. (In both the old and new sense of the word, he would guess form the rainbow flag) Still, it cheered Thomas up to not be floating alone anymore. On top of that, the sun was finally drying him off. Thomas couldn’t believe his luck.

“I don’t believe it,” he said, with a grateful smile.

“Alright,” said Magenta. “Then I am Magenta, Admiral of this vessel, as you can tell from my macaroni. And these are my troupe of hostages”

“Wait what?” Thomas asked, thoroughly confused and a little anxious. Suppose the reverse could be worse, he thought.

“Yes,” said the Duck. “And I am Brian, the senior hostage, for I am the oldest.”

“Um, I don’t believe you sugar cube,” said Mike.

“I am Brian, the newest hostage, for I am the most clever,” said Brian.

“I don’t believe you!” Toby chimed in.

All four animals looked towards Thomas expectantly. Ohhh now I get it.

“I don’t believe you?” Thomas asked, familiar with the rules of the game, now that he recognized it.

“For I am the dumbest,” said Brian.

“I don’t believe you,” said Mike, giggling.

“For I am the most gay,” said Brian.

“Yes and,” said Magenta with a solemn nod. “Although, it could always be gayer.”

“Yes and!” They all chimed together.

Thomas found himself actually having fun for the first time since he’d arrived in this strange place. It sure was a good thing he’d gotten better at improv since practicing so much with Joan. Maybe he could even use this as a way to get some directions. If not, well, at least they could keep playing until someone saw dry land. Hopefully.

“Yes, and I had seen a…white rabbit earlier today,” said Thomas.

“I don’t believe you,” said Toby.

Thomas grinned to himself, proud of how clever he was being. “I had seen a Black Rabbit earlier, but lost it.”

“I don’t believe you sweet pea,” said Mike.

“A-about the first or second half?”

“Yes and,” said Mike.

“O-kaaay, It was a black rabbit, and I was trying to catch up to him.“

“I don’t believe you,” said Magenta.

“…It was a Black. Rabbit. And—“

“I don’t believe you,” all four animals said.

Thomas groaned. “Geez, okay, well, I’m not going to change that part. Screw the rules. I am sticking to my guns with that, because it WAS a Black Rabbit and it ran away from me, and I have to find him because he dropped his pocket watch and I want to give it back to him.”

“Yes and,” said Brian. Thomas smacked himself on the forehead. “I saw a Rabbit shaped fellow earlier with black fur and a purple waistcoat.”

Thomas perked up. “You did!? I mean, Yes! And?”

“Yes and he was doggy paddling anxiously through the water, so clearly he was actually a rabbit shaped Dog.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Magenta.

“I do! I believe you,” said Thomas. The rest of them paid him no mind though.

“Alright then. He was a rabbit shaped paddle,” said Brain.

“Yes,” said Mike. “And he swam that gay, on his way to the Red Queen’s castle.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Toby.

"He was on his was to the Yellow King's castle."

"Yes and!"

Thomas let out a big sign and sat down on the raft as the others continued to play. This was getting ridiculous. He thought for sure he was starting to get on the right track, but then they had to keep imposing their own ideas into his line. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he didn’t like that what he knew was the right thing was being dragged so much you might as well call it left. At a certain point, even a ridiculous story line had to have some truth and consistency to it. I mean you can spell madness without sense…I think?

Fortunately Thomas hadn’t gotten too deep into mulling this verbatim verses spelling conundrum. Otherwise he might have missed the very distinct strip of land that came into view over the water. And it was getting bigger and bigger, as though the mainland itself had drunken from one of those growth sodas. Either way, Thomas hadn’t been so happy to see dry land since his uncle’s last fishing trip.

“Land hoe!” Thomas said, pointing ahead.

When he turned towards the rest of the strange crew, they didn’t share in his excitement like he thought they would. If anything, the animals shot him a look that could almost read as judgy-wudgy.

“Now there’s no need for that kind of language sugar bean,” said Mike, his claws tut-tutting. “If a piece of land wants to be sex-positive, that is their prerogative.”

“No, no not that kind a— I meant there’s land straight ahead.”

“GAAAHH!” All the animals screamed.

“What? What did I say!?” asked a startled Thomas.

“How DARE YE say the ‘S’ word!” said Magenta, his beady eyes glaring.

“Again!” Toby said, tail trembling.

“What would your mother say!?” Mike asked, aghast.

“She certainly wouldn’t say that,” said Brian. “A self respecting mother would sooner stick a bar of soap in her own mouth. That always teaches naughty mouthed boys a lesson in saying bad words.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Wait…you mean ‘straight?’” asked Thomas. They gasped. “All I said was there’s land straight ahe—“

Another terrified scream. Brian looked about ready to faint.

“Now really, you all are being silly. There’s nothing wrong with the word straight.” They screamed again. “And we’ve got to steer this raft on a straight—”

Again they screamed, gasped, and yes even fainted. Those still conscious gambled about aghast across the deck or around the rainbow flagged mast. Thomas sighed and rolled his eyes. And they call me a gay disaster.

“—coarse.” Thomas sighed.

This was clearly getting him nowhere, and he wanted off this raft. Fortunately the tide was on his side, and as the waves rolled them forward he could see that the water was just shallow enough for him to wade hip deep through. So he grabbed his sun dried shoes and socks, (held above his head of course because what would be the point of them getting wet again?) and carefully lowered himself off the side of the raft into the water. His feet sunk into soft sea soil but at least he could stand. Thomas would have said his thanks and goodbyes to the animals, but given their current state he thought better of it. So he simply started wading through the water towards shore.

At last, he touched dry land. Thomas took a full breath of relief. From his current vantage point, it looked as though he had stumbled upon the outer edges of a tropical island. With long green stems for trees, soft brown sand, and in the distance the greenery rustled with (he shuddered to think) the scurrying of animals or insects. But he reasoned that by normal Thomas-sized standards, it was probably just a regular garden. To think that his river of tears had likely been nothing more than a silly puddle problem, although it certainly had felt bigger at the time.

“Well that was the oddest trip on a boat I ever took,” he said, grabbing a blade of grass to towel dry his legs with. “At least it wasn’t boring. Now to figure out where I am…Probably would be easier if I was people sized again.”

Indeed, while crying himself a river had improved Thomas’s mood, it did nothing to improve his current height. He immediately regretted not saving some of that soda. At the very least, the silver pocket watch was still with him.

“Okay new plan,” he said as he put his socks and shoes back on. “Get back to me size, then find the Black Rabbit and give him his pocket watch back. He’s probably worried sick over it, poor guy…Guess I’ll just walk straight ahead till I find a path.”

If Thomas has strained to listen, he might have heard the echo of a queer troupe of animals crying out from across the water.

NEXT=>

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[xelinielx]

Wednesday - A JadeRoxy pirate AU one shot

This story is for my friend @tentiginouslogophile (Jade) whose birthday is today!! I failed at drawing pictures to this so you’ll have to settle for a short story heheh. It’s a bit messy because it’s hard for me to find motivation right now, though I really wanted to give you something today. I hope you’ll like it anyway. Happy birthday again! I love you!! I will probably rewrite this when I get my motivation back so it will be as great as you are 💕

Warning: contains a lot of fluff, the striders being dumbasses and implied smut.

-

Out of all the pirate ships sailing the Sburban sea, two stood out and were renowned as led by the scariest captains by all who saw them - but their crew wouldn’t agree.

Pirate captain Roxy Lalonde on the Mutie was actually one of the most absent-minded people on the planet. If they were born in the 21st century, her crew would have likened her with the pirate captain Jack Sparrow from the pirate movies, and Roxy would find that absolutely hilarious.

She was a good captain though, despite not always acting like one. In battle, she was a scary blur of swordstrokes, and she had gotten the nickname The Cat from her enemies. They all saw her as a terrifying force of nature, but her crew, who had more than once seen her throw up over the edge of the ship and fail to pet their aggressive ship’s cat, didn’t agree in the slightest. There was only one pirate brave enough to fight her.

Captain Jade Harley.

They had been fighting for as long as they could remember, always chasing each other and trying to beat the other. Today was the day they would clash again.

Jade Harley was seen as eccentric by her crew. She was brave, fast and had no hesitation in throwing herself in dangerous situations when needed. Also when not needed. That’s why her crew felt more like babysitters most of the time. “No captain, diving from the top of the mast is not a good idea in this storm.” “Captain, if you try to steer the ship through that gap it will sink.” “JADE FOR FUCKS SAKE DON’T TRY TO SHOOT THE SEAGULL WHILE WEARING A BLINDFOLD!”

Her enemies called her The Witch. She appeared out of practically nowhere with her ship, cannons firing rapidly. In the harbors there were people spreading stories about how she must have contacted Feferi the fabled Sea Witch and sold her soul for power.

The first time Jade heard those stories, she’d laughed so hard that she got the hiccups and couldn’t talk normally for the rest of the day. After that, she of course made sure to scream some long difficult words that sound like a spell to spur the stories even further when she fought the crews who dared oppose her.

-

Jade kicks the door to her quarters open with a well-aimed strike and steps out onto the deck, striking a grin. “Good morning everyone!” she exclaims and puts her captains hat over her unbrushed mess of black hair.

“‘sup Jade!” Dave calls out from atop some barrels where he’s sprawled out, eyepatches over both eyes. He was supposed to be the lookout but he was usually too lazy to do so. He also never wanted anyone to see his eyes, so he looked rather comical with the eyepatches.

“Is it Wednesday again?” Rose, the first mate asks and rolls up the map she was analyzing. Jade saunters over and smacks her hands on the table with a huge grin.

“It sure is! Let’s go to that island we passed last night. I’m sure they’ll be there.” Rose had long since learnt not to question her captain’s directives. Somehow, she always manages to get them to where they are supposed to go — even if it’s the complete wrong way according to Rose’s very accurate maps.

Sometimes she felt like she wanted to believe the sea witch rumors. “John! Prepare the cannons,” Jade shouts down a hatch, jousting the poor boy from his sleep by scaring him so bad that he crashes into the ground.

“Not Wednesday again,” he mutters and goes off to work the cannons while wrapping a blue napkin around his head.

Jade flops down on the deck and starts to pick apart her gun to clean it. It’s an important day after all, and she can’t have it ruined due to poor gun maintenance. What would grandpa say? The fact that she cleaned the gun yesterday doesn’t matter.

Dave groans as he hears the telltale clang of metal objects hitting the wooden deck and Jade humming.

“Is it fucking Wednesday again? Wasn’t it Wednesday like yesterday?” Jade giggles and throws a dirty rag on Dave and takes out a new one. Dave jerks back and almost falls off the ship.

“Shit man don’t scare me like that.” He slips off the barrels (in the right direction) and takes a seat with his back against them. “Like do you want me to die before we even fight? That is so uncool of you. And you call yourself our captain.”

Jade shuts out Dave’s usual rambling and focuses on her gun. When she’s gone over it three times, she’s satisfied and puts it back together.

“There’s a ship to starboard, Captain,” Rose calls out after a while. Jade gives Dave a disapproving look that he doesn’t see.

“And what a good lookout you are then,” she complains before running up to Rose, who is steering the ship.

She could identify that flag anywhere. “It’s them all right,” she says, face turning serious. From the way people start moving on the other ship, Jade knows that they have seen them too.

I mean not that a huge pirate ship is that easy to hide.

“To your stations!” Jade calls and runs over to the side of the ship, tying a rope with a hook securely to the side. “We’re boarding them!”

It doesn’t take long for the ships to close in on each other. Jade scans her opponents with a stern face. There is the black haired guy who wields two small guns and uses weird words to threaten them. What even does “Tally-ho!” mean? Then, there is their cook who doesn’t really like to fight. She holds a kitchen knife in one hand and looks uneasy. She will be easy to take down.

There is the blonde guy who wields an odd sword and looks even dumber than Dave. They seem to have the same mindset about letting people see their eyes- and seeing, apparently. The only difference is that this guy’s eyepatches are cut into triangles. How does that even work?

And then, staring straight at her, a sword and pistol in each hand, blonde hair flying in the wind is no one else but the ship’s captain and Jade’s nemesis.

“Roxy,” she says, and the grip on her gun tightens.

Roxy’s painted lips curl into a smile, and the sun reflects off the small black cat she has dangling from an ear. “Hi there Jadie.” She places the back of a hand against her hip and blows a lock of hair away from her face.

Jade takes a moment to take note of the sleek, fancy pink coat with golden buttons adorning Roxy’s body, the headband she has tied around her head and the white tights ending in knee-high boots.

She can feel Roxy’s eyes scanning her, seeing the loose white shirt, her large captains hat and green pieces of fabric tied around her waist into a loose, comfortable skirt.

Jade can almost feel Dave roll his eyes. “Prepare to be boarded!” Jade suddenly shouts, knocking everyone out of their staring contests. She throws the rope over to the other ship and runs over on the taut line without even swaying. Her crewmates (except for John, who runs down the hatch to the cannons) grab ropes and throw them onto Mutie’s mast, swinging themselves over. They are not going to run over a rope. In just a few moments, swords are clanging and shots are fired.

Dave and Dirk engage in a fierce battle in the front of the ship. Their swords clash together with skill and precision — the fact that neither of them can see doesn’t seem to matter. They attack and block quickly, engaging in a dangerous dance.

On the opposite side of the ship, Rose is using her sword to strike Jake’s pistols rapidly, trying to keep him from shooting. She uses the ship to her advantage, swinging her sword to urge Jake into a more vulnerable position. Jane seems to have disappeared down into the ship again. That’s just as well.

In the middle of the ship, Jade and Roxy cross blades. They whirl around each other, anticipating each other’s moves. Roxy makes a jab with her sword, and Jade slaps it away with the front of her gun, twisting around to pound the back of it into Roxy’s stomach and make her loose her footing for a moment.

But only for a moment. Roxy charges immediately, knocking Jade against the edge of the ship with her shoulder. Jade kicks Roxy’s legs before she can regain her balance, but Roxy slips her gun behind Jade’s back, knocking her to the ground with her.

They tumble around for a moment, Jade knocks the gun from Roxy’s hand with a slap from the flat side of her blade as she struggles to get out on top.

Roxy fights back and straddles Jade, holding her sword at her throat. She feels some metal touch her chin, and her eyes dart down to see Jade smirking with the nozzle of her gun aimed at her. They make eye contact for a second, then two.

Unanimously, they drop their weapons, and Roxy leans down to kiss Jade as Jade leans up to meet her lips. Jade’s hands land on Roxy’s waist, and Roxy places her hands on either side of Jade’s face, gently brushing her hair out of the way.

The rest of the world fades away as the two of them relish in the feeling of each other. The closeness of their bodies, the beating of their hearts, and the taste of the each other’s lips.

Roxy knocks the stupid hat off Jade’s head, grinning against her lips. Jade retaliates by slipping her hands under Roxy’s coat, feeling the soft skin of her stomach.

“Hell no, I’m not watching this.” The two of them part to look at the intruder. Dirk is staring straight up into the sky, triangular eyepatches still over his eyes. Roxy snorts and gives Jade another peck on the lips.

They slip into Roxy’s quarters and shut the door as their crewmates sit down together at the back of the ship. Jane comes up to join them with a few bottles of rum, and John shows up too after a while.

“You’re getting better,” Rose tells Jake after taking a swig of the rum. “Just a few more years and you might beat me.” Dave snorts and almost chokes on the drink.

They chat and joke together until the sun sets. There are several empty bottles of rum between them, and at some point, Jane went away to get them some food to snack on as well.

They hear the giggling before they see Roxy and Jade slip out of the hut. Roxy’s coat is buttoned in the wrong holes, and Jade’s hair is even more of a mess than earlier.

“Clean up after yourselves,” Jane groans and rests her head against the floor, knowing that no one will listen.

Jade and Roxy hold hands, smiling warmly at each other. Jade leans forward to place another kiss on Roxy’s lips. “Same time next Wednesday?” she asks. Roxy can see the sun set in her green eyes.

She places Jade’s hat back on her mess of black hair and kisses her nose with a giggle. “Next Wednesday.”

With those words, Jade’s crew returns to their own ship and Rose sets the course for wherever she likes, as she does every Wednesday.

As the ships part in different directions underneath the night sky, two captains stand at the far back of their ships, staring longingly at each other across the sea that mirrors the stars in the sky until the other ship disappears from view, waiting for the next Wednesday.

[puffdragongirl]

On Pillows and Papers

A little fluffy tale written in honor of my friend and best-beta-ever @muselover1901‘s birthday! Happy Birthday Muse! :D

The door to the Ducal office flies open, only saved from crashing loudly against the wall by a strategically placed cushion of fabric. Before the door can even begin its closing swing, Zen stalks into the room, dropping heavily into his chair and planting his face directly onto a pile of accumulated papers waiting for his signature. A miserable groan slips from his lips.

“Is it bad that I’m almost looking forward to a day of signing papers?”

Mitsuhide, following Zen to the room at a more sedate pace, snickers, but humors him, “It will be a nice change of pace from non-stop meetings, at least.”

Kiki, abandoned to doing the actual work during the past week while Zen and Mitsuhide paid glorified social calls to nearly every noble in Wilant, has no patience left for flinging doors or dramatic whining. She drops a folder on his head, ignoring the pitiful groan its weight triggers from the Prince, “Welcome back, Your Highness. Signature, please.”

After being revived by a cup of strong tea a sympathetic Mitsuhide sneaks onto his desk, Zen settles to his task of catching up on a week’s worth of paperwork. A companionable silence settles on the room, broken only by the rustle of pages turning and the soft scratch of quill against paper. He is so focused on the stacks of reports, requests and receipts that he barely notes the passage of time. Before he knows it, the morning is gone, and Kiki is settling a simple lunch of crusty bread and cheese on his desk. Suddenly starved, Zen inhales the food and downs a goblet of water, but gamely returns to the mountain of outpost reports requiring his signature the moment the plate leaves his desk.

The next time Zen looks up, words are starting to blur together in a haze of ink and he wishes this office had an adjoining bedroom like his old one in Wistal. His bleary gaze finds Kiki chatting with an attendant at the door. A few minutes later, the door opens again, and the attendant returns with a steaming kettle of tea and a tray of cakes, cookies and finger sandwiches. Thanking his lucky stars for his wonderful aides, Zen eagerly approaches the kettle, already plotting how he can slip an extra cube of sugar to his tea without anyone noticing, when a knock comes at the door. The attendant returns once more, this time handing off a letter and looking a bit nervous, and his heart sinks when he spies the seal of the Captain of the Guard against the creamy parchment.

Kiki takes one look at his crestfallen expression and sighs, “Shall I look into this, Prince Zen?”

Zen doesn’t even attempt to hide the gratitude in his eyes.

The hot tea (sweetened with an extra cube of sugar and definitely not accompanied by only cake and cookies) does wonders for his energy level, and Zen dives back into his reports. An hour passes, then two, before a concerned noise from Mitsuhide drags his attention from a land dispute claim filed in some of the least legible script he has ever seen. He looks up to find Mitsuhide staring intently at Kiki’s desk.

“Is…something wrong with Kiki’s desk?” he asks, carefully.

“What – Zen, no,” Mitsuhide replies, shaking his head and turning a concerned glance on Zen, “It’s just, Kiki hasn’t returned from speaking to the Captain of the Guard.” He glances at the clock in the corner, “It’s been over two hours; I wonder what could have held her up.”

“You’re right,” Zen scrubs his hands over his face, wondering where the last two hours had even gone before remembering the thirty page report from the Indrian ambassador. “I should really get through this report, but why don’t you go check on her?”

Mitsuhide nods, rising from his chair and stretching before exiting the room. Confident his knights could handle whatever the issue was, and would surely return to his side soon, Zen throws himself back into his work.  

The sky is tinted with the red and gold hues of sunset when Zen realizes neither Mitsuhide nor Kiki have returned to his office. Frowning, he glances at the clock to find he lost two hours to the stack of mind-numbing sentry reports from the outposts surrounding Wilant. Under normal circumstances, an absence of this length wasn’t unusual, but it was concerning that Mitsuhide hadn’t even sent a note to explain whatever was holding them up.

Worried, Zen stands, grimacing a little when his back loudly protests the poor posture he’d adopted during the previous hours. I’d better go track them down, he thinks, stretching the kinks from his back as he exits the office, Someone must have seen them, and I could use a walk anyway…

He flags down a passing guard, “Excuse me, have you seen Sir Mitsuhide or Lady Kiki recently?”

It takes a few tries, but he eventually gets a lead on Mitsuhide, at least.

“I think I saw Sir Rouen heading for the pharmacy, Your Highness,” the maid curtseys, then continues apologetically, “I’m afraid I haven’t seen Lady Seiran, however.”

“The pharmacy?,” he echoes, trying and failing to push back his growing concern. Surely someone would have told him if Kiki, or Gods forbid, both Kiki and Mitsuhide were injured. Wouldn’t they? But he had been absorbed in his work. What if he had missed a knock, or ignored a message sliding under the door? He didn’t remember seeing any papers on the ground, but he also hadn’t looked. And wouldn’t Obi have come to his office if they really needed him? But what if Obi was hurt too? What if the situation was so bad that Shirayuki couldn’t take her attention away from them treating his knights? What if-

“-our Highness? Your Highness?” startled from his spiraling thoughts, Zen finds the maid watching him with concern, “Would you like me to escort you to the pharmacy?”

“No, I know the way,” shaking the dread from his thoughts, he inclines his head slightly at the maid, then turns to head for the pharmacy “Thank you for your assistance.”  

“One…two…three!!”

Zen isn’t certain what he was expecting to find in the pharmacy, but it definitely was not an intricate fabric citadel. Blankets are strung across the bookshelves and desks, transforming the normally staid pharmacy into a wonderland of white. As he watches, Obi and Mitsuhide gently swing Ryuu airborne, and feathers explode into the air when the coltish teen lands in an enormous pile of pillows. The feathers drift down around the room like snow, coating everyone and everything in the room; a perfect accompaniment for the joyous laughter bubbling throughout the room.

“So, this is where my aides disappeared to…” Zen steps further in the room, ducking to avoid the arch of a low-hanging blanket.

“Master!” Obi calls, blowing to dislodge a clump of feathers clinging to his nose, “It’s about time you joined us!” He turns to Mitsuhide with a grin, “See, we told you he would come if we waited long enough!”

Kiki, somehow managing to look intimidating despite the feathers sticking haphazardly from her hair, turns to Mitsuhide and holds out a hand, “Pay up.”

As Mitsuhide tries to wheedle his way from paying up on whatever bet they had made, Zen carefully picks his way around the clumps of pillows strewn throughout the room. As he walks, he admires the artful drape of the blankets, impressed by the cozy feeling the cocoon of fabric lends the room.

Standing amongst his friends, a question slips from his lips before he can think better of asking, “What even is all of this?”

“It’s a blanket fort, silly!” Shirayuki smiles from her place nestled within one of the many clumps of pillows strewn through the room, “We started building them in Lyrais, and now it’s become something of a habit on notebook days.”

Ryuu nods, unearthing himself from his feathery prison, and gesturing towards the notebooks neatly stacked next to some of the smaller piles of pillows, “It’s…nice, to work in a fort.”

“Why Master,” Obi drawls, dancing closer to lean against his shoulder, “It’s almost like you’ve never played in a blanket fort before!”

“Oh no, not you too!” Shirayuki gasps, scandalized, scrambling to her feet, “Please tell me it’s not true, Zen!”

He can’t quite bring himself to verbally shoot down her hopes, so he just shrugs helplessly.  

“Oh Master…” Obi shakes his head sadly, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment, “Even little Ryuu has been in a blanket fort before.”

“Obi!” Shirayuki hisses, then launches a pillow at his face.

“What?” Obi dodges the pillow, but falls dramatically into the mountain of pillows beside Ryuu, sending feathers flying once more, “We may have only started him on blanket forts a year and a half ago, but Ryuu did go in one before Master.”

“Oh, you hush!” sending Obi one last scowl, Shirayuki turns to Zen and extends a tentative hand, “Will you…join us?”

Looking at her earnest expression and outstretched hand, Zen struggles to remember why he should probably return to his office and the dozens of papers waiting for his attention. His gaze drifts to his aides. Kiki’s pauses her bickering with Mitsuhide to offer a nod and an encouraging smile. Mitsuhide grins sheepishly, feeling a bit guilty for allowing the deception to continue, but glad to see the Prince away from his work for once. Obi just winks and ruffles Ryuu’s hair, tangling feathers even deeper to the laughing boy’s dark locks. Really, he never stood a chance against such a tempting and united front.

Reaching out with a smile, Zen sets his hand in hers, and their fingers curl together loosely, “Yes, I will join you, Shirayuki.”

[icefir-windbreaker]

All-Stars -Story Mode- [CHAPTER 12] EDITED

This took me a day to write it so enjoy!

Edited on:

3/26/2019

4/4/19

4/26/19

                                                      -Chapter 12-

Bendy had finished up the soup a little bit later, nothing but an empty can with droplets of what’s left of the soup and now something he could throw away but something in him had said that it might be something useful. So he had cleaned it in a nearby creek far from his current place of rest, putting in his rucksack and then carries on his journey to rescue them.

He looked around the ruined streets of the city, he crossed the broken and rusted trolleys that is near deep in flood water and now serving a purpose as a bridges instead of transportation as people once used.

He was still shaken up from his encounter with Baldi so whenever danger is nearby; zombies, Helghan troops or something else here in this Fallen City, he will reduced himself into a puddle of Ink and wait, hoping for the best if they gone away.

He looked at the posters that were left behind by the city’s residents and it’s nothing too special like the daily news, the politics and other, other, other things that didn’t interest him and he sees that there was a camp, just not abandoned but recently had been abandoned long before he came. It’s a military camp with a white and blue umbrella logo on each tent he passed by, he looked inside each tent and there are leftover equipment for doctors and soldiers in them and still waiting to be used.

“This is too creepy…” Bendy muttered to himself, “who would leave all of this behind, I guess it might’ve been because of zombies…”

That reason might be possible but there’s no way to confirm it, that’s when he checked another tent and what he found inside is not just equipment this time: a dead body of a soldier with flies swarming all over it, he gagged and looked away from the scene before him.

“Yeep,” he babbled, “Property zombies that had been here.”

He then left the tent and goes straight out of the camp and into a much more messy street with a ruined and crashed plane with wrecked vehicles and nature has already began to retake it’s land with long grasses and flowers blooming. The wind howled softly through the main street, birds are singing while the crows are cawing their awful song as some of their kind are eating the leftover corpses that were once soldiers when the sun is peeking through the soggist clouds.

Then they were flown away when Bendy had landed on both of his feet after climbing over a bus, then he looked around for anything that is undead.

Staying Alert (Background is Destroyed City from Mortal Kombat Wiki)

Bendy is very much on high alert towards the surroundings as he felt nervous. “I better find and rescue Boris and others fast or I’ll end up a prisoner like them if Helghan-something finds me.”

He walked down the broken road as he looked around cautiously, he then stopped when he looked at a roadblock; a quarantined, walled-up barricade with a word, just one word that can describe what was behind the roadblock:

“Bi☣hazard”

on it but with the the “Biohazard” symbol acting as an “O” for its name, he sighed heavily as he felt it is dangerous but it may be only shortcut he got to the Helghan Base and more worse for it; he had to go in without protection against the life-threatening bio-terror. Even with one fall smooth will-

“THANKS!!! I GET IT!” Bendy yelled at the writer who was writing this story (And that writer is me. ;n;)

Bendy then climbed on top of the roadblock and then lands onto the ground once again like he did with the bus then looks at the path before him. He groaned as he can smell the stench of death coming from another walled off area with a door that looked weak enough to break before stating “I don’t know why I had agreed with Knight to go on a rescue mission like this.” before proceeding on his way.

The wind blows through the ripped cloth on the ceiling of the opening into the tunnel, he looked at the procedure signs like “Please get your ID ready,” “Anyone infected must be contain and quarantine immediately,” “Remember: Washing hands saves lives!,” and “Medical help will be with you quickly for any injuries and make sure they are 100% cleaned.”

“Boooring!” Bendy thought as he looked at the signs while he walked by them, when he reached the chained-link metal door, reached for the handle and tried to open it but it was locked.

“Like that’ll stop me” Bendy said to himself as his gloved hand had turned into a claw with two holes in it and then tore the chained-link metal door apart. The Dancing Devil smiled as he threw what was left of the door onto the ground, then walked right in through the door and into another area, he saw several food crates on a red truck that had been sitting in the entrance of the tunnel. As well with a box of bottled water beside it.

“Some food is good for the health and as well with staying hydrated.” he said as he goes over to the truck, opens his rucksack and then takes what he needs for himself and his friends.

*You’ve collected 4 canned soups (Soups of Bacon, Beef, Shrimp and Chicken)! *You’ve collected 6 bottles of water! *If you are ever injured or just hungry and dehydrated, select them by opening your (or the PARTY’s) Rucksack(s)!

“Okay then… Thank you for a joyful tutorial, Text.” Bendy said as he looked at the text under his feet and then watched it disappeared before him no less than a second. “And speaking of texts, I need to get moving!” he declared before walking forward for the tunnel’s entrance but before he knew it; the surroundings around him is getting darker by the minute, he looked around the area as it had darken area and he could hardly see a few medical tents, several ambulances, medical kits and weapons and droplets of crimson red on the road.

“I think that there’s been evacuation going on, but had everyone been able to escape?” the Dancing Devil thought aloud as he looked around then he finds a flashlight on a wooden crate, he picked up and looked at it. The lens are cracked a little but it still has fresh charged batteries in it.

*You’ve obtained a Broken Lenned Flashlight!

“I hope you’re useful.” Bendy muttered as he turned it on, easily he looked around the area with much clearer with light now and, like the devil had revealed himself again, there are two corpses on the ground with flies flying all over them.

He groaned in disgust and then turned away from the bodies as he walked into another section of the tunnel as the flashlight has shined on the signed that read “Warning! Bi☣hazard” then another signed that read “Infected! do not contact nor talk with the quarantined individuals who are being check for the virus as you are going to the exit in single file, the antidote will be heavily administered immediately after you’d exit, thank you and have a nice day.” and then he shined on the one thing that he really doesn’t want to see: a Zombie, groaned after the light had shined on it.

Bendy gasped as he accidentally backed up to a backup power generator and turned it on, the portable work lights lit up to life to reveal a scene before him:

Inside a chain-linked fence were a horde to horde of zombies, rotting, groaning, screeching, snarling and stumbling around with orange-red eyes glowed softly in the dark.

Bendy discovering the Horde of Zombies The fence is acting as a cage to keep the undead inside as Bendy looked at them as they glared back at him, hungry, more hungry than angry after being inside the rusting fence for quite some time.

Bendy, is able to break himself out his state of shock before running through the pathway through between the sides of the fences with zombies looking at him, snarling and growling as he ran by. He had found a torn truce flag with a message left behind in blood.

“I'm tearing up our truce flag.”

Then a song is beginning to play on the speakers of the tunnel, for Bendy to listen what it was going to sing.

Why do you still look at me Like I belong to you?

It's like you won't let me go No matter what I do

“Oh… Boy! Oh boy! Crap crap crap!” Bendy said to himself as he found a nearby sludge hammer so he can use as a weapon. He franicity looked around and see a couple of zombies coming his way.

You must be a parasite Or some sick disease Your fingers wrapped around my throat, Suffocating me

Bendy swings the hammer as hard as he could at the first zombie and he felt an impact the hammer had made on its skull and it had gone down easily, he looked over to another zombie as it had gone over to him with arms outstretched for him.

I'm running, running, running, running, Fast as I can

But I'll never get away from you If I'm still breathing

Bendy swings the weapon back to his side and does a spring attack on the 2nd zombie and he had saw its head gone flying and hits a wall behind it. “D-Did I do that?” he asked out of confusion, then hears the familiar moaning from the dead. Without a minute to waste, he ran deeper, determined to get out of the tunnel on the other side.

I can run, I can hide But reality won't die

Infect me, infect me, You're trying to infect me

Bendy then jumped onto a car, on top of it, he hopped over to the next one and another over a horde of zombies.

And I will fight As you attack Why won't you ever see That what you have done to me Won't define who I am No, won't define who I am

He looked down below his feet as he climbed onto a cargo truck and zombies are surrounding it and he was surprised to see that some of them can jump to where he was, “Why can’t you all just die in a fire already?!” he yelled reared back to swing the sledge hammer again.

You're never gonna be Anything more to me Than a

BI☣HAZARD

He then does a swing attack again, sending zombies flying off of the truck before proceeding on to another vehicles as zombies reach out to grab him.

Predators devour their prey To nourish their being

But the way you tend to feed off of me's The most vicious thing I've seen

Bendy then hopped onto another car before getting out flashlight and then shines it to see that another barricade is just 2 miles away, he groaned “Do I really… Have to?” then looked at the horde who are waiting for him to get down from the car.

You must be an animal Unable to feel

A monster starved for centuries You've made me your meal

Bendy then looks around for an alternate route to the barricade, he found another cargo truck with tank filled with ink that Bendy needs, an idea formed in his head while he smiled.

I have been contaminated

Bendy decided to make a break for it, he hopped off the car and begins to plow through the undead crowd to get to the tank as he swings the blunt weapon in every direction to keep them away from grabbing him. Then he reached the ink-filled tank and begins to smash it with the sledge hammer as sprays of ink begins to fly out of the ripping cracks after blow after blow of the hammer.

Then finally, with one final hit, the tank burst open and a wave of ink poured out and splashed Bendy as he was pushed onto the ground of the inky blast. It and Bendy himself had dissolved into nothing more than a puddle of black ink. They looked at it as the ink had suddenly began to take form.

You can scream as much as you want I hear you loud and clear The thought of being alone Fills you with fear We're gonna end this war right here and now This won't go on anymore 'Cause I'mma bring

Then the creature, hulking creature made out of ink with huge arms and short legs with face blank but the month with sharp teeth as he growled…

You…

Down.

*Bendy’s Level 3 form: Beast Bendy

And I will fight

“How are ya like me now?!” Beast Bendy roared as zombies are stumbling around him and then he used his huge arm to swat them into a wall with a crashing cracks as he grabbed one of them before crashing.

As you attack Why won't you ever see That what you have done to me Won't define who I am No, won't define who I am

Then he dashed for the wall, shoving and pushing and smashing the walking corpses, leaving a trail of blood and broken body parts in his wake. Then begins to break the barricade down as his Level 3 form is beginning to wore off slowly.

You're never gonna be Anything more to me

The chain-link fence is beginning to give away with each slamming of fists with each two holes as his Beast Form is dripping ink slowly.

And I will fight

As you attack

Why won't you ever see

That what you have done to me Won't define who I am

No, won't define who I am

The fence finally gave away just in time while Bendy changed back. He looked back to see what he had did and then turned back to the broken fence.

Don't you dare forget any of this pain And when you're on your deathbed……

Remember my name

Then he got out the flashlight again from his rucksack that somehow survived, he thought he lost it when he turned and ran forward as he toward the end of the tunnel.

BI☣HAZARD

You are my BI☣HAZARD

I am your BI☣HAZARD

BI☣HAZARD

He ran as fast as his legs can carry him as he approached the the gap that a thin hole big enough for anyone to go through the gap, even will be bigger if someone had blown it up. “This is getting more better…” he said sarcastic as he squeezed through the hole and out the other side, he noticed was the end of the tunnel was blocked it but a hole to escape is at the top.

“What…?” he choked, looking at the exit before putting his hands on his head, “No… it’s too high up…” he began, “there’s no way out…. They must’ve bombed it but they didn’t thought that the hole would still be there….” he continued as he fell to his knees, still looking at the hole as small wisps of fire is floating and falling very gently like they were leaves.

He had been sitting on his knees and felt it had been forever when he was sitting on his knees before getting up and then brush himself off while he muttered “Better find an alternate route.” and then begins to walk back where he came.

Back to the carriage he created in his Beast form and back through the chained-link cage filled with zombies, but what he didn’t know that zombie with more muscle had looked at him and then begins to stumble over him but was cut off by the cage. Then, in a desperate urge to eat something raw and fleshy, it slammed against the fence winch is beginning to fall down due to time had weaken it enough to break and that caught Bendy’s attention.

“No! No!” he screamed as the zombie managed to broke the fence, sending Bendy running away as other zombies are doing the same thing then succeed breaking through. “Oh heck no!” he yelled as he ran for with zombies going after him.

Bendy kept running faster and faster from the horde after they had broken way the chained-linked fence as it gave away but thankfully, the Ink Demon had gotten a head start and ran like there was no tomorrow. He was panting quickly but managed to get the Barricaded Exit that was an entrance to the tunnel, he grabbed a loose pipe and begins to climb. Zombies are charging at him, rotting arms opened and ready to grab Bendy but he gotten too up high for the zombies to grab.

the horde screeched in anger as they watched the Dancing Devil go up and over the wall barricade not before he screamed “Adios suckers!”, even one of the zombies smacked another zombie at the back of its head for not catching him when he gone back to the way he came.

Bendy was laughing to himself for getting out of the Biohazard Zone so easily while he climbed down the safe side of the barricade but didn’t live long when his feet touched the ground and turned around to get away but he bumped into something, someone that he bumped into and made him looked up, there was a man that is tall as Boris but it’s a human, a hulking Caucasian French man wearing blue-stripe long shirt with sleeves, leather-bound in belts on each wrist, blue-black jeans with boots, is standing over him with a huge ancient hammer in both his hands, he was looking at the Ink Demon with an intention to crush him but he then hesitated by an old male British voice saying “Now, now Bruno.”

Then an old man appeared before him, wearing a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, black vest with two medallions, a pocket watch, black pants and shoes. He noticed he has numerous visible physical ailments. Including his eye, he also has a burn mark on the right side of his face and a brace on his right arm and left leg. His one eye blind appeared to be cataract afflicted on right while the other is normal green-colored had looked down at the dripping Ink Demon. Interested, he said “I see that you meet Bruno.”

Bendy had no idea what to say as he looked at the two.

[crimethinc]

J20 Postscript: How I Spent January 20, 2017–A True Story from Trump’s Inauguration

That was the morning we overslept—Friday, the twentieth of January, 2017. It was every activist’s greatest fear: our cell phone alarms blaring in unison, our friends running around us scrambling to get ready, while we just lay there, arms thrown haphazardly across our faces, dead to the world.

How could we sleep with Marius Mason in prison, the polar ice caps gushing into the ocean, and Donald Trump entering office?

For months, reality had hung on us like a bad dream; riding into DC was like entering its epicenter. Every Nazi troll on the internet was promising to gun us down in cold blood. Newspapers were reporting that two million bikers had promised to form a wall of meat between us and the motorcade of the President-elect. We were all going to prison—if we made it out of surgery. If you want a picture of the future, imagine Pepe the Frog stamping on a human face, forever.

All night, we’d discussed the situation, speaking one by one, weighing our options, going around the living room in circles the way one passes one’s tongue over a broken tooth again and again. If Trump entered office with the mandate of an acquiescent population, deporting ten million people would be the new normal. But if we tried to interrupt the spectacle, they would mass-arrest us, put all our names on a list, and our parents and partners would never be allowed to fly again. Would they surround us as soon as we assembled? Would the Nazis shoot us? It was a nightmare from which slumber offered no respite.

And there we were, asleep at our moment of truth. Downtown was filling up with Secret Service agents and crimson-hatted know-nothings as our friends shook us by the shoulders and called out our names. Protesters were already lining up to blockade the checkpoints to the parade route when they resorted to flinging cups of cold water in our faces. It was no use: we were a thousand floors below, wandering the foggy land of Nod.

They wheeled the bed out through the broad double doors of the bedroom, down the narrow hallway, across the living room strewn with backpacks and sleeping bags. They carried it down the steep front steps, bracing themselves against the iron railing. Shoulders to the headboard, they rolled us up the hill past the row houses, through alleyways and intersections and shopping districts into the very heart of the nation’s capital.

The streets were ominously tranquil: a jogger here, a couple pushing a stroller there. There was no indication of the forces massing downtown. The branches of the trees sailed past us overhead, their shadows briefly fingering the bedclothes crumpled across our chests.

Then the buildings opened around us and we were in Logan Circle—the convergence point for the anti-capitalist march, a vortex drawing in all the rage and courage within a thousand miles. Hundreds of our friends had gathered already, their faces concealed beneath bandannas and balaclavas, a swirling maelstrom of anarchists and rebels. More were pouring in from the side streets every minute, pulling on masks and gloves, zipping up their sweatshirts, cinching their windbreakers tight around their wrists, unfurling the great black banners proclaiming NO PEACEFUL TRANSITION��FIGHT BACK NOW—JOIN THE RESISTANCE.

Our friends pushed us to the front of the throng and we set out, a dozen black-gloved hands on the headboard, our cheeks resting on silk pillowslips, our bodies cradled in gauzy silk sheets, the brocaded bedspread folded back beneath our splayed arms as the bed rumbled across the black asphalt. Behind us, the others poured into the street, linking arms, roaring out a full-throated call and response. Are you ready? Yes, we’re ready.

This was the notorious black bloc—bristling, if Trump’s Special Assistant to the Secretary of Defense is to be believed, with “banners, shields, bull horns, noise making devices, gas masks, medical supplies, police scanners, spray paint, ladders, bolt cutters, handcuff keys, and code manuals for covert communications,” dressed in “steal toe boots [sic], body armor, face masks, helmets, military gear, sports equipment, and other such attire,” wielding “Molotov cocktails, mace/chemical spray, flares, bats, sign polls [sic], bricks, rocks, glass, nails, padlocks, slingshots, brass knuckles, martial arts weapons, and bottles of waste.” A medieval monster in a modern fairy tale.

Picture the scene as it appeared to the helicopters thundering overhead: the amorphous black mass driving before it the white quadrilateral of the bed—like a Malevich painting, White Square on a Black Block. Ascending higher, the pilots could make out what awaited us a few blocks away: a lattice of metal fences and concrete barriers defended by 28,000 security personnel. It wasn’t the red-hatted fools we had to fear, but the full might of the state. Squads of National Guardsmen clustered around military vehicles at every intersection; fleets of mobile riot police circling on bicycles and motorcycles; vans packed full of armored officers fidgeting impatiently with pepper spray dispensers and bundles of zip ties. All the mercenaries within a thousand miles become a part of the hostile physical architecture of the capitol, become hostility itself.

Freeze the frame, here, as the march arrives at Franklin Square and the police move into action, rushing to flank us on their bicycles, to chase us with their zip ties, to shoot their less-lethal munitions at us. At the front of the march, the two of us lie in the bed, sunk in unconsciousness, limbs and hair intertwined, jolted by the motion of the wheels over the uneven pavement, our limp bodies without the dubious armor of sweatshirts or bandannas, beneath a hovering hailstorm of projectiles—percussion grenades and rubber bullets and tear gas canisters and frozen arcs of pepper spray. Our frail flesh on the chopping block of the state.

A hush falls. The police, the black bloc, the Trump supporters in their stupid red hats, the screwballs at Franklin Square demanding the legalization of marijuana, the photographers and spectators and passersby—all of them remain motionless. Only our friends continue forward, picking up speed, sneakers flying across the pavement as they charge the fortified lines of police, driving the bed like a battering ram before them. Finally, shoving the headboard in unison, they launch us into the void, remaining frozen in place behind us.

The police lines open before us like the Red Sea and we sail right through. Not on account of Molotov cocktails, pepper spray, flares, bats, bricks, rocks, glass, nails, padlocks, slingshots, or brass knuckles, mind you, not because of the polls or stolen toes—it’s very important that you understand this—but because of the dreaming.

On the other side of the columns of Kevlar and polycarbonate, we continue hurtling down the street, zigzagging between the roadblocks, through metal-fenced checkpoints, past detachments of callow Guardsmen and handfuls of stupefied bikers and gauntlets of snappily dressed pundits crowing in victory or wringing their hands. Our bed coasts by regiments of porta-potties standing at attention, marshaled to hold the excrement of a hundred thousand patriots—through the half-filled stands where bootlickers fresh from Rust Belt exurbs crowd together, mouths agape in a monosyllable—and we roll to a halt in the center of the parade route, blocking the way to the motorcade and the future.

The sudden stop shocks us awake. Starting from unconsciousness, we find ourselves in a petrified city.

Blinking, we take it all in: the bleachers dotted with imbeciles—the armored cars—the secret service agents caught midstride, their faces fixed as glowering masks. Behind them, a brass band blows soundlessly, cheeks bulging, sustaining a single inaudible note.

We rub our eyes in unison. But when we open them again, nothing has changed. Pushing back the bedclothes, we swing our legs over the sides of the bed and step from our brocaded barricade onto Pennsylvania Avenue. The air is absolutely still.

Moving in slow motion through this frozen phantasmagoria as if passing through a photograph, a flaming limousine appears trailing a column of smoke like a bridal train. The smoke extends a hundred feet in the air, blotting out the flags, darkening the asphalt, casting its shadow over the uniformed soldiers on parade. The windows of the limousine are smashed out so we can see that there is no one at the wheel. It pulls to a halt before us.

Should we get in? But what address would we give? Where would we like to go?

A mile north of the parade route, life continues as normal. Drivers enter their credit cards into parking meters; cashiers at kiosks dispense cigarettes and chocolate-covered monoglycerides beside panhandlers; waitresses and system administrators toil to placate creditors and absentee landlords. Carpenters refurbish drab box houses in someone else’s suburbs as amateur pundits tweet about someone else’s political party. All sleepwalkers in someone else’s dream, captives in never-never land.

This scene, not the White House, is truly the center of the nightmare, whence come all the other horrors. The police are not needed here—not in such numbers, anyway. The absence of an alternative does their work.

The dreamlessness itself is the police. It is what imposes the nightmare.

For the first time, we look at each other, you and I. What is our dream? What will transport us unscathed through the lines of riot police? Where do we want our burning limousine to take us? Where do we want to go?

Dream alone, it’s just a dream. Dream together, it can be reality.