#“nothing to add here” I said and continued to write another tag essay.

[sygneth]

The confirmation that Harry's squad abandoning him is just poor writing just so the player can continue doing shit on their own is the fact that it never gets explained. Harry even tries to bring it up but kim just. Shuts him up about about it is so so sooooo absurd. Jean's inaction could also harm him but he just makes harry drop the subject? C'mon folk it could have not been more obvious that the writers simply did not come up with that part 💀 I wish people would just take things as they are: de is not really a detailed novel. It's a fuckin game. With excellent writing, excellent characters and worldbuilding, but still a game

I don't think there is much to add here anon. This is a very solid point.

EDIT: I figured it may be worth adding that this is about the posse leaving on the day of the mercenary tribunal, not before the events of the game

[bitchsister]

can we maybe get curt cockwarming bucky,, but he’s just unable to sit still and is being all bratty about it since he wants to get off but bucky won’t let him 👀

This is not the one and only cockwarming ask I’ve gotten! And anon, while there is some gentle kinda cockwarming in this… there’s a lot more happening too…. Because like I’ve said before. I need a muzzle.

(I kinda just did whatever I wanted.)

Top punk baby princess Curtie in this.

Bye

This has been very sloppily edited. It’s pure smut and filth if there’s any weird errors just ignore them and love me for my flaws.

I blame @swifty-fox for a lot of what is in this. But also I blame myself for being the one to write it. 🫶🏼

Look at their beautiful art for our baby Punk Princess Curtie!!

Here’s their art tag. They spoil me daily 🩷

☣️THIS PARTICULAR DRABBLE IS LONG AS ALL FUCKIN HELL AND IS A MESS. ☣️

Because there was no specifications made, this is yet another addition to our Lucky Charms AU!

If you’re not LOCKED IN for THESE THINGS, do not read : Curt and Rosie arguments, injuries and mentions of blood, lowkey blood play, TOP CURTIS, bottom Bucky, Sub Bucky turned Dom real quick, crying, whining, spit, kinda cockwarming? I tried for the circumstances I swear, Daddy is used a few times . Oh. And Green Day.

I definitely have more cockwarming requests. So a cute and sleepy cockwarming drabble will probably happen eventually.

Bucky’s place wasn’t close to campus, but if Curt managed to catch a lift from Rosie or one of his girlfriends, then he’d manage to bribe them into dropping him off near the skate park which was only about a fifteen minute ride away from Bucky’s, if he was really putting his back into it.

He’d gone a week without seeing either of them, and while FaceTime was certainly one of the greatest modern inventions to exist, it didn’t do anyone justice — either the bar Curt was in was too loud, Bucky couldn’t figure out how to add Gale successfully to their call or Curt was balls deep in an essay about the Navier-Stokes Equations and Computational Fluid Dynamics while the other two had free time.

“I can’t go all the way to his place, Curt. I got work in like — fuck. Twenty minutes.” Rosie stared at his watch, gaze fluttering to land on Curt who stood in front of him, batting his lashes as he held his board at his hip.

“C’mon, Rosie. You’re arrangin’ bouquets all day, not protecting the government from cybersecurity attacks.” Curt stepped forward and tapped his nose. “At least not yet, Mister Digital Forensics.” His lashes fluttered again. “How ‘bout the park, then?”

When Rosie told Curt he’d gotten a job as part-time florist downtown, he’d laughed right in his face.

Ain’t no way!

Rosie stared straight at Curt, his lips tugged into a solemn line.

Wait — yo, forreal?

“I’ll — fuck — hey, Monday I’ll get you a coffee. How’s that, hm? For your troubles.” Curt made his voice sound sweet, stood before Rosie with his headphones around his neck, a loose tshirt hanging to his thighs, cutoffs revealing his scabby knees.

He blew an obnoxious bubble with his gum into Rosie’s contemplative face.

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders sagging under the weight of resignation as he realized that continuing this argument with Curt would consume more time and energy than simply giving in. "Fine," Rosie conceded, his tone exhausted. "But you owe me a muffin, too.”

Curt flashed him a smirk once he’d plopped into the passenger seat of Rosie’s old Bronco where nothing but FM sports radio played through the muddied coaxial far older than them.

They chirped at each other for a little while about sports. None of which Curt knew a thing about besides what Bucky had told him. “Well, B says they got a good season ‘head of ‘em.” Curt popped a bubble between his teeth again, fingers fiddling with the too-loose trucks of his board to tighten them.

“You listen to everything he says?” Rosie shot a sidelong glance at Curtis, a brow risen. “It’s almost like you have no singular thoughts these days.” He continued, though he shouldn’t have. “Bucky this, Bucky that.”

The radio statics, but drones on.

That’s baseball for you folks. The Kawasaki kid has ice in his veins! One swing of the bat can change everything.

“I got plenty’a thoughts of my own.” Curt grit his teeth but forced his jaw to relax the moment he heard Gale in the back of his head, reminding him right away that his first reaction is rarely ever his best.

Relax, Curt. Take a deep breath. It’s nothing to get all bent out of shape about. Tell me a few things you can see. What do you taste? What do you smell? What can you touch?

Redbuds blooming in early spring, spent bubblegum, the leak in Rosie’s busted exhaust, the textured and worn down urethane of the wheels on his board.

“Hardly.” Rosie drummed his fingers over his steering wheel absentmindedly, reducing himself to the songs in his head since the radio in his car failed to work half the time. “You think he’s gonna keep you around when you’re graduated? Or, god forbid, you turn twenty-six and Ruthie doesn’t pay for your health insurance anymore? Officially too old for Attorney at Law, Bucky Egan.”

They hadn’t talked about Gale all that much besides the fact that he and Bucky often worked on case studies together and were usually working the same if not similar court dockets — a good friend who he certainly hadn’t dropped to his knees for.

“Fuck off with that.” Curt waved his hand at Rosie, his head shaking in disbelief and his expression one of grand theatrics. “Ain’t mine or nobody else’s fault you ain’t been laid in months. Maybe if you weren’t such a fuckin’ downer, man,” he pulled his shirt up to tighten the shoelace threaded through his belt loops. “You been on my back about it now for a while.”

“Well, all you do is talk about ‘em.”

“And, so what!?” Curt tapped his board a few times over the dashboard to taunt him and make a big, loud fuss. “You goddamn leech! You suck the fuckin’ life outta me, Robbie!” Curt was huffing through his nose, red in his cheeks and far from remembering the things he could see, taste, smell and touch. “You know Nora calls you Rosie Raincloud?” He was being venomous now, his fangs deep in Rosie’s flesh. “‘Cause you fuckin’ smother us with it, Robert. We hardly know what to say to you these days.”

Rosie had stomped his foot over the brake in one of the picturesque neighborhoods, nestled in a dreamy suburban wasteland, so different from the city.

His chin wobbled and his gaze denied Curt the satisfaction of seeing it reduced to a puddle — that hurt, but he could only really blame himself.

It wasn’t the first time he’d taken a swing at Curtis Biddick and got hit back twice as hard.

“You don’t gotta say nothin’.” Curt swung the passenger side door open and jumped out, his head sticking into the window for one last twist of the knife in Rosie’s chest. “Coffee shop ain’t even fuckin’ open on Mondays.”

Rosie peeled off, leaving Curt to hop on his board and kick his legs as hard and fast as he possibly could, his headphones tugged back over his ears and the volume turned up as loud as it could go.

City of the dead, at the end of another lost highway.

Signs misleading to nowhere

He tried his hardest not to think about how he had acted, and the things he had said to Rosie — in truth, Curt was better equipped to handle what Rosie had been saying to him since after all it was his own opinion, which he’d reserved the right to.

Curt didn’t need to scream at him the way he did, or bring up Rosie’s sudden knack for draping a wet blanket over every conversation.

It didn’t get them anywhere.

His mind drifted so far away and his chest heaved with ragged breaths as he kicked his legs to the beat of the drum line in the song he listened to.

Angry, sloppy, reckless.

He stopped to take out some energy on the railings of concrete neighborhood staircases, finding his inability to make it down all the way in a front side a new irritant to focus on instead of the guilt he felt for hurting Rosie before his shift at the flower shop.

Until sunset he occupied his mind — or, until his exhausted body had failed him for the last time and sent his face into concrete. “I hear ya.” He mumbled at the sky, assuming it was all karmic as he reached into the grass nearby to grab his phone which had flown out of his pocket the first time the railing swiped him right between his ass cheeks and straight to his tailbone.

His body ached, his screen was cracked, there was glass in his thumb.

He hardly announced his presence anymore, fucking up the gate code a few times due to the shakiness of his fingers and dropping his keys to his feet while he attempted to unlock the front door, a wild and unabashed string of cocksuckingmotherfuckingpiecesofshit falling from his lips once he’d kicked the door closed with the back of his heel, limping into the kitchen to nose around for a snack, although he had really expected Bucky to be on his second glass of wine by then, his iPad an inch from his face as he browsed the internet for a new dinner recipe.

“Hey,” Bucky called from the garden where he lounged in his tightest swimming shorts — the ones that showed off the thick muscle of his thighs and the curve of his toned hips. “Hey!” He’d been calling to Curtis from the open French doors that lead to the pool, the sun still too bright to realize Curt was bleeding from an unknown source on his face with his headphones still blaring music into his brutalized eardrums.

Where have all the bastards gone?

The underbelly stacks up ten high.

“Dammit, Curtis.” Bucky got up from where he was laying, riddled with irritation that Curt didn’t come squealing into his lap like he always did, attacking him like a sucker fish on any bit of skin he left visible.

His footsteps weren’t detected by Curt that peeled a string cheese layer by layer, half of his body reaching into the fridge to find something else to eat. “If you’re gonna use my money for things like this, at least give me the satisfaction of -“ he’d reached to pull Curt’s headphones away from his ears which had inadvertently caused Curt to whip around, bright blue eyes starkly contrasted by the flow of crimson that stained his lips and neck.

This wasn’t the first time, nor the last.

Still, Bucky let out a sigh as Curt continued to feed himself strings of cheese, blinking up at Bucky as if nothing had been out of place — though, even John would admit, this got easier each time.

“What was it this time?”

Curt sighed, his shoulders shrugging. “Don’t even remember.”

He was so lost in his own thoughts about his fight with Rosie that he could hardly recall what he had landed and what he hadn’t — he had no notes to give himself and nothing he could set his intentions to improve on later.

He threw his body around for four hours and got nothing out of it. And, not to mention, he may have lost a friend.

Bucky shoved his face in Curt’s neck once he’d pulled him nearer, so damp with sweat and radiating heat like the surface of the sun. So bright, so warm, so absolutely gorgeous. “Need to keep all your braincells the way they are.” He murmured, drawing in the scent of him while his lips pressed kisses to the salty heat on the soft flesh of his neck.

Curt still felt sore about what he’d done to Rosie but with Bucky in front of him like this, his hands groping his sides to pull him closer, it grew more and more difficult to think about anything else. “C’mon, m’fuckin’ filthy, Bucky.” He whispered, his voice barely there.

“Oh, I know.”

The sun continued to set beneath the hedges in the garden and the breeze that blew through the open doors had cooled him down enough, but Bucky had done very little to stop his sweating — his palms splayed over the softness of Curt’s hips, the small of his back, the curve of his neck. “You need me to kiss it all better, don’t you?” Bucky could taste the metallic sting dance over his tastebuds. “Need me to lick you clean, hm?”

Curt had still felt the hot sting of anger in his belly, the annoyance with himself for getting it all wrong, the frustration of having no control over what he said, his emotions, and how he reacted to them.

He pushed himself forward, chest to Bucky’s until he was backed into the center island, his skin stained down to the neck of his tshirt. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” The blue of his iris had darkened like the deepest parts of the ocean — the most dangerous. “Can’t wait to have me down your throat, huh?”

Bucky could hardly suppress the expression coloring his features as a searing chill trickled over every inch of his body. “Fuck,” his palms flattened again over Curt’s sides and down to the curve of his ass where he grabbed two handfuls, pressing his body closer and closer. “Look at you.”

He looked fucked up on himself, mesmerized by his own power, his own influence — Bucky was the softest, warmest putty between his bloody fingers. “Been thinkin’,” Curt grabbed Bucky’s jaw, forcing his lips to part as his own grew inches away. “When you cut your finger. Made me think, ya know — it made your face get all screwed up, made you whine a little.”

Bucky had sliced his finger clean open on a new set of knives Gale got him for Christmas months ago, the blades still sharp as the day he brought them out of the box.

“Think you can make me whine?” Bucky’s voice had drawn itself deep into his chest, teased by Curt who leaned himself in as if he’d finally give Bucky what he wanted, a true taste of what he knew he was missing out on, just to pull away a flash him a grin with front teeth slicked with blood.

“I can do anything.” Curt chirped back.

He pressed his hand into Bucky’s chest again, the other cradling his jaw as he walked him backward and himself forward, a wall behind them eventually where Curt slotted his leg between Bucky’s thick thighs. “What’s the over under?”

Bucky liked to gamble with his work buddies on Saturdays.

Curt would sit by idly near a high stakes poker table or the screen where Bucky and his friends would bet on ponies and he’d drink boozy milkshakes and flirt with the cocktail waitresses he had no interest in for a couple complimentary vouchers for the buffet where he only used the soft serve machine or the gift shop where a collection of cute coffee mugs were sold, and he had his heart set on acquiring them all without spending a dime.

“Not a chance.” Bucky tilted his head back against the wall, his narrow gaze fixed on Curt who hooked his fingers over the waistband of Bucky’s swimming shorts. “I don’t make bets on thoroughbreds without a track record, baby.”

Curt had yet to reveal this particular side of himself.

Sure, he was tough.

He’d bust his lip, his ass or his nose and get back up giggling. He’d fall off and get right back on. He’d argue his side of the story, he’d stand firm in his beliefs.

But he’d never claimed to be dominant in the way he’s portraying now.

The fact that he could wasn’t so much a shock, it was that he chose right then to do it.

“Smart man.” Curt shoved his fingers into Bucky’s mouth, holding him still with his thumb curved beneath his jaw. “On your knees.” He hooked his fingers a little tighter and guided Bucky down to where he balanced on his haunches until his knees fell forward, forcing him to sit on his folded legs where Bucky stared up at him expectantly.

So fucking beautiful.

He already knew what to do, as he’d done it for Curt plenty — his cutoffs were shucked down to his ankles and kicked across the room, his bloody tshirt following suit. Bucky had a hard time figuring how he’d be the one whining instead of Curt until he felt the familiar sensation of tiny fingers threading through his thick brown waves, tugged a little tighter than ever before.

“Go on,” Curt whispered in a shallow breath, “Get me wet for you.”

Bucky could hardly believe his ears, the shock drawing him quickly to obey a Curtis who was typically mounting himself over Bucky right about now, spouting off about how Bucky’s cock is so big and how he can feel it in his tummy.

He worked his tongue over every curve and vein of Curt’s cock only for hips to be drawn closer to his face, his eyes brimming with a sudden surge of cock-teased tears, “Fuck,” Curt grumbled, the blood drying now over his still damp and glimmering skin. “Look so fuckin’ hot with a cock down your throat.”

Rather quickly the spot in Curt’s belly where he held his rage earlier was replaced by the butterfly feeling of having Bucky’s mouth on him — until, of course, Curt had coaxed him into position atop an expensive area rug in the living room, knelt between his thighs once he’d removed Bucky’s slutty swim shorts from his hips.

“Didn’t know how pretty ya’d look like this.” Curt took in the sight of a pink-cheeked Bucky, his thighs spread and his cock achingly hard, curved deliciously over the little trail of hair beneath his bellybutton.

He’d yet to let out a whine, but if he didn’t feel Curtis closer to him soon, he’d be waving a white flag as he went down with the ship. “Kiss me,” it came out in an almost bashful plea as his eyes scanned the lips before him, the dull dried blood brought to life again each time Curt licked his lips. “Please.”

“Ohh,” it was an almost taunting coo. “Got your manners, huh?” A dribble of spit slid past Curt’s parted lips and between Bucky’s spread thighs, his cock slicked gently past the hole that tensed at the sensation. “Relax for me.” Curt whispered, his hips grinding his length against Bucky’s which already twitched. “Show me how good you are.”

Bucky hardly knew if he was able to be good, but he’d try. “Please.” He whispered again, though he was careful not to allow his desperation to show. “Just fuckin’ kiss me.”

Curt rolled his eyes, spitting again but that time it was at Bucky’s chest, tinged pink from the blood still lingering on his tongue. “You don’t make the rules, John.” He basked again at the sight before him — glowing cheekbones, parted lips, hands reaching to spread the dampness Curt had spat onto him around his chest and into his own mouth.

“Not when I got you lookin’ like this.”

It seemed Bucky had leaned into it, his body still tense but his eyes soft as could be.

Curt rut his hips between his cheeks, a rumbled string of groans bubbling from his loins as his right hand milked a couple little pearls of precum from Bucky’s cock that throbbed beneath his grip. “Y’like this, don’t you?” He whispered softly, his usual playfulness still dripping over every word; sticky sweet.

“Yeah, baby.” Bucky gasped, still willing his gaze to focus on what was before him although he was hardly able to discern if it was real or not. “Gonna fuck me?” He felt another sting of anticipation dance over each notch of his spine.

Curt grinned deviously, little body slotted between Bucky’s thighs that could easily overpower him but wouldn’t dare. At least not yet. “Need to get you ready for me,” he reached forward, his fingers slid gently into Bucky’s mouth and over his soft, warm tongue.

It wasn’t long before Curt could hardly stave off his excitement, fingers gentle but prodding against Bucky’s hole that took a finger to the knuckle easier than he’d been expecting, a gasp following suit. “Fuck,” Bucky whispered, his hips instinctively twitching at the unfamiliar sensation. “Fuck — fuck, fuck,”

A second finger, a third.

Lube from a drawer in the coffee table slicked over Curt’s thick fingers as he worked them into Bucky whose brows furrowed, pillowy pink lips parted as gentle huffs escaped them.

“Talk to me, Daddy.” Curt whispered, knelt down between Bucky’s thighs like a predator sizing up its prey that just so happened to be twice the size of himself. “Do I make you feel good?” His fingers worked Bucky open while he pressed rough and starved kisses over his thighs that twitch every now and then.

“Yeah, baby.” Bucky sucked a breath between his teeth, his heart flipping in his chest once Curt’s fingers had found his prostate.

He held in a whine that crept up on him in the very back of his throat and Curtis could tell. “Such a good fuckin’ boy, Curtie. Fuck —“ Bucky threaded his fingers through Curt’s hair, chest heaving once his fingers found a rhythm.

Curt could hardly believe his eyes, falling in love again with a new version of Bucky he’d never met before — all soft hues of pink and deliciously tanned skin, lips glistening with spit and his gorgeous eyes half-hidden behind eyelids that fluttered. “You look so pretty like this.” He mouthed at Bucky’s balls and the base of his cock, pressing sweet kisses against his sensitive skin.

Bucky could hardly deny himself what he wanted anymore as he whispered a gentle plea, “Fuck me.”

Curt hummed between his legs, sitting up slowly to observe yet another angle once he’d carefully withdrew from Bucky altogether to line their hips up, his cock eventually replacing the fingers that gripped Bucky’s thighs instead to spread them wider. “Think you’re ready?” He leaned his chest over Bucky’s, chaste kisses pressed against his open mouth.

“Mhmmm.” Bucky mustered, their kisses hot and wet and sloppy — uncoordinated and needy. He’d never wanted anything more in his life than this. “Put that big cock to use for once.”

An interesting spot he was in to be making snide remarks, Curtis thought, and so he gave him exactly what he’d wanted.

He lined himself up nice and gentle before snapping his hips forward, pulling Bucky closer by his thighs once he’d abruptly buried himself within the tight, wet heat before him.

And there it was.

A long winded whine that started low and gentle had died out high-pitched and breathy right into Curtis’ mouth who continued to lick, kiss and nip at Bucky’s wet lips. “Oh, listen to you.” Curt drawled, allowing John to adjust before his hips had found a slow rhythm, watching as the man beneath him writhed.

“Gonna have you fuckin’ cryin’ for my cock all the time now, hm?”

Bucky choked back a whimper he couldn’t even pretend to hide, desperate and sweat slicked hands grasping onto Curt — anything to hold. “Feels s-so— fuck, baby - “ he could hardly form a coherent thought once Curt picked up his pace, hand hardly big enough to wrap around Bucky’s throat but he kept a tight grip, nonetheless.

Bucky still felt a little shy about this.

A little out of place.

Eventually, the unfamiliarity and pain had quickly tumbled and grew larger into an indescribable pleasure once Curt’s hips had little to hold back any longer, fucking into Bucky relentlessly who took it like he’d been meant to all along.

Uh-uh-uhs were forced out of him, his thighs spread wider and his eyes managing to focus again when he began to pant like he was reaching the finish line.

Curt was so far from done with him.

“Ah-ah,” he withdrew abruptly, watching Bucky writhe again and attempt to pull him back in. “I got you all worked up, don’t I?” His hands smoothed over Bucky’s damp curls, tugging gently. “Takin’ my cock so good, never knew you were such a fuckin’ —“

Bucky sucked in a deep breath and used his legs to flip Curtis onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.

“Think you’re tough now, huh?” He still looked like a fucked-out mess, his eyes half lidded and his heart pounding in his chest. “Had your cock in me and forgot how easy Daddy can have you gagging for him.”

Curt tried to push Bucky’s hands off of him, his cheeks still slathered in dried blood turning pink beneath the mess. “Had you close-“ his rebuttal was quickly snipped once Bucky had slicked his fingers in with lube and brought them between Curt’s cheeks, hooked into him and pulling him closer.

“Get the fuck off me.” Curt tried to put up a fight but his body had been betraying him as his thighs spread for Bucky, his feet lifted from the floor as he moaned at the roughness of it, a punishment it seemed for denying Bucky the pleasure he’d been so vulnerable to receive.

“Nobody takes it like my baby does,” Bucky basked in the familiarity and the tightness around his fingers that hammered into Curt until his thighs were shaking and the back of his knees dripped in sweat. “Isn’t that right?”

Big, fat tears had once again revived the dried blood that had smeared itself over his face by then, every moan that rattled out of him tumbling into a choked sob. “Fuck you.” He whined, his white flag waved with confidence as he went down with the ship Bucky had since abandoned and yet he still managed to put up a fight. “Mother fucker.”

“Oh, that’s not how good boys behave, Curtis.”

Fingers were replaced with Bucky’s cock, Curt’s features softening at the familiar sensation, the one thing he’d ask for on death row.

This is his truest Last Supper.

There was no movement by Bucky, though.

He buried his cock deep into Curtis, swearing to himself that when they were just like this, he could see the bulge of his cock in Curtis’ little belly. “You know what happens when you’re bad, don’t you?”

“I wasnt!” Curt barked, desperately trying to withdrawal from Bucky and snap his hips back again. “I wasn’t bad - I- I wasn’t-“ he was a mess of tears again, the emotions of the day crashing down on him in a heap. “You fuckin’ cocksuckin’—“

The exam he failed, his fight with Rosie, his busted face, and now this.

“Nah,” Bucky held Curt’s thighs to his chest, his cock staying right in its place, not an inch of movement. “Gonna stay just like this until you can show me how sorry you are.”

There, Bucky realized, was his place.

He had never minded being vulnerable with Curtis — in fact, vulnerability was his strong suit.

At first, he was the worst out of the two when it came to expressing his feelings, his thoughts and his emotions.

In the end it was only ever because of the judgement he feared of receiving for loving Curtis. Someone younger than himself, more reckless, with more life to live.

“I’m sorry,” Curt sniffled loudly, a puddle of old blood, tears and a runny nose that threatened to bleed again, the drip metallic and sour in the back of his throat. “I’m so sorry — I - I’ll never be bad again, I promise.”

They both knew a lie when they heard one.

“I’m so good for you.” Curt arched his back, anything for a little friction against his suddenly neglected and angry looking cock. “Look at me — I’m all yours, Bucky. Every part of me — I—“ he sobbed again, reaching down to touch himself but he was abruptly denied, his wrists held above his head. “Fuck me till I can’t fuckin’ breathe.”

Bucky felt sick for being so turned on.

A whimpering, whining, crying Curtis before him with a hot and hard cock that leaked beautifully against the little trail of hair below his bellybutton. “Oh, my pretty baby.” He cooed, reaching forward to wipe his crybaby tears away and granting him just a bit of movement when he did. “I couldn’t let you forget, honey — look what I’ve done to you.”

Curt tried again to surge forward and gain an upper hand, but it was disastrously useless.

Bucky was far stronger than he, even despite being fucked open just a moment ago. “Dunno what I’m gonna do with you.” He murmured, pulling away from Curtis at once and bringing him gently to his feet, holding him against the wall where Bucky felt he’d be doing his knees and Curt’s back a favor once he lifted him up off the ground and around his waist.

It was brutal after that, and for once Curt was unsure he could handle it. “Too much! T-too much,” he whimpered, but Bucky could hardly be bothered. “It’s too much — I can’t-“

If it was truly too much, Curt knew what he needed to say.

A safe word was set in stone the first time Curt had passed out and hit the floor, his brow split open.

All he cared about when he came to was finishing, though — even with an almost-crying Bucky and Gale in his face, worried beyond reason.

“Yes, you can, baby.” Bucky groaned, knowing full well Curt’s orgasm was dependent on the completion of his own.

Didn’t matter how much Curt was fucked.

If he wasn’t full of it, he just couldn’t get off.

A rather endearing blessing, but a curse just the same.

“I can’t Bucky, I can’t.” A wreck he was — and Bucky loved reducing him to such a state. Babbling, whining, his voice strained through the tears he choked on. “S’too much.”

Luckily, it was enough to sputter Bucky’s hips forward, hips rolling into Curt to milk his orgasm while Curt’s hole fluttered around his cock, his little body pulsing as he threw his head back against the wall where he thumped a few brain cells loose.

Bucky reached up to hold the back of his head, clicking his tongue. “There you go, honey,” he whispered gently to a Curtis whose body trembled through an earth shattering orgasm, “Let it all go, baby. Look at how much you’re givin’ me.”

Curt’s body was covered in sweat, blood, tears and now a splattered mess of his devotion to Bucky — hot and wet; sticky and so fucking sweet.

Bucky plopped them both onto the couch, Curt’s body wrapping around him and refusing to give his cock back despite it growing softer by the minute. “I love you.” He hiccuped into Bucky’s neck, the emotions flooding back to him once he’d been dumped right back into his reality — the one where he failed his test and more than likely lost a friend. “So much.”

“C’mon, Curt. Y’know I love you more than anything.” Bucky smoothed his hands over Curt’s damp curls, pulling his face away from the curve of his neck to look at him. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

He couldn’t talk about it now.

Just wanted to be here, in Bucky’s lap, the warmth of their love still burning inside him. “Later.” He whispered, sniffling loudly. “I’ll tell you later.”

[flowerwrites06]

mint ocean — myg

Plot: Yoongi clashes with a lyricist. 

Pairing(s): Music Major!Yoongi x Lyricist!OC (Name: Kiku) 

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 3k+

Genre: College | Fluff/Angst

Tags & Warnings: coarse language, sexual references.

Authors Note: i didn’t realize people would like this little oneshot so much but here you go! 

“Another party?” Yoongi scorned, throwing his head back as he sat on the chair trying to rest his eyes from the books in front of him. How Namjoon managed to organize so many fucking parties in a year almost terrified the mint-haired male. “Didn’t you just have one like yesterday? With the jelly shots and shit.”

“Yoongi, that was a month ago.” Namjoon corrected, fixing his pink tresses while looking at the mirror. “I think it’s nice to have gatherings…you know to consolidate relationships.”

He scoffed obnoxiously. “You just want to fuck that singer with her little plaid skirt still on.”

The younger male immediately glared at his roommate. “Don’t talk about Minnie like that. She’s a nice girl, alright?”

Despite the light smirk on his face, Yoongi took a step back from his commenting. He didn’t know too much about the girl truly but from what he saw she was extremely beautiful to say the least and had a kind smile. He never really talked to her one on one. “So what’re you trying this time?”

“I’m not trying anything, it’s just doing a bit of socializing.” He shrugged.

Yoongi gagged mockingly at the ‘s’ word. His pink haired counterpart definitely proved to have more social skills in his one pinky finger than he did in his whole body. Which was something he both envied and took pride in. Knowing people was always beneficial clearly since Namjoon got a lot of opportunities from it but interacting with far too many people meant being worried about too many useless feelings. “I’m only coming for the shots.” He mumbled, tapping his pen against the open notebook scribbled with a few bits from yesterday’s lecture.

Namjoon chuckled. “You say that but I still manage to see a pretty someone sneaking out of your room in the morning.”

He pointed at the man with his pen. “It’s ‘cause of the shots.”

“Sure.” He grinned knowing the mint-haired male despite his demeanor did like a little bit of attention when it came to him.

-

“A party?” Kiku peered through the glass, whispering in the serene silence of the library while skimming through a few sources for her next essay. Blue tresses falling over her face despite the loose restraint of her long ponytail.

Minnie nodded sitting on the other side with her laptop open on her right and her notebook adorned with the neatest writing. “Namjoon said it was a small gathering so no need to worry about too much noise and all that.”

“You know what he’s trying to do, don’t you?” She leaned in so she could raise her voice a little but not have it echo throughout the entire room.

“Not this again.” She lowered her head, doodling a little on the corner of her page with her brunette waves framing her face.

“Please tell me you’re being careful.” Kiku searched the others’ expression. Namjoons’ intentions were a little blurry since she found him to be a decent student at least in the music classes and various music projects they shared. But anyone could be great at school work and terrible at treating women. It made her extremely suspicious especially since his attempts always involved a party with booze.

“Of course I’m being careful.” Minnie muttered, tapping her pen against the table. “There’s nothing wrong with going to a party.”

“A lot of college girls would disagree.” Bitterness laced in her tone as she scribbled a few words on the corner of her notebook maybe hoping to add some of them in the new song.

“Namjoon isn’t like that. He fights about stuff like that, you should hear the kind of music he makes.” Minnie defended.

Kiku sighed. “Speaking of music…how did they like the song?”

“They loved it as usual.” Though the girl did not sound enthusiastic in the slightest. “How long do you expect to keep your identity secret from everyone else? What if someone finds out before you can come out?”

“Then they find out.” She shrugged. “Everyone loves you and your voice. Let them think it’s some mystery producer that no one knows about.”

Their conversation got shorter and shorter about this whole situation. Minnie would try to convince her to show her real self to the public instead being under an alias. Kiku simply suggested that she preferred not being bothered about her songs. Writing songs without the credit allowed her to be more personal.

“Will you at least come to the party with me then?” Her expression grew a little desperate. Okay she did really like Namjoon. The two had been conversing and trying to spend time with each other for a couple of months now. “It’ll be better if you were there so nothing bad happened.” Namjoon would never let anything bad happen but it was more to reassure Kiku.

After a moment of thought, the blue haired girl spoke. “Fine. An hour.”

-

Regret seeped into Kiku’s body quicker than she expected when they walked into the loud and slightly crowded house. Minnie held onto her hand tightly to ensure no one got lost as they slid through following Namjoon to a circle of couches. Sweaty bodies all around them, Kiku wished she had not just opted for a fitted crop top and some baggy pants.

“You can sit here.” The pink haired male smiled patting the space next to him.

Kiku suppressed the urge to roll her eyes as she sat on the other side of Minnie, eyes struggling to meet the gazes of all the people in the group. Two girls were sat around a mint-haired male while two other boys sat on the floor in front of the coffee table centering them. If it weren’t for the loud music and people making babies in the kitchen then this would have resembled a quiet game night.

“Minnie, you know Yoongi.” Namjoon spoke softly gesturing towards the mint-haired male who gave the two a small smirk. “I made him listen to your songs, he loves it.”

She giggled nervously while Kiku merely smiled. “Thank you.”

“You write really well seriously.” Yoongi commented, eyes flickering over to the full head of grey-ish blue sitting quietly next to her friend. “What’s your source?”

“Honestly my producer writes most of the lyrics.” Minnie kept her voice pretty gentle despite the booming of the beats. She accidentally glanced over at Kiku when talking about her producer. “She’s the talented one.”

“Well you’re the one who’s singing it. Otherwise it’s just a bunch of random words on paper, isn’t it? A page from a diary instead of a real song.”

Namjoons’ smile disappeared hearing his friends’ comment and attempting to give him a warning look but Yoongi did not see him.

“Lyrics are still important though.” Minnie explained softly, not really wanting to see Kiku’s reaction anymore.

“Yeah they are.” Namjoon continued knowing Yoongi thought the same thing.

“Of course…when added. By itself, it’s nothing.”

“They can’t just be ‘nothing’” Minnie still smiled and it made Namjoon even more angry at his friend.

He knew Yoongi despised these parties and made it a mission to show how bad they can get but in front of the girl he liked?

“He’s right.” Kiku spoke up this time, all of their eyes flickered over to her now.

Minnie’s brows furrowed silently trying to tell her not to bring herself down in that manner. So many people found it easy to diss on her lyrical ability because she never actually showed herself to them. So they both had to quietly sit there and tolerate the incessant commenting until headaches ensued.

“Lyrics are nothing but random words without the song.” Kiku continued with a neutral expression. “Just like rappers are nothing but drug using whores that talk fast.” She smiled at the man whose smirk slowly disappeared. “Or MIDI producers are nothing but fingers tapping on a fake keyboard.”

Her comment injected silence amongst the group including a proper glare from Yoongi. One of the girls muttered something about Kiku being extremely rude while Minnie did not know what to feel. “I’m gonna go get a drink.”

Barely ten minutes into the party, Kiku already regretted being there and even trying to converse with someone who had the personality of a grain of sand. What kind of a music student talks about lyrics like that? Who the fuck did he think he was? Lyrics took so much time and energy. She could not even count the amount of times she cried or got angry whenever she wrote them.

“I need to go check on her.” Minnie muttered to Namjoon gently. “Sorry.” She touched his arm lightly hoping he understood why she had to prioritize Kiku tonight. Aside from literally helping her in her career, she always tried to keep her safe no matter what.

Namjoon stammered as the wonderful girl walked away from him to check on her friend. An immediate glare now shot to Yoongi.

“What?” The mint-haired male winced. “She said things too.”

“Because you were acting like an idiot with Minnie.”

“I’m not the one who’s desperate to impress her.” Yoongi shrugged.

“That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be rude. You’re my best friend, I wanted you to like her too.”

The older male sighed as one of the girls leaned in to tell him it was okay but he knew it wasn’t. If Yoongi—god forbid—ever wanted to be with someone seriously then Namjoon’s approval would be top priority. The two went through so much together and there was no reason to dedicate themselves to someone if the other didn’t like them. Namjoon must have really liked Minnie for him to be so adamant on Yoongi liking her too.

Slithering through the heated crowd, Kiku finally stumbled towards the drink table where she poured herself a glass of vodka and some cranberry juice. She hated how one simple conversation still lingered in her mind like a disease. Hopefully a few chugs of the funny tasting juice burned through most of the memory.

“Hey…” A slurred voice lingered on her left followed by a trail of alcohol stench breath infecting the air in her personal space. “What’re you sitting here so lonely for?” The snap back man hummed sneaking closer so his shoulder almost pressed against hers.

Kiku immediately moved away with a roll of her eyes as she attempted to walk back to the circle of couches. But something held her arm back. “Don’t touch me.” She yanked away from his grip, briskly walking towards the couches now until she saw Minnie walk straight towards her.

“I thought you left.” Minnie smiled a little, moving the pair over next to the stairs where there was less of a crowd. “Look don’t worry about what Yoongi said, okay?”

“I’m not worried about him.” She shook her head, feeling like her words were a lie. “People have said worse. I honestly expected worse, he’s kinda soft isn’t he?”

“Hey! I was fucking talking to you.” The same slurring man stumbled towards the pair again, standing uncomfortably close to Kiku. “Do you know who I fucking am?”

“Someone who desperately needs a mint and better social skills.” Kiku snapped in a gently vicious demeanor which of course only angered the stinking beast. He grabbed her by her arms again this time enough to cause pain before trying to slam her against the side of the stairs.

Before Minnie could jump in, the attacker was pushed off of her and dropped onto the ground with a thud causing a deafening silence amongst the crowd including the music.

Standing in front of Kiku­­—at least from where she could see–leather jacket and a head of mint hair, back facing her.

“You know the rules, Kwan.” Yoongi spoke calmly though his body radiated even more frustration than normal. The party was irritating enough but a few frat guys seemed to think it was a breeding ground for assault. “Play nice or get out.”

Kiku rubbed her sore arm absentmindedly as she watched the drunkard struggle back on his feet while all eyes were on him in judgement. Namjoon already stood by Minnie’s side keeping a close gaze on Kwan.

“Just having a bit of fun, Min. No harm.” Kwans’ reddened eyes flickered over to Kiku who only glared back at him.

“I feel bad for everyone who had the misfortune of fucking you if you thought that was fun.” Yoongi smirked. “You had your drinks, get out.” He nodded to the exit.

Kwan looked around at all the faces staring right at him knowing it would be embarrassing to be chased out in this manner but even more so if he just stood here. So he simply chose the first option and walked away.

Once the beast was gone, everyone quite easily faded back into their normal atmosphere of dancing and drinking while Yoongi turned to face Kiku.

“Good rule.” Kiku muttered, folding her arms over her chest.

“Kwan just invites himself sometimes.” He glanced over at the entrance to check if he was out yet before facing the girl again. The question lingered at the tip of his tongue for a while before he spoke. “You okay?”

She nodded though her arms still had a dull ache.

“You think you should stay here for the night?” Namjoon suggested glancing over at Minnie.

Kiku slowly held onto Minnie’s hand. “No, that’s fine.”

“Ku, it’s okay.” She muttered, patting the back of her hand.

“Sorry that didn’t sound right.” He scratched his head, chuckling nervously.

“What my awkward friend is trying to say is Kwan might still wait outside after the party’s done so you can stay here till morning. We’ll sleep on the couch and you can take our rooms.” He gestured upstairs. “Gonna take all night to clean this shit up anyway.” He glared at the clear mess of booze and a few bras on the floor.

The more cautious side of her screamed to the top about a possible trap which may lead to extra problems then just going back to their dorms. But not a lot of frat boys would place literal protection rules in their house during parties. Hell they would be just as drunk and intense as that Kwan idiot. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea staying. Besides Kiku brought her work in her bag just in case the party got boring anyway.

Still keeping a firm grasp on Minnie’s hand, she nodded. “Okay.”

-

The party settled down after a few hours and all was left were the remnants of a whole lot of bad decisions. Kiku even spotted a used condom laying around on the hallways as they were led to the two bedrooms.

“Fucking hell…” Namjoon hissed looking inside his room making Minnie giggle a little.

“I told you to lock your room.” Yoongi spoke as he unlocked the door and led Kiku inside his private room.

A little untidy which was not surprising. His study table littered with papers either readings from his units or just scribbles that were hard to decipher. Bed somewhat unmade and his closet overflowing with unfolded clothes.

Yeah it was a mess. But Kiku couldn’t really judge him, it was heavy assignment season and her side of the dorm looked exactly like this too. Pushing off her shoes she placed it neatly next to the door. Padding over to the bed she sat down quietly while Yoongi grabbed whatever he needed so he didn’t have to disturb the girl.

“If you get hungry, there’s—water in the mini fridge.” He smiled nervously as he looked inside the little bar.

“Good to know.” She couldn’t help but mimic the smile.

“You can—use a T-shirt or something if you want for sleeping. Use the ones on the rack.” He gestured over to the closet. There was a subtle awkwardness behind him that Kiku could not understand considering how he acted in the party tonight. Did he never have guests in his bedroom before? Or maybe at this point he would be doing something else with the guest by now instead of acquainting them to the area.

Either way Kiku felt kind of safe with this new side of his behavior. “Thanks.”

Yoongi hummed in acknowledgement before padding out of the room, cursing a little under his breath at the mess made.

-

The whole night spent out with Kiku working more on her essay and then proceeded to jot down some ideas for Minnie’s songs. She tried to label them properly so she didn’t mix up the school work from the paid work. Sleeping in someone’s else bed proved to be more difficult than she expected despite putting on a comfortable black T-shirt that was offered to her kindly.

The surface of the bed was now just as littered as his study table but it allowed Kiku to concentrate a bit better.

Rummaging and vacuuming echoed throughout the whole frat house which would have been distracting if Kiku did not feel bad for the boys having to clean all that mess by themselves. They did organize the party but the aftermath still was not deserving of anyone.

Fixing her glasses back up on her nose bridge, the door opened behind her with a messy haired and clearly annoyed looking Yoongi walking through.

“Sleep well?” He asked.

“Didn’t really sleep.” Kiku smiled nervously. “You could’ve just slept here, you know.”

“Would you have been able to resist my charms?” The cheekiness seemed to seep in a lot more when he was in an inconvenient position.

“It would have been incredibly difficult but I could power through.” She stretched a fake grin before looking back at her work.

Yoongis’ eyes flickered over at some bold words written ‘For Minnie’ with a pending title next to it. Brows furrowed and head tilted, he looked closer at the words on the page. “Is that a—is that a song?”

Her heart jumped quickly looking at the page and trying to grab it but Yoongi beat her to it. Kiku practically flew off the bed, following the mint-haired male to try get the lyrics back. “This is invasion of privacy.”

“You’re in my bedroom.” He retorted, still reading the words intently. “And all you did was study…well—study and write a whole ass song, do you do this often?”

The blue haired girl averted her gaze in annoyance. “Yes, I write a couple of her songs.”

“A couple?” Yoongi raised a brow. “Funny, the last time I checked the credit for all her songs there were only two producers. Minnie and someone called Chrys.” His bottom lips jutted out skimming through the song again. “I just thought it was a fancy way to make Chris interesting but I’m guessing it’s short for Chrysanthemum. As in…Kiku.” He smirked handing the paper over to her now.

“You feel real smart, don’t you?” Kiku took her paper back and stuffed it back into her files before tidying everything else up.

“Not that smart. I’m surprised people don’t talk about you more.” He shrugged, fluffing up his hair a little.

“Well it’s like you said…” Kiku sighed. “Lyrics are nothing but words on a page, right? Why would people talk about me at all?” She smiled sadly, keeping her gaze on her things rather than the mint-haired male. This partnership and her own decision went on successfully for a long time without the girl feeling like she was being exploited or taken advantage of. Why was it that saying all of this to Yoongi out loud made the whole thing sound so wrong now?

Yoongi let out a deep sigh as his words replayed back in his head. “I didn’t actually mean to say that.” He muttered a little shyly. “I was…” Wow he sounded so stupid already. “I was just trying to be an asshole.”

“It worked.” Kiku unzipped her bag before facing him again. “But you made up for it too so it’s okay.”

He nodded before rubbing his face out of exhaustion. “Your lyrics are really good though. I’m not surprised you’re the only producer Minnie trusts.”

“Are you just being nice now?”

“No that’s too fucking tiring.” Yoongi chuckled and she couldn’t help letting one out as well.

“Thank you…again.” Kiku played with her fingers. “Did you need some help with the cleaning?”

“Namjoon owes me a few hours of cleaning, he decided to abandon me for a while to f—uh entertain Minnie.” He gestured towards the door.

Kiku raised her brows not being able to control the small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “So are you here to entertain me now?” She teased.

“No, no no—oh…” Yoongi cleared his throat.

“Don’t freak out, I won’t pounce on you or anything.” Kiku giggled lightly. “Besides seeing the girls who were stuck to you at the party you and I wouldn’t work.”

“And why’s that?” Eyes unintentionally flickered up and down her body. It only took him now to see his T-shirt hugging her curvy body, plump boobs and luscious curves poking out even in the slimming color.

“One too many assholes spoil the soup.” She pretended not to see that wild gaze running down her form.

“On the contrary, it makes it more tasteful.” He smirked. “You know…spicy.”

“Spicy…” Kiku chuckled. “Sure.” She turned on her heel to check on Minnie, fully aware that Yoongis’ wild eyes would follow down.

You’re a respectful man, Yoongi. Put your eyes away. It didn’t really help when that beautiful ass swayed as she walked and her gorgeous waves bouncing a little. Fuck he wanted some of that soup.

[my-sherlock221b]

Supernatural Rewatch Ramblings: Bloodlust

2020-21 has been a huge transformative time for many of us. Whether we wanted it or not, we have been forced to stop, switch gears, rethink, reflect, let go, make new priorities, discover who we really are and who we want to be in the face of adversity.

One of those transformations for me has been giving up on control and finding a way to surrender to the power of the universe. Another has been to not let perfection be the enemy of good.

You may well wonder---What does all this have to do with the Bloodlust rewatch and review??!

Probably nothing LOL except for the fact that I still have to write up my review on Bloody Mary and have been unable to write for various reasons. And then because the Bloody Mary review was still incomplete I could not write about the next one etc etc etc.

So when we watched Bloodlust two days ago in the continuing re-watch, I decided that I am going to re-start the review, and from exactly where I am right now!

If time and life permits I might fill in the gaps later. If not, well, life is unpredictable and weird and we keep calm as it carries on….Thank you for coming to my Philosophy talk….:)

Read below for the Boodlust  review, Season 2 episode 3 and look out for the post from @soulmates-for-real​ on this rewatch too!! 

The opening scene is the perfect switch and bait because we as an audience have been trained to latch on to types and identities and representations.

Woman in white night gown screaming and running--victim

Person who brutally beheads her—villain.

A few minutes into the episode we realize that we were wrong.

A good few minutes later we realize that we were wrong about being wrong.]

Haha.

We are idjits, swept away on the eddies and currents of this masterfully written and directed episode. Thank you Sera Gamble and Robert Singer!

The acting and the mesmerizing beauty of the two leads is worthy of an entire essay of its own but in order to have a life and finish this review I shall only say this—Oh my goodness HOW gorgeous is Jensen Ackles?!!

It is sometimes impossible to look at him in this episode because my eyes didn’t know where to land! That perfect face? The lips? Those eyes?? The quirk of the eyebrows? Those micro expressions that are constantly weaving across his face? The smile? The way his lips move when he talks?? His hair? The Samulet?

And then the shot pans out and includes his hand and the ring and honestly it’s a miracle I could follow the plot at all.

So the images I am going to include in this review, much as I love Sam Winchester and Jared Padalecki, are all of Dean Winchester. It’s a criminal waste to not do so when the man is just an ode to perfection.

*

Sheila O’Malley’s review of this episode is in itself a work of art and a thing of beauty so I will direct you most enthusiastically towards it and only add here my little pennyworth bits. Do click on this link but be prepared to sink into a one hour read which will make you feel like you were dropped into the episode itself.

https://www.sheilaomalley.com/?p=87187

Here is a quote from her review which is so insightful.

These are the details that a director like Robert Singer never misses, and at this point his relationship with Ackles and Padalecki would be almost telepathic (it’s probably 100% telepathic now). He has said before that he and Kripke were such a good team because Kripke’s primary concern is Plot/Gore/Horror and Singer’s primary concern is Character/Relationship. And they both end up in the same place. It’s a good mix. If Singer were also Plot/Gore/Horror focused, we wouldn’t have the depth of relationship which is the real point of the show, its real hook.

*

For a much briefer and far less technically adept and analytical review, read on here!

*

The opening of this episode shows us the Impala from every possible angle. Gleaming, gorgeous, road -worthy. This is mirrored by Dean. He is also gleaming, gorgeous and roadworthy. He is in a happy mood that not even Sam’s little brother snitty comments can deflate.

Here is the soundtrack of this episode for those who are interested.

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0835248/soundtrack

Here is some random but fun trivia:

Dean tells Sam in one scene "If it's     Supernatural, we kill it." One of the rare times the title of the     show is actually spoken in the dialogue.

This is the first episode where Sam began parting his     hair down the middle, the hairstyle he'd keep the rest of the series.

( I didn’t like his hair too much in this episode honestly but then again I could barely see anyone beyond Dean :D)

During the filming of this episode Jared injured his     hand when he fell badly during a stunt. He thought it was merely sprained     and went straight into filming the next episode without having it checked.     But it got more and more painful and finally he went to the doctor and     discovered that his hand was, in fact, broken. Because he had already     begun filming, he couldn't bandage the hand until filming for that episode     was finished. The writers ended up writing in an accident for Sam and his     line "I think she broke my hand" to explain the fact that for     the following few episodes he would be wearing a cast.

When Dean kills a vampire, blood is sprayed on his     face, mostly on his right cheek. In the next shot the pattern is     different, and notably the right cheek is almost clean. Furthermore, his     mouth was agape when he made the kill, risking the blood getting into his     mouth and turning him into a vampire. While the brothers didn't yet know     how a vampire is made at that point, Gordon did and should have been     alarmed that Dean might have gotten some of the blood in his mouth.

*

A random behind the scene shot from the episode:

Guess who she is? Apparently this is Jensen’s sister in a super brief role in Bloodlust!

* 

On to the review, or rather some of my thoughts during the re-watch.

The first scene with the Sheriff they are interrogating him about the cattle mutilations is hilarious. The way they bluff their way into the morgue is hilarious. Dean always leading and Sam following.

Random trivia: When Dean enters the morgue with Sam and sees the name tag of "J Manners", it has been thought the name was to honor Jeffrey Dean Morgan and series producer Kim Manners. Dean guesses "John" - Jeffrey's character name - and the intern corrects with "Jeff"

*

It a testament to the way Supernatural has trained its audience that we barely blink when they pull out a decapitated head in the morgue, squabble over who is more chicken, dig into the mouth and eventually discover vampire fangs.

Yes, of course they do.

*

Next scene: Two hot guys walk into a bar…..

…….where the adorable Benny, who is not Benny in this episode but a random dude ( spoilers—later we find out the dude is a vampire), gives them directions/ mis- directions to a possible vampire nest.

We see the first glimpse of Gordon Walker, amazingly played by Sterling K. Brown, and making us worry about and dislike him almost right away. The way he is shown with the light and shade bars on his face from the window blinds is so menacing.

The next few scenes continue to build that sense of unease where the Winchester brothers, apparently telepathically, decide to double back and catch him following them, then he shows them his car and his weapons, where he references their dad and then refuses their offer for help.

The scene where he shows them his car is like a painting. (The car by the way is just as inconspicuous as the Impala –which is to say NOT AT ALL!! How do these people stay below the radar of the regular law enforcement is a mystery….).

The dust highlighting the rays of light, the two brothers on one side of the car and Gordon at the other, it’s all so consciously set up for a few seconds worth of screen time. Impressive!

Next comes a truly brutal kill, at Dean’s hands, which we don’t even see except as a spray of blood on his face. Poetic! But it is Dean’s expression that makes my stomach clench. His eyes are dead and he is somewhere deep that even Sam can’t reach, as we can see from the distress on Sam’s face.

Gordon of course is all chipper and full of bonhomie and offers to buy them drinks.

That following scene is the one which gives Wincest brother-wives vibes like 100%.

*

Sam plays the role of the disgruntled ‘wife’ to perfection. No one but hubby is allowed to use the nickname. He hates the male bonding going on with Gordon and the more Gordon seems to slip into Dean’s inner circle, the more uncomfortable Sam gets, until he finally decides that he just cannot physically be there any more.

Dean’s smug expression when Sam tells Gordon off for calling him Sammy, his instant worry at Sam going back alone, his hand raised in exasperation to convey to Gordon—look what I have to put up with-- the tossing of the keys to his car----it is all a symphony of Dean playing his part in the brother-wives orchestra.

The last line?! ‘Remind me to beat the buzzkill out of you later.’ And Sam’s expression at that? That’s exactly the way a bullying /abusive husband would react to a nagging wife who doesn’t like his toxic friends and wonders how he can be so blind as to not see them for the bad influence they clearly are.

( Bad Dean!!!)

Sam goes back to the motel and does his due diligence by checking with Ellen, gets kidnapped by vampires, released and on his return is disgusted to find Gordon inside their motel room.

*

The next scene is where Dean erupts, having clearly had enough of the shifting power dynamics between them over the evening. Sam has been silently judging him since the kill and Gordon has managed to ‘other’ Sam and make Dean feel validated in his own bloodlust as a hunter.

Dean clocks Sam one.

Wow. I did not see that coming. And what shocked me at this re- watch is that Sam just takes it.

Like an abused wife, he just takes it. Not only that, sometime later in the episode he tells Dean to hit him again if it is going to make him feel better.

NO Sam! NO!!! This is NOT healthy and this is NOT the way to deal….ugh. Sigh.

*

Then the second half of the episode swings in and the moral dilemma they face becomes clear when the victim and villain switch roles and Dean is shook enough to question his dad’s judgement!

Dean is still kind of trying to give Gordon the benefit of the doubt even though he sees him literally torturing the vampire. But of course all bets are off the instant he touches Sam. Dean pulls his gun on him. I was surprised that he didn’t shoot him just on principle later simply because he hurt Sam even if it was a small cut.

That is Dean’s definition of monsters-- Anything that hurts Sam. 😊

*

We don’t know it at this time, and spoilers ahead, but maybe Dean has been so annoyed and violent with Sam at the idea that he is standing up for MONSTERS is because he might also be one….and the way he looks at the end when he realizes that his whole life’s philosophy has been upended.

There are the details about the vampires who drink cattle blood so they don’t harm humans and therefore want to be treated as the good guys. Of course it is all about the inherent struggle between who you are and what you do—something that shows up hugely magnified in the later seasons when Sam is struggling with his own demon blood addiction and the knowledge of the demon blood inside him.

He needs desperately to believe in this as the utmost foundation stone of his life and its purpose—what you DO is more important than what you ARE!

So even if you are a monster, if you don’t behave like one—that is your redemption.

But it’s not just anybody whose faith he wants in his struggle to prove to himself that he is not a monster. He needs it from Dean.

Remember the dialogue from the panic room “Don’t you say that to me. Don’t YOU say that to me.”

And the fake voicemail set up by Zachariah exploits this at the time of the breaking of the last seal.

*

Of course he doesn’t know any of this yet, but that’s Sam fucking Winchester for you –always purer and better than his circumstances allow. Always struggling to do better, be better.😍

*

It is fascinating how the visuals and the roles these two play are of rugged handsome men, badass heroes-- Dean of course super macho role playing all the time. But there are so many layers upon layers and honestly if it wasn’t for Jared and Jensen’s fine nuanced and impeccable acting adding depth to the characters, the show would not have held our interest for this long.

We are shown Sam as the brains with his lore and research, but then in the very next episode (Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things), we see Dean connect dots faster than Sherlock Holmes.

Dean is shown as the instinctively violent one with the gun under his pillow, trigger happy, and in this episode even that brutal kill of the vampire on the docks. But then please remember the way Sam kills Gordon finally. Or the insane way he bites himself to get blood for drawing sigils. Or the way he just simply shoots the crossroads demon point blank!

We see Sam as the soft hearted one and he does rescue kids once in a while, but he is never shown to bond with them even a fraction of the way Dean does—so effortlessly. Also the ladies of course, all of whom have a soft spot for Dean. The exceptions being Sarah and Madison, both of whom completely ignored Dean. Oh and that doctor from Sex and Violence.

Dean has had his share of bad dates of course with Cassie, the woman who gave birth to his magical superfast growing daughter ( who was killed by Sam), and the whole Lisa arc, but somehow we are shown Sam as the one who is invested in relationships. Hello?! Sam was planning to marry Jessica without having told her a thing about his life while Dean told Cassie the secret as soon as he thought he was in love and wanted a relationship.

So anyway, just to say that a rewatch is so brilliant because we know more about them at this point than they do and the character arc is such a thing of beauty to see unfolding!

*

That last scene where Dean is in a thoughtful frame of mind, the sun is rising overhead ( as a metaphor for him seeing the light, maybe?)--that insanely gorgeous shot of Dean with the ring of fire and light and his absolutely perfect face in a close up…sigh.

Then he thanks Sam for pushing him to see this grey area and for the first time in that episode Sam finally smiles.

His big brother is back with him.

And then he commits to Dean too. Ah…how it warms my heart to hear this dialogue!

 DEAN I wish we never took this job. It's jacked everything up.

SAM What do you mean?

DEAN Think about all the hunts we went on, Sammy, our whole lives.

SAM Okay.

DEAN What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us...

SAM Dean, after what happened to Mom, Dad did the best he could.

DEAN I know he did. But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things; and man, I hate 'em. I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it; hell, I even enjoyed it.

SAM You didn't kill Lenore.

DEAN No, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill 'em all.

SAM Yeah, Dean, but you didn't. And that's what matters.

DEAN Yeah. Well, 'cause you're a pain in my ass.

SAM Guess I might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then.

DEAN Thanks.

SAM Don't mention it.

Transcript here http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=2.03_Bloodlust_%28transcript%29

 Guess Sam does stick around for the next 15 years to be a pain in the ass 😊

Some quotes from the writers about this episode: 

·  "The episode was really about what Dean would become if he didn't watch out: that Gordon was Dean in ten years if Sam didn't ask the difficult questions and keep him from getting too militant." - Executive story editor Sera Gamble

· "We set out to create a monster episode where you weren't entirely sure whether these monsters should be killed." - Eric Kripke

· "For me, the show is at its best when the supernatural story reveals something new about the brothers, or forces them to change in some way. Sam and Dean's realization that they've basically been raised as 'monster racists' was really meaty stuff. Exploring these characters' flaws is just as important as showcasing their heroism - these are the things that make them human, that make us invest in them." - Raelle Tucker

Check out this site for more amazing trivia and stuff

http://www.jonescave.com/supernatural/Episode/Episode.php?s=2&e=3#PopCulture

I have already finished watching the next episode ‘Children’s Shouldn’t play with Dead Things’….so let’s hope I get around to writing a review sometime soon !

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.18}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

The way back to the castle was quick and they arrived just in time for dinner, but still made their ways into the great hall separately like they usually did. All the way, Robin couldn't help smiling to herself, not even as she sat down with her friends, who resided at the Slytherin table today. 

It took them two seconds to notice her unusually good mood and another to comment on it, but Robin just explained that she'd had a nice day in Hogsmeade and an enjoyable walk back. Jorien snorted in return, Cas frowned, and Simon did both at once, while Michael and Gideon simply didn't know Robin well enough to be aware of the fact that she hated shopping, and designated Hogsmeade days even more. Jorien was quick to explain that fact to them however, and Robin just shrugged it off with another smile. She did add then that she'd mostly enjoyed intimidating a shop owner to accept her terms of a bargain –she did not give details on either though– and her friends finally agreed that this already sounded a whole lot more like the Robin they knew.

Dinner was mostly amicable chatter and talk about tomorrow's tutoring then, as well as a ridiculously serious discussion between Jorien and Gideon about an incident they'd all heard of somehow –involving two sixth years, a dark hallway past curfew, some certain body parts and an enlargement charm– which resulted in second-hand embarrassment for Robin, Michael and Simon, and a giggling fit for Cas. Honestly, Jorien was all facts and no emotion sometimes, Cas just didn't possess a sense of shame, and Gideon obviously went to great lengths to win an argument, no matter how ridiculous it was. The other three just had to bear it out. Robin cringed at the mental images the discussion was giving her, but on the other hand she found it entertaining to see Jorien winning the argument with such an ease. It made her feel proud of the girl, if nothing else.

Finally when dinner was over and the group once again among the last to leave, the boys decided that they would tag along for tutoring in the morning, mainly for the sake of getting help with a charms and herbology assignment on Simon's and Michael's end respectively. Robin absolutely didn't mind going over some NEWT topics as well if they wanted her to, and while she immediately placed the disclaimer that she was only a year ahead and might not even be of any actual help to them at all, the five people in front of her simply laughed at that statement. Obviously neither of them believed her to be 'just a year ahead' for real, and while she felt very much flattered by their confidence in her, she also wasn't quite sure if she would actually be able to meet their ridiculously high expectations. Oh well… an issue for another day.

From there, the girls made their way down to the dungeons like every night, with Robin coming along for half of the way, and upon their usual question about her plans for the evening, she told them that Snape and her were in the process of experimenting with some new substances and she thus couldn't say when she would be returning to her dorm. A beautiful way to shape the truth, she thought, and the girls did as they ought to by shrugging it off as another ordinary night of her work. They did her the favour of taking her winter robes back to their room though, when Robin bid them goodnight and went ahead to let herself into the office.

"Don't get settled, we aren't staying." Snape said the moment she closed the door behind herself, and the smirk was back on her lips in no time, but it was dimmed down again when she saw the annoyed frown on his face that accompanied the statement.

"What's the matter? Change in whatever plans you made?"

"Indeed." He grumbled, picking up a stack of notebooks, and then ushered her straight back out into the hallway, where he followed before locking the door to the office. "Poppy is out of calming draught and pepperup potion, and she believes it to be of vital importance to stock up on both tonight. Idiotic, if they would ask me, but unfortunately no one ever does. So lab work it is."

Robin only groaned under her breath and rolled her eyes while her feet carried her towards the lab on autopilot already, with Snape following right behind her. So much for excitement… making both potions and having them ready for delivery would take hours! But it was their job after all. Actually, it was his job and she just couldn't be bothered to stop doing it together with him.

"I hope she at least knows that she owes you for making us do this on a bloody Saturday night." Robin sighed when she finally dropped her backpack in its usual corner in the lab, then pulled her wand out of her sleeve, put her hair up into a messy knot, and finally rolled up her sleeves all in the usual practiced movements. When her eyes lifted from her arms up to Snape however, to see why he wasn't answering, she found him still standing with his back to the closed door, observing her in rapt serenity. The sight sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, but she refused to let it distract her from the task at hand as she moved towards the tables to set up for the impending work. "If you just keep standing there like a pillar of salt we'll never get this done, you know… And I was actually kinda hoping we would get to continue with whatever plans you've made once we're done here."

"We certainly will." He finally replied as he snapped out of his freeze, lips curling into a not-smirk while he mirrored her actions and rolled up his sleeves as well. He had started doing that more often ever since summer, whenever they had practical work to do in the safe solitude of the lab, and Robin felt a certain pride in the knowledge that he was comfortable enough around her by now to do so. Now was no different, and she smiled to herself as she was about to get started.

"Which one would you like me to make?" She asked while he was still setting up next to her. "Any preference?"

"Your pick."

"Again? You're being suspiciously gracious today, and I'm not sure if I want to know why… I'm not dying again, am I?" She sent him a small smirk, but went straight on. "I'll do the calming draught then. Pepperup always makes me sneeze like crazy."

"I know. It is ironic, really."

"Very funny, yes, absolutely hilarious." She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, but smiled nonetheless as she got started picking out the ingredients. For these kinds of potions, the infirmary's stock and all the ones taught in class, she had long passed the point of needing instructions at all.

The brewing was a running routine by now, and even if Robin had been hoping for a different pastime for tonight, she still found herself enjoying the work as always. It wasn't the most interesting thing to make standard type potions, admittedly, but just working in the lab together with Snape never failed to be a delight in its own right. Before long they were at the point of simply having to wait while the potions simmered quietly in their cauldrons, and while Robin went to write the labels, Snape started grading the notebooks he had brought. Occasionally he grumbled to himself about whatever idiotic thing some student had written in their essay this time, and Robin always found herself amused by his annoyance. There was little else to do than listening to his remarks after all, seeing as writing labels was a repetitive process she might as well have charmed her quill to do by itself. But then she would be left without anything to do at all, and that wouldn't be an improvement either. Thus she just dipped her quill into the inkwell once more with a silent sigh, when suddenly the comfortable calm of the lab was disturbed by a harsh and repeated knocking on the door. That almost never happened.

Robin jumped a little, but stayed sitting on her stool while Snape grumbled to himself again and went to snap at whoever was bothering them with tangible annoyance radiating off him in an invisible cloud. The very second Robin lifted her gaze from the labels to him however, by chance more than intentionally, something in her mind clicked together at the sight of him almost having reached the door. Without a second thought she dropped the quill and bolted, barely still barging in between Snape and the door before he could open it. Her momentum had her back crashing against the wood in a loud rattle, and she found herself once again standing chest to chest with him, trying to catch her breath as she looked up with wide eyes. His scowl had disappeared entirely, only to be replaced by genuinely shocked surprise. Bloody hell, his face was so close to her own… not even a breath away now. A second passed in silence, and her eyes flickered down to his lips ever so briefly, but she just couldn't help it. Her heart skipped a beat, adrenaline running through her veins like sweetest poison, and she finally remembered why she had brought herself into this situation in the first place.

He still looked like a deer in the headlights when Robin wrapped a reluctant hand around his forearm, then dropped her gaze down to the minimal space between them entirely as she carefully rolled his sleeves down again. It took him a few seconds to catch on to her gesture, but then he helped her by closing a few of the buttons at least before repeating the process on the other side himself at a much faster pace. The entire moment didn't last longer than a few seconds, even though it seemed to span enteritis in Robin's mind, and once the task was accomplished, Snape took a step backwards for Robin to move away from the door to allow him to open up at last.

Bloody hell… Robin's heart was still jumping out of her chest, and her insides had liquified entirely as she went to sit back down on her stool. That had been a very close call on two ends, and she took deep breaths to regain some composure at least while resting her forearms on the tabletop. The area where she had dropped the quill was covered in tiny black speckles, as were her forearms, but for some miraculous reason the labels had been spared at least. Good… things were good. Slowly her heartbeat calmed down to a normal pace again, and her brain started working like it ought to as well. When she finally was in a place of mind to pay attention to what was happening at the door, it was thrown shut already though, and Snape returned to his place next to her at the table in silence.

"What was that about?" She asked as calmly as she could, studying how the frown stayed on his face even as he was sitting down next to her again.

"Nothing of importance." He answered quickly, but then sighed as he seemed to think better of it. They were past the point of only sharing important things with each other… long past it, actually. "Pomona informed me that she would like to keep a small group of fifth years in the greenhouse after curfew tomorrow evening and I gave my approval."

"Ah." Robin replied under her breath, but didn't know what else to say on the issue and thus merely let her gaze drop to the labels again, without picking up the quill though. For a few seconds it was quiet, but she could tell by the tension surrounding them that he wanted to say something, and she would give him all the time he needed to do so. Pushing him never worked in her favour anyway, but giving him space usually did.

"Thank you. For keeping an eye on me." He finally started, in a calm tone now but still with a frown on his face. "Such carelessness on my part has never happened before, and it certainly will not be happening again."

"You were caught up in your thoughts, that happens to everyone at some point. It's not worth being upset over now. And of course I'm keeping an eye on you! It's what we always do, both of us. You know that." She returned a soft smile, reassuring and calm and affectionate in that way that was only reserved for him. "I'm just sorry I jumped at you like a maniac."

It took a few seconds, but then his frown loosened up slowly and the not-smirk returned to his lips. "I didn't mind that, actually."

Robin's smile turned into a smirk as well, and then she just had to laugh. "Of course you didn't… You're insufferable, you know?"

"That would be my line."

"Well, I'm stealing it now. We're both insufferable, that's just the way things are." She said with a nonchalant shrug, turning back to pick up her quill and write her labels with a lingering smirk now, and out of the corners of her eyes, she could see that the same expression was gracing his features as well, as he went to continue grading the essays.

They finished their work in the usual calm contentment, first the grading and the labels –while occasional mocking some dunderhead students– before finally bottling the finished potions. It was shortly before midnight when they were done at last, when the bottles were neatly boxed up to be delivered. They spontaneously decided that Robin would be the one to take them to the infirmary, while Snape wanted to clean up the lab and return the notebooks to the office. Moments later she was as good as gone, carefully balancing four smaller cardboard boxes in her arms as she quickly made her way through the dark castle and towards the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was delighted as always when Robin staggered through the heavy doors in an attempt not to drop everything, and whispered many thanks while helping her sort the boxes into the storage shelves. Robin took note of the fact that by now the entire stock had her handwriting on it indeed, and it probably had been that way for a while. She smiled at the realisation, not without a certain sense of pride, and after bidding the matron goodnight, she was leaving again already.

On her way back down to the dungeons though, Robin almost ran into Morgan, who obviously was assigned to patrol the castle tonight. She was just rounding a corner when he suddenly stood right in front of her, but he was luckily looking into the other direction, which gave her enough time to jump back around the corner and hide away in one of the darkest alcoves. Thank heaven or hell for her by now decent ability to move silently, which she had somehow made a habit of practicing ever since she started spending every night in the lab or the office. Over the years she had gotten quite good at it, not as good as Snape obviously, but good enough for Morgan to walk past her now without having noticed her presence. Thank God… Only once she couldn't hear his doorstep anymore, she finally dared to move out of her alcove and continue her way down to the dungeons almost in a run. She really wasn't up for another nightly encounter with Morgan, especially not if he was actually patrolling the castle tonight. She would just have to be careful, and keep an eye on her surroundings.

And yet, just when she hasted along the last hallway in the dungeons before finally being back at the office, she made the mistake of looking back over her shoulder when rounding the last corner and promptly ran into the familiar wall of black. It had been a while since that had last happened, and this time, instead of letting her tumble down to the floor in her immediate loss of balance, his arm was around her waist in an instant, keeping her upright and securely on her feet. At first Robin let out a startled yelp, but after the second it took her brain to register that she knew that arm around her as well as the scent that was overwhelming her senses now, she didn't even need to look at Snape for her body to relax already.

"Didn't we say we would meet at the office?" She finally asked, barely above a whisper but with a smile in relief and a scowl in feigned complaint nonetheless. His arm disappeared from around her, unfortunately, and he took a step backwards to inspect her with a curious frown.

"We did, but you were taking longer than expected, which usually means that either something or someone has happened to you. I merely wanted to see if you were alright." He said in a quiet tone, glancing down the dark hallway that stretched into blackness behind Robin.

"I'm good… but only barely." She sighed, and his eyes found hers again within a second. "I almost ran into Morgan, he's patrolling tonight. Had to hide for a while until he was gone."

"That would explain the delay. I take it then that he didn't see you?"

"No, he walked right past me. But knowing him, that might just have been part of his game. So I was somewhere between panicking and in a haste to get back here."

"Understandable. Let's see to it that we stay out of his way." He said, then the subtle not-smirk returned to his lips. "We still have plans for tonight after all, and I don't want him, or anyone else for that matter, to interrupt those yet again."

Robin's heart skipped a beat upon his words, and once again the anxiety was making way for suspense and excitement. But at the same time, the spark of amusement in his eyes made her smirk in return. "Since you refuse to tell me what we will be doing, you'll have to lead the way. If you don't wanna stand in the hallway all night, that is."

With an exaggerated eye rolling but the same not-smirk, he motioned for her to come along, stopping again a few more steps down the path to retrieve Robin's backpack from the office first, but much to her surprise they then continued on to make their way through the dark hallways until at last they arrived in front of his rooms. Her heart skipped yet another beat, and she tried not to grin like an idiot while he unlocked the door and then let her go in first. This was an interesting development of things… one she certainly didn't mind in the least. She'd been wondering ever since Thursday night when she would get to come back here, but she honestly hadn't expected that moment to arrive so soon. With the biggest smile on her face she dropped down on the sofa and watched him light up the fireplace before taking off his robes and coat and neatly folding both pieces over a chair. It left him in that linen shirt he had also been wearing on Thursday night when she'd come here unannounced, and when he went to roll up the sleeves of that now again, Robin couldn't help but watch in amazement. At some point that gesture had become ridiculously attractive, just like the whole act of him taking off the many layers of black, and she didn't know if it was the gesture itself that had her marvelling or the level of comfort it represented. Both, probably. Her heart was soaring either way.

"You sit there like you have been summoned to the headmaster's office." He finally said, in a taunting voice, while moving about in search of something. "You've never been shy in a space of mine before, so just get comfortable already, will you?"

"If you insist." She chuckled, and toed off her boots first before crossing her legs on the sofa, when suddenly an idea struck her that made her smirk again. Placing her bag in her lap, she first dug out the bottle of firewhisky and set it down next to her, then went to dig deeper. So deep, in fact, that she finally had to stick her head in too, to find what she was looking for. The sofa next to her dipped down, she heard glass rattling, and finally her hand touched what she was looking for. With a victorious smile, she pulled out one item after the other, and set them all down on the ground beneath her before finally surfacing out of the bag again and putting it aside. She was met with Snape's undoubtedly humoured and slightly defeated expression.

"Of course you have a record player in your bag… Why am I even surprised at this point." He sighed to himself, while Robin went to kneel down on the floor to set the whole thing up.

"You like Queen, don't you?" She grinned up at him, but picked out the according record anyway, without waiting for an answer. Half a minute later the music started floating around them at a moderate volume, even though Robin was rather sure that there were multiple silencing charms placed on the room. Still didn't mean it was necessary that they'd have to shout over the music to talk. Then she moved the entire setup to the nearest wall, thus out of the way, and finally sat down on the sofa again, with her legs crossed like before. "There, now you've got proof that I'm comfortable enough to seize the silence. Better now?"

"Indeed." He nodded, while handing Robin an empty glass. "Even though half of the school would likely consider it a sacrilege to play muggle music inside the castle."

"Oh come on, you can't honestly tell me that they wrote their music without the help of magic!" She grinned in return and traced the edges of the glass with her fingertips. "Besides, I don't remotely care about anyone's opinion on my taste in music. Well, actually I do care about your opinion on mostly everything… Do you mind muggle music?"

"No. I only mind bad music."

"See! Can't argue with good taste." Robin shrugged with a smirk. "Talking about taste, what's with the empty glass?"

"I thought we would continue our experiments from earlier today." The smirk was on his face in an instant, fully mirroring hers for once, even if with a touch more mischief to it. "I have a few more liquors I would like you to try. If by the end of it you still choose to go with firewhisky, I won't lose another word of complaint."

"Alright, sounds fair enough. But you gotta try them with me, yes?"

He held up his own glass while quirking an eyebrow at her in reply, then summoned the first bottle from one of the shelves. Robin couldn't help grinning to herself, then down at her glass. This was going to be a very interesting night, no matter what happened from here on, that much at least was for sure. And quite honestly, she already couldn't wait for whatever was to come.

______________________________

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[legobiwan]

Whumptober #2

“pick who dies”

Notes: This got out of control. I was going to add an Obi-wan + Anakin section but I had to cut myself off as I do have other things I need to get to today. This is less whump than...a set of pretentious character studies with THE LINEAGE (including Rael) and an excuse to explore the trolley problem within a Star Wars setting. I blame my recent Hannibal obsession for what you see below. First part here, rest under the cut. Note, I am a musician, not a philosophy student, so allow for some creative interpretation here. 

General Whumptober tag

Whumptober 2020 #1

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(excerpt from “The Padawan’s Guide to Philosophy.” Eds. Masters Thrife-Foran & Ugaaalich. 616th e. Coruscant, 940 ARR. Holobook.)

Premise:

You are out for an afternoon walk in the outer regions of Thymilla, a moderately-populated city on the planet Ungar. On your walk, you pass by a set of hovertrain tracks, which branch into two separate arms - one an extension of the main track, the other a smaller offshoot which leads to a cargo loading zone, about fifty clicks south of where you are. (Diagram 3)

As a hovertrain approaches from the north, you hear screaming, the words of the driver becoming clearer as the hovertrain barrels towards the switch. The brakes of the train have failed and there is no chance of repair. If the train continues on its current path, it will kill five workers making repairs on the track. If you pull a switch, the hovertrain will divert to the offshoot, where it will kill one worker at the cargo loading zone.

Because of an anomaly in Ungar’s atmosphere, you cannot access the Force.

Do you pull the switch or do nothing and allow the train to speed forward?

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Dooku shifted on his meditation pod, the firm material groaning as he uncrossed his legs from the lotus position, gingerly setting both his bare feet to the cool, tiled floor of his Master’s chambers. The young man allowed himself a small wince with the action. Yoda might have been able to keep that damnable position for hours, probably days on end, but Dooku was just a few months shy of his eighteenth life day, and another recent growth spurt seemingly focused all on his legs made sitting for any long amount of time…uncomfortable, to say the least.

Which was likely why Yoda had had him trapped him here for the past three hours, running through one ethical thought experiment after the other, poking his literal and metaphorical gimmer stick precisely at each gnarled and swollen joint in both his body and thoughts.

To act - to pull the switch - would mean to commit premeditated murder, even if it were for the greater good. Hardly a Jedi-like action. But then again, they had been taught - indoctrinated, really - with the idea that is was acceptable to sacrifice one life for the lives of many. A supposedly fair trade-off, although Dooku had seen enough of the Jedi’s relationship to the Senate, had seen enough of the Council’s internal politics, to know that two lives did not necessarily hold equal weight.

But to not act - to let the train barrel through, to leave it up to the will of the Force...Dooku clenched his teeth. That seemed more in line with the Order he was coming to know, was consistent with the Council’s lack of action on Protobranch, when Sifo-Diyas had seen the calamity that was to befall the planet and yet the Council, his Master, had done too little, too late, preferring to allow events to transpire as they would, the Jedi only impassive bystanders.

What was the point of their abilities, their training, their place in the universe, if they weren’t able to change the course of events for the better?

“I suppose,” Dooku began slowly, coming to stand, suddenly not caring if he was maintaining his proper meditation position. The young man padded towards the slightly shuttered windows on the other side of the room.

“I suppose it depends on the relative worth of each life,” he said, turning away from Yoda as to not see the subtle moue of distaste Dooku was certain would cross the old Master’s face.

“Is not all life sacred, Padawan?”

Dooku barely bit back the dark chuckle threatening to escape from his chest. Only in the holos and classrooms and the empty rhetoric of the Council was all life sacred. The Jedi could do so much more, he could do so much more to change the galaxy and yet the Order allowed itself to be chained to politicians, leashed like akk-dogs until receiving command.

No, Dooku thought. There was no balance - not here and not in the Force.

“From the information you’ve provided,” Dooku said, ignoring Yoda’s question. He peered through the slits of the rotor blinds into the watery illumination of Coruscant’s night sky. The dome of the Senate building rose through the rain like an oddly-shaped umbrella, shielding those in power with its wide beadth. “We can assume both parties of victims are of equal social standing, being manual laborers. Because of this, we must find other ways of determining their worth, their ability to enact change in the galaxy.”

Dooku clasped his hands behind his back, daring to turn to face his Master’s displeasure.

“The question becomes whether you want to hold sway over the transit network of a forgettable city, or the imports and exports that may go off-world. Exports which might include valuable resources or even smuggled goods. Items which could affect the governance of our imagined city and therefore, by extension, an even larger part of the populace.”

“Which is why, in this case,” Dooku concluded, his posture straightening, “I would choose to allow the hovertrain to continue its course and save the cargo worker.”

Yoda folded both claws over his gimmer stick, frowning. After a moment, he let out a small grunt, his features now inscrutable.

“And see yourself as the final arbiter of worth, do you, my young apprentice? Stand you above all others holding a golden scale, you do?”

Don’t we, as Jedi, hold these scales every day and yet choose to ignore them? Dooku thought.

“Someone,” the young man replied, “will make the judgment regardless. Is it not better for the Jedi to use our powers to make such decisions?”

This time Yoda did let out a wet sigh, shaking his head.

“Dangerous, these thoughts are, my Padawan,” Yoda grumbled, gesturing at the meditation pod. “Sit, young Dooku. Much we have to discuss.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Rael.”

Rael Averross slung an arm over the back of Dooku’s couch, sleeves of his Master’s borrowed robe hanging long near the tips of his fingers. It had been the third time that month Rael had “misplaced” his own robe, his Master’s foisted upon him in the wee hours of the morning, Dooku grunting something about “Jedi propriety” before shoving Rael out the door. (The things were a damned inconvenience, and made him look like something straight out of a space station ghost story, to boot. Was it so surprising he showed up to Dooku’s quarters in a state which his Master referred to as “half-naked?”)

Rael bit his lip, trying to not think of all the times he had actually been half-naked in the Temple. Those were fun times. Unfortunately, Dooku could probably mind read them out of him right now if he weren’t so concentrated on this thought experiment.

“Why not save them both?” Rael drawled amiably, scratching at the beginnings of a beard with his other hand as he hoped to distract his Master from any hint of his past indiscretions. It was about time, too, he thought. Never going to look my age going around all smooth-faced like a transparisteel window surface.

Dooku gave a small smile. “You cannot, Rael. Those are the rules of the scenario.”

“Rules,” Rael scoffed, picking at the hem of Dooku’s overly-fancy robe before suddenly launching to his feet, unable to contain his restlessness. The younger Jedi paced up and down the length of Dooku’s couch, grateful his usually strict Master was allowing him this indulgence. Not that Dooku had any problem sitting still for what felt like forever - stiff as a board, that one - but Rael was too jittery, too full potential energy to keep his thoughts in neat line with his body. “Rules are meant to be broken, Master,” Rael gave a swift chop with his hand in illustration. “You’re the first one to tell me that.”

Rael heard his Master let out a soft snort in response. Only Dooku could make such a noise sound dignified. “I suppose I did,” the older man answered evenly.

“So there you go! Blow up the train and everyone’s fine.”

“And kill the driver?”

Rael spun to face Dooku, the other man’s eyebrows raised not in condemnation, but genuine interest. It was days like this Rael truly appreciated having Dooku as a Master. Sure, he was as pretentious as any big-city Senator, a hard taskmaster in his lessons, and an even tougher dueling trainer - but at the end of the day, Dooku only expected Rael to follow Dooku’s rules, and not the Order’s.

And as much as Rael chaffed under any collar, he’d take Dooku’s version of the Code over the Council’s any day.

“I mean, the driver is the one in control of the train,” Rael shrugged. “Sure, it’s an accident, but the they were going to be dead either way once they hit those other bodies. Probably would go flying through the window and bash their skull in. This way, you save six lives,” Rael gave his best used speeder salesman grin. “Buy five, get one free.”

That little addition did cause his Master to roll his eyes.

“You are…” Dooku pressed his lips together, sitting back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. It was as close as Dooku ever got to a casual posture. “Colorful rhetoric aside, you are essentially advocating for pre-emptive action. Very interesting, Rael.”

“Interesting as in,” Rael pulled a sour face, imitating Dooku’s proper Serennian accent, “‘And now I will assign you five Jedi moral precepts to memorize and write a five-page essay about’ or interesting as in ‘I will now have you learn the complete codified law of the Umbargans, whose entire military strategy revolved around non-preemptive attacks.”

Dooku chuckled - actually chuckled - at Rael’s minor impertinent outburst. “Neither, Rael. Although, I must say you have provided me the perfect means by which I may punish you later on.” Damn, dug my own grave with that one, thought Rael. 

“No,” Dooku continued, “I merely find your stance on this matter to be refreshingly…original.”

“You mean the Council wouldn’t approve?”

It took his Master a full minute to answer, his gaze shifting beyond Rael, beyond the confines of their shared quarters, Dooku seeming lost in some memory.

“Hardly,” he finally said. “And that is for the best.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan?”

Qui-gon Jinn sat motionless on the small patch of grass, listening to the susurrations of the light breeze in the Room of a Thousand Fountains finger through a nearby thicket of Borto reeds. Across from him, Master Dooku sat in a mirrored pose, long legs crossed over the other in the lotus position, expression unreadable, his presence in the Force - or, his effect on the Force presence on the vegetation around him - one of controlled expectancy, a single blade of grass erect and ready despite the buffeting winds.

“We shouldn’t have to choose, Master,” Qui-gon replied, trying to steady his own uneven thoughts and emotions. Although he had been Dooku’s Padawan for almost five years now, Qui-gon still found himself worrying his responses to thought experiments like these would not pass his Master’s high and stringent intellectual standards.

“In an ideal world, Qui-gon, we wouldn’t. But as you have learned - as I have shown you - the status quo rarely measures up to our ideals.”

The status quo, Qui-gon thought. Code for the Senate, for the Council, for the Republic at large. That much he had figured out, had learned from Rael, whose ability to translate Dooku’s sometimes opaque rhetoric to something more digestible never ceased to amaze Qui-gon.

The status quo. The more years he spent with Dooku - with Rael, when the younger man was around - the more Qui-gon understood. Perhaps he always had a predilection to question, to challenge what was “known,” the dictums etched in stone handed down from the Council to the Council’s Masters to its Padawans. But with Dooku’s guidance, and with his own exploration of the Jedi prophecies, Qui-gon had developed his own sense of right and wrong, of how the galaxy ought to work in consonance with the ideals of the Jedi Code and his own moral compass.

“In that case, I would ask the Force for guidance,” Qui-gon replied, thoughts slipping back to the many hours he had spent in the Archives, poring over ancient holocrons. The Force had provided for the seers of old, why shouldn’t it provide now?

“Perhaps the Force cannot provide all the answers,” Dooku countered, as if reading his mind.

Qui-gon frowned, tilting his head. “Is that not what the Jedi teach, Master? What you teach? To follow the Force?”

“To a degree,” Dooku assented, rare amusement curling the side of his lips. “But the Jedi work in symbiosis with the Force, and even that is within a certain self-imposed definition of what the Force may or may not be capable of.”

Self-imposed definition? Qui-gon ran his hands through the soft grass at his sides, no longer able to keep that perfect stillness now that Dooku had so upset his equilibrium. Had his study of the prophecies not proven that exact point? That the Jedi of now no longer regarded the Force with as open a mind those of millennia ago?

“The Force is more infinite, has more potentialities than the confines of what we could possibly hope to study in a thousand lifetimes,” Qui-gon hedged.

“And so you hope to use prophecy to save these doomed beings?” Dooku retorted with a small wave of his hand. Ah yes, the hovertrain problem, Qui-gon grimaced. He had almost quite forgotten about the whole reason for this conversation.

“I would hope to…” Qui-gon cocked his head, watching a pair of butterflies flutter over a Byrsonima crassifolia, fragile leaves fluttering in their wake. An action - or a lack of action. If he saved one life or saved five. What would the repercussions be? How could he know he was making the right choice? How could the Order know, if not for guidance from the Force, in all its possible iterations?

And yet, the study prophecy of was considered at best, an esoteric hobby - at worst, a dangerous arm of mysticism by much of the Council.

Which is why your Master encourages you to think beyond the dictates of the Council, Qui-gon concluded.

“Yes, then,” Qui-gon stated, suddenly more confident in his answers. “I would hope to ameliorate the situation by using a similar mindset of the prophets. One of openness, wonder, and possibility - to find my way in this situation.”

“And just how far would you be willing to take supposed,” Dooku trained him with an enigmatic expression, “openness?” The word weighed heavy with implication.

Qui-gon started. What exactly is Dooku trying to get at here? Hadn’t it been his Master who had introduced him to the prophecies, to the Force beyond the dictates of the Code? So far, Dooku had not steered him wrong, and yet just as the nearby Byrsonima crassifolia cast a long shadow over the open grass, so did Dooku’s unspoken entreaty.

But before Qui-gon could cobble together an answer, Dooku seemed to break out of his trance, chuckling slightly as he got to his feet. He extended a long arm to Qui-gon, who took it without hesitation, coming to stand at his Master’s side.

“Meditate on the answer, Qui-gon. For now, I believe it is past time for dinner.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Obi-wan Kenobi shifted in the overly-large, overly-plush velvet chair which threatened to swallow him whole. He and Qui-gon had been dispatched to Barstovia, a little-known desert mining planet in the Mid-Rim. A simple mission, really, overseeing a trade deal between Barstovia and Ord Mantell, opening up some shipping lines of the rare fermenium mineral to the Republic. A wholly forgettable mission, if Obi-wan were being honest, except for the fact the diminutive race of Barstovia seemed to prize, of all the unlikely things, oversized, over-upholstered furniture.

While Obi-wan struggled with a crimson throw pillow the size of his torso, his master, Qui-gon Jinn, sat across from him, perfectly serene in his eight-foot tall, royal blue armchair.

“Well, Master,” Obi-wan said, words strained as he punched the pillow to his side with un-Jedi-like ferocity. Of all times for Qui-gon to pull out a thought experiment.

“The prevailing wisdom would say to sacrifice one life to save five - a utilitarian outlook and the most practical, at least on the surface.” Obi-wan pushed down on the seat of his chair, trying in vain to straighten his posture, to lend his answer some form of credence beyond his words. Inevitably, Qui-gon would hold the exact opposite opinion from Obi-wan’s, and while Obi-wan had often kept his feelings to himself under the guise of “picking his battles,” he preferred to express his thoughts while at least looking the part of an almost eighteen-year-old Padawan, and not some child stuck in a chair too large for him.  He struck at the recalcitrant cushion one last time. “But as Jedi, we often prioritize a single being or beings if they hold an important role.” 

“In the short-term,” Obi-wan grimaced suddenly, pulling an impossible second pillow from under his right thigh, “we would lose four lives over one, granted. But in the long-term, that single life lost might mean the eventual deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands.”

“But you do not have this information, Padawan,” Qui-gon replied, a crease of annoyance in his brow. Obi-wan noted there was no accompanying crease in the cushion of his Master’s chair. “All you know is the number of beings.”

Obi-wan bit down on a caustic reply. Yes, I know that, Master. I hadn’t gotten to my point yet. But when did Qui-gon actually ever listen to him?

“Yes, Master, this is true,” the younger Jedi answered, Obi-wan impressed with the evenness of his own response despite his increasing irritation. “Which is why I would endeavor to save them all.”

A beat. a raised eyebrow coupled with a subtle sigh. “Quite the feat, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon finally said, his words laced with skepticism. “How would you accomplish such a thing?”

How in the world is he not drowning in that chair? Obi-wan thought, distracted by his Master’s impenetrability, despite the audacious situation. There was Qui-gon, halfway across the room, composed and neat - well, as neat as Qui-gon ever got - against the regal backdrop of the humorously-sized chair while Obi-wan floundered in a sea of crimson, just out of his Master’s reach.

And wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for their troubled partnership?

Obi-wan wiped at his brow. “It’s quite simple, Master. The hovertrain could be diverted, or at least impeded by a third party inserting themselves into the equation.”

Something in Qui-gon’s expression shifted at the statement, earlier annoyance now melting into something closer to concern. The older man leaned forward in his chair, for the first time exhibiting a pang of discomfort as he battled the voluminous material.

“And who might that be?” Qui-gon asked, batting at the tsunami of beige woven blanket at his side.

“Myself, of course.”

Dead silence met Obi-wan’s words.

Wrong answer, Kenobi. Absolutely the wrong answer. Disappointment was written all over Qui-gon’s body language, even emanating from his usually controlled Force signature. Obi-wan fell back into the chair, not bothering to fight the dunes and valleys of velvet threatening to overtake him, averting his gaze to some preposterously-sized side-table and vase. Hopefully, his failure to provide the correct response would be the end of this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. Qui-gon would assign him some reading and meditation, and let the matter rest until they returned to Coruscant.

But Qui-gon only peered at Obi-wan with a piercing stare, apparently not ready to give up on the exchange.

“You would sacrifice yourself to save the others?”

Obi-wan found himself mirroring his master’s movements.

“Isn’t that what it means to be a Jedi?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “We are servants of the Republic, of the Force - if our actions can save lives so that Republic may continue in peace - “ Obi-wan’s mouth opened and closed, trying to form the words that would express his devotion to the Order, the Code, his own sense of honor - but found himself gaping like an Ithorian cuttlefish.

Once again, Qui-gon fell into contemplation, back arching against tall, bulbous pillows, brushing his mustache with a single finger. A minute, then two went by, the only sound the clicks of a nearby chrono. Over eighteen feet tall, the clicks sounded more like the steps of a lurking gundark than a timepiece, doing nothing for Obi-wan’s nerves.

Finally, Qui-gon broke the uncomfortable semi-silence. “Don’t be so hasty to throw away your own life, Padawan. As you rightly said, the death of a monarch may cause the deaths of many others down the road. But you cannot know how many lives would remain unsaved if you were to treat your own so lightly.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows rose. That had not been the reaction he was expecting.

“But how am I to know when that sacrifice is necessary?” he asked automatically. Obi-wan would make that sacrifice gladly, although...to be perfectly honest, he would prefer not to die as a seventeen-year-old Padawan. 

“The better question is how you can work to reach a more productive option rather than coming to such a dire conclusion.” Qui-gon’s voice softened. “I am serious, Obi-wan. You have much to offer the galaxy. Don’t let your strict adherence to Jedi ideals extinguish your star too early. Not only would the Republic be at a loss, but…” Qui-gon looked away, staring down at some invisible pattern in the corner of the room. “I would, as well.”

Obi-wan’s mouth dropped open. “Master, I - “

“Ah, Master Jedi!” A new voice squeaked from the gargantuan entranceway. “Thank you so much for waiting,” proclaimed the three-foot Minister of Commerce, Parhary Hatch, bedecked in a long, flowery robe whose velvet train stretched back several feet. “Please, if you would,” he gestured towards the tall archway.

“Yes, of course, Minister Hatch,” Qui-gon replied in his diplomatic voice, jumping neatly off the chair, his landing as elegant as a Coruscanti ice skater.

Obi-wan frowned, joining his Master in a slightly less dignified, but no less effective maneuver. They had been on the verge of…something, some kind of understanding, or at least a truce. Whatever words had remained unsaid between would likely stay so, the moment gone, the trip back to Coruscant, and then to a Hutt outpost taking priority over these types of conversations.

Another time, then, Obi-wan sighed to himself, following the slinking violet trail of the Bartovian minister and his Master into the long corridors of the palace.

[maybeimamuppet]

dream a better dream

hello my little muppets!! happy wednesday!

this is a request fill for @erikascadys who requested sharkboy and lavagirl au! janis is lavagirl and damian is shark boy. and cady is just cady :))

i don't think i need any trigger warnings, but as always if I've missed one please let me know so I can add it!

anyway, please enjoy!

---

Cady has always been a dreamer.

Growing up in Kenya, it was nearly the only thing she could do to entertain herself. Sure, she had a few toys, or books to read, or lions to chase. But in terms of other humans, all she had were her parents and her dreams.

Her personal favorite dream first appeared one night when she was ten. Cady’s family had just gotten the news that her older brother, Rhys, had been killed in the line of combat. The only place Cady has as an escape from her grief is in her dreams.

She dreams of two people. Friends. A boy and a girl. The boy is part human, part shark. He has legs, but also fins. A human face, but shark teeth. And human hands, but sharp claws. In spite of everything, he seems kind. He cares for his shark friends and all the fish, carefully tends to the corals and feeds the seaweed and anemones. Cady cleverly dubs him Sharkboy.

The girl is very different. She’s made of lava and fire, with bright pink hair and the ability to shoot lava from her hands. Cady doesn’t know much else about her. She names her Lavagirl and leaves it at that.

-

Cady frantically writes her dream in her dream journal when she wakes up the next morning. She’s kept one since she learned how to write, detailing all her most precious dreams. She has a feeling this one is extra special.

“I’m going to the watering hole to take a bath!” She yells to her parents as she runs out of their tent. Her dad grabs her by the back of her shirt and scoops her up before she can make it out. “Hey!”

“Why are you suddenly so eager to take a bath?” Her dad asks, setting her down again.

“I’m not! I’m just excited for the day! I had a super special dream!” Cady says, bouncing up and down a few times. Her dad gives her a sad smile and ruffles her hair.

“Okay. Watch for crocs and hurry back for breakfast, binti.”

“I will!” Cady says, dashing out again.

-

After a quick but expert assessment, Cady dubs the small pool to be free of crocodiles and any other predators. The zebras wouldn’t be drinking here for so long, otherwise.  Cady leaps in with a small splash and opens her eyes under the water. She’s been trying to learn how to do that recently.

But someone else is there. She screams and pops her head back above the surface. The figure follows. “Sharkboy?”

“Yeah!” Sharkboy says. “Hi!”

“You’re real?” Cady asks in awe.

“Yeah, duh! I’m right here,” Sharkboy says.

“Whoa,” Cady whispers. “Um… can I finish my bath, please? Then we can get to know each other!”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry!” Sharkboy says, turning around and covering his eyes. Cady swims back down and finishes cleaning herself, then dries herself off and gets dressed. Sharkboy swims up and rests on the shore.

“I thought you were a dream,” Cady murmurs, tilting her head. Sharkboy shakes his head.

“Nope! Well, kinda. But everything that is, or was, or will be, began with a dream.”

“Huh,” Cady says, tilting her head. “Okay, do you wanna go play? I’ve never… I’ve never had a human friend before.”

“I’m not human,” Sharkboy says, smiling so she can see his teeth.

“Oh, right,” Cady giggles. “I’ve never had a shark friend before either.”

Sharkboy smiles wider. “Yeah, come on. I bet you’re pretty fast growing up out here.”

“Tag! You’re it!”

-

Cady shares her breakfast with Sharkboy, and they play together in between Cady’s chores. She learns his real name is Damian, and that he was a marine biologist with his mother. Their research base was destroyed in a storm, and he was practically adopted by the sharks. And now he searches the universe for his mother.

“I hope you find her,” Cady says genuinely. “We lost my brother a while ago. But he’s not coming back.”

“I heard. I’m sorry,” Sharkboy says. Cady shrugs.

“It’s okay. I miss him a lot, but my parents say he’s still with me. Anyway, you wanna come see the lions? They’re my favorite.”

Sharkboy nods and runs after her to help feed the lions their dinner. The sun is setting, painting the sky gold and orange and pink as it makes its way down for the day. Once the first stars are just beginning to twinkle for the night, a bright flash of pink light suddenly glows from behind them.

“Lavagirl,” Cady breathes when she turns around. Lavagirl smiles slightly and nods. Maybe that really is her name. “You’re real too!”

“Sharkboy, I need your help,” Lavagirl says. “You have to come with me. A great crisis is developing on the Planet Drool.”

Sharkboy nods and heads to her side. They begin to run off together, before freezing and turning back to Cady.

“Can you come as well, Cady?”

“Er… I would,” Cady stutters. “I’d really like to, but… I have homeschool tomorrow.”

Lavagirl nods in understanding, and they both turn back and continue running off. Cady doesn’t see them again.

—-

Until six years later. Cady’s parents have lost their funding and are forced to move back to America. Cady is both upset and excited. She’s sad to be leaving the only home she’s known, but eager to experience life in the west. And go to real school for the first time.

She starts at North Shore High three days after they move to Chicago. Her wishes for a happy American life are quickly dashed.

The building is massive and meandering, built of a labyrinth of hallways and classrooms that all look the same and packed wall to wall with other kids all shoving and pushing and yelling. Like sardines.

Sharkboy would like that, she thinks with a little smile. And he could use his navigation instincts to help me get around this place.

By some miracle she makes it to homeroom on time and plops herself in an empty seat near the front of the room. She looks up when it suddenly goes quiet and the teacher begins speaking.

“Hello class, I’m Ms. Norbury, I teach AP Calculus,” she begins. Cady looks up in relief and checks her schedule. This is her math teacher. “And we have a new student this year, I see. Caddy Heron?”

“Uh-it’s Cady,” Cady stutters quietly, raising her hand. “I used to be homeschooled.”

That gets a few snickers from people in the back of the room, and Ms. Norbury’s demeanor seems to change slightly. “That’s a fun way to steal from my union.”

“Oh! No, no,” Cady says immediately. “I grew up in Kenya, my parents are zoologists. Not many unions there.”

Much to her relief, Ms. Norbury relaxes slightly and gives her a kind smile. “In that case, welcome to North Shore. I saw you on my roster for the afternoon, I look forward to seeing what you can do.”

Cady gives her an eager smile back and nods as she gathers her things once the bell goes off.

—-

In her English class, she gets an assignment to write a short story about her favorite childhood memory. Cady thinks long and hard about which moment to choose. The time a lion broke into her tent and cuddled her all night? Or the time she got to see the city of Nairobi for the first time? Her first airplane trip?

Suddenly, it hits her. She had never had more fun as a kid than when she spent the day with Sharkboy. So Cady writes about that. What could go wrong?

As it turns out, reading the essay aloud in front of the whole class is what can go wrong. Cady eagerly volunteers to go first. Mistake one.

She looks up when she finishes reading, to the sneers and smirks of her classmates. And that’s before they start laughing out loud. One of them even throws a ball of paper at her.

“Sit down, Cady,” her teacher says gently. Cady sits down quietly back at her spot, trying to ignore the jeers of the other students. “Cady appears to have merely misunderstood the assignment. I asked for true stories. But that was a very well done work of fiction.”

“It is true!” Cady says, much louder than she’s spoken all day. Another paper ball hits her. Cady pulls her dream journal out of her backpack, where she also wrote about the day she got to spend with Sharkboy. “He said everything that is, or was, started with a dream. It’s true.”

Her teacher looks at her sadly and gives a slight head shake as the next kid gets up to read their essay. Cady doesn’t speak up again until the bell rings.

“Cady, a moment please,” her teacher asks quietly. Cady sheepishly heads over to her desk. “You have a real way with words. But you’re sixteen, in the eleventh grade. It’s time to stop dreaming, okay?”

Cady takes the pencil she had tucked behind her ear and scratches that down in her journal. “No dreaming. Got it. I-I’ll try harder.”

Her teacher looks at her sadly but nods, sending her off to her next class. Cady is pulling her schedule out of her backpack to check the room number when she’s suddenly knocked to the ground.

“Watch where you’re going, jungle freak,” the girl she’s bumped into spits.

“I’m sorry,” Cady says desperately. “I didn’t see you, I didn’t mean it-“

“I’m sure you didn’t. As payback… what is that?”

“My-my dream journal,” Cady says, clutching it to her chest.

“Can I see it?” The girl asks. Cady naively hands it over. The girl flips through it and laughs. “You’ll get an edited version tomorrow.”

“Wait, give it back!” Cady yells, trying to run after her. The girl’s two cronies block her path.

“Trust us, don’t mess with Regina. We’ll try to keep her from doing too much to it. But she can do a lot worse,” the blonde one murmurs.

Cady hollowly stops fighting them and steps back. The girls give her an apologetic look before they run after their friend.

————-

Cady cries herself to sleep that night. America is nothing like she thought it would be. She wishes she could be back in Kenya, where the only things around for miles to laugh at her were the hyenas. Or, at the very least, that she wouldn’t have to go to school tomorrow. Maybe there’ll be a bad storm. With tornados.

In her dreams, Sharkboy and Lavagirl make an appearance for the first time since she was eleven. She’d gotten little glimpses of their work on planet Drool, as they helped make it into the awesome planet of Cady’s dreams. They seemed happy.

But something is wrong, now. Cady can’t quite piece it together, but the scenes she can see clearly aren’t right. She wakes up with a gasp and runs to the window. A bright, clear day greets her mockingly.

“Guess I didn’t dream hard enough.”

—————

Cady trudges through the morning. Her parents are arguing over something or other, probably trying to get her father a job again. Cady’s mom asks her to come right home after school so they can all talk. Cady suddenly starts wishing something will happen at school so she doesn’t have to go home.

By lunch, the sky about matches her mood. Dark clouds block out any hint of blue that wanted to shine through, and loom ominously over the building. Her science teacher takes the opportunity to teach about tornados and their origins.

Regina strolls in casually about ten minutes after the bell, holding a bag that must be too small to carry all her books. Not that she cares.

Cady stands and goes to her desk, holding out a hand. “Give it back.”

“Ladies, is there an issue?” the teacher asks.

“Regina took my dream journal yesterday.”

“Ooh, a liar, too, how fun,” Regina titters.

“Regina, give Cady her book. It hasn’t even been a week and you’re already picking up the bullying again,” the teacher huffs. Something tells Cady that Regina had never set the bullying down in the first place.

Begrudgingly, Regina picks up her designer bag and roots through it. Cady thankfully takes her precious book back. But as she opens it to check that all her dreams are where they were before, she gasps in horror.

Every single page has been scratched out one way or another. Lipstick, black marker in swirly handwriting, even a few pages covered in letter stickers that spell out particularly cruel taunts.

“She ruined it!”

“Where’s your proof, you little freak?” Regina retaliates.

“That’s enough! Both of you will be reporting with me to the principal’s office after school. With your parents,” the teacher yells, trying to get her class back under control. It turns out to be a futile effort when the windows suddenly blow open with the force of the winds outside. “I do not get paid enough for this.”

Everyone ducks underneath their desks as papers start flying around the room, covering their heads and faces for protection. In her haste to get back to her desk, Cady accidentally drops the journal by Regina’s feet, who bends down to pick it up with a coy smirk.

Cady has curled up in a ball beneath her desk when there’s suddenly a thunderous crash accompanied by the sounds of breaking glass. Carefully, Cady peeks up above to see…

Sharkboy and Lavagirl. Evidently having entered through a new hole in the wall.

“I’m looking for Cady,” Lavagirl says, staring down Cady’s classmates. Everyone points to Cady’s desk in the far corner. Cady squeaks and ducks back down. Lavagirl makes her way over regardless, setting homework alight on her way. When she reaches her, Lavagirl lifts Cady’s desk off the ground with just one hand, revealing Cady curled in a frightened ball. “We need your help, Cady. Come with us.”

“Wh-what do I have to do?” Cady stutters, following after the girl made of fire.

“Just come with us, we’ll explain on the way.”

“Hi Cady!” Sharkboy says, waving eagerly. Lavagirl whacks him gently.

“I can’t go with you.” Cady says.

“Why not?”

“Be-because you’re not real! Both of you! You’re just a dream,” Cady says, trying to admit it to herself as well. “And-and you’ll be gone when I open my eyes.”

Cady squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.

When she opens them again, Sharkboy and Lavagirl are gone. Or so she thinks.

“We’re still here, Cady,” Sharkboy says from behind her. Cady screams and whirls around.

“If you want to stop The Darkness from destroying our worlds,” Lavagirl growls slightly. “You’ll come with us.”

“You should probably go with them,” Cady’s teacher squeaks, poking her head up from behind her desk. Cady nods.

“Okay. I-I’ll go with you.”

——————

“Where are we going?” Cady yells, trying to keep up with her friends. Creations? No, friends is much better.

“Planet Drool!” Sharkboy yells over his shoulder.

“It’s real?!”

“Yeah! We just punched a hole in your school, is it so hard to believe?”

“How are we getting there?”

“Enough with the questions!” Lavagirl demands. Cady suddenly notices the shark shaped rocket ship in front of them.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Put on the goggles,” Lavagirl says, handing Cady a pair of electric blue ones. Hers are purple, and Sharkboy’s are pink. Cady doesn’t judge.

“So how do you fly this thing?” Sharkboy asks. Cady looks at him.

“You don’t know?”

“That’s our whole problem!” Lavagirl says angrily. Cady blinks at her a few times sheepishly before she slams her foot on a pedal. It reveals a green ‘GO’ button. Cady presses it, and they’re off.

Cady looks out the window at the tornados, before they’re suddenly in the atmosphere.

“How do you control it?!” Lavagirl yells at her over the roaring of the engines.

“It has an auto-pilot!” Cady yells back. Lavagirl smacks the button in front of her.

“Wow, you really thought of everything!” Sharkboy says happily.

“Er… not exactly,” Cady says.

“How the fuck do we land?!” Lavagirl says when she realizes.

“That’s the bit I forgot!”

“Well, there’s Neptune,” Lavagirl spits. “Hold on to your asses!”

Cady braces and shuts her eyes, clinging to her harness for safety. Luckily they don’t seem to crash too hard. The ground is almost… squishy.

The mouth of the shark-rocket opens for them to step out onto the surface of the planet. Cady looks out in awe at the world she’s created.

“Do you recognize it, Cady?” Sharkboy asks quietly.

“Not really,” Cady admits shyly. “I feel like I should, but I just… don’t.”

“It’s affecting you too, then,” Sharkboy says sadly. Lavagirl glares at him. “I thought she’d remember!”

“Remember what?”

“Your dreams,” Lavagirl says. “The whole fucking planet? Us? Your powers?”

“I’ve got powers?”

“More than any of us,” Sharkboy says. “Remember what I told you when we met? Everything that is, or was, or will be, began with a dream. And you dreamt us, and this whole place!”

“Every dream you ever had landed here,” Lavagirl says.

“Oh. Why-why is it so dark? I don’t have that many nightmares,” Cady says.

“It began yesterday. What’s the calculation, Sharkboy?” Lavagirl asks. Sharkboy pulls out a shark-shaped device. It’s beeping quietly and seems to be scanning the environment for something.

“About forty-five minutes,” he replies.

“Forty-five minutes until what?” Cady asks.

“Until the planet… is… destroyed,” Sharkboy says sheepishly.

“We didn’t pick you up to save you,” Lavagirl says, looking out over the darkening horizon. “We need you to save us.”

“Oh. How-how do I do that?” Cady asks anxiously. This is way more responsibility than she asked for when she started keeping a dream journal.

“The dream lair over there. That’s where your dreams are going bad,” Sharkboy says sadly. “We have to get you there and find out what’s happening to them. And hopefully reverse it.”

Sounds simple enough.

“We’ll have to travel through the Passage of Time, catch the Train of Thought, swim down the Stream of Consciousness, and skate across the Sea of Confusion. Because it’s frozen now. Nice going, Cady,” Lavagirl grumbles.

“Lava, don’t be mean! It’s not her fault,” Sharkboy admonishes. “We brought Cady here to put things back in order. We just have to stay positive! It’s not the end of the world.”

“It literally is, though!” Lavagirl yells from a ways away. She turns around and walks backwards away from them for a moment. “The planet is dying, come on!”

“What’s her deal?” Cady asks anxiously as she and Sharkboy run after Lavagirl. Suddenly, a groaning creak is heard, and they both turn around to find the shark rocket being swallowed by the Darkness. “Run!”

Everyone picks up the pace, until they’re suddenly on a platform moving rapidly towards a sort of carnival.

“How is this here if you’ve never been to a carnival?” Lavagirl asks.

“I read about them in books and stuff. I always wanted to go to one,” Cady says sheepishly. “I was, like, ten, give me a break!” Lavagirl shrugs and turns away from her with a huff. “Where is everyone? My dream planet shouldn’t be so lonely.”

“They’re stuck,” Sharkboy says, pointing to a roller coaster weaving around a tall mountain that looks remarkably like Kilimanjaro. “Trapped. Ms. Neverbury has everyone kind of held hostage.”

“How awful,” Cady says sadly. “My world was supposed to be fun.”

“Oh, it’s fun, alright,” Lavagirl chuckles sardonically. “Endless fun. Once you get on, you can’t get off.”

“Kids aren’t allowed to rest here, because if they rest, they sleep, if they sleep, they dream, and if they dream…”

“It takes power away from Neverbury. But we have a secret weapon to stop her,” Lavagirl says mischievously.

“Oh, good,” Cady says in relief.

“It’s you, dipshit,” Lavagirl huffs.

“Oh. You know, you’re a lot more rude than I remember!” Cady yells as Lavagirl rushes up to the coaster. “You’re very dismissive!”

“Get used to it!” Lavagirl yells back, reaching up a fist and floating up to the carts rushing around.

“Don’t mind her, she’s having a sort of… identity crisis,” Sharkboy says apologetically. “She’s usually pretty nice, but she’s scared, and she gets angry when she’s afraid.”

“Would you two shut up? We’re on a time crunch here!” Lavagirl reminds them, dangling upside down from the coaster.

“Oh, oops,” Sharkboy says. He does the same motion and joins Lavagirl above their heads, moving to stop the coaster. Cady tries it too, but she can only jump about a foot.

“Man, why can’t I do that?”

Luckily for her, there’s a ladder a few feet away. She’ll have to use that until she figures out how to jump the way her new friends do.

“Whoa,” she breathes as Lavagirl suddenly lands on the cart of the coaster, somehow perfectly steady even as it hurtles around the winding track. Everyone on the cart cheers in relief. Lavagirl hops down in front of it, causing sparks to fly as she attempts to stop it with one hand and shoots lava to weaken the tracks with the other. Sharkboy grabs onto the back and pulls, and their combined strength makes the coaster grind to a halt.

“Who knows where Neverbury is hiding?” Lavagirl demands. She tilts her head in confusion as everyone appears to have both hands raised. “All of you?”

“You’re all upside down,” Cady giggles from her position on the ladder.

“Oh.”

Suddenly, a booming voice echos around them. “Who is stopping my unstoppable fun?!”

Lavagirl gasps and shoots small jets from both hands to release the bars on all the kids, allowing them to fall gently to the ground and run to safety.

“Who is Neverbury?” Cady asks, hopping into the coaster herself and bringing the bar down for protection as it begins to move again. Sharkboy sits next to her, and Lavagirl stands on the front to coast along.

“She’s supposed to be the sort of protector here,” Sharkboy says. “Keep everyone safe. Be a light. But all she brings now is darkness.”

Cady is about to respond when she’s suddenly slammed backwards into her seat. She screams as the coaster suddenly rockets off, hurtling down the track at impossible speeds. Nothing is impossible here, she reminds herself.

“She’s taking us up!” Sharkboy yells. Cady clings to his arm in fright. She decides she’s not quite so interested in riding roller coasters anymore.

Cady peeks up from Sharkboy when they finally come to a blessed stop, letting out a little squeak of fright. Sharkboy gently pats her head to let her know it’s alright before he hops out of the cart. Lavagirl follows him, and Cady scrambles out once she can feel her extremities again.

A large robot has its back to them, fiddling with various buttons and levers to bring images up on the large screens in front of it. It yells something at whatever she sees before it turns to see them. Cady screams quietly. It looks a lot like Ms. Norbury. What I wouldn’t give to be in calculus class right now.

“Well well well, if it isn’t Sharkboy and Lavagirl,” the robot says. “What do you want? Why have you halted my endless fun and infiltrated my lair?”

“We don’t need permission from you, you circular bitch,” Lavagirl huffs.

“Man. Fiery today,” Neverbury huffs. She appears to notice Cady then. “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Ms. Neverbury.”

“Um-hi,” Cady says anxiously.

“Why are you doing this to our planet? You’re supposed to be running it,” Sharkboy demands.

“You’re supposed to be running it,” Neverbury mocks. “I am running it, I do run it. Right into the ground. Er, those are my orders.”

Maybe Cady has less control here than Sharkboy and Lavagirl thought. Everything here is supposed to be under her command, but she would’ve never ordered something like this. “Who ordered that?”

“No school, no discipline, no rules,” Neverbury continues. Cady loves school. She loves rules. This is clearly the work of someone else. Not even childhood Cady would’ve done something like this. “And no dreaming.”

“Dreams can destroy you, can’t they?” Lavagirl asks coyly. ��That’s why we have to stop you.”

“You and what army?” Neverbury scoffs.

“Guys,” Cady says quietly, pointing behind them. A series of electrical plugs appear to have come to life behind them, sparking ominously. That’s probably not good.

Sharkboy and Lavagirl snap to attention, doing a series of very sophisticated moves and fighting the plugs back. Lavagirl looks very eager to be demonstrating some rather violent tendencies.

“Hey Sparky,” she calls loudly, getting Neverbury’s attention. “Catch me if you can.”

Cady and Sharkboy watch as she sets her hands and feet alight and rockets herself upwards, to another metal platform higher up. Neverbury follows and winces as Lavagirl shoots jets of magma out of her hands.

Cady doesn’t quite know what to do. She was never much good at fighting. Sharkboy snaps back into his fights, punching out several of the plugs and grinding their circuits with his sharp teeth. Wanting to be helpful, Cady grabs a cord and tugs as hard as she can. Eventually, it gives, and Cady winds up on her behind looking up at a plug. It rattles rather ominously and gives chase, so Cady bolts. So to speak.

She runs as fast as she can, and being Kenyan, she’s still pretty fast. She turns to check that she’s lost her pursuer at one point, and finds the plug straining at the confines of its cord.

“Aww, are you a bit short?” She teases. “We’ve all been there. Come get me, loser!”

“Cady, stop trash talking, it doesn’t suit you,” Lavagirl yells, still fighting off Neverbury above them.

“Fine,” Cady huffs. She tips her head and coos quietly as the plug continues straining. Suddenly it appears to ‘look’ to its left and spies another plug. Cady watches in horror as it plugs itself in and gives itself more reach. “Ah, shuck!”

She runs again, but pauses when she hears crunching behind her. Sharkboy is jumping up

and down on the plug, smashing it to bits and stomping out any hint of current still running through it. He smiles at Cady when the last spark flies and fizzles out.

“You’re amazing,” Cady beams.

“You had to be scared of electricity?!” Lavagirl yells.

“I grew up in a tent, I don’t like it!” Cady yells back.

“Both of you shut up!” Neverbury yells. Lavagirl shoots a stronger jet at her face. Neverbury closes her eyes and drifts down slightly. Lavagirl relaxes, but Neverbury quickly pops back up. “Haha, pranked.”

“Good one,” Lavagirl huffs, grinding her heels in an attempt to get a good stance to continue fighting.

“Did you really believe you could stop me? Aww,” Neverbury coos.

Lavagirl kites her back down to Cady and Sharkboy. Sharkboy runs up to aid in the fight.

“I know we can’t,” he says threateningly. “But she can!”

They both point to Cady, who stands there uselessly. Neverbury laughs. Cady holds up her fists.

“Show ‘em what you’re made of, Cades,” Lavagirl huffs.

“What am I supposed to do?” Cady asks urgently. Lavagirl takes a moment to smack Sharkboy upside the head.

“I told you this would happen!”

“I thought she would remember!” Sharkboy defends, rubbing his sore spot.

“Remember what?!” Cady demands from the both of them.

Lavagirl is about to answer when she’s suddenly snatched up by one of Neverbury’s metal claws. Cady shrieks as the other claw grabs her by the foot and dangles her upside down.

“Your dream! Remember the dream,” Sharkboy yells at her.

“I don’t remember half my dreams!” Cady yells back. “That’s why I write them in my journal!”

“What part of your dream do you remember?” Lavagirl yells, trying to get free from Neverbury’s grasp.

“I remember this,” Cady says, feeling like she’s about to hurl. Keep it together. Sharkboy is grabbed by a third claw and brought up to their level.

“Where are you taking us?!” He demands.

“Oh, where all useless dreams go. The dream dump,” Neverbury shrugs. The three of them are suddenly dangled over the chasm below, and dropped.

“This is not what I signed up for!” Cady yells on her way down.

—-

They fall for who knows how long before thudding down onto a metal platform. It spits them back out, onto a sort of conveyor belt. At least they all made it.

“Cuckoo!” Sharkboy warns. Everyone ducks down to avoid being decapitated by a large bird. “At least we’re on the passage of time! Maybe it’ll take us to the dream lair!”

Cady looks around at the various clocks they’re surrounded by. Something isn’t right with them. They’re going backwards.

“It’s going the wrong way,” Lavagirl huffs. “Dream lair is that way, genius.”

“What is the dream lair?” Cady asks quietly.

“It’s where all the dreams that fuel the planet are stored,” Sharkboy replies. “But they’re being destroyed.”

“How?”

“That’s what we have to find out. Soon, even the two of us will cease to exist,” Sharkboy sighs, gesturing to himself and Lavagirl.

“Duck!” Lavagirl yells, pointing. Everyone hits the deck again to avoid a duck-shaped cuckoo. “Heh.”

“Cady, just out of curiosity,” Sharkboy asks as they warily stand once again. “Where is this dream journal?”

“Oh, good idea,” Lavagirl says, the first positive thing she’s said all day. “We can read it out loud and set everything back the way it was!” She adds in a whisper, “And maybe find out my true identity.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Where is it?”

“I… uh…,” Cady stutters, feeling around in her pockets. “I don’t have it. I must have dropped it during the storm.”

Lavagirl’s hair suddenly sets ablaze in anger, and she shatters the next cuckoo in a single punch. “I was really starting to think you were the answer, Cady.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Sharkboy grumbles protectively. “She’s just mad because she’s having an identity crisis and you didn’t fix it for her.”

“Shut up, Sharky!” Lavagirl yells. “Look who’s talking. You’re mad she didn’t make you… king of the ocean or whatever the fuck, with a giant fish army. Cady thought her dream world would be a happy place. We’ve all been had.”

“Guys!” Cady yells, interrupting their bickering. “End of the line.”

“Oh, shit,” Sharkboy says, as the end of the conveyor belt gets ever nearer. There’s nowhere to go but down. Lavagirl falls first, followed by Cady and Sharkboy.

Cady yelps in pain as she lands smack on top of Lavagirl, scrambling away to avoid any serious burns. Lavagirl buries her face in the dirt and groans. “I think you dislocated a few of my craters.”

“Sorry,” Cady says frantically. “Ow, you’re hot.”

“Thanks,” Lavagirl teases. “We gotta find a way out of here.”

The three of them stand and dust themselves off carefully, before setting off in an attempt to find an exit.

“I don’t think there is a way out of here,” Sharkboy says after a while. “And the Darkness is coming.” He appears to realize something, suddenly. “Wait! Cady, sit down.”

“Uh… okay,” Cady says confusedly, sitting down on a pile of calculus textbooks.

“Now dream,” Sharkboy commands. “What do you see?”

Cady closes her eyes carefully and tries to dream. “I see… a giant… Kälteen bar.” Both her companions look very unimpressed when she opens her eyes again. “I’m sorry, I’m starving! I never got my lunch.”

“For the love of magma,” Lavagirl huffs, massaging the bridge of her nose.

“Here,” Sharkboy offers, brandishing a… fish? Maybe? “Fresh sushi.”

“Blech, that’s not fresh,” Cady nearly-heaves. “I don’t even know if that’s sushi anymore.”

“Just a few weeks old,” Sharkboy shrugs.

“You want me to cook it for you?” Lavagirl asks, wrapping a fist around the poor… thing. When she pulls away, it’s been charred to a crisp. “Oops.”

“Er… on second thought, I’m not that hungry, it’s fine,” Cady says. “Let me try again.”

“Hey, um… if you happen to dream about, like, who I am… how I fit into this world,” Lavagirl murmurs. “That would… really be helpful for me.”

“Stop distracting her. Focus on the problem at hand,” Sharkboy insists.

“I can put her to sleep,” Lavagirl huffs. Sharkboy grabs her and pulls her away. “Come on, one punch?”

“She made us!”

“And where has that gotten us?!” Lavagirl roars. Cady backs away in fright, until she hits something with a metallic clang. She whirls around and looks up to see…

“Tobor!”

“Huh?”

“It’s Tobor! I tried to build him out of our old food cans and stuff when I was little,” Cady says happily. “But… I could never get him to work.”

“So here he is, forgotten in the dream dump,” Lavagirl says, finally seeming to calm down.

“He’s supposed to be very smart. Maybe he can help,” Cady says. “Tobor, wake up!”

“Yeees?” Tobor replies. Cady gasps in shock. That voice is… familiar.

“Rhys?” She asks, eyes brimming with tears. She hasn’t heard that voice since she was eight years old. She thought she had forgotten.  Tobor just gives her a wink. That’s all the confirmation she needs.

“Hello, Cady Heron.”

“You can answer anything, right?” Cady asks, wiping her eyes and looking up at Tobor’s large tin head.

“That I can. Whether it is correct is another matter entirely,” Tobor replies ominously.

“It can answer anything?” Lavagirl asks, unceremoniously shoving Cady out of the way. “Tell me something about me. Please.”

“Never heard you say please before,” Sharkboy grumbles under his breath.

“You are extremely bright,” Tobor says to Lavagirl. Her brow furrows, but she gets a slight grin as she tries to work out what that could mean. Sharkboy goes next.

“Hi Tobor! Am I king of the ocean?”

“No.”

“Damn it.”

Cady chuckles and pats his shoulder comfortingly before she goes to ask Tobor her question. “How do I save this planet?”

“The answer… is in your dreams,” Tobor says.

“You mean if I put her to sleep?” Lavagirl asks, brandishing what looks to be a tire iron.

“No, where did you even find that?!” Sharkboy says, wrestling her to take it and throwing it as far away from them as he can.

“No… at least, not here. Darkness is falling. Any dream of hers will become a nightmare. And you don’t want those becoming a reality,” Tobor continues. “But, if you go to the land of Kälteen bars… that’s where the good dreams are.”

“Oh, duh!” Sharkboy says, as if it should’ve been obvious the whole time.

“That’s where the answers are.”

“Can you take us there?” Cady asks Tobor.

“I would, but I have no body. I can’t move,” Tobor says sadly.

Lavagirl looks him up and down suspiciously. “You can move your eyes and your mouth.”

“I suppose that might work.”

Lavagirl and Sharkboy each take one of his eyes, and Cady climbs into his mouth. Suddenly, they detach from the large tin can that made up Tobor’s head a drift off to the land of Kälteen bars. What a day.

——

“Tobor, why didn’t you work when I built you?” Cady asks, drifting peacefully over what looks like a forest of brains.

“Some dreams are so powerful they become real on their own, like Sharkboy and Lavagirl. I, on the other hand, am still only a dream.”

“Oh.”

“Um…” Tobor says.

“What’s the matter?”

“Train of thought. I’m losing it.”

“Land of Kälteen bars,” Lavagirl huffs.

“No, I’m literally losing the train of thought,” Tobor says. “Down there.”

“Huh,” Cady says interestedly, looking down. “I never thought I had a train.”

“What did you think you had?” Sharkboy chuckles.

“I dunno,” Cady shrugs. “Maybe a race car. Doesn’t get too much use, but when it does it goes fast and needs frequent pit stops.”

Lavagirl chuckles at that, but stops abruptly and tries to cover it up with a cough.

“Well, since I do actually have a train… how do I keep it on track?” Cady asks anxiously.

“With your mind. You are easily distracted. Stay focused, and it will speed you directly to the land of Kälteen bars,” Tobor explains. “The rest is up to you.”

Cady and her companions jump down onto the train. Cady looks back at her old creation for a moment. “I’m sorry I forgot you.”

“Are you kidding? You’ve just saved me,” Tobor chuckles gently. “I’m free.”

“Cady!” Lavagirl yells. “Get your ass down here!”

Cady gasps and whirls around. Lavagirl has her head poking out the window of the engine car.

“What’s wrong?!” Cady yells over the roar of the train engine.

“We can’t control it!” Sharkboy says as he and Lavagirl frantically press every button and flip every lever they can reach. Cady joins in as if she knows what she’s doing.

“All you have to do is keep it on track,” she says. Sounds easy enough.

“There is no track!” Lavagirl reminds them. Cady freezes and looks out the window. She’s right.

“What do we do?” Sharkboy asks anxiously.

“Uh… scream?” Lavagirl says. “I don’t know.”

Sharkboy flips another lever, and the door opens. “Jump! It’ll be fine!”

He leaps out the door and is quickly blown off by a gust of wind. Lavagirl follows almost immediately. Cady is left alone on a crashing train. At least if she jumps she’ll crash with her friends.

Cady closes her eyes and leaps, hoping for a miracle. The wind blows her hair everywhere and stings her skin as she hurtles to the ground. Until it stops. Warily, she opens her eyes.

“A Kälteen bar!” She says happily, pushing herself upright. It tips slightly, so she puts her arms out for balance. “Whoa. In a river of milk. Huh. Um… do you guys know what it means when your train of thought… crashes?”

“Nothing good,” Lavagirl says, sounding remarkably chipper. “How much time, Sharky?”

“Twenty minutes,” Sharkboy replies anxiously. He takes a step forward to look around, but his foot suddenly sinks into a puddle of something. He yelps in surprise, but crouches down to inspect it. “Chocolate?”

“It must be the s’mores flavor,” Cady chuckles. “There’s marshmallows too.”

“Why Kälteen bars, though?” Lavagirl asks. “And not, like, cookies, or something?”

“I never had cookies as a kid,” Cady replies. “But we always had Kälteens. And I wasn’t really allowed to eat them, I ate a whole box in a row once and got sick, so my parents hid them and I could only get them if they gave them to me. They were a special thing.”

Lavagirl gives this a moment’s thought and nods. “Try to dream again. Lie down.”

Cady does, using a bit of marshmallow as a pillow. She closes her eyes, but the bar beneath her begins to shake. “It’s too shaky.”

“I hear it too,” Sharkboy says, listening around with his highly trained ears. Lavagirl raises a suspicious eyebrow at the two of them.

“Let me try.”

“No, Lava-“ Sharkboy says, but it’s too late. Lavagirl rests her head on the marshmallow, and the whole thing is suddenly charred. “Hothead.”

“Cady,” Lavagirl says suddenly. “When you dreamt up these giant bars… who did you expect to be able to eat them?”

Cady shrugs. “I dunno, I never really thought about that part.”

“Because if you dream giant bars, something has to be created to consume giant bars,” Lavagirl explains. The rumbling sounds get louder, suddenly, and everyone looks around for the source.

“Giants!” Sharkboy yells, pointing off to the left. He abandons ship again, followed by Lavagirl. Cady is so distracted looking at the giants that she nearly doesn’t make it off, leaping at the very last second before one of the giants chomps down on the Kälteen bar raft.

Luckily for them, they appear to land on…

“Hey, this was my ninth birthday cake! That thing was awesome,” Cady laughs. “Nice and springy.”

“Too much frosting,” Lavagirl grumbles, trying to brush herself clean.

Cady removes herself from her cake and turns around, watching the giants leave peacefully hand in hand. Sharkboy approaches her and rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Those giants look a lot like my parents,” Cady murmurs.

“They seem happy together,” Sharkboy nods. “Is that… another dream of yours?”

“Family,” Cady nods. “Hasn’t really been coming true lately.”

“Well, most dreams don’t come true on their own. You have to make them true,” Sharkboy says. “It takes a lot of work. Not easy. But it’s not impossible either.”

“Alright, we’ve had enough sweets, go to sleep,” Lavagirl huffs, joining them.

“I’ll try,” Cady says anxiously, laying down on the granola ground. Sharkboy gently plays with her hair to help her drift off while Lavagirl paces around.

Flowers begin to bloom around them as Cady dreams, and a shark-shaped motorcycle suddenly drives up. Sharkboy gasps excitedly and runs to check it out, so Lavagirl takes over his position by Cady’s head.

“Dream about me next,” she says quietly. “I need to know who I am. Dream of me as something good.”

A clap of thunder suddenly booms overhead, making Lavagirl whirl around. She looks back to Cady’s face and finds it pinched in concern. “She’s having a nightmare. Sharkboy, get back here!”

Sharkboy runs over and tries to shake Cady back awake, to no avail. Lavagirl stands and aims her hands carefully at Cady’s backside.

“Sorry Cady,” she murmurs, firing a jet of lava.

“Jesus!” Cady yells, her eyes snapping open as she leaps to her feet. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“You weren’t waking up,” Lavagirl shrugs sheepishly. Sharkboy kindly fires a jet of water to help cool her off. “Thanks Sharky. Cady… your nightmare… it was about me, wasn’t it?”

Cady tries to think. Surely that can’t be right. She can see bits and pieces, but can’t quite reach them enough to put them back together. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“Plug hounds!” Sharkboy suddenly yells, pointing to an ice cream hill above them. Neverbury makes her way to the top.

“I have the high ground!”

The hounds suddenly run towards them, stumbling down the hill. Cady and her friends run to the shark bike, but nothing happens when Sharkboy attempts to start the engine. Other than…

“Ah, fudge,” Cady says. “I forgot to dream of gas.”

“Oh my-“ Lavagirl says angrily, storming off in a huff to fight the hounds off. Sharkboy joins her. Lavagirl shoots a jet of lava at one, before she looks at her hands. “My powers are weakening.”

One of the hounds suddenly unravels, wrapping her up in tight confines while a few others zap at her toes. Sharkboy, on the other hand, is doing remarkably well, punching out several with a series of very elaborate karate moves.

He rips off a part to the shark bike to use as a staff, and takes out several more. Unfortunately, he doesn’t notice one that hasn’t quite been beat down rise to its feet, followed by another. They both shock him, causing him to fall to the ground with a pained moan.

“Hey! Leave my friends alone!” Cady yells, bending down and swiping some frosting onto her face like war paint. She’s in the middle of a battle cry when she also gets shocked and falls to the ground. It didn’t quite go to plan, but it did allow Sharkboy to escape his attackers and rush to her side.

“I don’t-I don’t have much fight left in me, Cades,” he pants.

“Where’s Lavagirl?” Cady puffs back. Lavagirl comes… flowing over, so to speak.

“What?” She asks when they both give her confused looks. “How else was I supposed to escape? Oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m literally made of lava. It’s up to you now, Cady.”

“Cady, you can dream us out of here,” Sharkboy realizes. “We believe in you, go on.”

Cady squeezes her eyes shut and tries her hardest to dream. Lavagirl quietly pleads for a lava bike behind her, and Sharkboy asks for a shark boat.  Cady opens her eyes to reveal…

“A banana split?” Lavagirl spits. “Seriously?”

“They’re really good!” Cady defends, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

“Still hungry?” Lavagirl says threateningly, popping back into her human body and holding up a fist. “How about a knuckle sandwich?”

“Lava, chill,” Sharkboy says, batting her hands away from poor Cady’s face. “Look at it, it’s a banana split boat!”

“Then let’s split,” Lavagirl yells as another wave of plug hounds rounds over the hill. Cady helps Sharkboy push it into the milk river and start rowing just before the hounds reach them.

Once they’re steadily drifting down the river and being steered by Lavagirl, Cady and Sharkboy finally get to sit down on a swiss roll bench. “This is great, Cades. You’re starting to daydream. If you can keep this up, they’ll never get us!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! If you learn to dream with your eyes open, you don’t have to be asleep to dream,” Sharkboy explains. “You’ll be able to make anything happen at any time. You’ll be unstoppable.”

“Grool,” Cady says. She freezes suddenly. “I-uh… I meant to say great, and then started to say cool…”

Lavagirl bursts out laughing, a remarkably bright, clean sound. Cady likes it. She smiles back at her before scooping some whipped cream onto a finger to taste it. “Mm!”

“Sugar will give you nightmares,” Lavagirl says, already back to her typical brooding. Cady immediately spits out her mouthful before she swallows any. “How much time, Sharky?”

“Uhm… best not to ask,” Sharkboy says anxiously, checking his radar. “The lair of dreams is across the ocean of ice. We’ll have to travel there on foot. What did you see in your dream, Cady? Anything we can use?”

“I saw an object, shaped like… do you have something I can draw with?” Cady asks. Lavagirl holds up one of her fingers and shrugs.

“Sharky, come steer.”

Sharkboy takes hold of the cherry stem to steer their raft, and Lavagirl offers Cady her hand. Cady takes it gently and aims at one of the ice cream scoops. Lavagirl fires a jet of lava from it, letting Cady steer it around.

“A heart?” She asks, tilting her head when Cady finishes. Her eyes go wide when she puts it together. “The crystalheart!”

“It’s the treasure of the kingdom of ice, it can freeze anything!” Sharkboy says excitedly, coming to join them. The raft spins wildly until Lavagirl leaps to grab the cherry stem to keep steering. “Even time.”

“Wow,” Cady breathes. “I’ve only ever dreamt of freezing a moment in time.”

“And, even better,” Sharkboy says. “The ice kingdom is ruled by the ice princess. She’s said to be the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Lavagirl’s jaw drops open indignantly, and she fires some magma at Sharkboy’s bum.

“Ow! What the hell, man?” Sharkboy pouts, rubbing his sore backside.

“She is not! She’s cold and cruel and cares for nobody but herself! And you don’t even like girls,” Lavagirl accuses.

“Cady does!”

“I do?” Cady says in shock. She thinks for a second about her past crushes, and then shrugs. Lavagirl certainly doesn’t look too bad. “Eh, yeah, I probably do. Have you met her, Lavagirl?”

“No,” Lavagirl replies sheepishly. She puffs out her chest before continuing, “But I know we don’t get along! She’s ice. I’m fire. We must be enemies.”

“We need that crystal heart,” Cady says pleadingly. “But I’ll need you both to get it.”

Lavagirl sighs and lets go of the cherry stem. Sharkboy leaps to grab it so they don’t drift away too far. Lavagirl looks out off the edge of the raft and huffs. “I just hope this isn’t a trap.”

—————-

“Wow,” Cady breathes happily, looking around at all the beautiful crystal clear ice and powdery white snow surrounding them. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and clearly very intricate, but the air is barely chilly. Even in her thin flannel, Cady isn’t cold.

They approach a thin bridge, made of solid ice. Cady is a little apprehensive at the height, but carefully steps out onto it. Sharkboy follows. Lavagirl thinks about it, but pauses and hunches in on herself a bit just before she tries.

“I can’t go with you,” she calls. Cady and Sharkboy pause and turn around. “I’ll melt the bridge.”

“Can you chill enough to get across?” Cady asks, reaching a hand for her. Lavagirl looks at her feet, then back at her.

“I’d have to be asleep.”

“Try sleepwalking!” Cady calls to her. “You can do it!”

Lavagirl nods slightly and closes her eyes, shaking out some of the tension in her muscles before warily taking a few steps forward. She mumbles under her breath about… a dream of her own. To live on Earth. Someplace warm. And to be accepted.

“Oh no,” Sharkboy says suddenly, anxiously watching his best friend as she crosses the bridge. “No, Lava, don’t sneeze!”

He runs to block her nose with a finger, and breathes a sigh of relief when she relaxes again. He carefully removes his finger and takes a small step back.

“Achoo!”

Lavagirl sneezes, unleashing a rush of hot wind that blows Sharkboy backwards and off the bridge. He grabs onto it with one hand just before he topples all the way off to a certain doom. Cady runs to help him back up.

“Look,” she says quietly, gesturing to Lavagirl. She’s somehow still upright, but deeply asleep. She’s actually snoring quietly, which is remarkably cute. “She’s sleeping.”

Lavagirl sleepwalks towards them carefully, slowly, but isn’t melting the bridge. Cady watches her with a small smile. Until she looks behind her.

“They found us again,” Cady says, her heart sinking. “Lavagirl, behind yo-“

Sharkboy claps a hand over her mouth before she can finish her sentence. “If you wake her up, she’ll reheat. She can make it.”

Cady nods and clings to his arm in fright. “Come on, Lava.”

Sharkboy holds her back, feeling himself growing more tense. They’re all in danger, and his instincts are demanding he protect his best friend. “Lavagirl, they’re behind you!”

Cady frantically slams a hand over his mouth, and he covers it with his own hands in shame. But it’s too late. Lavagirl opens her eyes and looks behind her, bursting into flame when she sees the hounds closing in.

Cady and Sharkboy both scream in fright and run away, barreling for the other end of the bridge. Lavagirl follows them, the bridge melting and crumbling away beneath her feet as she goes.

“Come on, Lava, hurry!” Sharkboy yells. He and Cady both reach out to help her make it onto the platform holding up the castle, but yelp and quickly pull away as she burns them. They made it.

But the ground beneath them begins to crumble. The three of them whirl around.

“It’s a trap!” Cady yelps, instinctively shoving her friends behind her. A small pit suddenly forms from the ground that’s crumbled away, and Neverbury leaps out at them. Cady furrows her brow in thought. “This can’t be right. Someone-someone else’s dreams are in here.”

That’s the last thought she has before the world goes black.

—-

When she comes to, she’s suspended from the ceiling by a spring over a hole in the ground. Sharkboy is also hanging next to her, and Lavagirl is on the other side with her feet stuck in a block of solid ice.

“Welcome to the dream lair,” an ominous voice says. Ominous but… familiar, somehow. “I am the leader of this planet.”

“No you’re not!” Sharkboy yells, wriggling to try and get down. “Cady is!”

“Cady might have dreamed it originally,” the voice says with an airy titter. The large chair in front of them suddenly rotates to reveal none other than Regina George. “But I’m, like, so much cooler, wouldn’t you say? I… am Requiem.”

“How did you get so much power here?” Cady asks. “This is my world.”

Requiem pulls out a small book and holds it up to show them. Cady gasps in understanding.

“My dream journal! That’s why all my dreams are going wrong! You’re changing it!”

Requiem gives a quiet chuckle and sashays her way down in front of them. Sharkboy gasps and goes into a sort of Superman pose when he spies the tank of electric eels beneath them.

“Shocking, isn’t it Sharkboy?” Requiem hums. “Reminds me of… when an electrical storm blew apart your mother’s research lab.”

Sharkboy stops struggling for a moment and looks at her. “Where is my mother?”

Requiem flips through the journal to see if it says anything, and gives a particularly evil sounding chuckle when she finds the right page. “Check the bottom of the ocean.”

Sharkboy snarls at her and tries to get loose again. Requiem moves to Lavagirl. “And you. Once I figure out how to freeze the core of this planet, all your powers will disappear.”

“I have powers?” Lavagirl asks quietly. “What powers?”

Requiem doesn’t grace her with a response, walking to stand in front of Cady. “And last, but least. You. You thought you could escape fear by running to dreamland, hm? But fear exists in the one place you can never escape.” She hops a few times, and is suddenly floating at Cady’s eye level. “Your mind. I’ll show you the true meaning of fear.

“Anyway, for now, you must all leave. I have dreaming to do. Kisses!”

She blows them a mocking kiss with two fingers before they’re dropped, plummeting through the holes beneath them. Sigmund Freud would love it here, Cady thinks to herself.

——————

They land in a large bird cage. Lavagirl paces back and forth while Sharkboy sits next to Cady on the uncomfortable bricks they have for chairs. “If only I had my journal. Then I could turn everything back to the way it was.”

“My fire is dimming,” Lavagirl says quietly. Sharkboy looks at her sadly. He grabs one of the bars behind him and pulls as hard as he can. Nothing happens.

“My strength is fading too.”

“How much time is left?” Cady asks.

“Who cares?” Lavagirl huffs. “We’re never getting out of here.”

Cady frowns at her, but looks up in confusion when a quiet song can be heard. “That’s freaky.”

“Aww, hi La-La’s,” Sharkboy says, playing with the small bubble creatures. Lavagirl bats them away from her face angrily.

“Where did these come from? They’re so annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, she’s just mad you’re not made of fire,” Sharkboy comforts the little things.

“They piss me off,” Lavagirl grumbles. “That song. Disturbing. It’s so high!”

“Sing louder. Higher,” Cady encourages them quietly. Lavagirl’s hair is on fire again, and she’s visibly tense. Sharkboy grabs her and pulls her close.

“You don’t want to be too close to her when she erupts,” he says quietly.

“Enough!” Lavagirl yells, firing lava out of both hands at as many La-La’s as she can reach. Inadvertently, she also melts them a way out.

“Nice progress, Lava! Much more control this time,” Sharkboy praises. Lavagirl grins at him sarcastically before she crawls out of the hole she’s made. Sharkboy and Cady follow quickly.

—————

“She’s asleep,” Lavagirl whispers to her friends beneath her. Cady crawls her way back up into the dream lair and tiptoes back over to Requiem. Ever so gently, Cady lifts her journal off of Requiem’s chest. She tiptoes back to her friends, and slides down the pillar holding the lair aloft.

“Okay, first things first,” Cady says, flipping through the pages. “A way out of here.” Suddenly, she finds the perfect page. “Oh, Lavagirl! You have a lava bike!”

“I do?” Lavagirl asks. The bike suddenly materializes next to her and she gives a delighted cackle. “I do!” She eagerly gets on and revs the engine. “Hehe, this is tits!”

“Chill out, babes,” Sharkboy chuckles.

“Even has fuel this time! Now, Sharkboy,” Cady continues, flicking through to another page. She quiets when she reads the first few sentences of it. “Your mother really is at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Oh,” he says quietly. Lavagirl takes his hand and squeezes it gently.

“She’s in a submarine, she’s looking for you! She has been since the storm,” Cady continues, looking up at him with a smile.

“Oh!” He says again. Lavagirl squeezes him one more time and smiles at him too. Sharkboy comes to read over her shoulder to figure out specifics of where it is. “I’ve gotta get back to Earth.”

“What does it say about me?” Lavagirl asks quietly. Cady flicks to yet another page.

“I’m not sure what this is.”

“I can figure it out!” Lavagirl replies, climbing off her bike and running over to them.

“Lavagirl, no, you’ll-“ Cady tries to warn, but it’s too late. Lavagirl grabs the book and turns it to ash. “Burn it.”

Lavagirl stares at her hands in shame. “What have I done?”

“Hey, it’s okay-“

“Why the fuck did you make me out of lava? Why? What fucking good am I?” Lavagirl yells, holding up glowing fists and with her hair on fire yet again. “Look at me! Why, Cady?!”

Cady looks at her sadly, and tries to follow as she storms off, but Sharkboy grabs her shoulder and pulls her back. “Let her cool off a little.”

Cady doesn’t listen, running over to where Lavagirl is sitting on a rock, head in her hands. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be good. I know I can be. I-I can feel it. But I destroy everything I touch.” She turns to Cady with tears in her eyes, boiling away into steam the second they touch her cheeks. “Why-why did you make me like this? I have-I have more potential.”

“I’m sure you do,” Cady says quietly. Lavagirl stands suddenly and turns around to see her.

“And why did you make us a team?” She continues, pointing to Sharkboy. “We’re nothing alike! I fizzle out when I touch water. When he’s near heat, he shrivels. We aren’t compatible!”

“You’re… really on fire,” Cady murmurs sheepishly.

“Yeah. I do that,” Lavagirl huffs. Sharkboy shoots some water at her to put her out. “Thanks, Sharky.” Sharkboy nods.

“No problem.”

“Maybe I really am evil. So far, everything sure looks that way,” Lavagirl murmurs, sitting down again. “Everything else you’ve dreamed has been right. Maybe I do need to learn to accept it.”

“That’s it!” Cady says. “Everything else I’ve dreamt has been right, the crystal heart!”

“We were captured last time,” Lavagirl sniffles.

“Because Requiem doesn’t want me to have it! That must mean it’s important, we must be able to use it to stop her!”

Lavagirl’s face suddenly splits into a wide smile, and she rejoins her companions.

“We have to get back to the ice kingdom!”

“We only have ten minutes left,” Sharkboy says. “We’ll never make it!”

“We can do it!” Cady yells, running off.

“How?!” Sharkboy and Lavagirl yell at the same time as they follow her.

Cady freezes in her tracks and turns back to look at them with a small smirk. “You’re Sharkboy and Lavagirl. You can do anything.”

—————

“This way,” Cady says, beckoning Sharkboy and Lavagirl over to a sort of slide into the ice palace.

“You had to pick ice?” Lavagirl grumbles.

“Hey, Kenya is really hot,” Cady defends. “Not my fault that’s where I wound up. I’m sure if my parents were studying penguins we’d be somewhere hot and you’d be having a better time right now.”

Lavagirl just crosses her arms and pouts. She’s remarkably precious, for a girl made of fire. Cady chuckles before turning back around, stopping just in time to avoid crashing face first into a tall ice pillar. Sharkboy is already looking up at the large heart shaped crystal floating above it.

“Is that what you saw, Cades?”

“Uhhuh,” Cady nods. “You’ll have to climb up there and get it. But it’s as delicate as a snowflake, so don’t drop it. And don’t touch it or you’ll freeze, use your claws.”

“Got it,” Sharkboy says, using his claws as a sort of ice pick to climb up the ice pillar. He makes it rapidly up the tower, but as he’s reaching for it, he loses his grip and slides back down. He ends up dangling from his fin a few feet off the ground. “You’re up.”

“Lava, can-“ Cady asks. Lavagirl raises an eyebrow at her. “Er… nevermind. Chew on some ice, it’ll help you cool off a bit.”

Lavagirl looks confused when Cady hands her a chunk of ice, but gnaws a bit off with her molars. “Hmm.”

Sharkboy removes his claw gloves and hands them to Cady to climb the pillar herself. It’s slower going for her, but she finds enough hand and footholds to make it to the top. Carefully, she puts on the gloves and reaches out.

“Hey, nice job, Cady!” Sharkboy calls up at her when she grabs it. Just then, he slips, and the crack caused by his fin splits the whole tower in two. It crumbles beneath Cady and she’s forced to drop the heart to save herself.

“I got it!” Lavagirl yells, lunging to grab it before it can hit the ground. She makes it, but is immediately frozen into a solid block of ice.

“Lavagirl!” Cady yells, sliding down what she has left to hold and helping Sharkboy out. She knocks carefully on Lavagirl’s forehead. “She’s frozen solid.”

Just then, a creaky rumbling echoes throughout the cavern as several ice golems rise from the ground and come to life. One with a large club looms over them threateningly and escorts them to a different room.

Once they arrive, they’re roughly shoved to the ground with a command to, “Kneel before the ice princesses.”

Princesses? Cady thinks. There’s more than one?

Sure enough, two girls in white dresses come out onto what appears to be a small stage, hand in hand. They look familiar too. An uncanny resemblance to Regina’s little minions back on Earth.

“You try to steal our crystal heart,” the one on the left asks gently. “Why?”

Cady is too distracted staring at the both of them to hear her. Why are they here? Sharboy nudges her gently to get her back into the moment. “Oh! Uh, we believe it can stop time. Long enough for us to defeat Requiem.”

“Our crystal heart cannot help you,” the other one says. “Only the two of us have the power to use it.”

“Then you can come with us!” Cady says.

“They cannot leave this castle. The crystal is the only thing that protects our kingdom,” one of the ice golems says.

“Please, princesses, we’re running out of time,” Cady begs.

“Perhaps we could… give it to you?” The first princess says. “But are you worthy to wield it?”

“I think so!” Cady chirps. “I hope so.”

“The crystal you stole was a decoy,” the second one says. A rumbling noise sounds off behind them, and several more ice pillars rise from the ground. “The real one is somewhere in this room. Choose the correct one, and you may take it with you.”

Cady and Sharkboy both turn around and look at all the crystal hearts glimmering above them. Sharkboy points to the one nearest them. “That one looks nice, pick that one.”

But Cady shakes her head and turns back to the princesses. “It’s around your hands. Tying you together.”

Sure enough, the gem dangling from what Cady originally thought to be a simple bracelet gives a magical glimmer, and the princesses give her a kind smile. She heads to stand before them politely.

“How’d you know?” Sharkboy asks in awe.

“Saw it in a dream,” Cady murmurs.

“Be aware, Cady,” the first princess says, more serious this time. They gently remove the necklace they had looped around their entwined hands and rest it in the palm of Cady’s. “If anything happens to the crystal heart, our entire kingdom will be destroyed.”

“I won’t let anything happen to it,” Cady says bravely. “I promise.”

“The crystal will now work, but we must stay here,” the second one says. “Good luck.”

And with that, they’re all tossed from the palace onto the frozen sea of confusion. Sharkboy and Cady have no choice but to push a still-frozen Lavagirl to their destination themselves.

—-

“We’re almost back to the dream lair!” Cady yells when she has it in her sights. “How much time do we have?!”

“Uh… we’re out of time!” Sharkboy yells back. “Ten seconds!”

Cady stops Lavagirl and hops off, standing on the frozen sea. She holds the crystal heart aloft. “Here goes nothing.”

The crystal gives a promising glimmer, but then… everything goes dark. Including the crystal.

“What happened?”

Sharkboy shrugs. “It didn’t work.”

“How could it not work?”

Suddenly, a crunching noise can be heard as Lavagirl finally frees herself from her ice cocoon. “Only the ice princesses can use it. I was trying to tell you.”

“There’s nothing,” Sharkboy says, staring at his shark radar. “No readings, no nothing.”

Suddenly, a small crack forms in the ice, revealing a melted chasm. Neverbury’s cackling laughter can be heard.

“Sharkboy, no!” Lavagirl says. “She’s baiting you.”

Sharkboy tenses, and clenches his jaw. “I can’t… resist my instincts!”

Before either of them can react, stop him, Sharkboy dives into the water in front of them and swims rapidly to the other side. Neverbury stands ominously above him. Sharkboy tilts his head in confusion as she tries to make a poorly timed electrical joke.

“Oh, fuck it,” Neverbury huffs. “Electric eels, eat up.”

“Sharky, no!” Lavagirl yells, lunging for him. Cady grabs her to hold her back. “Swim away! Run!”

Sharkboy tries, swimming as fast as he possibly can. But the eels are faster, and quickly surround him. Cady and Lavagirl watch in horror as he suddenly goes limp and sinks to the bottom.

“No!” Cady says, trying to touch the water. It’s still electrified, the current nearly melting off the rubber sole of her shoe. “Can-can he survive down there?”

“He can hold his breath,” Lavagirl replies, staring hollowly at the water. “But not forever. He’ll drown if I don’t save him.”

“No, I can’t let you go,” Cady says with a sob, clinging to her arm. “You’ll die too.”

Lavagirl turns to look at her, gently cupping her cheek with a warm hand and kissing her. She pulls away before Cady has time to process what’s happening. “He’s my best friend. I have to. We love you.”

With that, she turns back and dives into the water, swimming down to Sharkboy on the sea floor. Cady watches as she grabs him by a hand and hauls him back up to the surface. Cady helps lift them both back onto the shore.

“Sharkboy?” Cady asks frantically, trying to shake him awake. “Wake up, please! Come on, please, please please.”

She’s so distracted with Sharkboy that she doesn’t notice Lavagirl crawling away from the water before collapsing. She’s not breathing, and her fire has been extinguished.

Cady whirls around when she hears a rattling breath, and finds Lavagirl’s lifeless form. “No, no, no, Lavagirl, please! Not both of you!”

Neither of them wake. Cady frantically shakes them, crying harder than she thinks she ever has, but to no avail.

“I can’t do this without you!” She sobs. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Suddenly, the disembodied face and voice of Tobor appears. “What do you think you should do, child?”

“Dr-dream… a better dream,” Cady whimpers, holding the lifeless hands of both her friends.

“Interesting,” Tobor says kindly. “Explain.”

“I wanted all my dreams to come true,” Cady sniffles. “But… I only dreamed for myself. This whole place only exists because I wanted to escape my real world. But I should’ve dreamed to make my real world a better place. Selfish dreams shouldn’t come true.”

“You’re becoming a very good dreamer, Cady,” Tobor says. “You always were, monkey. Get it back.”

“What do you do?” Cady asks hollowly. “When your dreams have been destroyed?”

“Dream a better dream,” Tobor replies. “An unselfish dream. You can do it. I believe in you, monkey.”

“I love you,” Cady says as Tobor floats away. She never thought she’d hear her brother call her ‘monkey’ again. She needs to say it. Tobor winks at her, and then he’s out of sight.

Cady takes a deep breath, and squeezes both of the hands in her own. “Dream a better dream.”

Sharkboy suddenly snaps awake next to her, coughing some water out of his lungs. Cady tips him onto his side and pats his back to help. He looks at her thankfully before crawling over to Lavagirl.

“She knew this would happen,” Cady murmurs. “If she saved you. I couldn’t stop her.”

Sharkboy nods sadly, taking Lavagirl’s hand. It’s cool to the touch, for the first time since their creation. Suddenly, a bright light is visible from behind them. Sharkboy and Cady turn around to see Lavagirl’s volcano home glowing brightly.

“Lava,” Cady breathes. “We have to get her there.”

“I’ll go,” Sharkboy says. Cady grabs his arm to stop him. “I’m stronger, and faster.”

“No, I can’t let you go again. You’ll burn up,” she says desperately.

Sharkboy doesn’t listen, cradling Lavagirl’s body in his arms. “Are you sure this will save her?”

“It’ll do more than save her,” Cady agrees quietly. They have a stronger bond than they’ll ever have with her. She knows she can’t stop him now. She blinks, and Sharkboy is gone. She can faintly see a blue and pink blur running at inhuman speeds towards the volcano. Cady hunches in on herself and says a little prayer.

“I know who you are now, Lavagirl. You are not fire, or a simple flame. You are greater than that. Something more important, and so necessary. That is why you have to live. You are not destruction. You are not evil.”

Cady winces as she sees Sharkboy chuck Lavagirl into the mouth of the volcano, and watches in horror as he’s thrown back by the force of the eruption once she makes contact.

But then, she sees Lavagirl standing where he just was, and watches her hands suddenly glow bright like beacons.

“You are light.”

Cady closes her eyes as a bright glow rushes over her. Lavagirl has realized her true power. And so has Cady.

“Holy shit!” Sharkboy screams when she suddenly appears beside him. He holds a hand over his heart as he tries to get his breath back. “How-how did you get here so quick?”

Cady doesn’t answer that. “Hold off Neverbury. I’m off to deal with Requiem.”

“I’ll need my fish army,” Sharkboy says. Cady turns to look at the frozen ocean they were just on.

“I’ll unfreeze the ocean.” With a snap of her fingers, it’s done. “Good luck. I love you both.”

-

“I’ve become what you feared most,” Cady murmurs to Requiem’s turned back. “Requiem.”

Requiem whirls around in surprise. “How’d you get in here?”

“I’m the day dreamer,” Cady replies. “Able to dream with my eyes open.”

“Hate to burst your bubble here, dream girl, but I’ve read your little book,” Requiem says. “There’s not one dream you have that I haven’t already seen. So what do you say? Let’s blow the roof off this place.” She raises her arms, and suddenly they’re on what appears to be a battlefield. “May the best dream win.”

She sticks out a hand towards Cady, releasing a wave of piranhas. Cady winds up and sticks out her own hand, releasing a wave of…

“Bubbles? Come on,” she whispers. But, as the bubbles make contact with the chomping fish, they’re suddenly trapped inside and carried off with the wind. “Oh. I guess that worked.”

She winds up again, and blows a wave of butterflies towards Requiem. Requiem unleashes her own swarm of wasps.

“Wait!” Cady yells. All the bugs suddenly disappear. She puts a finger to her temple and closes her eyes. “Brain storm.”

Requiem looks at her in confusion before she puts the pieces together and looks up in horror. “Eww!”

Brains splat down to the ground all around her, and she puts her arms up to protect her head from the falling craniums. She screams when one lands in her hands and throws it as far as she can, wiping off the fluid on her cape.

“Brain… freeze!” She yells, lifting her arms to the sky. All the brains raining down pause in place before landing in the ground in a single sheet.

“Brain.. fart,” Cady replies with a giggle. Requiem’s head suddenly swells to roughly one hundred times the size it’s meant to be, and she leans from side to side in a ditch attempt to keep her balance. Before she knows it, she’s completely upside down resting on top of her hand. “Nice headstand!”

Requiem’s head deflates, and she lands back on her feet. She looks at Cady and gives her a quiet chuckle. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”

Cady watches in horror as she moves her hands down her sides in a quick motion, and suddenly rockets off into the sky on a stone tower. Cady repeats the motion and rises to the same height on a pillar of her own.

“I used to be,” she says quietly. “But now I understand. Someone ruined your dreams, and now all you can do is ruin everyone else’s.”

Requiem scowls at her, and sends her tower even higher. Cady follows again. The air is getting a bit thin up here. Hopefully she won’t have to go any higher.

“We can create a better dream than this,” Cady pleads. “A better world. Don’t you see?” She snaps her fingers, and a makeshift bridge suddenly appears between each of their towers. Cady carefully walks halfway across it and reaches out a hand. “What do you say? Regina?”

Regina looks at her in shock for a moment, but slowly joins her on the bridge. She looks at her own hand, before inching it toward’s Cady’s.

Just before they touch, a creaking can be heard and the bridge gives way beneath them. Cady uses her day dreamer powers to sort of float, rushing quickly after Regina.

“Don’t let me fall!” Regina screams, covering her face so as not to see her rapidly approaching doom. Cady grabs her wrist and floats them gently to the dream lair.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Don’t ruin people’s dreams, Regina. Because you ruin your own, too. And then you’ll stop believing.”

Cady is suddenly tackled to the soft ground from behind. She screams, but looks up just in time to see Lavagirl before their lips are slammed together. Her warmth is back.

“Cady,” Lavagirl whispers against her lips. “I am light. Thank you.”

“You always were,” Cady replies, holding Lavagirl’s hips as she straddles her. “Nothing to do with me.”

Lavagirl kisses her again. “But now I know. So thank you.”

“Big deal,” Sharkboy teases. “The real news is what I am!”

“A pain in the ass?” Lavagirl asks, finally standing and helping Cady up.

“I’m king of the ocean!”

Cady giggles at their bickering.

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for saving me,” Lavagirl says quietly, leaning in to kiss his cheek. There’s a quiet sizzle and flash of light when she makes contact.

“Ouch,” Sharkboy says, rubbing his cheek. At least he’s smiling.

“Everything will return to the way it was,” Regina says from behind them, joining the conversation. “You will be able to travel to Earth and back again as you wish.” She gestures to Sharkboy. “You can search for your mother.” To Lavagirl. “You can rule Earth’s lava realm.”

“And just what am I supposed to do?” Neverbury asks, appearing out of nowhere. “Now that you’re all… buddy buddy.”

“You can go back to being the good guardian of the planet,” Regina replies.

Neverbury cackles. “Oh, really? Keeping everything running? Making sure this loud, obnoxious world is a happy place?”

“Hey!” Cady says sadly.

“You’re dreaming.” Neverbury chuckles.

“I dreamt you,” Cady says boldly, letting go of Lavagirl’s hand and puffing out her chest at Neverbury. “And I can un-dream you.”

“You think you can just snap your eyes open and make me vanish?” Neverbury threatens. “Not so easy. I am the danger of dreaming. For every person who dreams up the lightbulb, there’s the one who dreams up the atom bomb. This is one dream you won’t be waking up from. I’m gonna put an end to this ridiculous tangent at it’s source.”

With that, she takes off towards Earth. Cady yelps and leaps out of the way. “Where did she go?”

“She’s headed to Earth,” Sharkboy says, tracking her on his radar.

“She’s going to try to destroy you in your sleep,” Regina says.

“In my sleep?” Cady asks quietly. “You mean I’m asleep?! All this time I’ve been asleep?!”

“No,” Lavagirl says calmly, coming over to her. “You’re dreaming, Cady.”

“With your eyes open,” Sharkboy adds.

“Make the dream real,” Lavagirl says, taking her hand again. “And you can live out your dreams on Earth. Just like you made us real.”

“Make it real,” Sharkboy commands gently. “You can do it.”

“Blink three times,” Lavagirl murmurs, gently cupping Cady’s face in her hot hands. “One.”

Cady listens. “Wait, but-“

“Two,” Sharkboy says. Cady blinks again.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Lavagirl kisses her one more time before letting her go. “Three.”

Cady blinks.

——

When she opens her eyes, she’s back on Earth, huddled under her desk in the science room. The teacher is trying to gather everyone to head to shelter from the storm, with the help of Ms. Norbury.

Ms. Norbury lifts the desk off of Cady. “Cady, get up! There’s a tornado heading our way!”

Cady scrambles to her feet and dusts herself off. “It’s not a tornado!” She yells over the gusts of the wind. “It’s worse!”

“Regina, wake up,” Ms. Norbury commands, tapping Regina at her desk. Regina snaps awake and winces at the large puddle of drool coating her desk. Gross.

Cady leads them to the gaping hole in the wall, created by Sharkboy and Lavagirl. That was a mere moment ago, but it feels like years. “Look!”

The tornado barreling towards them suddenly begins sparking, and Neverbury emerges from the cyclone before it dissipates into a simple thunderstorm.

“It’s Ms. Neverbury, from planet Drool! The one from my dreams!” Cady explains.

Ms. Norbury and the science teacher both look at it in confusion. “You mean… this is real? Your dreams are real?”

“Some dreams are so powerful they become real,” Cady says.

“I don’t believe it,” Ms. Norbury says.

“It’s literally right there!” Cady yells.

“No, yeah, I can see that!” Norbury replies. “What I can’t believe is… you dreamt me! As a big, round bad guy!”

“Sorry!” Cady says. “Kinda took on a life of its own!”

Ms. Norbury sighs before turning to the class, watching in horror as the storms grow again and Neverbury looms ominously just outside.

“Okay class, we’re just teachers,” Cady’s science teacher says. “And we are here to inspire the answers in you! And there’s some damn good inspiration outside. So, this is now a pop quiz. We need to defeat that lady! Any ideas?!”

Regina raises her hand, surprising everyone.

“Wow, Regina. Yes?”

“I can take her,” Regina says boldly, running outside.

“No, you can’t!” Cady yells, grabbing her hand and pulling her back in. “Not by yourself. We need another idea.”

“No dumb ideas, come on,” Ms. Norbury says.

“Maybe we can freeze her circuits,” Regina suggests.

“That’s literally the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard,” Ms. Norbury replies. “We’re in Illinois in August. Next?”

“No, that might work!” Cady says. “Regina, where are your friends?”

“Gretchen and Karen?”

“Yeah, where are they?”

“Uh… English, I think?” Regina says with a shrug.

“Then come on!” Cady yells, grabbing her hand and hauling her out the door. The English wing is on the other side of the school.

“I am in heels!” Regina yells.

“Take them off, then! This is kind of an emergency!” Cady yells back, breaking ahead. Regina pauses to snatch her shoes off before barreling after her.

The teacher looks up in shock as a very disheveled Cady and Regina suddenly slam the door open. Cady points at them and pants, “We need… Gretchen and… and Karen.”

They already seem to have known this was coming, and stand to join them. Regina says, “Take off your shoes now, save yourselves. Just come on.”

When they make it back to the science room, Cady reaches into her pocket.

“Those jeans are horrific, by the way,” Regina says. Cady waves her off as she pulls out the crystal heart.

“Is this yours?” Cady asks, holding it up to show Gretchen and Karen. They both look at it and each other in shock.

“I’ve only seen it in my dreams,” Karen says quietly, gently running a finger over it.

“Me too,” Gretchen murmurs.

“It can freeze anything,” Cady murmurs, looping it gently around their intertwined hands and fastening it.

“Even time,” they both say at the same time before looking at each other with a small smile.

“Let them out,” Cady commands. Everyone parts like the Red Sea to make way for them to get outside. “Do you know what to do?”

“Yes,” they say. “Stand back.”

Cady watches with a smile as they approach Neverbury casually and each hold up a hand. They still hold each other with one, and fire a beam of ice at Neverbury with the other. Neverbury freezes solid, and then shatters. Snow begins to fall around them.

Everyone cheers and runs outside to play in the magical snow, except for Cady.

“You’ve made me a great teacher today, Cady,” Ms. Norbury says.

“How did I do that?” Cady asks. “I punched a hole in the school.”

“A good teacher learns as much from her students as they learn from her,” Ms. Norbury explains. “You’ve awakened something in me. That being said, I’m going to start looking into a different career.”

“I don’t blame you,” Cady chuckles, before Ms. Norbury pushes her outside to join her peers. Cady heads out aimlessly, not really knowing who to join. Until she sees Sharkboy and Lavagirl standing with her parents. “Sharkboy! Lavagirl!”

“Hey!” They both say. Lavagirl catches Cady as she barrels into her and slams their lips together.

“Oh, um…” Cady says sheepishly when they break apart. “Mom, Dad, I’m bi.”

“After today, we’re just glad you’re alive,” her dad chuckles, ruffling her hair. Cady throws her arms around both of them, and smiles as they squeeze her tightly. They feel like a family for the first time in years.

—————-

epilogue

“The following story is true,” Cady begins. “It may have began as a dream, but as we all saw last month, when you let your dreams become reality, reality becomes a dream.

“Sharkboy and Lavagirl both live here now. Sharkboy rules the ocean as king, and is searching for his mother. He says his instincts tell him he’s getting closer every second, so he’ll find her soon. And Lavagirl lives with me. We just have to keep the heat on max.”

That gets a chuckle from everyone.

“She gets to live her dream too, don’t worry. She rules all of Earth’s volcanos, a source of light and life for all of us. Just from a distance. So… so she can be with me. My advice to you all is… dream your best dreams. Then work to make them real.”

The end.

---

hope you enjoyed!

I'm sorry it wasn't the most romantic, but i did my best to make it fit with the story. we'll be back on earth next week :))

thanks for reading!

lots of love,

ezzy

[talpup]

Lost Song:10

Summary: The war between the Dragons and Griffons ended 233 years ago, and both races right along with it.

Or so it was believed. There are three individuals that will soon change that.

Kai is the last of the Dragons and he seeks to take what he sees as his rightful place and rule over all of Oblvi. Meanwhile, Shouta, the last Sphinx, wants nothing more than to do his job; keep the peace and and teach the young Fourth’s to hopefully avoid the mistakes of their ancestors. And Teris, a Foundling who is just trying to understand and survive in this strange new world that is supposedly her own.

All three have their own wants and desires, but Kai’s plans, Teris’ existence, and Shouta's past mean that none of them may get what they want.

This fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers.  For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Notes: Flashbacks/memories are in italics. I decided to give Pops a name.  Ryuu.  For those of you who haven't read BNHA Vigilantes.  His Purple Highness is a character from there.

10.1

Shouta entered the library of his Ilca dorm carrying a stack of essay’s to grade.  His student's complained every time he assigned them homework.  As if they alone suffered.  If anything, they had it easy.  They only had to write a single paper.  Where as he had to grade them all. He set down the pile and frowned at the top page. ...And try to decipher Kaminari’s handwriting, he thought with a tired sigh.

Shouta shuffled the Venti-High Elf’s essay with its chaotic scrawl to the bottom of the pile and sat down. At least he had the next few nights off from patrol.  Though it was doubtful he would get any rest from the time off. Not with members of the Council arriving and the truth of Teris being a griffon needing to be guarded.  If anything, he’d probably get even less sleep than usual.

The thought of Teris had Shouta reaching into his pants pocket in search of the item he had been carrying around for two days.  His hesitance was illogical and had to end. With Elders of the Council arriving later this evening, he could no longer stall.  He had to give Teris the gift today.

A soft humming growl reverberated in Shouta’s chest.  Not gift, he corrected himself. Why did he keep on thinking of the thing as a gift?

He growled again at the other, far more crucial failing on his part. With the Council Elders arriving this evening, Shouta should've given the thing to Teris this morning.  But the infuriating woman had had been spoiling for a fight.  And with the little sleep he had invaded by dreams of her.  Shouta, in his irritation, had given in and snapped back. Because of that he had held off giving Teris the bracelet. He couldn’t say why, but he didn’t want to give her the gift in anger.  It’s not a gift, Shouta told himself inner voice stern in it’s scolding. It’s a necessary thing for her protection.

Shouta entered Nedzu’s office.  “You wanted to see me.”

“Yes. Please come in and have a seat. We have a concerning issue.  Tea?” The Director of Traverseen Hall offered.

Shouta sat before the Hybrid’s desk and shook his head.  When Nedzu didn’t even make himself a cup, Shouta realized just how serious the matter was.

“I’ve been informed that some Elders of the Council will be coming to Traverseen Hall.  They wish to see the Foundling’s.”  Nedzu said.

The heckles on the back of Shouta’s neck rose in protective aggression and worry. “Teris…  There a those on the Council that will know her for a griffon at first scent.”

Nedzu nodded.  “I’m aware.  It’s not an easy thing to tell a Fourth's species by scent alone, especially when both parties are in human form.  But there are those on the Council who were high ranking in the Griffon Court and dealt with griffons often and closely enough to know Teris is one at first whiff.  While a few others would be able to do the same, having specialized in hunting and stalking out griffon locations for the dragons. If one such Elder is part of the group that’s coming.  I fear there is little we could do to stop them from taking Teris before the panel.  And we both know what that would mean.”

Shouta's chin ducked, teeth baring in a snarl that was hidden by his capture weapon.  Teris was his. He would end anyone who dared tried to take her from him.

Nedzu went on. “It’s why I called you here.  I’m aware the Dryad King found a small library of books near where he discovered you.  And that he kept those books secret from the Council, gifting them to you as your inheritance as the last Sphinx. I was hoping somewhere in that small portion of what remained of the vast stores of Sphinx knowledge is something that could assist us in this.”

Shouta had barely been able to focus on teaching his class that day.  When the school day finally ended he had filed out quicker than his student's.  He had missed dinner and evening lesson with Hizashi and Teris. Having called in a favor with Nemuri to cover his patrol, Shouta had spent a sleepless night locked in his chambers scouring the books in his personal armory for something to help. An hour before sunrise, he had found a solution.  If he combined a specifically forged charm and overlayed a certain spell on it…  The following night had been another sleepless one.

An echoing clang of metal hitting metal sounded from deep within the bowels of Traverseen Hall.  Even in the middle of winter the furnace room was as hot and sweltering as hell.  The place was windowless and dark.  The sole light of the furnace fire throwing long flickering shadows.

Tired and slick with sweat, Shouta set down the hammer and examined the layered mix of salted iron and shining silver.  He pushed back his plastered hair and wiped the sweat from his brow with a leather gloved hand. One more turn in the fire and a few more hits of the hammer, and the charm would be complete.

The cuff bracelet he was making could've been made from of any metal.  It definitely would've been easier and far quicker if he opted not to blend two separate metals.  But given the dangers Teris would face on the patrols she and Hizashi would go on with him, Shouta found it illogical to waste the opportunity to add other layers of protection.

Sweat rolling down his bare chest, Shouta smiled, pleased with how the gift was turning out. He frown at the cuff. Why did he keep thinking of it as a gift?  It wasn’t a gift.  It was a necessity.  He wasn’t doing this to court Teris. He was doing it because the Council was coming and Teris needed protection from being sniffed out as a griffon.  Him making this thing had nothing to do with his care for her.  He had no care for her. The only reason he was doing this was because it was his responsibility as Ilca leader to see both Teris and Hizashi protected.

Shouta didn’t dare ask himself if he would’ve put the same amount of time and effort into making the item look perfect and pleasing if it were for Hizashi's protection instead of Teris’.  Shouta did his best not to examine his thoughts where Teris was concerned. Why would he?  Teris was an annoyance he’d rather not think about at all.

Black pants hanging low on his hips, Shouta stepped back to the fire.  It was cathartic to thrust the confounded item he kept thinking of as a gift into the blaze.

Humans might’ve needed protection against the furnaces heat and sparks.  But even in human form Shouta didn’t have to worry about such things.  The only thing he had to worry about was getting this right the first time.  While he had enough material in the stores of his personal armory to make the gift.  He only had enough for one attempt.

Shouta turned the long tongs, evenly heating the salted iron and sliver.  More strands of inky black hair fell from the messy bun.  The escaped dark waves clung to his face and neck. Sweat sizzled on his body and evaporated.  It rolled down his chest and pooled in his navel then continued on and caught in the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

Thoroughly heated, Shouta pulled the red hot metal from the flame and returned it to the anvil.  The firelight highlighted the rolling muscles of Shouta's back as he took up the hammer and lifted it.  He brought it down with a clank and mass of sparks.

With the charm forged he now had to place the overlaying spell on it.  But something made him pause.  The charmed bracelet would muddle the scent of the wearer’s species.  While the spell would stop the charm from interfering with the wearer’s personal scent.  It meant that Teris would still smell like herself; but she wouldn’t smell like a griffon.  But what if one of the coming Council members were so familiar with griffons that muddling the smell of Teris’ species wasn’t enough?

If he added a few strands from his mane.  No.  The underlying scent of a Fourth’s species became stronger and much more prominent in their true form.  Such a powerful scent of hereditary marker would garner attention in itself.  But if he were to add some hair from his human form, the charmed bracelet would carry and muddle his species scent along with Teris’.

Shouta hummed, pleased at the thought of Teris having a part of him so close. He frowned.  What kind of silly youngling thought was that?  Why would he even want Teris to keep a part of him close when he couldn’t stand and didn’t want to be near her?  Growling, Shouta blamed his exhaustion. He rubbed his tired eyes and read over the instructions for making the charm to be sure the addition of his hair would work.  Satisfied that it would, he pulled the tie holding his hair back.  The dark, sweat drenched locks fell with a plop.

He smirked at the thought of how Teris would react if she knew she would be wearing his unwashed hair around her wrist.  But it was more than a petty vengeance.  His beastly scent would be more potent this way.

Shouta reached up and sectioned out a bit of hair from the nape of his neck.  Mind wandering back to the thought of Teris keeping a part of him close, Shouta carefully braided the strands unaware of the smile that crept onto his face.

Shouta stared down at the bracelet in his hand.  Like all creators he easily picked out every minute flaw in his creation. Even though he had been careful in braiding, and selected the best portion of the strand to use. His critical eye found the braid sloppy. It’s weave marginally tighter at one end of the cuff and looser at the other.

At least he had done a bit better with the actual metal work.  The layers sandwiched silver and salted iron so thin a Fourth would have to be in their true form and squinting to see them.  The cuff looked like one solid piece.  The salted iron giving it a charcoal color.  While the silver gave it a sheen.  His braided hair looked like a decorative black metal detail. And with the charm finished, its spell set in place, it may as well have been.  Even in their true form, only a small handful of Fourth's would be able to see it as the hair it truly was.

Shouta ran a calloused thumb over the bracelet.  He wondered if Teris would like it.  The clock in the great room chimed the hour.  Teris would soon be returning from her lessons with Kai.  A slight nervous excitement bubbled up inside him.  He scolded himself.  This wasn't a courting gift.  It was something he had to do protect Teris from the Council.

What if she did more than not like it?  What if Teris rejected it?  Maybe he should have Hizashi give it to her.  Teris would surely be more accepting of the bracelet if given from Hizashi instead of him.  A low growl rumbled in Shouta’s chest at the thought of Hizashi giving Teris the gift he had worked so hard on.

Shouta stared at the bracelet and sighed. Truth is getting harder and harder to ignore, he thought.  He shook his head and told himself to shut up.

It’s an illogical waste of time and energy to continue attempting to deny the truth, his inner voice continued.  You’ll have to face the fact of it sooner or later.  Why this stubborn insistence on delaying the inevitable?

I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shouta told himself.

Stop trying to convince yourself otherwise.  Just admit that you want her, his voice of reason sounded. This blatant denial of facts is childish and doesn’t suit you.

I don’t want her.  I can barely stand her, Shouta argued with himself.

Then why worry if she’ll like the cuff and accept it?

You’re right, he told himself. It’s a necessity not a gift.  As her Ilca leader, I’ll simply order Teris to wear the thing.

That’ll certainly warm her to you and win her favor, his inner voice taunted.

What do I care if Teris warms to me, he thought.

You did proposition her with seeking release, he told himself.

That was simply so I wouldn’t have to go to Nemuri.  It’s not like I asked Teris to mate or be companions, he reasoned.

You wanted to though, his voice of reason pressed.

No. I didn’t, Shouta thought getting annoyed with himself.

You were disappointed when Teris turned down your offer of release.

Release, he thought. There’s no feelings involved with that.

There can be, his rational side argued.

Yeah, well, there wouldn’t have been if Teris accepted, he told himself.

You should ask her again, he thought. With her around you’ll be needing release more often.  You need it now. No doubt she’s needs it too.  Maybe after you give her this gift…

The main door to the dorm opened drawing Shouta’s attention and ending his inner argument. He rose to his feet and exited the library.  The sight of Teris made him pause.  She was beautiful.  Lips slightly swollen and redder than usual.  The ends of her hair damp and wetting her shirt.  Wait… The smell of sex carried across the great room and assaulted his nose.

Shouta growled, heckles rising.  The light excitement he had felt upon seeing Teris darkened and disappeared. His heart clenched. Chest aching as if physically wounded.  Incisors lengthening Shouta pressed teeth painfully together, trying to get himself under control.  The image of biting down and ripping Kai’s throat out danced in his mind along with other far less desirable scenes of Teris and Kai together.

A faint burning red mixed and tinted his charcoal colored eyes. He was kill the Dragon for taking what was his.

She’s not yours, his inner voice of reason taunted. You don’t even want her.  Remember?

Right, Shouta gruffly thought.  He had no interest in Teris.  No desire to take and claim her and make her his.  She was free to seek release with whomever she pleased.  The only reason it mattered to him was because Teris was a griffon and Kai a dragon.  That was why he was upset.  No.  Not even upset.  Just concerned.  As Teris’ Ilca leader, it was his duty to protect her.  And Teris had just unknowingly put herself in further danger by seeking release with Kai.

Teris’ nerves were still on edge from the encounter with the red winged man.  Relief instantly filled her at the sight of Shouta.  His presence alone made her feel safe and secure.  Shouta would know what to do and how to deal the winged man.

Teris rushed across the room to him.  “Shouta--”

Shouta stepped back with a hard blowing exhale.  The smell of sex and Kai on her was too much to handle. He couldn’t bare it.  He shoved the bracelet at her, letting go without a care if Teris had a grasp on it or not.  “For you.”

Teris fumbled with the item thrust at her.  She didn’t even look at it.  “Okay. But first--”

Shouta made his way to the still open door.  He needed to get away from the stench of Kai and sex on her.

“Shouta! Where are you going?  I need--”

“I don’t care what you need.  Either deal with it yourself.  Or wait till I get back.”

Teris stared after him, hurt and angry by his dismissal.  She wanted to ask when he’d be back.  Wanted to yell and demand he stay and listen.

Shouta slammed the door behind him.

Teris jumped, startled by the resounded sound.  Left alone with her worry and growing anger.

10.2

Even after a long hot shower Kai was still upset he hadn’t been able to bring Teris back to his rooms and properly tend to her. Though she had assured him she was fine with a quick cleansing dip in the hot springs, he had wanted. Needed. To do more. It was his own propensity for cleanliness, mixed with the instinct to care for his chosen mate that had left him angry and distressed about his inability to properly tend to her.

Next time, Kai thought as he buttoned up his shirt. Next time he would show Teris what a good, caring attentive mate he would make her.

His cock stirred at the memory of Teris beneath him.  The feel of her tight silken heat was something he would never forget and couldn’t wait to feel again. His eyes closed remembering the way she had moaned and cried out his name.  He frowned recalling how she hadn’t been blushing or nervous at the start. Even in the heat of the moment with beastly instincts running high from the chase Teris hadn’t behaved like a virgin.

A growl bubbled in his chest. It was cut short by a knock at his chambers door.

“Enter.” Kai called, tightening his tie in place.

The door opened revealing Hari.  “Master Ryuu has been seen on his way.  He will be here shortly.”

“All work has been stopped?”  Kai questioned, wanting to make sure.

Hari nodded.  “All work ended late last night, just as you ordered.  The Ilca has informed your followers to cease and conceal all doings until they have been told it is safe to begin again.”

“Good.” Much as Kai hated having to pause his efforts to reclaim the lost Dragon throne. Continuing them while members of the Council were here would be reckless and foolish. Especially when one of the visiting Council members was the man that had found his egg and raised him.

Kai exited his room and walked down the long hall. Hari turned and followed a respectful half-step behind the Dragon.

“I hope it’s alright.  I took it upon myself to order the Ilca to busy themselves elsewhere this evening.” Hari said.

“Excellent. There’s no reason for them to meet Ryuu anyway.”  Kai’s eyes slid to Hari.  “Though if they do happen to find themselves in his presence they are to show him every level of respect.”

Hari nodded.  “Of course, Sir.  Master Ryuu is the reason you are here to give us purpose and hope.  He deserves the utmost respect for that.  I will make sure the Ilca knows it.”

“He’s a kind man who might suggest you stay with us.  But we both know you have work to do.  So after I introduce you, take your leave.  Understood.”

“Yes, Sir.”

A knock on the door sounded just as they reached the great room.  Hari quickened his steps to answer.

“Master Ryuu.  It’s an honor.”  Hari bowed.  “Please.  Come in.”

Ryuu looked about the Ilca dorm.  The space seemed to expand and contract, perspective changing in direct response to his focus. He had known Traverseen Hall had been built by some of the most powerful Dwarf clans a thousand or so years before the rise and rule of Dragons and Griffons.  But that didn’t make it any less impressive to finally see the ancient and powerful magic the place was imbued with.

“Do you ever walk around in your true form in here?” Ryuu questioned, a desire to try himself welling up.  As a  Tengu, his true forms size wasn’t hugely different from his human form. Still, to see and experience how the space altered to accommodate the change…

“That would be unseemly.  You raised me better than that.”  Kai said.

Ryuu’s eyes fixed and focused on the Dragon. A warm smile sprung to life.  “Kai. My boy.”  He looked the young Dragon over.  “Not such a boy anymore.  Look at you.”

Kai cleared his throat, glad for Hari’s preemptive removal of the rest of his Ilca.

Ryuu smirked and glanced out of the corner of his eye at Hari.  “I’ve embarrassed him.  He was never good with being fawned over.  Now praise.  That’s a different matter entirely.  Kai’s never had any issues with being told how smart and special he is.”

Hari ducked his head and looked away, uncomfortable.  He could feel Kai’s molten eyes on him.  Judging and waiting for reaction.

After a brief moment, Kai spoke.  “This is Hari.  My second.”

Well aware Kai was subtly telling him ‘enough’, Ryuu inclined his head.  “And I’m sure Kai’s told you all about me.”

Hari bowed again.  “Master Ryuu.  It is an honor.”

“You already said that my boy.  Are you looking to make this old Tengu blush?”

Kai felt the beginning of a growl at Ryuu’s informal address.  It didn’t matter whether Ryuu had called Hari ‘my boy’ because the Tengu already felt a warm favor toward him.  Or simply because Hari was introduced as his second.  Kai didn’t like it.  Ryuu was his mentor.  Hari his second.  His things didn’t converse or bond without his say.

Even though the Ilca dorm was empty save for them, Kai extended a hand toward one of the private sitting rooms.  “Shall we sit.”

Ryuu nodded and stepped in the direction Kai had gestured.  He stopped when Hari bowed and turned away.  “You’re not joining us?”

“He has work to do.”  Kai answered for him.

“Ah. Of that I am far too familiar with.  Even here work follows me.” Ryuu said, entering the sitting room.

Kai paused, respectfully waiting for the Tengu to sit first.  “If I may ask.  What brings you here?”

Ryuu’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.  “They didn’t tell you?”

Kai stared across the coffee table.  A tight tenuous smile graced his lips. “I am rarely told anything.”

Ryuu chest lifted and fell in a sad silent sigh.  He wasn’t some deluded old man that thought if people were more kind and welcoming Kai wouldn’t being looking to reclaim his throne. But he liked to believe that Kai would’ve softened and responded if he was treated with less guarded animosity simply for being a dragon.  And yes, Ryuu was aware of Kai’s plans to claim the lost dragon throne.  Even if Ryuu’s clan of spies hadn’t reported hearing such whispers.  He knew Kai too well having raised him.

“We are here to meet the Foundlings.”  Ryuu said, speaking of himself and the other Council members he arrived at Traverseen Hall with.

Kai blinked, pretending this was news.  Just because that Rat Director hadn’t informed him of anything didn’t mean his wasn’t fully aware of things.  He simply had wanted Ryuu to be the first to bring Teris up.

“I was charged with the females Foundling’s instruction.”  Kai said.

A proud smile tugged at Ryuu’s lips.  “So I’ve been told.  What can you tell me of her?”

Kai took in a breath, resting forearms on knees.

Ryuu’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly noting a subtle change in Kai’s expression.

“She’s smart.  Clever and capable.  Eager to learn and able to retain what she’s read or been told.”  Kai could go on forever talking about Teris’ desirable attributes.  But he didn’t want to appear like a lovesick fool.

“High praise coming from you.”  Ryuu commented.  And it was true.  Kai was a hard man to please.

Wanting his mentor to properly meet and get to know his chosen mate, Kai offered. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing her during tomorrow’s gathering.  But if you wish, I could have her join us for dinner tomorrow evening.”

Thinking of the reason he and the others were here, Ryuu nodded.  “I would like that.”

Kai inclined his head.  Glad to have his plans so easily set.  Now all he had to do was invite Teris who would surely and readily agree.

Oblvi Facts 1

(aka info dump cause I’m a lazy writer who’s not making the effort to fit this seamlessly into the fic)

A bit about Dryads:

Dryads of Oblvi were one of the first earth Spirits in existence.  Like Venti, they are elementals.  Though not the Elemental of earth.

They are ruled by either a king or queen.  Their current ruler, His Purple Highness, is also an Elder on the Council. His reign as King began 380yrs into the 867yrs Dragon-Griffon war.  And he has ruled as the Dryad King for a total of 711yrs.

Dryad’s do not mate/bond.  It is against their nature and something they are incapable of doing.  Occasionally Dryad’s will take on or become companions with one or more Fourth’s.  But as a whole they simply seek and provide other Fourth's with release.  Unmated Fourth's or those lacking a companion will often seek a Dryad out for release.  Though not compelled by their nature or some order to accept a Fourth seeking release.  A Dryad will rarely, if ever, turn the seeking Fourth away.  Release/sex is not needed for a Dryad to live.  But it does provide many benefits to the Dryad, their home tree, and consequently surrounding flora.

A Dryad’s home tree is the tree they were born from.  It more than houses their soul.  It is their soul.  The only way a Dryad can be away from their home tree for more than a day is by taking and carrying a cutting of their home tree.  Even then, if the cutting were removed for whatever reason the Dryad would weaken, wither, and die sooner than the usual day they could survive away from their home tree. This is why the chosen Piece of Their Person for all Dryad’s is a cutting from their home tree.

Since a Dryad’s home tree is their soul, the physical and emotional state of a Dryad will effect their home tree.  This is most noticeable when having sex.  As a Dryad’s arousal heightens flower buds will appear on the cutting and home tree.  During the act, those buds will grow. Upon orgasm/release the buds will blossom and bloom.  The magic imbued within the pollen of a Dryad’s release will carry on the air and spawn a reaction in the surrounding plant life causing those plants to blossom and flower in kind.  While it’s not necessary for a Dryad’s sexual partner to orgasm for this to happen.  Their partner's release does strengthen the magic in their pollen thus creating and supporting further life in the area surrounding them and their home tree.

10.3

Along with her own personal quarters, Nemuri had a different set of chambers where she took Fourth's seeking release.  While she wouldn’t have minded allowing some of her regulars into her personal space.  Having separate rooms was all together easier for a number of reason.  Not the least of which was the feelings of one of her three companion's.

Poor Sekijiro. Tonight was suppose to be his night.  But when Shouta who rarely sought release and always scheduled appointment several days in advance had shown up without one, Nemuri couldn’t send her friend away.

Thankfully she had been the one to answer the door and had been able to tell Sekijiro of their evenings delay without Shouta hearing.  Cause let’s face it, Shouta had already been apologizing and trying to leave despite his clear need for release.

The Sphinx's level of control amazed her.  As a Beast still early in his prime one would've expected Shouta to come seeking release at least once a week if that little.  Yet it had been months since Shouta had last sought her out.  And she knew for a fact Shouta didn’t have agreement with anyone else to seek release from.

Speaking of agreements.  Along with scheduling before hand, despite Nemuri telling him it wasn’t necessary, Shouta had a list of set rules.  Lists of preferences or strict no’s were rather common. But Shouta's list was extensive.  Nemuri supposed it was part of Shouta's nature as a Sphinx to want to be prepared for every possible outcome.  Never mind his need for control as an apex alpha.

Despite one of his rules being no cuddling after, Shouta always provided other forms of aftercare.  It was an unnecessary thing.  And most who sought release didn’t do it.  If she needed tending after Nemuri had her companion's for that.  But whether it was because they were friend's.  Or Shouta was simply such a caring lover it bled through even in this professional setting of release. Shouta always asked if she needed anything.  If he had tied her up, his calloused hands would smooth over her body seeking out tense muscles or knots to message away.

Shouta hadn’t tied her up this time.  There had been no scene to lengthen his release.  There hadn’t even been much foreplay.  Not that Nemuri was complaining.  Shouta always satisfied. And tonight was no different.  Already having one orgasm, Nemuri was well on her way to a second.

Panting and sweating Nemuri's nails raked up Shouta's strong arms encouraging him along.  She delighted in the way his biceps quivered and rolled under her touch.  Shouta growled.  His powerful hands gripped her hips, holding her still.

The head of his cock hit that spot inside her. Nemuri threw her head back and moaned.  Her sensitive pussy clamping down around his thick pulsing length.

Shouta's hands tightened, fingers digging into Nemuri's flesh, adding a delicious pain to her pleasure. Nemuri moaned again.  Shouta’s betraying mind once again wondered what Teris would sound like.  His teeth scraped over and bit into his bottom lip wanting to bite at Teris’ tender flesh. He wanted to feel Teris dig her nails into him. Wanted to hear Teris moan and scream his name.  He would mark her and claim her as his.  Would feast on her lips and…

The cutting of Nemuri's home tree laid at the base of her throat jostling with Shouta's every hard, deep thrust. Three new dark purple buds sprung out near the already blossomed flowers.

“Fuck.” Shouta cursed, thrusts growing ragged and rougher.

Nemuri's back arched, pressing her breast into Shouta's large groping palm.  He tweaked and twisted her nipple.  She moaned again.  The coil within her tightened further making her vision go white.

Shouta's eyes squeezed further shut.  Teeth gritted, he shook his head.  It wasn’t working.  Why wasn’t it working?  Balls heavy and tight.  Cock throbbing and ready to burst.  He was so damn close to cumming.  But it wouldn’t happen. Why wouldn’t it happen?  Why couldn’t he cum?

Growling, Shouta stopped.

“Wha--” Dazed by her impending orgasm, Nemuri lifted her head.

“Sorry.” Shouta mumbled.

Despite the set rules Shouta had about no kissing or touching of the face or lips, Nemuri reached out to cup his handsome face.  It was an instinct born of desire to help her friend and happened without thought.

Shouta jerked his head back.  He grabbed her wrist and pulled it away. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you.”

Shouta let her go and pulled his cock out of her wet heat. He rose to his knees, chest rumbling with a noise of disapproval. Deep voice stern, Shouta shook his head. “No.  You know I’m not looking for connection or affection.  Merely release.  Nothing more.”

Arousal fading, the purple buds on Nemuri's piece withered and fell away leaving only the blossomed flowers from her first orgasm. “I’m well aware.  I just thought that with everything going on you might need something more to help you along.”

“Going against the boundaries I set isn’t going to make me less tired or distracted by the Council’s presence.”  Shouta said, face expressionless.

Nemuri blinked rapidly eyes rolling in her head. Is that the excuse he was going with?  They both knew full well him being tired and distracted had nothing to do with it. Still, he was right about her crossing a line.  It didn’t matter how pure or earnest her reasoning was.  It had been unprofessional and wrong.

“I’m sorry.  I overstepped. It won’t happen again.”  Nemuri said.

Shouta gave a curt nod of forgiveness, the matter over and forgotten the moment she said it wouldn’t happen again.

Nemuri propped herself up on elbows.  Her piece fell safely between her breasts.  The cutting of her home tree hanging by a smooth, shining cord of black leather.  “But if you ever want to properly kiss or allow the touching of faces.  I would be okay with it.”  She shrugged. “Who knows?  It might make what you were imagining feel more real.”

Shouta's eyes sharpened.  The rest of his face an expressionless mask. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not offended.  Plenty of Fourth's seeking release close their eyes and pretend to be with someone they favor.”

“My eyes were closed because I’m tired.”  Shouta said.

“So you were falling asleep while fucking me?  Now that would offend me.”

Shouta sat on his haunches and sighed. He knew Nemuri had been close and felt guilty for leaving her in want.  “I could finger or go down on you.”

Nemuri smiled gently.  Shouta was such a sweet, caring person. Not that many knew it.  Seeing only the cold hard exterior of indifference Shouta displayed to protect himself. “You already gave me one release.  This was for you, Shouta.  What’s going on? Why couldn’t you finish?”

Irrational as it was Shouta refused to accept the known facts on why a Fourth was unable to finish.  He rose up and moved from between Nemuri's legs to sit on the edge of the bed. “This arrangement works because it’s of benefit to both of us.”

“This arrangement works because you tell yourself it’s of benefit to both of us.”

Shouta looked back at her.

Nemuri sat up and shrugged a shoulder. “It’s true and you know it. Even if I didn’t have three companions.  There are countless others who regularly provide me with release when they seek it for themselves.”  She looked over Shouta's strong, naked frame and smiled.  “Not that release with you isn’t some of the best I have.”

Shouta huffed.  He shook his head and looked away.  Wavy dark hair fell across his face hiding the light blush Nemuri's praise evoked.

Nemuri got out of bed and slipped on a robe.  “So what’s the matter?”

Shouta took the tissues she offered him and wiped his softening cock clean of her arousal.  “Just tired.”

Well aware of the same facts Shouta was blatantly ignoring, Nemuri challenged. “You’ve been tired before and always finished.”

Shouta tossed the tissues in the bedside trashcan and reached for his clothes.

“Does it have anything to do with a certain member of your Ilca?”  Nemuri pressed.

Shouta’s head snapped back to her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Nemuri smirked at the Sphinx's furrowed brows and bared teeth.

Fingers fumbling with his pants zipper, Shouta muttered.  “This has absolutely nothing to do with Teris.”

“Who said anything about Teris?  I was talking about Hizashi.”

Shouta's eyes narrowed.  He didn’t need to see Nemuri's dancing blue eyes to know the Dryad was toying with him.  He could hear the smirking tease in her tone. “This has nothing to do with anyone.”

“Fine. But I’m here if you need to talk.”  Nemuri sighed.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”  Shouta brusquely pulled on his long sleeve shirt.

“As you say.”

Shouta suddenly softened. “Sorry. I didn’t check. You need anything.  Water?  Warm towel?  I could draw you a bath.”

Nemuri smiled in thanks. “No, Sweetie.  I’m good.  Just gonna take a quick shower and meet Sekijiro.”

“Alright then.” Shouta turned and made for the door.

Nemuri opened her mouth to ask one more time if he was alright, but stopped.  There was only one reason why a Fourth in their prime wouldn’t be able to finish.  Shouta knew that just as well as she.  If he wasn’t ready to admit to it there was little she could do to help. At least at the moment.

Shouta walked through the long hallway of Nemuri's Ilca dorm.  Lost in thought it took him a moment to register Sekijiro’s presence.

Waiting for Nemuri to finish with her unexpected caller, Sekijiro had left the doors to his rooms open. It was bad enough he had to suffer sharing Nemuri with her two other companion's.  Never mind the Fourth's that continually called on her for release.  But tonight was suppose to be his night alone with her.

Having heard Shouta exit the hated chambers Nemuri used for those seeking release, Sekijiro moved to stand in the doorway of his quarters.  The smell Nemuri and sex on the Sphinx invaded his nostrils.  His red eyes glowed.  A deep, dangerous growl echoed through the long hallway.

Sekijiro would’ve thought that as a beast Shouta would understand. Or at least have sympathy for his situation. It wasn’t as if the Sphinx didn’t know about his predicament. Badly kept secret that it was.  There wasn’t a single Fourth in Traverseen Hall, aside from the student's, who wasn’t aware Sekijiro was emotional mated to Nemuri.  That as hers and hers alone Sekijiro couldn’t have sought release elsewhere.  Even if he wanted to it would've been useless.  He wouldn’t have been able to finish.

Shouta inclined his head in stiff greeting as he passed. “Kan.”

“Aizawa.” Sekijiro growled out between clenched teeth.

Bad as Shouta had felt for Sekijiro.  He had seen it as the mans own fault for falling in love with Nemuri when Dryad’s were incapable of mating.  It had struck him as irrational that Sekijiro had let his feelings grow to the point that the Vampuric Gargoyle was essentially one-sidedly mated.  That was until tonight. Until Shouta discovered first hand that no matter the effort you didn’t always have a say in who you fell in love with.

10.4

Teris had grown more and more furious as time progressed.  How dare Shouta leave like that when she needed him.  Of course Hizashi, ever the peacemaker between her and the ill-tempered Sphinx, had tried to soothe her anger saying Shouta was probably on edge about the Council’s arrival.  So what?  For some reason everyone at Traverseen Hall was on edge about the Council’s arrival. Far as Teris saw it that didn’t excuse Shouta’s behavior.  Kai never would’ve ignored her and walked out like that.  Kai would've listened and…

Teris shivered.  She had never seen Kai act violently.  But something told her the Dragon was more than capable of doing so. She pushed aside the foreboding feeling and inner knowledge that she never would've gone to Kai about the winged mans kiss, and continued pacing the great room.

She hadn’t told Hizashi about the encounter with the strange winged Fourth either.  Hizashi had only stopped by the dorm to change and get ready for his date with Oboro.  Teris hadn’t want to ruin his time by worrying him.  Or worse have Hizashi call off the date to stay with her until Shouta returned.

It wasn’t really that big a deal.  Angry as Teris was about the unwanted kiss.  It had been the look in mans eyes that truly disturbed her.  The sharp dissecting gaze that seemed to pierce deeper than skin and bone. Like she was some sort of puzzle to examined and solved.

Teris unconsciously rubbed the bracelet Shouta had given her. The act brought a calming comfort.  Her muscles relaxed then tightened when she caught herself.  Teris growled and pulled her hand away from her right wrist.  A petulant urge to take the thing off welled up inside her. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Why had Shouta given it to her?  More like threw at her, Teris thought with a huff.  ”For you.” Shouta's gruff words as he thrust the bracelet toward her replayed in her mind.

Teris looked down at the bracelet for the hundredth time.  Not overly large or ornate, it held a reserved, subtle beauty. Her fingers traced over the braiding wondering what metal had been used for the decorative detail.  The thing was flawless. Certainly the finest piece of jewelry she had ever owned.

With another growl, Teris made for the door.  Waiting around here was driving her crazy.  The night was nice.  Maybe a stroll would take her mind off everything.  Besides, the last thing she wanted was for Shouta to return and discover she had been waiting for him.

Teris opened the door and walked straight into the Sphinx.  She crashed into Shouta's solid chest and stumbled back a step.  Strong arms wrapped around and steadied her.  The smell of sex and someone she vaguely recognized as Shouta's fellow Ilca leader friend Nemuri burned her nostrils.

Face an inch from hers, Shouta stared into Teris’ wide eyes.  Her mouth was slightly open, warm breath ghosting over him.  She had showered and changed.  The smell of Kai and sex was gone, leaving her scent alone to delight in.   Shouta’s humming purr went unnoticed by Teris who pushed and pulled away.

“Get off!” Teris tripped over her feet and stumbled again.

Shouta reached to steady her.  Teris slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”  Teris hissed through bared teeth.

A low displeased sound came from Shouta's throat.  The known facts were wrong.  There was no way he loved this irritating, ungracious woman.

Teris’ gut twisted, heart aching. Was that where Shouta had been?  Having sex with Nemuri.  Had it been a scheduled meet up for release?  Or just something that happened?  Both prospects were equally upsetting.

Why, she asked herself.  You had sex with Kai only few hours ago.  What’s it matter who Shouta seeks release from?

It matters because I was unsettled by that winged man and needed him, Teris thought.  Shouta's my Ilca leader.  He’s suppose to be there and help in times of trial.  If he left in a rush when I needed him just to—  Her mind stopped, forcing the abhorrent image of Shouta and Nemuri from her head.

She took shallow breaths through her mouth trying to lessen the sicking stench of sex and Nemuri from invading her senses.  Needing fresh air more than ever Teris took off down the hall.

“Teris. Get back here.”  Shouta stared after her a moment.  When she didn’t stop and return he stormed after her.  His longer stride saw him quickly catch up.  “Where are you going?”

“Away.” Teris puffed, trying and failing to pull ahead of him.

“It’s late.  Get back in the dorm.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Teris…” Shouta’s hand brushed her arm.

Teris spun right hand swinging out.

Shouta grabbed her wrist before the slap could connect.  Teeth bared he pulled Teris to him by the forearm he held. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You! You’re what’s wrong.“ Teris accused, free hand pushing against Shouta’s firm chest.

Shouta stood immovable.  His eyebrows knitted together. “Me?”

“You with your face and hair and way you move.  That voice that makes me—“ Teris didn't know if she caught and stopped herself.  Or stopped because someone was approaching.

“No!” The man approaching complained. “Don’t stop on my account.  I just love watching confessions of love.  There’s nothing better.  Well, there is.  But I wouldn’t watch that unless you two invited.”

Shouta stiffened.  His eyes darted down to Teris’ wrists.  Relief washed over him.  She was wearing the bracelet.  A warm exhilaration blossomed in his chest.  She was wearing the bracelet.

Shouta’s thumb brushed over the metal made warm by its contact with Teris’ wrist. The spell broken when Teris pulled her arm free of his hold and turned on the newcomer.

Shouta did the same.  The both of them telling that a there had been no confession of love because neither felt anything of the sort.

The Dryad King smirked at the way the two spoke over each other in their rush to assert their mutual dislike.  This era’s youth sure were curious.  Why did they insist on making everything so difficult? Granted in his day there had been a war raging.  The youth of his time having serious matters to contend with. Still, was this ages young ones that in want of tension and spectacle?  Surely they could find meaningful trial elsewhere. Love was suppose to be easy.

Shouta stopped.  He frowned at Teris who continued on for a time.

“Your Highness.”  Shouta inclined his head to the tall, slender man. “Are you lost?”

The Dryad King placed a manicured hand to his exposed chest. The buttons of his dress shirt undone all the way down to his tailored vest. “I came to see you, Shouta.”

“We’ll be seeing each other at tomorrow’s afternoon gathering.” Shouta said.

The Dryad stepped ever closer.  His footfalls eerily silent on the wooden floor.  Teris noted the mans apple green shoes perfectly matched his three piece suit down the shining gold embroidery that depicted lush swirling leaves.

His Purple Highness shook his head and sighed in disappointed disapproval. “You’re always so gruff and distant, Shouta.  No wonder you and your lady friend are unwilling to accept the truth of your love.” Shouta and Teris opened their mouths but His Purple Highness went on.  “It’s been years since we last saw each other.  Can you blame me for not wanting to wait to see how the young Sphinx I found and finished raising is getting on?”

Teris turned to Shouta.  “This is His Purple Highness?”

Shouta heaved a tired sigh and nodded.

“You’ve hear of me?”  A large beaming smile cracked the Dryad King’s face.

Teris looked back at the man and blinked. He was…  Different from what she expected.  Though she couldn’t really say what she had expected.  Certainly not some ostentatiously dressed man wearing a dark purple wizards robe over an impeccably tailored skinny cut suit.

The Dryad wagged a finger at Shouta and tisked in teasing censure.  “Have you been sharing story’s of me, Shouta?”

“No.” Shouta deadpanned.

His Purple Highness looked at Teris.  “Whatever he’s told you.  I swear it’s a hundred times more salacious.”

The man stopped in front of Teris.  He held his hand out, knuckles up.  Teris quirked a brow.  Did the Dryad expect her to kiss his ringed fingers?  He was the Dryad King.  Maybe it was expected protocol.  Kai had never mentioned what to do when faced with a species royal leader. The only time he talked about them was to dismiss and belittle their authority.

She glanced at Shouta for direction. Shouta gave a small, subtle shake of his head.

Relieved, Teris gripped the Dryad’s fingers and shook his hand.  “Nice to meet you.  I’m--”

“It’s you.”  His Purple Highness breathed.

With the smell of sex and Nemuri perfuming the air, His Purple Highness hadn’t registered the woman’s scent. But when Teris had moved, her scent had wafted through the air and tickled the Dryad King’s nose. Her scent was warm, fresh, lovely. And the underlying scent of her species…  Muddled as it was, His Purple Highness wouldn’t have been able to tell what she was if he hadn’t smelled this particular Griffon before.

It was early spring.  Snow still clung to small shaded patches of earth. The Dryad King walked through the forest alone.  Nature was a living thing.  If left alone for too long it would grow sinister and violent.  This forest had been void of life for quite some time. Why? What was warding the lesser creatures away?

His Purple Highness followed his senses.  Pulled to the thing that was keeping everything else at bay.  Green shoots of new plant life sprung up and spread in his wake.  Deep in a cold stone cave he found him.  A young Sphinx frozen in time by a Gargoyles stoning spell.  The boy was hold something.  Clutching it in his hands.  His small frame curled around it as if to protect it.

A feather.

Not just any feather.

Stoning spell removed the young Sphinx was slow to wake.  It gave the Dryad King time to realize the youngling held a griffon feather.  As he plucked the speckled grey and white feather from the Sphinx's tightly balled hands the Griffon’s scent wafted through the air, tickling his nose.

His Purple Highness had hid the feather for Shouta’s safety.  Even then it had taken calling in several favors and making countless promises for his fellow Elders on the Council to agree to let the Sphinx live.  Even now Shouta was watched.  The ax hanging over Shouta's head ready to drop at the first mistake he made.

Eventually Shouta forgot about the feather he had been found clutching to his heart. Yet even without it, the Sphinx had managed to find his Griffon.  And with her, the dangers His Purple Highness had tried to protect Shouta from.

Love was suppose to be easy.  But that didn’t mean it always was.  Sometimes love came with great hazard and difficulty.

This fic will have a LOT more world building than my others.  Please feel free to comment or send me an ask if you have any questions.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special thank you to those who have left comments and/or reblogged. They really mean a lot.

Special thank you to @inorganicone2230 who knows of my love for the mythic and encouraged me to start this fic without stressing about the other two I’ve got going.  Your friendship means the world to me.

[dreammthief]

In Your Arms

Requested: yes / no

Rating: M

Warnings: language and reference to sex

Words: 3.5k

Prompt/Summary: Some friendships are based on mutual respect and admiration, while others stem from relentless banter and mischief. This one is a bit of both with a dash of mutual pining. 

Pairing: Theodore Nott x slytherin!reader

A/N – I figured since my name claims that I write, it’s about time I started doing that. I do have an AO3 and FFN account where I post fuller fics and one-shots, but I decided to keep short fics like these (especially reader inserts) to tumblr only. You can join my tag list for any notifications of new postings for fics by sending an ask with a ☆ (requests are open for any hp pairing!).

“Salazar’s balls, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“No arguments here.”

Theo rolls his eyes. He slings his school bag over his shoulder and rakes a hand through his unruly hair. While the motion was probably meant to make his hair fall handsomely over his face, you can’t help but laugh as it only seemed to make it worse. 

When everyone files into the classroom and begins unpacking their things as Professor Slughorn drawls on about another one of his charming ex-students, you turn to Theo and arch your eyebrow. 

“So, what did you do that caused you to realize you’re such a fucking idiot? Other than look in the mirror this morning,” you add with a smirk. Draco snickers and elbows Theo playfully, who huffs indignantly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, L/N?”

“It’s less that I actually care what you did and more that I know you want to talk about it.” 

Theo is about to respond when Professor Slughorn waddles over to the table where you and your fellow Slytherins are huddled about two cauldrons. You straighten immediately, the brilliant student you are – which is to say you are not a teacher’s pet, not like Granger anyway, just that you happen to understand the advantage of pretending to care about a Professor and their subject when in their presence – and await today’s instructions. 

Draco and Theo notice this abrupt change in behavior and stifle laughs in their robes. 

For good measure, you kick each of their shins under the table.

“Oh-ho! Why aren’t you all already in your groups? Two and two – Yes – There you go – Ah, no, no. This won’t do. Malfoy, you go with Zabini. Nott, you work with L/N.” He beamed at them once he was satisfied, then waddled over to the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students. You catch him muttering, “Nott could use all the help he can get, bless him,” and turn back to Theo with a knowing smirk.

However, your smirk immediately fades when you see Theo is already grinning mischievously at you.

“Don’t,” you hiss, “ruin this for us, Nott, I beg of you.”

“Begging already, L/N? Naturally, I assumed I would have had to work a little harder for that, but I suppose n–”

Theo cuts himself off as your wand finds itself just below his belt loop. 

“So help me, Nott, if you don’t shut your mouth, I will do it for you.”

You narrow your eyes warningly at him, not daring to move your wand; you both know the threat is relatively empty. After all, you’ve only ever hexed students in other Houses and only when they absolutely deserved it… Allegedly hexed, that is. They couldn’t prove anything.

But Theo doesn’t blink. In fact, his grin deepens slightly.

“Is that a promise?” He finally says.

“Begging already, Nott?” You counter, laughing at him and finally leaning away to focus on the actual project demanding your attention. 

–––

The castle was still and quiet. You yawn and rub at your eyes as you trudge through the halls; as deserted as the library had been after curfew, the potions classroom was even emptier. That is, until Nott bound loudly and carelessly into the classroom, throwing his school bag on the floor and falling into the stool beside yours with an exasperated sigh.

When you don’t acknowledge his presence, he dramatically sighs again.

“What?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m late?” He prompted, reaching out to steal a dandelion root. He retracts his hand after you deliver a well-deserved smack to it, and his brows furrow momentarily before his trademark smirk lightens his expression. “Hello? L/N? Anyone home?”

“Nott, for the love of Merlin–”

“Salazar’s balls, Y/N, who spit in your pumpkin juice?” He backs away, hands raised, then crosses the workbench to hand you the next ingredient required to make the very complicated Dreamless Sleep potion. “You look terrible. Have you slept at all since we’ve been assigned this project?”

A glare suffices to answer the question for you.

Still, Theo doesn’t let up his rambling. He goes on about the woes of sharing a dormitory with Draco for the fact that he constantly mutters about Potter in his sleep when you finally drop your wand beside the cauldron in frustration.

“Y/N! What the fuck?” Theo shouts, eyes widening in alarm. He rushes over to the cauldron and continues stirring it counterclockwise three turns, then clockwise once. “What the hell is going on with you?” He asks once the allotted time for stirring has passed. 

While the concoction simmers for thirty minutes before the next ingredient must be added – at precisely 11:58pm on the third Thursday since starting the potion which is why you’re both there in the first place – Theo crosses his arms and fixes you with a stern look. 

“What gives, L/N?”

“Nothing,” you groan. 

Theo purses his lips, taking in your sudden urge to lay flat out on the cold floor. “Doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

“I’m tired is all. A bit stressed.”

“A bit?”

“Fine,” another groan. “A lot stressed. I need to get full-marks on this assignment, the essay for Arithmancy is due next week and I haven’t even started it, and don’t get me started on Runes or I might kill myself.”

Theo glances briefly at the potion, then settles on the floor beside you, leaning back against the table leg and kicking out his long legs. 

“Fucking hell, Y/N, you need to alleviate that stress before you implode. Preferably sooner rather than later, because I have no intention of failing this potions project either, and unfortunately that means I need you.”

“Hold on, can you repeat that last bit? I need to commit it to memory and hold it against you forever.”

“Ha, ha,” he counters, rolling his eyes. “You’re a bloody mess, you know that don’t you? Get your shite together, L/N.” 

You huff indignantly, then sit up on your elbows and brush your hair out of your face. “How are you so bloody relaxed? Have you finished your Arithmancy essay or lost sleep because of this ridiculous potion?”

“Not all all,” Theo scoffs. “Then again, I couldn’t be stressed even if I tried. It’s not in my nature. I certainly could never be as wound up as you’ve become. Truly, it’s unsettling.”

“Thank you. That’s so helpful.”

“Come here.”

You blink up at him.

“What?”

“You want me to help you unwind? Come here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, disbelieving the trickster god incarnate himself is not about to abuse your fatigued state for the sake of a perfectly good prank. He purses his lips, then tugs gently at your arm. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N, for fuck’s sake.” 

Theo turns you slowly then settles himself behind you. Instinctively you tense as his legs extend on either side of yours; you hold your breath because if you dared to exhale, your spine would rest against his chest, and given your vulnerable position, that was the last thing you wanted. 

At least, you muse internally, Theo can’t see the heat rise to your cheeks.

“May I?” He asks. His long fingers hover above your shoulders, and you glance skeptically at them before nodding, not meeting his blue eyes. 

His thumb digs into the trapezius muscle peeking out from your robes, and a hiss escapes from between your lips.

“Fuck, L/N. Your knots have knots.” Theo laughs.

Although Theo is suspiciously good at kneading into your very tense muscles, his proximity and the breath from his lips that tickles your ears only serves to make you more tense. Which is odd because you’re usually quite relaxed around Theo; it was why he was one of your best mates. You always felt like you had the upper hand in every interaction, but not here. You are completely at Theo’s mercy, and what was stranger was that this Theo was somehow the same as your Theo and yet, completely different.

You stand up abruptly and brush nonexistent dirt off your robes. 

“The potion,” you blurt out, dragging your attention from the flicker of vulnerability in Theo’s eyes to the bubbling violet potion on the counter. You busy yourself with adding the next ingredient at precisely 11:58pm, but the next opportunity you have to sneak a look at Theo, you take it.

The familiar glint returned to his eyes, and his trademark smirk spread lazily across his lips.

Perhaps, you imagined the other Theo – the one who was infallibly gentle and soft.

“I know a few other tricks for unwinding if you’re interested,” he taunts, jutting his chin upwards.

“I’m not one of those girls, Nott. I’m not going to sleep with you to de-stress. Dream on.” 

He laughs, packing up his bag and heading for the door with you after storing away the potion for the next evening. “It’s funny how your mind immediately jumped to sleeping with me when I said absolutely nothing of the sort.”

“You alluded to it.”

“Did I?” His eyes dance with mischief in the torchlight as you make your way across the dungeon floor to the common room. “Do you have something you wish to confess, L/N?”

“No,” you snort. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if we were the last two people alive and the human race depended on it.”

Something flashed behind his eyes, but his haughty expression masked it before you could decipher what it might be. 

–––

Neither of you talked about what happened that night. Which was perfectly fine because you didn’t spend half the night tossing and turning and wondering what the blood hell even happened. 

No – Nothing happened.

Theo was one of your best friends and he was just… helping? It didn’t mean anything. Sure, there was that moment where you could’ve sworn he looked hurt when you stood up and scrambled out of his hold abruptly but – but that couldn’t have been right.

You and Theo were mates. 

Bantering and playfully flirting were part of that. 

Your internal anxieties over the interaction, however, presented in decidedly obvious external behavior changes that did not go unnoticed.

At breakfast, you bite your lip before taking the last seat available amongst your friends and try, with every fiber in your being, not to brush up against Theo as you slide into the seat.

“Morning,” you say.

“Morning.” Theo replies, just as drily.

For the most part, you believe you pulled it off, just like you have with every forced interaction with Theo since that night. Unfortunately, you would be very wrong.

Because when Theo leans across you to grab the syrup and his shoulder brushes against yours, you yelp loudly and nearly leap into the air.

Theo, likewise, overreacts and drops the syrup jar, causing the glass and sticky substance to splatter across everyone’s plates.

“Alright,” snaps Draco, grimacing at his syrup-coated fingers with disdain before glancing between the two of you. “What the hell is going on with you two? You’ve been acting very strange.”

“Yeah, what the bloody hell happened?” Demands Pansy, flicking her dark bob over her shoulders. “Did you two finally sleep together or something?”

“What?” 

“Yes,” remarks Theo, idly teaching for his wand and cleaning up the mess.

“No,” you glare at him before facing the others. “We did not sleep together. Fucking hell, Pans.”

“Well you should,” she replied.

“Can we please stop talking about my two best mates possibly shagging? I’m trying to eat here,” shuddered Draco.

Theo laughed and arched a dark brow at Draco.

“You jealous?”

“For your information, Nott, I get plenty of–”

“Cut it out!” You yell, standing up and preparing to leave. “If either of you think anyone here wants to hear about your sexual prowess then I will gladly inform you that you are mistaken. Grow up.”

As you bend to retrieve your bag from under the bench, you overhear Draco and Theo whisper to one another.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how mad do you think Y/N is with me because of that comment?”

“Nott, they haven’t invented a number high enough.”

Later that week in Runes, Theo drops silently into the seat beside you. You can feel his eyes on you, but rather than indulge him, you opt to stare blankly at the board. By the time you’ve read thrice all the way through, he clears his throat.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” You counter, still choosing not to meet his eye.

Halfway through the lesson, in which Theo remained suspiciously quiet, you sigh exasperatedly and whisper to him between copying translations into your notebook.

“I am mad at you. That was completely uncalled for the other day, when you said–”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Or, are you just bored of only having Draco to banter with and play tricks on?” Finally, you sneak a glance at him and catch a bit of color below his sharp cheekbones.

Good, you think. 

Let him be humbled. He deserves it.

–––

The common room is alive with nearly every student immersed in some form of entertainment. Draco suggests a round of exploding snaps and is met with plenty of enthusiasm from your friend group. 

Theo looks askance at you, and you bury your head further into your book.

For once, it’s not a textbook, and you would rather lose yourself in the fictional world than play a game with Theo.

He plucks your bookmark from the space on the floor between you two and surreptitiously starts to place it on your page.

“Come on, L/N, you’re joining in for a round or two, right?”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“But it’s your favorite game.” He blinks, then tries for a mischievous smirk. “I’ll make it worth your while. How about we make a wager? If you win–”

“I said no, Nott.”

Draco lets out a low whistle, then begins the game.

You take the bookmark and place it away from his grasp, then resume reading even though you can’t help but feel a little elated that Theo thought of you. When he turns to face the game, you can’t help but notice that his heart doesn’t seem in it anymore and smile to yourself as you flip to the next page.

An hour or so later, you make your way from the common room and down the hall into the potions classroom. It’s quiet, and you take a moment to let the pleasant silence wash over you before retrieving your potion and checking on it one last time.

It was due tomorrow, and although you finished it a few days ago – in an incredibly awkward and tense session with Theo – you can’t help but take another look just to make sure. It had to be perfect.

“I figured I’d find you here.”

Theo stands in the doorway of the classroom; normally, he leans against bannisters and doorways with unfathomed arrogance and cool, but not this time. His shoulders are tense, and his long limbs are rigid. 

Slowly, he makes his way over to you, but despite the obvious height difference, he appears small.

“Everything’s perfect I presume? Just as we left it.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

He sighs, then turns on his heel and takes a hand through his hair.

“Fuck, L/N.” Theo makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a chuckle, then continues. “Everything is weird between us. What went wrong? What happened?”

“What happened?” You repeat, trying not to swoon at the familiar scent of parchment and pine needles that is characteristically Theo; something you don’t want to admit to yourself that you missed the past few weeks, but you did. “What happened, Nott, is that you have intimacy issues.”

“I have intimacy issues?” 

“Yes.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, L/N.”

“Hey,” you start defensively. “You’re the one who made things weird between us with your stupid unwinding technique.” 

“I was trying to be nice!” He argues, throwing his hands in the air. “Bloody hell, Y/N, you were so fucking stressed, so I just figured – You know what? That’s not on me. You’re the one who made it weird by pretending it didn’t happen at all afterward.”

“You didn’t talk about it either!”

“Because I could tell that you didn’t want to. Again, I was trying to be nice!” He inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly. “Listen, I know I said we slept together and that was wrong, but–”

“Oh, really?”

“Oi, I’m trying to apologize here,” he groans. “I feel bad enough about everything without you making it infinitely worse, alright? I deserve it, I know I do, but – just –”

Theo taps his fingers on his thigh, barely containing himself from visibly exploding. You can tell there’s something else he wants to say, so you stay quiet and let him tick, tick, tick like an exploding snap ready to fire. 

“I like you, ok?” Theo practically shouts, startling you. He, however, leans into the outburst. Words begin spilling out of his mouth so fast you almost struggle to string them together. He is turbulent water breaking through a dam. “I like you. I think I always liked you, Y/N. I just – We always fight and banter and mess around which is easy and nice. It makes it bearable, I think, to have you so close to me but also so far, but then – then you were in my fucking arms and I couldn’t – I can’t.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, fixated on his widened blue eyes.

“You were in my fucking arms, and then you weren’t.” Theo says, chest heaving. “I didn’t know badly I needed you in my life, like that, until that moment. Then you said that thing about never wanting to be with me even if we were the last two people on the planet and – and again at breakfast.” 

He paused momentarily to hold up his hands in surrender. 

“I know, fuck, I know I said some things that were uncalled for, but it was a joke. It was a stupid fucking joke because I couldn’t – I still can’t – bear the thought of you thinking of me like that. Like being with me is so unthinkable that you–”

Theo cuts himself off and finally looks away from you to stare at his feet. You take the brief respite to blink back the tears welling in your eyes.

“I hated when we were apart and I’m sorry, really truly sorry, for how I acted. I need you, Y/N. I didn’t know how badly I needed you until you were gone, and I swear I’ll never make that fucking mistake again. Fucking hell, can we please just go back to the way it was before?”

Finally, you take a deep breath and uncross your arms, wiping your slightly sweaty hands on your jumper.

“You want to go back to being friends?” You clarify.

Theo’s head snaps up. “Merlin’s beard, no. I don’t want that at all. I want – Err–”

“You want more?” You ask, and he nods, clenching his jaw as he awaits your response. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Well, I do.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Come here.”

“Seriously?”

“Nott, don’t make me say it again–”

But your words are lost in the night as Theo wastes no time taking you back in his arms, causing you to gasp as your feet leave the floor. His nose brushes against yours, and you close your eyes, inhaling the sweet smell of parchment and pine. 

“May I?” He asks, lips lingering dangerously close to yours as the words leave his lips. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to make a smartass retort; instead, you close the space between you and him as a way of response. 

The kiss is sweet, slow and romantic. It’s everything, and when it ends, you can’t imagine spending another minute of your life not kissing Theodore Nott. 

“Why haven’t we been doing this all along?” Theo says.

“We might have if you had simply said something rather than joke and mope like a complete child, Nott.” You counter with a derisive smirk to pair.

His breathy laugh skating across your flushed cheeks; his hands are trailing up and down your spine while your hands are conversely tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

“Salazar’s balls, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“No arguments here.” 

[thattimdrakeguy]

If anyone’s curious if that bitter anon from yesterday came back, they did.

I’m not gonna directly respond to it, because at this stage maybe they’ll leave it be if I don’t, but just to summarize what they said and how I feel about it to anyone that’s curious, here it is.

The anon starts it off by saying “You must have mental health issues”, which I didn’t really have a response to, because I only really raised my eyebrows and wondered what they were doing on Tumblr if they seemed to be so hateful. This isn’t a website that predominately supports that kind of behavior. They actually do the exact opposite. They frown at that sort of behavior. 

It’s also pretty irrelevant too, because that doesn’t change anything I said. That still remains.

So the trend of irrelevant statements is still here.

Then the anon go on to act like and say they weren’t doing what I said they done, even though some of it shows in the asks I did let people see.

They go back to just say “Just thought you should tag your posts”, and they say it like that’s all they said, even though I still have those asks up, and you can still see the part were they tried to call me a coward. So it’s not exactly like that’s all they was saying.

but they learned a bit.

He’s not calling me a coward anymore, they’re calling me a liar, because they doesn’t believe that I don’t tag Damian in critical posts out of respect, but then

why exactly do you think I don’t tag it? I tag the other Batboys when I critique their writing, I think the only other Batboy I don’t occasionally is Jason, because every now and again I see some of his fans in the tag get aggressive, and it’s pretty obvious to see they don’t wanna see it. So why would I tag it for them to see?

Do you just want people to yell at me for having an opinion? That’s sort of a ridiculous point. That’s not very gentlemanly.

If it’s going to upset people why do you want me to tag it?

Maybe you just want it to be more open to response, but it still is open to response if anyone wanted to. 

I’ve already talked about the time I became friends with someone talking about our views on Detective Comics Rebirth, even though I sounded more genuinely mad about Detective Comics Rebirth in the post we started talking over and we didn’t even agree on it.

I don’t deny people the opportunity to not respond when I don’t tag it. I could turn off responses. I’m just not gonna make people see a post they don’t want to see in the tags.

I’m aware these may not be your points, but this is how you’re coming off. You don’t seem to actually have a point, and if you did, it’s not a very good one. So that’s the point I’m trying to make more clear.

You even had a chance to response to it in a polite orderly way, but you blew it on saying irrelevant stuff that wasn’t really an argument past the level of superficial.

In the end your argument rattled down to “I personally liked that stuff” and “other people liked it”, it’s not much of an argument to waste the time over, and I’m not gonna yell at you because you liked it. 

So don’t think that’s what I’m trying to do to you, I mostly just been trying to point out how you don’t seem to have a logic to your responses. 

If someone told me they just liked the stuff that I didn’t? As long as they took the time to read and actually consider what I had to say, who am I to care? I’m not gonna be thinking about it all night because of one singular guy.

Before I went to bed I already forgot about you.

--

I think they’re just upset that I had enough problems with the writing Damian has that I could fit it in an essay long post, but that doesn’t change the fact I still talked nice about Damian in some spots, and have probably made even longer posts about some of the bad writing Tim suffered.

So it doesn’t feel like his frustration is completely just.

--

It just boiled down to, they really like Damian, and they wanted me to tag it so more people to see it, but then why does that upset them so much? I explained why I don’t tag it, but they still don’t believe it. Why do they want me to tag it so badly? To open it up to more responses? Sure, but that doesn't take away from the fact that it appeared that more people would be upset than happy to respond. Which I already tried to explain to them. Why would they rather people be more upset? It doesn’t come off like they have a just reason from every viewpoint I’m able to look at. To tag it causes more problems than to not. It’s simple. So let me respect people’s wishes by not tagging it.

--

I don’t feel like not wanting to upset people with my opinion is something that makes me a coward, and it’s not something I’m lying about. If they aren’t going to understand that, and just continue to call me a liar, than I’m afraid he’s stuck.

If it’s something about believing that the people who enter the Damian tag have the right to see it. Then you’re just ignoring how people told me they don’t want to see it in the Damian tag or maybe you just don’t want to believe that. You continue to call me a liar, so you show you don’t believe it one way or another.

Maybe you’re just trying to flip the coin of my logic around to look more selfish. Thinking that I’m somehow selfish for not allowing people to see them, or maybe you think I’m selfish because I don’t want to be yelled at for my opinions,

but I already told you why I don’t. You just don’t believe it. So again it just comes back to you not believing me, you’re still stuck, and fighting a lost cause, because I know what my reasoning was even if you don’t believe it for what ever reason you have. 

--

You might just have poor connotation for me since I spoke ill about the writing Damian has had, and can’t believe that maybe I’m not as devious as you hoped I was when you started to enter my inbox.

Sorry to let you down if that is the case.

Which I admit I’m not sure of, but I’m seeing enough to show that it could easily be the case.

In the end I’m not sure what your actual logic is. I’m giving out what I can only understand to be the logic, because it doesn’t make sense to me any other way unless maybe you just don’t have any logic because you don’t know what you’re doing.

If your logic turns out to be something I said though, and you’re still angry at me; 

Recognize your own behavior first, because you don’t have a good reason to say what you say. 

You had a hunch for what ever reason you do, and you rolled with it, and it’s false. 

People assume false things all the time. I’m not gonna claim to know everything about you. I’m only trying to understand you, and explain to you why your logic isn’t good as a learning experience, because hasty behavior is something you can still learn from.

--

I’m still not 100% sure if they read the posts 100% either by the way, because they say they’re not trying to gaslight me, but I already said in one of them that I’m pretty sure they didn’t actually know what gaslighting was, but they were showing that behavior, meaning it was probably a coincidence but they were still inadvertently doing it.

Because it’s either that or they genuinely didn’t know what a lot of words meant or maybe they just don’t know what they’re doing and just saying stuff as they went along. 

--

They could possibly be trying to gaslight me into thinking I’m a liar, at this point though I’m not sure why they’re continuing to say things at all, but if they actually looked at what gaslight means I’m not sure if they’d continue that if they knew what it meant. Id be nonsensical if they did. 

So I don’t really think that’s what they’re doing, at least not on purpose (like what I assumed last time), but at the same time when I think about it, I’m not really sure what they’re trying to do, because I know I’m not lying and grating at that point is pointless.

--

I’m gonna note as well that they don’t bring up straw man arguments to deny that, and they changed their stance from coward to liar.

So it seems like they’re recognizing some stuff at least a touch, it’s just they don’t all the way.

--

Maybe they genuinely just think I am a liar, and are having a hard time figuring out their words as they’re pissed about it, but they went from coward to liar. So it’s hard to tell what they actually think when I think about it. They make it complicated to follow since they don’t use any logic besides assumptions and nonsequiters.

--

At the very least they might’ve been trying to make me bandwagon by saying what other people think, but if they think I actually care what random people think, I do not believe they know how I work. I pretty much got this blog popular by being honest and not bandwagoning with other people.

If they weren’t saying it to do that, then they were just speaking random, or maybe just trying to make me feel bad about my opinion.

If not, why bring it up like it adds anything?

Just to see if that’d upset me?

It adds more fire to the idea that they believe I’m more devious than I actually am, or just that they don’t read my posts all the way through to garner a better idea of what my thought processes are like.

Or even maybe they’re just sore that I don’t agree with them and can’t help but say what comes to mind, only to create the mess they made my inbox be.

--

They also say “Don’t care if you like Damian or any of the other Batboys [not sure why you’re bringing that up]”, and it’s so silly, because it’s just ignoring the obvious at this point. 

You gave me now 6 asks that are completely salty about me not liking Damian. Ya kept bringing up stuff like how you felt he was popular, and cute, and all that, when nothing about it was relevant, because I never asked you what you thought, or said he was or wasn’t popular. I’m open for a discussion on it, but nonsequiters in a pissy tone isn’t a discussion. You’re just randomly telling me what you thought while sounding upset. There’s a difference.

It’s the kind of stuff people say when they’re upset.

--

It wasn’t done to show an actual argument, there wasn’t logic or anything, you didn’t really try to explain it too well beyond what you simply felt. You only felt it, and it’s okay that you have your own opinion that you feel, but when I made a critical post, I gave my own logic, my reasoning, so forth, and you respond with what’s practically nonsequiters. You don’t come off like you’re trying to debate me, or give your own argument.

You just come off like you’re upset at me.

Saying that he’s popular, and that you think he’s cute doesn’t challenge anything I said for it to be a debate/discussion or even argument.

--

In one of the asks I didn’t share, because I was worried it might’ve been one of the more embarrassing ones for you, there was only one effort at logic. 

You said that Damian could have cute mannerisms, but it still feels like a nonsequiter because when I explained the multitude of different things about his mannerisms and behavior that are disgusting and horrific. It comes off again like you didn’t read my posts all the way through before you tried to respond. 

It seems like you saw that I didn’t agree with you and got ahead of yourself, and people do that on occasion. Everyone does at one point in their life, but please just learn from it.

Damian’s made several sexual comments towards Steph, has a prison he makes people suffer in, constantly assaults the other Robins, has a nasty attitude towards other people, stalks people, constantly kidnaps people, and insults people even when they’re having a nervous break down,

They said he could have cute mannerisms in the context of me being upset that other characters called Damian cute in some terribly written comics, but when I give the obvious logic of why him being cute doesn’t work, and you ignore that; saying that he could be doesn’t function as an argument, because I already explained why that doesn’t work. It’s not like a real argument when you don’t take the time to listen to the other person.

Which may come off as irony to you, because there’s a possibility that you think I’m replicating the behavior of not listening to you, but you aren’t giving me anything to listen to, and if you’ve been reading my posts (which you might not be), I acknowledge what you have to say, it’s just what you’re saying doesn’t make enough sense to respond to it more head-on anymore.

Your headcanons, or any writing that ignores his behavior without character development isn’t going to make your argument a strong one or give good reasoning.

Your other responses only end up just being random and defensive, like how an upset person would reveal themselves. I.E. the comments on how he’s getting popular. That’s not much to respond too, and doesn’t really make an argument, if that’s even what you’re viewing it as.

--

So I think they’re just oblivious to their own behavior when it comes to the more random stuff (or they could just be trying to upset me somehow), while there’s a chance they might be trying to play dumb so they can at least seem oblivious.

--

It’s very ridiculous, because if it’s not something that’s a conscious decision, it’s still a bizarre thing to read when the other person is trying to make a point of some kind.

You can’t say that you don’t care, and then continue to act upset, because that shows you care at least a little bit in some way.

I don’t care a lot about what you have to say, because of reasons I’ve already stated, but I care about giving you to chance to improve yourself and how you present yourself.

--

They also end it by saying “when Tim gets a new suit I’ll be back to look on you”, like they’re trying to scare me maybe. I can’t tell why they brought that up. I guess because they’re well aware I don’t like Tim’s new suit, but again,

that’s incredibly irrelevant, and only makes you look more frustrated.

I know you’re trying to upset me by reminding me of that, but you’re continuing the same pattern as always.

--

If I didn’t care about anything you said before I’m not gonna care about that, and don’t try to send me another ask projecting onto me or saying that I secretly am upset at Damian becoming popular (saying that since maybe that was what they was trying to do by bringing that up), because think about it. 

At this stage I’m just pointing out what makes no sense about what you say. I’m not really complaining about anything past “stop saying irrelevant and illogical stuff” am I? Something that’s gonna bite you in the butt if you try to say either one of those things basically. 

--

They also said “I’ll be back to look on you” after saying “block me”, so I don’t know how they think they’re going to be able to see any of my posts if I block them.

They didn’t really learn much in the end.

--

The next time they send me an ask I probably won’t even summarize it, because it’s just gonna be more of the same I imagine, I’m not gonna respond even if it’s funny, because I think that’d be bad taste at that point.

If they learn about how they’re acting, then maybe that’ll warrant a response, but they haven’t so far.

They never even denied they were a kid, and so if it comes to making fun of a kid, I’m not going to do that. I’m just trying to let them know that what they’re saying isn’t logical, and to get them to learn about their behavior. Being aggressive like this over the internet is something a lot of people will regret after a while. 

They’re very lucky that they’ve been doing this as an anon, and not showing their full time account, because id only bite them in the future even more that way. They at least have the cool down of knowing that no one knows who they are (unless they told somebody). 

The main reason that I haven’t blocked them yet is because I genuinely think that they might have the capacity to learn from what they’ve done, and maybe not even right away, but perhaps sometime they will.

--

So I just want them to learn, but if they won’t, then I’m not gonna play tutor.

--

(I’m adding this bit at the end to make it more clear, because maybe I’m beating around the bush too much.

You say one thing to deny something, but then you continue to act in a way that shows the opposite, making it look like you’re either lying, playing dumb, or oblivious to what you’re doing.

You can even deny it again in another ask, but if you read anything I say, it’s incredibly obvious what you’re doing. You might just not be aware of your own behavior yet.

Everyone has to learn about their own behavior at one point or another. It’s a part of growing up and becoming a person. It’s harder for some other people, but a realization can help people grow a long ways.

I know you’re upset that you don’t know what I’m talking about, and believe that I’m misunderstanding you, but look at the proof. People often don’t know what they’re doing at the time until later.

I’m not trying to yell at you.

Just learn about yourself, and improve.)

[kierongillen]

As i’ve seen this happen more than once, what goes through your mind when a big plot twist or piece of the puzzle gets unintentionally spoiled by the fans theorizing the future of the book? Does the rest of the story gets put on temporary hold to try to figure out how to write something new or is the story set in stone no matter what may happen? If someone were to spoil the ending of the entire book completely unintentionally and you were able to experience the reaction, will it change a thing?

Oh, god, no. Never change anything if someone’s guessed something. Nothing good lies in that direction.

Why?

Okay, let’s talk - with no specifics - Game of Thrones. If you go into the depths of fandom, Game of Thrones is - to some degree, in some areas - a solved problem. There’s a good selection of fan theories (some of which have come to fruition) which have so much meat on them it was clear they have to happen, or the book would break its structure and become unsatisfying.

These twists are available to anyone who wishes to google for them.

The vast majority of people don’t. So… why change the direction of the story? What’s the point of fucking over the enjoyment of the vast majority of people (i.e. making your story make less sense, as you’re abandoning the already existent thread) for playing gotcha on a tiny fraction of your audience?

(As a quick aside - compare and contrast theorising in a fanbase with actual events in the text that’s being adapted. Clearly, anyone who is watching GoT could have googled the synopsis of the book. Equally, anyone who’s read the books knows the big beats. Does the adaptation change the big beats? If surprise to everyone in your audience is all that mattered, you would. We don’t.)

It’s also worth noting that, while obviously some complain on the nature of the adaptation, most fans of a book generally complain that they wish it was more like the book. In other words, things that surprised them (i.e. differed from their knowledge of the text) were less satisfying. They wanted to see the big dramatic beats, even if they’re stripped of their surprise.

Surprise only matters the first time you read something. For me, any worthwhile piece of literature exists to be re-read, and will open up more upon re-reading. In other words, knowing the twist should add to the re-reading of the book. If it doesn’t, and renders the story less than it was, it’s probably a bad twist - which is one reason why I don’t tend to call them “Plot twists” to myself. I call them reveals. The plot doesn’t contort. It’s merely revealing something in the nature of the world the reader was unaware of. 

(As an aside, this means that someone who has guessed successful the direction of the plot is actually effectively skipping to their second read of the book earlier.)

There’s the other side of this as well - not just whether a plot beat has been guessed, but the almost inevitability of a plot beat being guessed. GoT fans have had twenty years to puzzle this out. In that period, a mass communication device emerged which allowed fans to talk to one another and share ideas. This machine would have torn apart any plot. 

No one individual needs to guess anything. People can make one step in a chain, and then that step is exposed to thousands of minds. If even one of them can make the intuitive leap to the next step, then it continues. No one person needs to be clever enough to see the whole thing. The internet hivemind is Miss Marple, seeing through the most contorted of machinations. 

(In passing, this is one reason why Alternate Reality Games are hard to do, because the mass hive mind will figure almost anything out, almost instantly. Equally in passing, the failure to understand this is another reason why Ready Player One is bad, but that’s irrelevant.)

In other words, the reason why twists are guessable is the same reason they are satisfying. A twist that isn’t foreshadowed sufficiently to give the possibility of being guessed by someone is not a satisfying twist, as it - by definition - came out of nowhere. 

To make this specific to my own work. In the case of the biggest and most intricate of my current books, WicDiv, we sell about 18k in monthlies and sell 18k in trades (in the first month of release). That’s our hardcore devoted readership. How many people of them actually read the essays in the WicDiv tags? I’d say 500 at the absolute maximum, and likely a lot less. So for a maximum of 1.3% of our readership, we’d derail a still effective twist for everyone else? No, that would be a bad call.

Especially - and this is key - the people who have chosen to engage with a fandom are aware that they may figure something out. They are trying to figure something out. Why take that pleasure away from them?

In a real way, I think, in long form narrative, pure plot twists which no-one in the world guesses are dead in the Internet age, at least when dealing with any even vaguely popular work of art. You can do them in short form narratives (like a single novel, a single movie and perhaps a streaming TV show they drop in one go) but for anything where you give a fanbase the chance to think, it’s just not going to happen. A creator should be glad their work is popular enough to have enough fans to figure it out.

Yes, I may have overthought this.

But that’s only half the question. 

How do I actually feel when someone guesses something that’s going to happen? Well, this is long enough already. Let’s put the personal stuff beneath a cut…

I’d say you sigh “Oh, poop”and shrug.

And then you get over your ass, because you know all the above is true. Writers are often meglomaniacs who think they can control everyone’s response to their work. We don’t. We can’t control everything. We can barely control anything. We really have to let go. I’ve said WicDiv is a device to help me improve as a person? It would include in this area. I have to learn to let it go, and internalise all of the above. If I can make most of my readership have the vague emotional response I’m looking for, I’m winning.

I’ve mostly succeeded at this. I’m certainly better than I was 2 years ago.

(’ll probably write more about spoilers and twists and stuff down the line. I’d note that setting up twists that *are* easily guessable by the hardcore is part of the methodology. Having a nice big twist foreshadowed heavily is a good way to hide another twist behind it. “Hey - pay attention to this less subtle sleight of hand while I perform the actual sleight of hand over here.”In which case, there’s far less of an Oh Poop response and more of a cackling evil mastermind response.)

The sigh can occasionally be accompanied with a “Hmm. I wouldn’t have posted that” or - more likely - “I wouldn’t have posted that THERE.” 

To stress, what follows, isn’t about my work per se, but culture generally, and very much personal. This is stuff which good friends disagree with me on.

As a fan, I never tweet my own fan theories. I only tweet joke ones. Even my crack theories I don’t tweet, as they’re normally so bizarre that if they actually DO happen, I wouldn’t want to take the thrill away from people. Even in person in conversation I make sure we’re going into a deep fan hole before sharing them, aware that they may be true.

In a real way, the more likely I think something is true, the less likely I’ll say it. As this is my job, I tend to see basic structural ways stories are heading way in advance of most people. I’m a composer. I know how music works. You have a vague sense of what way they’ll go.

(One day I’ll write down my crack theory for the end of the previous Game of Thrones season. Maybe after next season, as it’s not impossible that they may end up doing it, though it’s increasingly unlikely.)

If I had a really good theory I’ve gathered evidence for? You can guarantee I’d put it beneath a cut. That’s the stuff which bemuses me. It’s a cousin of posting major spoilers about any piece of culture the day it comes. The worst is one regular twitter  trope - I’m always bemused when people do a “Calling it! XYZ will happen” tweet. Which strikes me a little like standing up in the cinema 20 minutes into a film and shouting out that you’ve guessed the ending. This ties back to the stuff I wrote above about twists being less effective in the modern age, except in a place you can control the context and conversation. People may message in movies, but they rarely message everyone in the room.

(In passing, as it’s vaguely on topic - you may remember the research from a few years ago saying people who know a twist enjoy the story more than people who don’t know a twist. Even this is true - and a single study should always get an eye-brow raise - but it strikes me as a confusion over what “enjoy” means. All pleasure isn’t equivalent, and you can only have surprise on your first time through a work of art. That’s novelty. You can have that and then gain the “Not surprise” experience second time through. If you spoil a work, it means the “novelty” experience is something you will never have. You may enjoy something more if you know the twist but you can always rewatch it to get that pleasure. If you’re spoiled, the individual specific pleasure of that first watch has been stolen.)

But that’s conversation of social mores. Really, it doesn’t change anything in terms of how we act… and sometimes, I even grin when someone gets a twist in advance. If someone gets it, great. The machine is working as intended. It’s actually kind of worrying if no-one is thinking something is up in an area you’ve set up to be iffy.  And… the alternative is worse - hell, there’s buried twists and details in Young Avengers that no-one’s managed to figure out yet.

Twist ending: oh, no, I was a ghost all along.

[hannahberrie]

Stranger Things Returns Bigger and Darker Than Ever Before

[A/N]: I’m currently enrolled in a Magazine Writing class at university, in which we write magazine-style feature essays. For one of my assignments, we got to do a review essay on a media of our choice. I, of course, went with the second season of Stranger Things! 

My professor wound up really loving it, she’s even going to use it to teach future classes! Some of you guys said you were curious to read it, so here it is! Small disclaimer: I kind of spill the tea on just a few things that I didn’t like about the season, so please don’t hate me for my opinions! 

After the first season of Stranger Things skyrocketed into the pop-culture stratosphere last summer, the bar for the second installment was set dauntingly high. The creators of the infamous Netflix original series, twin brothers Ross and Matt Duffer, were no longer unknown underdogs with minimal experience under their belts, but rather household names credited with creating one of Netflix’s most popular television series to date.  

Stranger Things 2 was released on October 27, 2017. The installment was largely promoted as a cinematic sequel, despite the season’s nine-episode composition. This would prove to be risky. “Netflix was like, ‘Don’t do that, because sequels are known to be bad,’” Matt Duffer said to Entertainment Weekly, recounting what had happened upon pitching the second season. “I was like, ‘Yes, but what about T2 and Aliens and Toy Story 2 and Godfather II?’ We want people to argue about what season is better. I want the debate. I want the Toy Story debate!”

So, now that the second season has been released, one looming question remains: Could Stranger Things 2 possibly live up to the first season?

Yes.

When we return to Hawkins, Indiana, the fictional town where Things is set, we’re reunited with all the characters we came to love in the previous installment. Will (Noah Schnapp), Mike (Finn Wolfhard), Lucas (Caleb Mclaughlin), and Dustin (Gaten Matarazzo) are now 13 years-old and back to doing what they love: geeking out over video games. Joyce (Winona Ryder), Will’s mother, has a new love interest in her life. Nancy (Natalia Dyer), Mike’s older sister, is still mourning the loss of her best friend from the previous season, while also dealing with the ongoing love triangle between Steve (Joe Keery), the once hard-hearted jock turned softie, and Jonathan (Charlie Heaton), Will’s older brother and the quiet, ever-dedicated introvert. Police Chief Hopper (David Harbour) is back to dealing with the dull crimes of Hawkins residents, notably two farmers arguing over who poisoned the other’s pumpkin patch.

But, in typical Stranger Things fashion, nothing is as it seems. Will, having been rescued from The Upside Down (a dark, mirrored dimension of our world) in the last season, is still struggling with the trauma of his experience. The newly re-staffed Hawkins Laboratory is still shrouded with secrets. And who could forget about Eleven (Millie Bobby Brown), the adorable, bad-ass, telekinetic 13-year-old who seemingly disappeared in last season’s finale?

To quote Matt Duffer, “It’s cliché to say bigger and darker,” but the second season of Stranger Things is exactly that, though it does take its time building up to it. While last season dropped viewers right into the action, this season is much more of a slow build. The first few episodes feel more like character studies than a sci-fi thriller, but it works. The Duffers have created a sandbox full of diverse and lovable characters, and now they get to play in it. There are several scenes that, while adding little to the overarching plot, are entertaining in and of themselves, as they just show the characters being themselves, like Mike and Lucas arguing over who gets to be Venkman (à la Ghostbusters) for Halloween, Steve providing Dustin with hair styling advice, Joyce struggling to play back a VHS-C tape, or Eleven breathlessly captivated by the soap operas she watches on TV.

While the last season kept characters’ plotlines grouped into three main categories (the kids, the teens, and the adults), season two blurs these borders. Relationships seamlessly broaden outside their natural boundaries as new character dynamics are explored. In particular, the bonds that form between Steve and Dustin, as well as Hopper and Eleven, are heart-warming and ingenious combinations. Both pairings provide not only humorous fun, but emotional weight, and the acting chemistry between the respective performers is undeniable.

However, the new season is definitely not all fun and games. As the episodes go on, the plot slowly builds upon itself, taking small moments and extrapolating them. Events that seem mundane, such as Will feeling chilly or Dustin finding a slug-like creature in his trash can, turn out to have monstrous consequences (no pun intended).

Nowhere is this phenomenon best executed than through Schnapps’ performance as Will Byers. In season one, Will hardly had any screen time, but in the new installment, he’s the primary driver behind all the main action. His performance starts off with a subdued Will, an average kid who feels isolated by his peers. When he tells his older brother, Jonathan, that he’s sick of feeling like “a freak,” because of how carefully he’s treated, his voice aches with the painstaking frustration of any child who just wants to live a normal life. But by the final episodes, in grating contrast, Schnapp’s performance explodes into a frenzied, darkened terror. As the darkness from the Upside Down overwhelms Will, Schnapp writhes in convulsive fits, screams in complete and utter agony, and at times (perhaps most horrifically) is completely, emotionlessly, and hauntingly still.

Despite being only 13 years old, Schnapp completely excels in Stranger Things 2, and I wouldn’t be surprised if his powerful performance makes him one of the youngest Emmy-award winners to date. His performance, along with the continually solid delivery from the rest of the cast, makes the show.

While the season may start slow, the payoff is completely worth the wait; it all cumulates in an electrifying, heart-pounding final two episodes that are some of the best hours of television I’ve ever seen.

However, this new season is not without its faults. The story falters when it dares to step outside of Hawkins. Two new characters are introduced: young tomboy Max (Sadie Sink) and her Jack-Nicholson-esque older brother Billy (Dacre Montgomery), but both feel largely one-dimensional. While not unlikable, Max doesn’t add much to the overall arc of the story, and largely serves as a plot device to create tension between Dustin and Lucas. Her brother Billy, while terrifying, often feels like he’s just there to bide time for the show and add a little drama on the side. There’s definitely potential to be explored with both characters, but this season leaves them thoroughly underdeveloped.  

The biggest step outside of Hawkins takes place in episode 7, one of the most polarizing episodes in the whole series. The Lost Sister spends the entirety of its runtime taking Eleven out of Hawkins and into Chicago, where she meets up with a rag-tag gang of criminals who have darker intentions lurking beneath the surface. The Duffer Brothers insist that this episode was necessary, stating that “Eleven’s journey kind of fell apart, like the ending didn’t work, without it.” Even though the episode does give Eleven the opportunity to grow and strengthen as an individual, it’s unfortunately filled with unlikeable characters, feels painfully long and repetitive, and is the only episode of the series that I might consider skipping upon re-watch.

The Duffer Brothers reportedly want a four-season run for the series, but in order to do this, they’ll have to master the balance of expanding Hawkins while also staying true to the heart of the show. Season 2 shows hints of this, but it’s still a work-in-progress. Nevertheless, the new season is deeply satisfying and a true love-letter to its fans. I had the pleasure of watching it surrounded by friends and family, and throughout the entirety of its nine-hour-runtime, we were cheering, pleading, screaming, laughing, crying, and having the time of our lives, something that I believe is a welcome and much-needed relief.

Even though the original season of Stranger Things aired only a year ago, the world, particularly the United States, has arguably changed since its July 2016 release. Trump was elected into office. Three major hurricanes tore apart regions like Texas, Florida, and Puerto Rico. We’ve seen over 17 terrorist-related attacks, including the worst mass shooting to date.

As tension seeps deeper into our world, the darkness can often feel suffocating. This is similarly mirrored in Stranger Things 2. The first season was bright with childlike ingenuity. Even when attempting a feat so immensely impossible as saving their best friend, Will, from another dimension, the characters found strength through relying on each other and relating their problems to familiar entities, like Dungeons and Dragons.

In contrast, despite all the monsters, superpowers, and multiple dimensions, the second season is weighted with the gravity of reality. The boys have to learn that not every problem can be solved like a board game. As Mike states when discussing how the boys should protect Will, “This isn’t D&D. This is real life.”  

The second season is much darker, and not just in a figurative sense. The lighting often shadows scenes in blacks, reds, and yellows — colors that traditionally represent deceit, hazard, aggression, danger, and fear.

The violence is more graphic as well. Instead of a lone Demogorgon monster creeping out of The Upside Down and capturing a single victim, there are hoards that feast upon their prey with bloodied vigor. No character is safe as even the lives of the children are continually put on the line.

Times have changed. The stakes have changed.

But despite all this, it would be thoroughly inaccurate to write Stranger Things off as a depressing, nihilist series. For with every gruesome horror, there are pulsating moments of hope and light that continue to carry the show just as strongly as they did in season one. One of the most heart-wrenching and warming moments takes place in the penultimate episode, The Mind Flayer, in which Joyce, Mike, and Jonathan attempt to reach the remaining ounce of Will that hasn’t been swallowed up by the demonic force possessing him. Though tears stream down their faces and their voices are laden with sorrow, they powerfully recount their happiest memories spent with him: Mike meeting Will on the first day of preschool, Jonathan building a fort with Will after their father walked out on them, and Joyce’s proud recollection of Will’s 8th birthday, in which he drew a spaceship for her with his new box of 120 crayons. Will stares back at them, shaking, a single, intense light illuminating his wide-eyed face.

The moment stands out as one of the best written, directed, and acted scenes in the whole season, and reminds not only the show’s characters, but we as viewers, to never give up. Even when it seems that all we love has been lost, there is light, there is strength, and there is hope.

[robertogreco]

Strict Forms

This is a thread from last month that I've been thinking about ever since, but never got around to posting here. It starts with a series of tweets from Guillermo del Toro:

Tweets on why I am interviewing Michael Mann and George Miller (2 weeks each) about their films this Sabbatical year.

I sometimes feel that great films are made / shown at a pace that does not allow them to "land" in their proper weight or formal / artisitic importance...

As a result, often, these films get discussed in "all aspects" at once. But mostly, plot and character- anecdote and flow, become the point of discussion. Formal appreciation and technique become secondary and the specifics of narrative technique only passingly address[ed]

I would love to commemorate their technical choices and their audiovisual tools. I would love to dissect the narrative importance and impact of color, light, movement, wardrobe and set design. As Mann once put it: "Everything tells you something"

I think we owe it to these (and a handful of filmmakers) to have their formal choices commemorated, the way one can appreciatethe voigour and thickness and precision of a brushtroke when you stand in front of an original painting.

Aaron Stewart-Ahn responds, in particular to the final paragraph above:

Our media literacy about movies tends to prioritize text over subtext, emotion, and sound vision & time, and it has sadly sunk into audiences' minds. I'd say some movies are even worth a handful of shots / sounds they build up to.

To which I added:

Our education system prioritizes text. Deviation from text is discouraged.

“To use the language well, says the voice of literacy, cherish its classic form. Do not choose the offbeat at the cost of clarity.”

“Clarity is a means of subjection, a quality both of official, taught language and of correct writing, two old mates of power; together they flow, together they flower, vertically, to impose an order.”

That comes from “Commitment from the Mirror-Writing Box,” by Trinh T. Minh-Ha in Woman, Native, Other (via):

Nothing could be more normative, more logical, and more authoritarian than, for example, the (politically) revolutionary poetry or prose that speaks of revolution in the form of commands or in the well-behaved, steeped-in-convention-language of “clarity.” (”A wholesome, clear, and direct language” is said to be “the fulcrum to move the mass or to sanctify it.”) Clear expression, often equated with correct expression, has long been the criterion set forth in treatises on rhetoric, whose aim was to order discourse so as to persuade. The language of Taoism and Zen, for example, which is perfectly accessible but rife with paradox does not qualify as “clear” (paradox is “illogical” and “nonsensical” to many Westerners), for its intent lies outside the realm of persuasion. The same holds true for vernacular speech, which is not acquired through institutions — schools, churches, professions, etc. — and therefore not repressed by either grammatical rules, technical terms, or key words. Clarity as a purely rhetorical attribute serves the purpose of a classical feature in language, namely, its instrumentality. To write is to communicate, express, witness, impose, instruct, redeem, or save — at any rate to mean and to send out an unambiguous message. Writing thus reduced to a mere vehicle of thought may be used to orient toward a goal or to sustain an act, but it does not constitute an act in itself. This is how the division between the writer/the intellectual and the activists/the masses becomes possible. To use the language well, says the voice of literacy, cherish its classic form. Do not choose the offbeat at the cost of clarity. Obscurity is an imposition on the reader. True, but beware when you cross railroad tracks for one train may hide another train. Clarity is a means of subjection, a quality both of official, taught language and of correct writing, two old mates of power; together they flow, together they flower, vertically, to impose an order. Let us not forget that writers who advocate the instrumentality of language are often those who cannot or choose not to see the suchness of things — a language as language — and therefore, continue to preach conformity to the norms of well-behaved writing: principles of composition, style, genre, correction, and improvement. To write “clearly,” one must incessantly prune, eliminate, forbid, purge, purify; in other words, practice what may be called an “ablution of language” (Roland Barthes).

See also Keguro Macharia on strict academic forms (and various other posts on linearity and academia):

Proposals for radical ideas in strict academic forms. Radical thinking requires radical forms. It’s an elementary lesson. Perhaps more academically inclined people should co-edit with poets. Figure out why form matters. I am most blocked when I resist the forms ideas need to emerge.

Update [7 January 2018]: To go with the above, I think it makes sense to add this passage from Ryan Brown’s “Fred Moten: A look at Duke's preeminent poet”:

As for how he thinks of his own writing, Moten explained to the literary journal Callaloo that he doesn’t see poems as neatly wrapped ideas or images. Instead, he believes that “poetry is what happens… on the outskirts of sense.” What do you think?

This unorthodox approach to writing extends beyond Moten’s own projects, spilling over into his teaching philosophy. In a Fred Moten English class, a standard essay on a piece of literature might be replaced by a sound collage or a piece of creative writing reacting to the reading. It’s an attempt, he said, to get his students to write like they actually want to write—not the way they think they need to for a class. What do you think?

“School makes it so that you write to show evidence of having done some work, so that you can be properly evaluated and tracked,” he said. “To me that degrades writing, so I’m trying to figure out how to detach the importance of writing from these structures of evaluation.” What do you think?

Second year English Ph.D student Damien Adia-Marassa said this means that Moten’s classes are never the same. Last Spring, Marassa worked as a “teaching apprentice” in one of Moten’s undergraduate courses, “Experimental Black Poetry,” for which he said there was never a fixed syllabus. What do you think?

“He just told us the texts he wanted to study and invited us all to participate in thinking about how we might study them,” Marassa said. What do you think?

But is Professor Moten ever worried that students will take advantage of his flexibility with structure and content? What do you think?

Actually, he said, he doesn’t care if students take his courses because they think they will be easy. What do you think?

“I think it’s good to find things in your life that are easy for you,” he said. “If someone signs up for my class because they think it will come naturally to them and it won’t be something they have to agonize over, those are all good things in my book.” What do you think?

In the Spring, Moten will switch gears as a professor, teaching his first creative writing course since arriving at Duke—Introduction to Writing Poetry. But whatever the course title may imply, he won’t be trying to teach his students how to write, he said. Instead, he hops they’ll come away from his class better at noticing the world around them. What do you think?

And he hopes to teach them to that, in order to write, you first have to fiercely love to read. That’s a skill he learned a long time ago, out in the flat Nevada desert, when he first picked up a book of poems and started to read, not knowing where it would take him.

Update [23 February 2018]: Here come several more passages that fit with this theme of breaking forms.

First, Fanta Sylla on “Metrograph Celebrates the Inventive Truth-Telling of St. Clair Bourne”:

Let the Church is so free of form and spirit that, presented without context, it could easily be seen as a fictional piece. It is not clear how much the scenes are staged, or, indeed, whether they are staged at all. Right from the first interaction, in which what seems to be a religious teacher laboriously explains the purpose of a sermon, there is a distance with the people filmed (broken on occasion by extreme zooming and direct address), as well as a writtenness and theatricality in the dialogue that can be delightfully confusing. What one learns while watching Bourne is that there are many ways to enter a subject, and one mustn’t refrain from exploring them, especially not in the name of nonfiction convention.

And now “Hilton Als on Writing,” in an interview with T. Cole Rachel:

T. Cole Rachel: Your essays frequently defy traditional genre. You play around with the notions of what an essay can be, what criticism can be, or how we are supposed to think and write about our own lives.

Hilton Als: You don’t have to do it any one way. You can just invent a way. Also, who’s to tell you how to write anything? It’s like that wonderful thing Virginia Woolf said. She was just writing one day and she said, “I can write anything.” And you really can. It’s such a remarkable thing to remind yourself of. If you’re listening to any other voice than your own, then you’re doing it wrong. And don’t.

The way that I write is because of the way my brain works. I couldn’t fit it into fiction; I couldn’t fit it into non-fiction. I just had to kind of mix up the genres because of who I was. I myself was a mixture of things, too. Right? I just never had those partitions in my brain, and I think I would’ve been a much more fiscally successful person if could do it that way. But I don’t know how to do it any other way, so I’m not a fiscally successful person. [laughs]

[…]

I believe that one reason I began writing essays—a form without a form, until you make it—was this: you didn’t have to borrow from an emotionally and visually upsetting past, as one did in fiction, apparently, to write your story. In an essay, your story could include your actual story and even more stories; you could collapse time and chronology and introduce other voices. In short, the essay is not about the empirical “I” but about the collective—all the voices that made your “I.”

From a profile of Lorna Simpson, by Dodie Kazanjian:

Lorna graduated early from SVA and was doing graphic-design work for a travel company when she met Carrie Mae Weems, a graduate art student at the University of California, San Diego. Weems suggested she come out to graduate school in California. “It was a rainy, icy New York evening, and that sounded really good to me,” Simpson says. “I had no idea what I was getting myself into.” She knew she’d had enough of documentary street photography. Conceptual art ruled at UCSD, and in her two years there, from 1983 to 1985, Lorna found her signature voice, combining photographs and text to address issues that confront African American women. “I loved writing poetry and stories, but at school, that was a separate activity from photography,” she says. “I thought, Why not merge those two things?”

Arthur Chiaravalli in “It’s Time We Hold Accountability Accountable”:

Author and writing professor John Warner points out how this kind of accountability, standardization, and routinization short-circuits students’ pursuit of forms “defined by the rhetorical situation” and values “rooted in audience needs.”

What we are measuring when we are accountable, then, is something other than the core values of writing. Ironically, the very act of accounting for student progress in writing almost guarantees that we will receive only a poor counterfeit, one emptied of its essence.

“How to Teach Art to Kids, According to Mark Rothko”:

“Unconscious of any difficulties, they chop their way and surmount obstacles that might turn an adult grey, and presto!” Rothko describes. “Soon their ideas become visible in a clearly intelligent form.” With this flexibility, his students developed their own unique artistic styles, from the detail-oriented to the wildly expressive. And for Rothko, the ability to channel one’s interior world into art was much more valuable than the mastery of academic techniques. “There is no such thing as good painting about nothing,” he once wrote.

Update [10 July 2018]: Here’s a great thread from Dr. Lucia Lorenzi on form in academia, but also on the value of silence and pause.

I have two academic articles currently under consideration, and hope that they'll be accepted. I'm proud of them. But after those two, I am not going to write for academic journals anymore. I feel this visceral, skin-splitting need to write differently about my research.

It just doesn't FEEL right. When I think about the projects I'm interested in (and I have things I want desperately to write about), but I think about writing them for an academic journal, I feel anxious and trapped. I've published academic work. It's not a matter of capability.

I think I've interpreted my building anxiety as some sort of "maybe I can't really do it, I'm not good at this" kind of impostor syndrome. But I know in my bones it's not that, because I'm a very capable academic writer. I know how to do that work. I've been trained to do it.

This is a question of form. It is a question of audience, too. The "what" and the "why" of my research has always been clear to me. The "how," the "where," and the "who," much less so. Or at the very least, I've been pushing aside the how/where/who I think best honours the work.

In my SSHRC proposal, I even said that I wanted to write for publications like The Walrus or The Atlantic or GUTS Magazine, etc. because this work feels like it needs to be very public-facing right now, so that's what I'm going to do. No more academic journal articles for now.

With all the immobilizing anxiety I've felt about "zomg my CV! zomg academic cred!" do you know how many stories I could have pitched in the past year alone? SO MANY. How much research and thinking I could have distilled into creative non-fiction or long-form journalistic pieces?

It's not like I haven't also been very clear about the fact that I probably won't continue in academia, so why spend the last year of my postdoc doing the MOST and feeling the WORST doing my research in a certain way just for what...a job I might not get or even want? Nah.

Whew. I feel better having typed all that out, and also for having made the decision to do the work in the way I originally wanted to do it, because I have been struggling so much that every single day for months I've wanted to just quit the postdoc entirely. Just up and leave.

In the end, I don't think my work will shift THAT much, you know? And I've learned and am learning SO much from fellow academics who are doing and thinking and writing differently. But I think that "no more scholarly journal submissions" is a big step for me.

I also feel like this might actually make me feel less terrified of reading academic work. Not wanting to WRITE academic articles/books has made me equally afraid of reading them, which, uh, isn't helpful. But now I can read them and just write in my own way.

I don't want to not have the great joy of sitting down and reading brilliant work because I'm so caught up in my own fears of my response having to replicate or mirror those forms. That ain't a conversation. I'm not listening if I'm already lost in thinking about how to answer.

That's what's so shitty about thinking as a process that is taught in academia. We teach everyone to be so hyper-focused on what they have to say that we don't let people just sit back and listen for a goddamn moment without feeling like they need to produce a certain response.

And we wonder why our students get anxious about their assignments? The idea that the only valid form of learning is having something to say in response, and in this way that is so limited, and so performative, is, quite frankly, coercive and gross.

As John Cage said, "I have nothing to say and I am saying it." When it comes to academic publications, I am saying that no longer have anything to say. I do, however, have things to say in other places to say them.

My dissertation was on silence. In the conclusion, I pointed out that the text didn't necessarily show all the silences/gaps I had in my years of thinking. I'd wanted to put in lots of blank space between paragraphs, sections, to make those silences visible, audible.

According to the formatting standards for theses at UBC, you cannot have any blank pages in your dissertation. You cannot just breathe or pause. Our C.V.s are also meant not to have any breaths or pauses in them, no turns away, no changes in course.

I am making a course change!

Update [7 March 2019]: Maya Weeks makes this point on Twitter:

i'm so over the fetishization of language!!!! not every1 is ~good~ at formulating thoughts thru words & we need systems that reflect ppls' various strengths! prioritizing work done in words (rather than literally any other action, like dance, or organizing) is elitist as hell!!!

u might think i'm kidding about this but i'm a professional writer with 2 degrees in language (linguistics & creative writing); i have been thinking about this for 12 years

[hapgen]

Taking Care of Business

Author’s Note: Okay, so Rin’s birthday is this week. Even though I have a few essays due next week, I decided that writing something for Rin’s bday was more important than that! Especially since this will be short and sweet, you know? This is my first time writing Rin and Sousuke… I hope you all enjoy!

Word count: 2427

Summary: It’s Rin’s first day working the local entertainment store, and he notices that the suit store across from them has much better business. Of course, there is nothing better for him to do than to check out what they have, right? There has to be something there that has the customers flocking in. Little does he know, there’s more to the suit shop than just suits.

Pairing(s): SouRin, minor MakoHaru.

AU: Suit Shop/Nerd Store.

Tagging: @bakapandy (This isn’t birthday themed… but in my defense, it’s focused on SouRin and on an AU that inspired me!)

Rin tugged at the loose cotton shirt idly, waiting at the cash register for the manager to start training him. The shirt was itchy and a size too big, but considering that everyone at Iwatobi’s local nerd headquarters quit after they all graduated high school and even bothered to leave behind one of the uniforms… he supposed he was lucky. He could be wearing that adult small instead, but the blond boy (Hazuki was his name. Probably.) took that one as soon as he heard that he got the job. All that was left was an adult large, and while it wasn’t too terrible, he still wished that he had gotten the adult medium.

Rin had originally applied for the manager position, to make money for college when he moved back to Australia, but he ended up with the assistant manager position instead. Apparently, the new manager had worked in the same store before, but quit and reapplied-

“Oh, Rin! Hey!” Rin blinked in surprise, before smiling at Makoto.

“Hey, Mako. What are you doing here?” 

Makoto shrugged sheepishly, “I’m the manager. Sorry, I didn’t know that you applied for it too until after I turned my application in. No hard feelings?”

Rin shook his head and stood up straight. “None at all, man! I don’t mind. I’ve never worked here before anyway, so I’m glad that you’re training me.”

Makoto smiled, then stepped closer to the register. “Ready to get started? There’s a few little things that I have to tell you about before we get started, but other than that, this will be really easy! Promise.”

Rin thinks that this will be no problem, after all, Makoto is training to be coach, which is practically a teacher. Learning how to run the register, do inventory, clean, learn who is who and what is what… none of that will be hard!

“Okay, first, the vacuum and other cleaning supplies are in the back where the microwave and big closet is. We clean the store two times a day, but the managers don’t usually do that. I do it anyway, since the other employees are usually busy helping the customers. Do you know where that stuff is?”

Rin nodded, “Yeah, I saw it when I picked up my uniform. Is it all in that trunk in the corner?”

Makoto tilted his head in confusion. “There’s a trunk in the corner?”

“…I thought there was…”

They both sat in silence for a moment. Rin came into the store last week to pick up his uniform, but Makoto was here earlier today and did not see it. What was it?

“Oh!” Makoto said, startling Rin. “I forgot! The new store across from us kept some of their stock here for a few days. Their stock room was being renovated to add a bathroom at the last minute.”

Rin looked out the large windows to look at the store. It looked very sleek, with fancy columns and doors with gold accents. He could barely see through the other store’s windows, but it looked like they were selling…

“Suits? Why is there a suit shop across from us?” He asked in confusion. “There’s like, five other shops in the area that would be better suited-”

Makoto snorted.

“Pun not intended!” Rin muttered. “I mean, you know, why here?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that they needed a place as soon as possible, so they bought the vacant building.” Makoto shrugged. 

They both watched the other building, noticing the well-dressed people walking in and out of the shop. There was a constant flow of people, which made Rin and Makoto look around their empty store in silence.

“Okay, yeah, why do they have so much business? Aren’t suits expensive?” Rin said in irritation. Their store was one of the more popular places in the area, so why was an expensive suit shop doing better than theirs? Rin had to get to the bottom of this.

Rin smirked deviously, and idea beginning to form in his head.

Makoto looked at him with reproach. “Rin…”

“You said they have a bathroom, right?”

“…yes. Why?” Makoto asked hesitantly. He did not know if he really wanted to know the answer or not.

Rin chuckled and stepped around Makoto and the register. “I think I need to use the restroom for a few minutes. I’ll be back!”

“Rin, please don’t cause any trouble. I’ve met a few of the employees there, and they’re really nice.”

“Makoto, I just want to see what all the fuss is about! I’ve never seen a suit that’s lower than $200. There’s no way they should have such good business. Especially since we’re having a sale!” Rin yelled, pointing at the 50% off sign near the entrance.

Makoto sighed, “Okay. But really, don’t do anything bad, ok? Just ask one of the employees for Yamazaki or Nanase. They’ll know who you are and will take you to the bathroom.”

Rin nodded and walked out the store. Honestly, he could not believe that Makoto actually thought he needed to use the bathroom. He thought he made that idea obvious. But it’s whatever. 

Once he reached the store, he looked at the sign at the top. “Suits? That’s the name? Kinda lame.” He muttered, before pushing open the tinted doors. 

There were a lot of people. A lot. Rin suddenly felt extremely underdressed, after all, he was wearing a red shirt with their store’s stupid logo on it (a weird looking bird) and a wrinkled pair of khakis. He was wearing his nice sneakers, though, so he didn’t look like a total mess.

Hurriedly, Rin combed his fingers through his tangled hair and brushed off his shirt. He needed to look semi-presentable in front of these snooty employees. After taking a deep breath, Rin began to walk around the store, looking around for anyone that looked like an employee. Would they be wearing suits? Or maybe just a shirt and a tie? He didn’t know. Makoto should have specified.

He felt like a fish out of water in this building, and every other minute he was in there, he swore that he was being brainwashed. He could hear women gushing about what suit their loved ones should wear, along with whether or not teal was a fall color. Personally, he thought that teal worked in any season.

Suddenly, Rin felt himself run into something hard and smooth. In his mind, he was praying to any god out there that he ran into a mannequin. Please… please be a mannequin.

Slowly, he stepped back a bit and looked up into the face of a disgruntled man in a suit. Well, fuck. This was bad.

Rin coughed and smiled sheepishly, “Hey, uh, sorry about that. I’m just looking for, um, Yamazaki or Nanase. My coworker told me to ask about the bathroom…?”

The man looked at him with an exasperated expression, before holding out his hand. “I’m Yamazaki. Sousuke Yamazaki. I work here.”

Rin carefully shook Yamazaki’s- No, Sousuke’s- hand. It was warm. He felt his face and neck getting warm, so he quickly pulled his hand back.

“Cool. So, where’s the bathroom in this place?” Rin asked. He knew that at this point, his mind had completely overstayed its welcome in this fancy place. He actually needed to use the bathroom now, so getting out of here as soon as possible was of the upmost importance.

Sousuke nodded and turned around, “Follow me.”

Dutifully, Rin began to follow Sousuke through the store. He began to notice more things than before, such as the employees apparently wore shirts and tie, but Sousuke rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. His arms were pretty ripped, which is high praise coming from Rin. Second, the slacks that the employees wore were either a size too small or purposefully made to be snug, because he didn’t think that slacks were supposed to hug the body like that. It looked good, though. It’s not like Rin was complaining or anything. 

Sousuke suddenly stopped in his tracks, almost causing Rin to ram into his back. He turned around and raised an eyebrow at Rin.

“I forgot to ask. What store do you work at?”

Rin pointed in the general direction of his workplace with his thumb, “The nerdy place across the street. We’re having a 50% off sale on everything, except for candy and posters. Tell your customers so we can get some business today, yeah? It’s so busy in here.”

Sousuke studied Rin’s expression (For a moment too long, Rin felt a bit hot under the collar. Those teal eyes were too much.), then sighed. “We’re having a clearance sale. We have a new shipment in, and we’re trying to get rid of last season’s inventory so we can put in the new stock.”

Rin nodded in understanding. After overhearing all of those conversations earlier, it seemed like he understood everything about fashion. It was enlightening. 

“So. The bathroom.”

Rin looked at him carefully. “Yeah? What about it?”

Sousuke glanced around the store. “I don’t know where it is.”

“What.” Rin looked at him in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

He wasn’t joking. Sousuke, embarrassed, spoke into a headpiece that Rin had neglected to notice.

“Nanase… can you come over to where I am?” He asked quietly. A moment passed, before he continued, “No. We’re near the socks.”

Another moment. “Yes, we. I’m guiding someone to the bathrooms. I…” He sighed, “I got lost.”

Sousuke straightened up and nodded to himself.��“Okay. Thanks.”

When Sousuke looked back up from the ground, he was met with angry red eyes. Rin was smoldering. “When were you going to tell me that you didn’t know where the bathroom was? You just let me follow you around willy-nilly!”

Sousuke snorted, “Willy-nilly?”

Rin huffed, “You know what I mean! And now another guy is going to come here and guide both of us! How long have you been working here?”

Sousuke thought for a second. “Two weeks.” 

“And you have no idea where the fucking bathroom is?” Rin asked. He groaned, this was horrible. Just when he actually had to go to the bathroom, and the guy he was checking out actually didn’t know where the bathroom was? Honesty?

“Sousuke.” A bored voice called out. Rin and Sousuke turned to look at the person wandering towards them, both of them looking downcast. The blue-eyed man looked at Rin.

“Do you work with Makoto?”

Rin looked taken aback, before nodded slowly. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

The guy, who Rin supposed was Nanase, broke out of his apathetic façade and smiled a little bit. “Just wondering.”

Sousuke sighed, “He has a crush on him.”

Nanase glared at Sousuke, “Shut up. You led this guy around the store for no reason. You just wanted to hang out with him.”

That wiped the teasing smile off Sousuke’s face and brought a blush to Rin’s.

Hastily, Rin wiped the palm of hand on his pants and held it out to Nanase. He needed to change where this conversation was going. “Nice to meet you too, I’m Rin Matsouka.”

“I’m Haruka Nanase. Call me Haru.” He said, quickly shaking Rin’s hand. He sharply turned around and began walking off.

Sousuke huffed, still weary after Haru’s last statement, “Oi, Nanase, the bathroom?”

Haru swiveled and held out his arm. “Where do you think I’m going?”

Rin and Sousuke both felt annoyed, but followed Haru anyway. Rin really had to deal with his business, and Sousuke needed to learn where the bathroom was. For future reference.

They walked pass the same place Rin had originally been standing, before he bumped into his tour guide. He almost froze in place when he realized that he literally walked by the bathroom when he first walked into the store. Rin slowly looked up at Sousuke, who was beginning to turn red with shame.

“It was right here. The entire time.” Rin said quietly, staring at the door with awe.

Haru nodded, before bending down behind the counter. He moved a few things around and stood up, holding on to a blue container. As he began to walk away, Sousuke coughed.

“Where are you going, Nanase?”

Haru held up his container. “Lunch break. I need a microwave.”

Rin watched as Haru left the suit store and walked directly into the store that he worked at. He was impressed with Haru’s bluntness, but still? Did that guy have a one-track mind?

“Yeah, he does.” Sousuke said, making Rin jump. Was he speaking aloud?

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Nanase is persistent. Doesn’t like to talk about things like that, though.” Sousuke shrugged, and small, handsome grin on his face.

Rin shook his head and combed his fingers through his hair. This was the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him. One moment he was being taught how to co-manage a store, next he was standing next to one of the densest guys he has ever met near a bathroom. Sousuke gave Makoto a run for his money. But… the way Sousuke was acting was endearing, oddly enough. Rin didn’t find himself totally hating it. In fact, it made Sousuke slightly more attractive.

He nodded. Yeah, he would shoot his shot. Why not?

“Hey, Sousuke.” Rin said, calling attention to himself.

Sousuke had been leaning against the counter, and unbeknownst to Rin, had been checking him out for the past two minutes. When Rin had called him, he felt his face heat up.

“Yeah?” He muttered, feeling a little guilty. He couldn’t help but watch one of the most handsome men he has ever seen, you know?

Rin smiled and leaned forward, showing off his pearly whites. “Do you like coffee?”

Sousuke blinked in surprise. “I guess I do.“

Rin hummed and scooted a little closer to Sousuke, making the latter feel on edge. What was with this sudden change of behavior? Coffee? Getting in his personal space? Was… Rin flirting with him?

Today was the luckiest day of his life.

“Would you maybe want to get some later today? When do you get out of work?” Rin asked, a small blush on his cheeks.

“Y-yeah, sure. I get out at 3.” Sousuke replied. Wow. Just, wow.

“Great! I get done then, too. I’ll come by then and we can walk to the coffee shop down the street. Sound good?” Rin said, beginning to walk backwards.

Sousuke nodded, slipping into a dreamy state of mind. He was just asked out! To get coffee! By someone he thinks he could get along with!

Rin winked, “Great! See you then!” And as quick as a flash, Rin was in the bathroom. In his excitement, Rin had completely forgotten about why he was originally in the store. 

Sousuke could see Rin coming back to the store pretty often.

[liskribbles]

“The Fandom Food Chain” or “Why I Can’t Be Bothered To Make This Rant A Comics, Though I Am Fully Capable If I Please”

Ok, so, this has been brewing for a long time, for a year at least for myself and even longer for a few content creators (writers, artists, photographers) I know and talked with over several different sites with different ways of viewing and feedback. But, basically, nearly everywhere the situation is the same.

It seems, that the fandom culture faces 2 serious problems, that, actually, are connected:

feedback has all but died out even on the basic "like' and "kudos" level. Not to mention actual comments and reblogs.

fandom lifespan drastically shortening and people constantly searching for a new hypetrain to jump on.

This are serious issues that affect content creators and, in the long run, content consumers.

Here are some thoughts on what led to this and how it will be a rather grim future if something won't change.

Imagine an ecosystem - without any  interference it functions properly, predators and prey have enough food, the greenery renews itself in a steady rate. Now, let's introduce a new specie or hunt down one of the existing ones. What do we get? Less predators - the prey consumes more plants, they can't regrow in the same rate. More territory suffers from herbivores, which leads to soil erosion, less bugs=>less birds, less pollination. The soil is withered by wind and rain, less plants can grow on poorer soil, the area can feed even less animals, they move to greener pastures. The area can either stabilize over time, or not - think how badly rabbits affected Australia (multiple species extinct, great erosion damage).

So, a fandom is also an ecosystem (food chain) of sorts. Sure, we can't measure it in terms of predators and prey, but we can in terms of creators and “consumers” (aka viewers/readers) with the resources being content (art, photography, music, writing AND feedback).

So, what is the "food" for creators?

That's right - the Canon, side inspiration (non-fandom and fandom content) and feedback (i.e. "content" "created" in response to their work). The first two are something the creators need to consume and then add extra resources (time, work, motivation) to actually make into the "food" for the Fandom (both other creators and simply viewers/readers).

And what is the food for the "consumers"?

That’s right - the Canon and the creator generated content they receive though the fandom network. It's easy to consume, they don't need any extra resources to enjoy it. 

And here lies the problem. With modern technology and the fast pace of consuming information, the viewers attention span grew smaller as well their patience and time they spend on 1 piece of content. Thus they rush though their feeds and dashboards, leaving no feedback (since it requires resources from them (time, work and motivation), and they feel that they don't need to apply them - there will always be a hot new fandom to get a quick high for favorite archetypes, kinks and AUs.

But what the creators see is that their "food resource" is getting smaller - the Canon doesn't usually grow as fast as the creator process it, and with little feedback content on their works they have less motivation to produce similar content. They turn their attention to other venues - be it another Fandom where they still can get enough "nutrition" from the source material alone, or something that doesn't require them producing all together (playing games, watching movies, simply browsing, i.e. they become "consumers" themselves).

And here is when the "consumer" doesn't get enough new content (or the quality of content drops, because who'd wanna make a three course meal if it get's the same quality of feedback as a sandwich) and is either forced to move to "greener pastures" of other fandoms or try to get by with what husks are left. And this usually leads to wails of "there's nothing good to read anymore", "the fandom is dying" and etc.

What can I say - we reap what we sow.

And if things will continue this way - no, fandom creative contents won't go extinct, not really. Creators will still get bursts of nutrition from new stuff, they still will create - and in place of those, who'll stop all together will come new ones. But all in all, the quantity and quality will suffer, because, like I said - once the brain figures out it doesn't have to put as much resources to get a result, it will not motivate a person to spend 10 hours on a drawing. Because, why bother if it'll get the same feedback as a 1 hour sketch session - you then can spend 9 hours doing instant and guaranteed gratification stuff, like gaming and watching tv!

People tend to think that creators have an unlimited  source of creativity, that they create because they can't not do it. Sure, it s a case for some. But for most, this is a really slowly renewable resource they have to choose wisely how to spend. And without feedback they, most likely, will choose to spend it on more personal passion projects and ideas. But with re-fills from outside sources they can create more and. more often than not, in the venue this fill came from.

What I also heard about a lot - people finding excuses to why they don't give feedback.

"The author doesn't want feedback" - BULLSHIT. The author may not want criticism, but if he put it on a public platform, tagged and did not forbid comments (like some platforms allow) - you better believe, he want attention for it. A reblog, a like, even better - a comment. You don't need to write an essay or a hymn of praise, but even the simplest reaction of "Love this pair", "wow!", "cute art", "can't wait for the next chapter" gives a creator a HUGE boost. Even if the piece left you with mixed feelings - it's better that with no feelings at all. "Not my pair, but interesting idea", "never considered this before" - is a lot better for the creativity, than silence.

"I don't reblog because it doesn't fit my blog/ I don't want people knowing I'm into this" - that's when you can use a side blog or sent a private message most of the time giving kudos to the author. Even if a reblog is to a blog with no followers - the creator doesn’t know that and it still might expose the piece to your future followers.

  "I don't want to interact/I'm shy/I'm an introvert/I have anxiety”- but you want to consume the content? You really can't eat an omelette without breaking some eggs. The creator too might have issues and be self-conscience about their art and actually put a lot of self-worth on how it’s received by others. As I said - you don't have to get all buddy-pals with the author, but a lil comment or like or note doesn't need to spark a big conversation. A tip of the hat while passing by.

“I don’t want to/It’s not my job to contribute to the fandom” - well, neither is the creator’s and you’re a butt that doesn’t deserve all the free content other people put out for the fandom to enjoy. Go chew some glass.

So, what can we do? Well, it's in the word itself  -

FEED BACK.

You "feed" the creators back for the "food" they give you. This goes both to those who just view/read content, and to the creators - support your fellow starving for attention authors. You don't need to go like and comment every single of their work, but if a piece made you pause for a few seconds while scrolling - let the author know that. Otherwise, there won't be much to stop by in the future.

[floatingpetals]

Vanish in the Dark Pt 1

Pairings: None at the moment(A.K.A I have no idea where I’m going with this.)

Warnings: None right now, maybe language?

Word Count: 2600+

Summary: Assassin’s Creed AU and Marvel AU crossover.  The Brotherhood has spent years hiding in the shadows keeping the Templars in line as the years pass on. When the Templars company Abstergo Industries strikes up a deal with Hydra, things have to change. The Brotherhood decides to step out of the shadows, reaching out for the help of the Avengers. What could go wrong?

A/N: So far I have the first four parts written, but after that I dunno where I’m gonna go. All I know is this is gonna be a long one, and while I’m writing as I go, I’m really excited. I’ve started a tag list, so let me know if you’d like to added and I’ll be more than happy too add you! Also liking and rebblogging also helps me know if i should keep going. Thank you guys!  ❤️

Once again, the gif is not mine, credit to the owner.

Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Series Masterlist

Steve sighed into his bowl of oatmeal, watching Bucky and Sam bicker once again over who gets the last of the Lucky Charms. Natasha sat beside him, munching on an apple, throwing in a few quips herself which only cause the two start back up again. Clint had walked in, took one look at the two that stood at the center of the room gripping the box in each hand, and walked right back out. Steve was starting to think he had the right idea. 

“Could you stop egging them on?” He huffed at Natasha, who added another reason why Bucky should get the last bowl. Natasha only replied with a smirk as she took another bite from her apple. Steve rolled his eyes, knowing that she would only stop when she got bored. And from the look on her face, it wasn’t going to be a while before that happened. With the mounting tension, he thought he’d have to jump in and stop the two from having a smack down in the center of the kitchen. Just as he was about to tell them about the second box that was hiding on the top shelf in the pantry, a bellow from down the hall caused all four to stop and look in the direction.

Tony came sprinting into the kitchen, a piece of paper in hand, and looking unbelievably irate. He slammed the paper down on the island, causing the four to jump. They’ve seen him mad before, but this was a whole new level they never knew he had.

“Anyone want to tell me what the fuck this is?” He snarled, pointing at the paper. All four blinked, none knowing how to answer that question when they hadn’t the slightest clue why he was so angry. Natasha was the first to move, picking up the paper to read the words carefully. A scowl spread across her face as she read the words, unsettled from the amount of information that was typed on the paper. She turned the page over, eyeing the strange triangular symbol on the back of the white page. It didn’t spark a recognition in her mind, but the words spoke of how well the messenger knew them.

“Where did you get this?” She asked passing the paper over to Steve. Tony’s jaw clench as he tried to calm down enough to form a coherent sentence.

“It was in my lab, sitting on top my latest project. Along with a list of reasons why that prototype was not going to work and what I could do to fix it.” Tony scoffed. He was a bit bitter that someone managed to break into his lab, but was even more peeved that person had the audacity to leave a list of his failures he wasn’t even aware were there. “I checked all the tapes, there wasn’t a sign of someone breaking in the compound last night, not even a blip.”

“How is that possible?” Natasha asked leaning against the island. Steve stayed silent, rereading the words as he tried to wrap his mind around the content. If what this was saying was true then things were a lot worse than they thought.

“I don’t know, Romanoff.” Tony snarled, running a hand through his hair. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. already told that nothing out of the ordinary happened, that nothing was shut down. Yet somehow, someone broke into my lab, had time to tinker around with a prototype, and write a hand written 2 page essay on what was wrong before leaving, all while being capable of not setting off a single alarm!”

“Hey!” Steve boomed, switching into his Captain’s command voice. “Look, I get how upsetting this is, but don’t take this out on Natasha!”

Tony turned around, mouth open ready to argue. He stopped short at the withering glare Steve gave him, rolling his eyes at the blonde.

“Fine. Whatever.” He waved them off, snatching the paper out of Steve’s hand. “This is still a problem, however. Someone broke in last night. Someone knows things about us that have never been released to the public. Someone-“

“Knows of the deal between Hydra and that Abstergo company.” Steve finished. He was becoming just as unnerved about the whole thing as well. Bucky and Sam tensed, their eyes flickering to the pages. Tony passed the paper over, hardly sparing them a glance as he continued.

“They want us to meet them tomorrow afternoon. In New York. The only thing I can think of that’s going on that day is the press conference in Manhattan.” Tony was talking about the press conference that the famed company Abstergo Industries was having to speak about the advances they were going to take in the company. Their partnership with Hydra was not public knowledge, but they had heard it through the grape vine that something was happening between the two groups. The Avengers looked in on the company, wondering why Hydra took interest in them. What they found had appalled the group. They learned about some of the experiments that Abstergo took part of, and with this partnership with Hydra, they knew they’d have to do something. This request for a meeting was not something they expected however.

“Is that a good idea? I mean we have no idea who these people are.” Natasha questioned.

“I’m having F.R.I.D.A.Y. run a search for that symbol, clearly it means something. But if what they say is true, and what they know is right, then we might not have a choice.” Tony bit out. He wasn’t happy about how everything went down. However, he knew there was more important things than his bruised ego right now. Well only slightly more important. “I’m also going to up security. I can’t believe someone could sneak in.”

Steve sighed, pushing his unfinished bowl of oatmeal away. “Look, right now we need to worry about what the note said. If it’s true, then we’re going to have a lot more problems on our hands.”

Natasha nodded. “If they’re able to teach someone to become a trained killer in just days by a machine, I can only imagine what they’d do with Hydra’s less than legal experiments. Throw in the serum, they’d be unstoppable.”

Bucky tensed at that, flashes of his past coming up. He shuttered to think what could happen if this all went how the two groups wanted it to go. He passed the page to Sam and stepped up.

“I think we should go meet them.” Three sets of eyes turned to him. “The note said that if we refused, then it was fine. They don’t want anything besides stopping two groups from growing stronger than before. It’s clear they have no ulterior motive. They just want to stop them. And I agree. Hydra is already a problem, throw in the limited things we’ve learned of Abstergo and I’m sorry. I can’t let another one of me come into this world.”

Steve and Tony stayed silent for a moment. Neither wanted to agree to this, but Bucky had a point. They needed to stop this before it started. And if this other group was the key, then so be it.

“Sir.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. called, pulling their attentions away from each other.

“What’s up F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“I’ve done the search like you’ve asked, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t like the answer I’ve come up with.”

“And what exactly is that?”

The AI paused for a moment, before flickering on the tablet laying on one of the counters. Tony picked it up and brought up the hologram.

“It would seem that there is no current information on the symbol. Instead I found only older information. It’s an old symbol that was used dating back before history could record it. There are hints of used back in the Roman era. Perhaps ever before then. You can find old remnants on buildings, ruins, streets, and even some hidden tunnel entrances. The main known locations are Italy, present day Istanbul and recently found, Egypt.

There have been of course, other findings across Europe, and parts of Asia. There was talk of the symbol even having reached here to North America. But the symbols were suddenly wiped from existence somewhere in the 19th century. Across all countries. The only reason we know of them are because of the ones that have been found are from recent excavations and a few codecs that can only be found in ancient libraries.”

“As much as I love having an impromptu history lesson, cut to the chase. What does the symbol stand for?” Tony asked, a bit annoyed at the lengthy build up.

“That’s just it, sir. The only small bit of information I can find of it, besides the recent locations is a name. They called themselves The Brotherhood.”

“The Brotherhood?” Natasha asked.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.-“ Tony began, flipping through some of the images that showed the symbols on buildings. They were faint, a bit more intricate in design that the simple symbol on the paper, but he could tell what was there.

“I’ve already ran a search of the name. It came up empty. I had to tap into Abstergo Industries database to find out more, to see if they knew this symbol. I searched for what I could without tripping their sensors, which isn’t much. What I did find, however, is a bit appalling. It seems that Abstergo Industry is actually a front for an old order that too dates back to the beginning of history.”

Steve raised a brow; This was getting more interesting the longer the AI rambled on.

“They were once known as the Templar Order. An old group that wanted to control and use the people so that they might have order and ‘peace’ in the world. They wanted the world built in their specific image. They cared little for what happened to the common people, just as long as they, the Order, had control.”

“Sounds like another group we know of.” Bucky muttered, watching Tony flip through the files that flashed up on the screen. The AI continued.

“The Brotherhood was once their greatest foe, the group fighting back against the Templars. The Brotherhood stood for the freedom of the people.”

“What are you getting at F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Tony could tell the AI was hesitating from telling them the truth.

“The Brotherhood was also known by the Templars’ as the Assassin’s Order.” The group stood straighter as the word.  “They were a group of highly elite assassins that targeted the Order, to keep them from growing into power. They fought each other since practically the beginning of time, at one point the Brotherhood was nearly defeated. It was around the Revolution they grew in size once more but somewhere down the way-“

“The Brotherhood disappeared.”

“Yes, and that’s why I find- odd. How did they manage to fall off the face of the earth after centuries of fighting the Order? Why is it that now, they’ve stepped up? But more important, how have they managed to keep themselves hidden for so long, even after the number of successful assassinations?”

A screen popped up, faces with list of their information, the words deceased in big red letters across the face. There was a long list, over 40 from the first page with several dozen pages. The four in the kitchen stood wide eyed as they looked over the names of many dignitaries and higher ups. Natasha stepped up pointing at a member of Parliament.

“I though he died of a heart attack two years ago.”

“No, he was killed by poison. The Order, Abstergo Industries, were the ones who performed his autopsy. The reports were falsified for the public, but the Order kept his real cause of death hidden. If word got out, then there would be more panic then necessary. As it turns out, this member of the Order also had a hidden agenda the Order was not fond of. His death was not missed by them. It still did manage to hurt them. Apparently, they lost a quite a bit of their influence in Britain because of it.”

Natasha pointed to another, a senator who had been said to have died in a car crash two months ago.

“Slit throat that was covered up by the crash.” The AI went through a quick list of the ones that stood out the most to the group, and with each one the team was left even more amazed, and frankly, scared.

“How is this possible?” Steve whispered, frowning when he recognized two of the Senators. They pressed for the Accord, but were never linked to Hydra. This made it all seem even more terrifying knowing there was another group out there that was just as influential as Hydra.

“As I stated, I’m not certain. Abstergo Industries knows that Brotherhood is still out there, but somehow the Brotherhood work in the shadows. They’re off the grid. There have been no known sittings of the Brotherhood since before the 19th century. That is, until today.”

Sam whistled low, impressed. “They’ve managed to keep a low profile for so long, eliminating well-known figure heads, and managed to break into our compound without tripping one of the alarms.”

Tony turned to glared at him, but Sam only shrugged. “Think about it. If they’ve managed to do all this, unnoticed by any of us, then they must be damn good at their jobs.”

Steve grit his teeth, not like the truth to Sam’s words. They had to be damn good. He turned back to the hologram that had pulled up the information to the press conference that was scheduled for the next afternoon.

“What about this, what is that you can tell us about the two joining?”

“As you stated earlier, Abstergo Industries has a way to put people into the past, to learn from members of their Order. They can learn how to fight, how to kill, and how to lead by simply laying down in a machine for a few hours a day. They can learn to become masters of fighting in the matter of weeks. All with out sustaining injuries. Their members are willing and wouldn’t need to be wiped to have them do the dirty work of the company. Throw in everything that Hydra knows, and willing to bring to the table; The two would both be unstoppable. The only good thing that comes from this, is a kink in the system that Abstergo Industries still has yet to fix. They call it the bleeding effect.”

“The bleeding effect?” Tony asked, flipping through a few files that pulled his interest.

“They machine they use sends them through memories. If the subject spends too much time in the machine, their brain is unable to differentiate between what real and what was a memory. They’ve lost several members to the madness that it brings.”

“The only silver lining I guess.” Steve muttered.

“I suppose, however, the Brotherhood has made great strides in keeping the Order in line, even though they themselves have not been out in the open. I suggest you take them up on this offer.”

Tony snorted and shook his head.

“Sir.”

“I know, F.R.I.D.A.Y. You’re right. This is too important to ignore.” He turned to glare at the paper that sat on the island once more, the symbol of the Brotherhood facing up. It was taunting him, they managed to do the impossible. It was a blatant show of skill. And a tease that they’d never be as good as the Brotherhood. Tony was not one to back down from a challenge. Clenching his jaw, he nodded. With a swipe of his hand, he closed the hologram.

“Looks like we’re going to a press conference.”

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