#...if yes she might show a little hesitation ( sorry rust there's a lot of them and few people get to see... ALL of them )

[akuzeisms]

@pessimistics asked:

"Show me how much you missed me."

The last few months of her life had been chaos. Complete and total chaos. And somehow, she made it out the other side. She was lauded a hero, praised and made to deal with far too much pomp and circumstance. She just wanted something... normal for once. Earth was normal. Rust was normal. And they hadn't had any time together since she left; sure, they'd communicated by emails, video calls, but that was it. They were simply two people with jobs that kept them infinitely busy.

She hadn't expected to miss him as much as she did. But she did. Dearly. And when she expressed that, only for him to challenge her, she felt... bold. Bolder than she might've been before the recent chaos, but some part of her felt empowered by that challenge.

"Oh?" One blonde eyebrow cocked, the corner of her lips twitching into a smirk. She was quiet, contemplative, debating. "Well, I do have this room all to myself." Fingers laced with his, taking slow and deliberate steps backward further into the room, hips sashaying a little. "So maybe it'd be nice to have some company." She didn't have to look to know where the bed was; she pitched backward, tugging him along with her with a soft laugh.

"You might regret challenging the Saviour of the Citadel, like that, detective" she chided with a soft chuckle. Tugging him down, she pressed her lips to his, one hand snaking its way up his chest to play at the open collar of his shirt while the other ran up his arm to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his soft hair.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader 

Chapter 2 - ‘You’re inverted, the world is not’

Previous Chapter - The Life Changing Offer 

Summary: Neil leads you into the world of inversion and sometimes it might be a little bit too much to take in...

Warnings: Curse words. I’ve decided to bring up rating to T (just to be safe).

Author’s Notes: This came out incredibly long so sorry for that. Hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcomed! Thanks to my fellow Neil enthusiasts for inspiration and hype, you know who you are <3 

You have been following Neil through the crowded streets of London City almost breathlessly. He was walking fast and the shoes you chose were far from comfortable. Neither of you have spoken a word for the last fifteen minutes and you began to wonder whether this was a good decision. After all you have agreed to be lead to some obscure destination by a perfect stranger and did not even know his full name. But before you could voice any of those concerns, he has stopped in front of a grey building with a rusted metal door. He held them open, motioning for you to come in. Inside there was a darkened stairwell and an antiquated lift. As the door closed with a creak the only thought you had was that you were about to be killed. You turned to Neil with an arched eyebrow. The flashing lightbulb above made the shadows on his face stand out and drowned the blue of his eyes. You could only see the outline of his strong jaw and cheekbones. He was looking at you as well with that thoughtful gaze again. After a beat he spoke:

“Don’t worry you aren’t going to be murdered” the hint of smile was playing upon his lips “I have parked the car here” he explained and continued down the staircase not waiting for you.

You rolled your eyes and followed. His enigmatic attitude was starting to annoy you. But then all you could do was hope that you will receive some answers soon.

You found him waiting by a black BMW series 7. He was looking at you expectantly as though he was anticipating your reaction.

What did they use to say about not getting into cars with strangers?, you shook your head slightly.

“I really don’t have a choice but to get in the car, do I?” you asked rhetorically while contemplating the absurdity of the situation you got yourself into.

He flashed you that sly grin again and just got into the driver seat.

Lord help me, you thought while joining on the passenger side.

You scanned the inside of the car with interest.

Tenet certainly isn’t on the budget, you noted while taking in the complex displays on the dashboard and the touch screen.

Neil started up the engine and soon you had left the underground parking. You tried to follow the road signs to guess where you were headed but quickly got lost amidst the different exits and turns. You were both silent. Sometimes you looked at Neil and would swear you felt him stare as well. Only once you have reached the highway, he asked:

“Do you have any questions?”

“Many” you glared at him, and he laughed at your deadpan expression “You haven’t told me your last name” you noticed after a few seconds of thinking.

“You have to be really interested in me if that’s the thing that bothers you most” he replied with a playful smile and you glared at him, stifling the sudden urge to punch him.

“You wish” you retorted under your breath.

Still, you felt your cheeks warm up with embarrassment and decided to stare intensely at the road ahead. Neil bit his lip and glanced at you though you could not see it. He was really enjoying teasing you, probably more than he could have expected.

***

You have arrived at your destination fifteen minutes later. Neil parked the car in front of an old warehouse with no signage or marked entries. You looked at him quizzically and he shrugged:

“Told you it’s a secret organisation” with that he got out of the car.

There were only three other cars parked in front of the building and the area was largely deserted. A high fence was separating the acres of land from the fields around and whoever was entering via the gate had to show ID to the small camera. Neil opened the door with that same ID card, and you followed closely, looking up into another micro camera that was guarding the entrance. He went straight to the desk that you assumed was some sort of reception area and after a small hesitation you joined him. There you came face to face with a smartly dressed woman seated behind the desk with a smile on her face:

“Good afternoon Neil” her grin got even wider as she stood up and beamed at him.

“Hello Anna” he replied with that charming smile on his lips.

God, she’s blushing, you noticed while looking at the receptionist. She has turned a lovely shade of pink and was trying to hide it by looking down at the keyboard. This was embarrassing. You had to admit that Neil is incredibly charming, suave and all but… seriously?! But your train of thought was interrupted by the man in question mentioning your name to Anna and adding: “Our new recruit”

You smiled politely at the woman and shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you” she beamed at you as well, but it was lacking that ‘looking at Neil’ spark.

You could not blame her for that. You could feel Neil’s gaze, quietly studying you and briefly wondered if he did that to all the new recruits. The silence has now stretched way too long for a normal social conversation, so you cleared your throat and answered:

“Mutually” you started praying for the awkward situation to end.

“I’ve got some papers for you to fill in” Anna handed you a small pile “It’s for the system and so that we can get you the ID card” you nodded and moved to the side, grateful for something to do.

You got absorbed in filling in all the obscure medical information they wanted. It was hard to suddenly recollect what vaccinations you have had in your late teens and whether you have already had chicken pox. Hearing some high-pitched giggles coming from the desk you glanced in that direction. Neil was leaning over the counter and ostensibly flirting with Anna if her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes were anything to go by. You rolled your eyes for the second time today and went back to the form.

What you have not noticed was that Neil has glanced in your direction just as you have been expressing your annoyance. He smirked and went back to entertaining Anna whose blind devotion was quite cute in his eyes.

Once you have finished filling in the papers you quickly got up and joined the two ‘lovebirds’. Anna took the pile without a further word and you could only await Neil’s instructions. He threw one last sly smile towards her and focused all of his attention on you:

“So are you ready to see what we are dealing with here?” the playful sparks contradicted the serious tone he spoke with.

“I’ve got nothing better to do” you flashed him your cheekiest smile and was pleased to see him slightly surprised.

Well two can play the game…

***

He led you through the maze of corridors into a small laboratory. Although surprisingly it also had a shooting station and a cabinet full of artillery and arms. Neil headed straight for the case and took out an ordinary looking Glock. He handed you the gun and you automatically checked the magazine to find it empty. Neil only motioned for you to join him by the shooting station.

“Just aim and pull the trigger” he instructed, and you glared at him.

“With an empty magazine?”

“Yes exactly”

You shrugged and adjusted your stance, constantly feeling his gaze boring into you. Letting out a long exhalation to focus, you aimed the gun and pressed the trigger. What came next took you completely by surprise. The moment you released the trigger, a bullet flew into the barrel with a little more force than you were used to, and you stumbled, nearly falling into Neil. He caught you with one hand on your arm and grinned, seeing the dumbfounded look on your face.

“Wasn’t expecting that, huh?” he let go of you after taking one last look at your expression and took the gun back “That was an inverted bullet” he explained “So you catch it instead of firing”

That was a lot to take in. You slowly nodded, trying to process it all.

“Are you ready for inversion?” he asked after giving you space to think for a short while.

“Nope” you grinned “But lead the way”

He stared at you for a little longer then, scanning your face in search of something. But this time you stared right back, facing him with determination. After thirty seconds, which felt like much longer, he turned away and opened a heavy door on the right side of the laboratory’s wall. You followed, not knowing what to expect at all. What you did not anticipate was to enter a darkened room with the lights tinted red, where one of the walls had a massive glass window inserted into it. On the other side of the glass you could see a very similar room but with the light tinted blue. At the opposite end from where you came in there was a massive barrel-shaped metal structure with a doorway and complex mechanisms around it. You noticed that there was the exact same thing on the other side of the room.

“Any questions?” Neil was casually leaning on the wall with his hands in the pockets, observing you with a small smile.

“What’s that?” you pointed at the machine.

“That’s the turnstile. We use it to get inverted” he pushed himself upright and walked over towards you “They’ll explain how it works in technical sense during the training. But I can show you the practical side. Ready?” he run hand through his hair, ruffling it in process.

“More than ever” you took another deep breath of the day.

“Okay, so we’ll go through the turnstile once we can see ourselves entering it on the other side of the proving window” he gestured towards the glass panel.

You noticed with a start that in the other room you could see yourself and Neil. They were moving backwards. As they entered the turnstile on the blue side, Neil quickly took your hand and pulled you inside the machine. You felt the machine screech with the years of use and after a few seconds you were being led out of it and into the blue side of the room. Before you could process what just happened, Neil let go of your hand and continued his explanation:

“The air here is sealed but once we go outside you’ll have to wear an oxygen mask because your lung membranes are now inverted”

You nodded and looked at the other side and the scene playing out there. One that just happened for you mere minutes ago. You started feeling a bit dizzy by trying to understand but attempted to focus on Neil’s briefing:

“They’ll tell you all this in training but normally we wear those protective suits to avoid accidentally touching our forward selves”

“What happens if we do?”

“Annihilation” he winked, and you could only stare in shock.

“Don’t worry about that for now though” he reassured while moving towards the rack filled with respirators and hazard suits.

He handed you a mask with a small oxygen tank attached and you put it on, while he continued:

“Once we exit the airlock, you’ll feel a bit weird at first. You’ll have wind at your back and the gravity will appear reversed for the world around you. But we’ll be within a restricted area, so you’ll be safe” he put on the mask and started to open the door “If at any point you stop feeling alright, let me know okay?” he looked at you intently and you got surprised by seriousness of his gaze.

You just nodded and tried to prepare for what was about to happen. As the airlock opened and you stepped outside, you scanned the scene. The area you have entered was separated from the outside world with a tall fence and was very much like a small training zone with sparring equipment and shooting range. Carefully you took a few steps forwards and suddenly felt a gust of strong wind hit you on the back with force. You stumbled and felt Neil look at you worriedly. You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm despite feeling the familiar chill of anxiety creeping in. Usually in those moments you would try to focus on something mundane so you looked up at the sky, hoping that it would do the job. The moment you looked up, a pigeon flew by, cooing and diving near the fence. Only it was inverted for the way you perceived it. Panicked, you looked at the street visible on the horizon. The cars were running backwards too. That was enough to make the anxiety kick in.

Shit… you gasped and tried to take a deep breath but found that you could not. The respirator made you feel as though you were beginning to suffocate. Every breath was not enough. It felt as though you were stuck in an airtight container, slowly losing the precious oxygen. You turned away from Neil, hoping he won’t notice your distress. You started to hyperventilate with increasing speed. Suddenly you felt Neil’s hand touch your arm, trying to make you face him. You did not want him to see you like that, so you shook it off:

“I’m fine” your voice came out breathless.

You heard him huff out a few strong curse words before he forcefully made you face him.

“No you’re not. You’re hyperventilating” he glanced at the small barometer on your oxygen tank and frowned “Okay, look at me”

Grudgingly you forced yourself to meet his gaze, aware of your tear stained cheeks and ruined mascara. His blue eyes were steady, focused on you. He took one of your hands and placed it on his chest. Your eyes widened in slight confusion, but your mind was too busy panicking to think right now.

“You have to slow down so breathe with me” his voice was soothing; the cockiness was nowhere to be found.

He began to inhale slowly, and you tried to match his tempo while forcing yourself to calm down the racing thoughts. After a few deep breaths synced up this way you felt the wave of anxiety die down. Neil was still looking at you with concern.

“Think I’m better now” you muttered, feeling embarrassed at the scene you just made “Sorry, didn’t know it will be that bad…” you admitted shyly.

With a start you realised you still had your hand placed over his heart and that Neil was keeping it in place, looking at you with an unreadable expression. When you awkwardly tugged at your hand, he released it and asked:

“You really don’t like to ask for help, do you?”

“Not really, no” you smiled slightly, and he mirrored your expression.

Your eyes found his again and you both froze, unable to look away. After another minute, which once again felt much longer, you heard someone clear their throat awkwardly. There was someone else in the training zone. That sobered you up. You quickly took a step away from Neil and glanced at the newcomer, feigning calm and composure. It was a young man with a very anxious expression on his face. You briefly wondered how long he stood there.

“Patrick” Neil greeted him with a handshake “Everything alright?”

“Yeah” Patrick looked in your direction quickly “They need you for a mission”

“Now?”

Patrick just nodded. Neil walked back to you:

“Apologies but as you see I’m needed” he squeezed your hand quickly and you just gaped at him.

Only once he started walking back into the building, did you sober up:

“And you’re just going to leave me here?! I’m bloody inverted!” you shouted, ignoring the terrified look on Patrick’s face.

“Well… yes” Neil shrugged and sent you that annoying roguish grin “Patrick here can help you with the turnstile. I’m sure you two will manage”

You really wanted to punch him.

“Oh and your training begins tomorrow” he added “Anna will tell you the details” and with that he was gone.

Fucking hell… you groaned and looked at Patrick who stared at the ground, clearly hoping that the earth would consume him any second now.

You felt very tired.

[typewriterghcst]

Title: A Very Small Wish Fandom: The Cat Returns Characters: Baron, Muta, Toto, Haru, plus some OCs Rating: PGish maybe?? Summary: A pleading request from a parent whose daughter has been cursed by a resentful witch is nothing truly out of the ordinary for the Cat Bureau— in fact, it might be so common so as to be routine— so why does something feel inherently off about this particular one? Notes: Fourth chapter of seven of a Secret Santa gift for @deedee-sunflowers. As mentioned on ao3, I split up the fourth chapter, so consider this something of an intermission! And I’m sorry it took me all the way until the fourth chapter to finally get to the ‘witch’ part of the prompt rip I also had neglected to apologize before now for the lack of romance. I hope that’s not a deal breaker orz I tend to gravitate toward gen, and that held true for this story, unfortunately, aha

                                   Ch. 4: Grandmother

By the time the errant inhabitants of the Sown Forest are put back where they belong, a few mishaps aside, and the Bureau and Haru make their way back to Vanya’s spot, any disquiet he’d been on the verge of verbalizing is long gone. He greets them with an expected cheeriness, almost shyly giving Baron’s hat back to him.

...Were he not seemingly incapable of such an emotion, that is. In truth, he is dangerously close to instead offering the Creation a remarkably potent example of ‘bedroom eyes’ as he hands the accessory over.

Perhaps in a polite attempt to distract from such a reaction, Baron asks, “Which direction is the— ah, what did you call them? The Top-Top? Will it take us long to reach our destination?”

“If we go, we will reach it,” Vanya responds nonchalantly.

Well, it doesn’t take long at all for that answer to rankle Muta’s nerves enough for him to protest.

“...Yanno, you’re pretty mouthy for something that’s about a foot tall.”

“Let’s not idle,” Baron cuts in as politely as he’s able, giving Muta a discerning look where Vanya can not see. “Time is against us, and, as previously detailed, we ought to shave off as much unnecessary labor as we possibly can in our endeavors. Mr. Vanya,” he starts, turning to the fox, “This is your home, and you know the ins and outs of the environment much more thoroughly than we do. We will follow your direction.”

“I’m still gonna complain when it doesn’t make sense, though,” Muta grumbles from the side.

“With your comprehension skills? That’s going to be a lot of complaining,” Toto is swift to remark.

“At least I’m not a birdbrain!”

“That is Oostal, though!” Vanya chirps, having clapped his paws together a few times in delight while listening to the two bicker. Then, thoughtfully, “There is a caravan that accepts passengers. It will take us to the Top-Top.”

“It’s too far to walk?”

“No,” Vanya chirrups again, scampering away and waving for the four of them to follow him shortly after. They share a dubious look with each other before complying, leaving the tidy border of the Sown Forest behind them.

When Haru turns to look just moments later out of nothing more than muted curiosity, she finds that the orderly line of white trees which made up the framework of the forest are no more than faint outlines, like a particularly abstract watercolor painting or a distant cityscape through rain-dotted glass. Seeing also that she’s let a fairly substantial gap form between her and the others even as Muta pauses to let her catch up (having noticed her absence), she jogs forward to continue beside him, putting the oddity out of her mind.

                                                          &&&

The roving carriage that Vanya leads them to is, like many things in Oostal, not so terribly outlandish so as to be wholly alien, but still just enough to feel… unfamiliar.

It’s at once delicate and rusted, another relic of Oostal’s ostensible fading vitality, or perhaps of its apparent age, two rows of seating enveloped in a velvety but threadbare and stained layer of scarlet cloth. What had likely once been quite a pretty canopy stretched over the back of it now lies in ragged gauze hanging from bent and dainty posts. The creaking of its wearied joints and wheels echo throughout the air as it rolls stubbornly over the landscape.

There are no horses. Nor is there an apparent driver. More than that, there’s no apparent motor attached to it (and had there been, it would have been the most traditionally technologically advanced object in Oostal the Bureau had yet seen). Yet Vanya is forced to break into a modest jog to catch up to the thing, and it still doesn’t stop in its implacable journey even when he manages to gallop alongside it and clear its side.

“It’s easy!” He calls to them once he’s settled in the back of the wagon.

Amusingly, simply gaining a passenger, even one so minuscule as Vanya, seems to slow the carriage, enough so that it’s little more than a meager sprint the Bureau must employ to catch up. And the addition of four more passengers results in it coming to a momentary stop; then, with all the weary resignation of a browbeaten beast of burden, it circles back around in the direction it had just come, and they are again on their way. At least, Haru assumes they are.

She notices Baron open his mouth and almost immediately close it again, looking faintly discomfited with something, and to herself she hazards a very plausible guess that it was most likely to ask how long the journey might take them.

They’ve all gathered by now that Vanya’s grasp of the passage of time is… tenuous, to say the least. It’s not an entirely comfortable handicap, considering.

So, as a rather roundabout way to procure an answer, Toto instead asks, “Would you advise getting comfortable, Vanya?”

Vanya wastes no time in flopping down into a sitting position at the edge of the base, tail twitching contentedly. “It won’t hurt!”

“So, when were you gonna tell us about that whole ‘spend too long in the forest and you can’t leave’ bit?” Muta asks sourly in the proceeding silence.

“We weren’t going to be there that long,” Vanya sniffs.

Muta appears unsurprisingly unsatisfied with this answer, and he stares the fox down for a good minute before the lack of reaction from Vanya leads to him giving up the ghost for the time being and figuratively throwing his paws in the air.

“Whatever. I deserve a nap. Don’t talk to me until we get there.”

Vanya surreptitiously turns up his nose, but otherwise doesn’t respond, and Muta wanders a short distance away to the driver’s seat, where he quickly plonks into a sleeping position with his back turned to the rest of them. Baron, having watched this show of exasperation with a small measure of knowing affection, then turns that same half-crooked smile to Vanya, this time with a faint edge of sympathy.

“...Well, if there’s room for rest—”

“A short rest,” Vanya clarifies, back to his earlier agreeable tone.

“A short rest, then— I believe I’ll take advantage of it, as well. Don’t hesitate to let us know when we’ve arrived.”

“It’ll be obvious.”

Baron nods once in acknowledgement before moving to join Muta in the front seat. The indistinct, murmuring conversation they begin shortly after is quick to fade into the ambient noise of the laboring of their current mode of transport.

Toto seems content to remain where he is, perched upon one of the velvety seats lined along the side. Haru sits across from him on the opposite row of seats.

“Not to sound skeptical or ungrateful, Vanya, but it’s awfully convenient that this carriage is so willing to take us to our next destination. Does Oostal have a lot of secrets like this?” Toto starts.

“Yes,” Vanya doesn’t hesitate to answer. Then, more thoughtfully, “...or, maybe no.”

He leans back a little and stretches, and when he continues, there’s a certain impassively dazed quality in his voice, “...The Muta Cat complains a lot about Oostal. He wants Oostal to make sense, but Oostal wasn’t made that way. It is what it is.”

“Don’t fret too much about Muta,” Toto says with a dismissive wave of his wing. “He’s just grumpy because we didn’t bring enough snacks.”

Vanya gives an amused-sounding hum.

“...also, out of curiosity, why are we using it anyhow?” The crow pats one of the cushions under him with a talon. “At least, since it’s not too far to walk.”

“Hmm, because it makes it easier.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“Because sitting down is easier than walking,” Vanya replies with a glib obliviousness, the sincerity of which Haru finds she can’t quite discern one way or the other.

Toto, at least, only laughs. “I guess you have me there.”

“It seemed like it was already on its way somewhere, though,” Haru then begins, and the oddness inherent in this ostensibly sentient carriage is not at all lost on her, though she neglects to address it specifically. “Where was it going before we, er… commandeered it..?”

“Nobody knows,” Vanya explains blithely. “Always on a journey Somewhere, though. We just let it roam, because it never stops.”

He pats the faded wooden base under him, almost affectionately.

“Maybe it will finally sit down and sleep when it gets There. In the meantime, it takes you anywhere you wish.”

For a fleeting moment, Haru thinks to ask how the wagon knows the way to all these locations, but she’s by now gathered that, however it works, locations in Oostal do not exist in the same way they do on Earth (or, indeed, in her general understanding of how such things exist). She has often liked to think of herself as being a natural with directions, and yet has consistently felt lost in Oostal (the inherent disorientation seemingly built into the Sown Forest notwithstanding).

She watches Vanya kick his dangling feet for a few minutes, and then moves from her seat to sit beside him.

“I haven’t asked yet, but I’m curious, Vanya—” She eventually starts. “What is the witch like? Does she have a name?”

Vanya seems happy enough to answer, long tail thumping once against the worn base of the carriage and one tiny paw going to his chin in thought. “We call her Grandmother.”

“Grandmother?” Toto sounds profoundly amused, and Haru can’t blame him.

“She’s given us no other name. We came up with our own, and I think she likes it. It is a very affectionate name.”

“Yeah, it is. From her antics, I would have expected her to have a more… um, nefarious name. Definitely not something so casual.” Then, after a moment of further deliberation, “Is she really a grandmother?”

Vanya emits his pealing laugh again, flapping one of his paws. “She is a witch! She has no family. She has lived almost as long as Oostal itself!”

“Th-That long? How old is Oostal..?”

“Old,” Vanya responds unhelpfully, as per usual. Haru is abruptly reminded of Muta’s earlier assertion of the same, back when they’d been searching through the Sown Forest.

“...I see.” Haru glances out at the rolling scenery— a golden sky streaked with teal blue, long, pearlescent grasses that wave in the breeze, and dark water in the distance. It’s beautiful, scenery unlike anything she’s seen before, and so blissfully dreamlike. Then, seemingly just as soon as she’d expressed her appreciation, it all shifts in an instant. It’s seamless, but… indescribably disorienting, how the colors and shapes of their surroundings suddenly melt away into something new.

The sky now is dark, clear of clouds or gold or teal-colored streaks. The gentle hills and their shimmering grasses vanish; all around them the landscape has flattened. Like the Sown Forest, the horizon stretches on so far so as to be near unfathomable. And despite the fact they had previously been traveling uphill and are now incomprehensibly rolling across a flat surface without reaching the top of the hill, there had been no crash downwards, the transition from hills to plains as unremarkable as the one from their surroundings.

If Haru spends too long questioning it, her head will start hurting, she knows it.

“I’m no expert on witches,” Toto starts behind them, “But I’ve always heard many of them have an unassuming object which serves as a source of power for them, nefarious or not. In fact, I recall one which had hidden her soul inside a flower. Does Grandmother have one..? It isn’t often I hear of mischievous witches who also happen to be very graceful losers, after all.”

“Mm, a source of her power, maybe not, but Grandmother is the sole proprietor of a very curious book,” Vanya answers. “It’s the only one of its kind, and no one quite knows just how she came to be the owner of it.”

“Oh? And what sort of book is this mysterious tome..?” Toto asks.

Vanya gives a questioning, thoughtful noise, twisting a little to look at the crow as he does. “It is like an address book. Every creature that now lives in Oostal, or once has— its name is written in that book. Its real name, that is.”

It’s here Toto tilts his head, and his eyes, to Haru, sharpen just so, not so abruptly so as to cause alarm or suspicion, but noticeably for someone who has become more accustomed to his mannerisms. When he speaks, it’s with a marked delicateness.

“...I imagine such a book would be quite coveted.”

“Oh, yes.”

It’s when they pass through a broken iron gate that Vanya suddenly stands, dusting off his hands and sides excitedly before pointing out in the distance behind the two of them (Haru has to crane her neck to see what’s got his attention; as she does, she sees that Toto is following suit, as well). 

“There it is! The ruined workshop of the Top-Top. Once home to the finest crafters of decorative eggs in all of Oostal.”

Haru, again feeling the faintest veneer of old destruction and deterioration lingering over yet another Oostal location, gazes up at the looming structure, overgrown with red ivy and moss, and the deteriorating gate they’d just rolled through, and then asks, “...What happened to the Top-Top?”

“Nobody is quite sure,” Vanya answers blithely; his own eyes never leave the dilapidated factory, and Haru gets quite the impression that where she sees the echoes of a lamentable catastrophe, he sees something quite different. “It happened overnight, and by the time there were explorers doughty enough to traverse the city, there were no remains to tell the story.”

“That’s a sad story,” Haru says.

“Mm! Sad! It’s an enduring mystery, all right. Virtuous Siree is obsessed with it. Oh! There— on the side, there’s an entrance. That was for their clients.” Vanya hops over the side of the carriage with such speed, he’s little more than a wispy, white blur. Haru slides off the back end to follow him, sharing a — look with Toto before she sees that Vanya has been joined a short ways away by Baron and Muta. 

“There will be many eggs inside,” Vanya is explaining.

“So, what, we just go in and grab one that looks good..?” Muta asks with a shrug.

“Were you paying attention to the original riddle at all?” Toto replies.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means not just any egg will do, Hairball Brain. From the sounds of it, we’re looking for one that never had the chance to be decorated. Isn’t that right, Vanya?”

Something in Vanya’s expression appears lightly annoyed, as if he feels Toto had rather upstaged him and his no doubt theatrical reveal of the answer to this particular stanza of the witch’s riddle.

“That’s right,” he answers, but his clipped tone at least doesn’t last. He laughs again, though, clapping his paws together once. “A bird should know his eggs, shouldn’t he? Here, follow me.”

                                                          &&&

If the outside of the old factory had looked desolate and crumbling, then the inside only furthers the aesthetic— peeling wallpaper, overturned furniture, thick, dusty cobwebs. The air is stale, cold. And unlike the Sown Forest, there is no persistent ambient noise to temper the silence. There are, however, hundreds (if not thousands) of tiny eggs scattered across every surface. They litter the floor. Some of them appear to have been dropped and now lie in shattered slivers across the stone flooring. 

...Not one of them, from what they can see by the door, has been decorated.

“Wa— hold on, how are we supposed to tell which one is the right one..?”

“We take them all!” Vanya responds brightly.

“You can’t be serious,” Haru starts.

“I’m not.” He scampers to a nearby cluster of eggs and swipes one, holding it out to the rest of them so that they can more easily discern the thin seam along the middle. Then, when he’s certain they’ve all four seen it, Vanya takes both paws and… gently pries it open much like a jewelry box. 

“Oh!” Haru responds with breathy awe. “It’s beautiful!”

In contrast to its plain, unadorned outside, the inside of the egg boasts a vibrant green coating, whitish gold lining an overlapping shell pattern in dainty filaments. The same gleaming platinum is present just below the egg’s seam, forming a tiny floor, upon which rests a minuscule, lace-clad mouse carved from something that resembles ivory.

“It reminds me of a music box,” Haru continues softly.

“Mm! ...But not every egg here is like this. One of them must be unlovely both inside and out.”

“It’s just a little plain, that’s all,” Haru feels oddly compelled to counter.

Muta, on the other hand, appears to have singled out a different issue in the present discussion.

“...so, the plan is to just… open every single egg here and hope one doesn’t have some glitzy trinket in it? How are we supposed to do that in just— how long do we have left..?”

“Somewhere around 28 hours,” Baron says.

“In just 25 hours! Look at all these things— there’s gotta be an easier way..!”

“There is, but…” Vanya appears rather uncharacteristically abashed, paws linked behind his back and stance nearly cringing inward. 

“But..?” Muta prompts warily.

“You can not be upset with me! It had to be done!”

“Mr. Vanya,” Baron starts with measured patience. “Please, we are here to assist you and your daughter— there is no need to keep secrets. What is the faster method you know of?”

Appeased, the fox clasps his paws together and then opens them again, revealing a modest handful of the scarlet-colored berries from the Sown Forest. 

It doesn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place.

“It was you! You’re the reason those things all turned on us!”

“I was promised there would be no upset!” Vanya cries, apparently deeming Baron the least likely to condemn him, as he quite swiftly scurries behind the Creation, only peeking out to yelp his defense. “Pretty Vanya happened across a berry bush while running to meet the others! It couldn’t hurt to have extras! What if something happened to the one the Helpful Bureau was given?”

“Cut the crap, twerp, you picked them up because you knew we’d need them to make this egg hunt easier,” Muta argues. “Why else would you have worried we’d get mad at you, like it was your fault?!”

Vanya doesn’t respond, but the way his eyes widen in apparent consternation, and the vulnerable, searching look he directs to the four of them says that he hadn’t expected to get caught in one of his own fibs. Even Baron, ever the charitable gentleman, displays some misgiving as he stares at the fox cowering behind him.

“...There do appear to be a number of details you’ve neglected to advise us of, Mr. Vanya,” he eventually agrees softly.

Feeling evidently betrayed by this quiet admonishment from Even Baron, Vanya backs away from the four of them, glancing rapidly between them all again and giving the impression he’s quite frantically running through all his options in his mind. Perhaps predictably, he settles on… well, what they’ve all come to expect as the usual.

“It has been a long time!” He cries, hiding his face in his scarf. “Little Virtuous Siree has spent so long being the way she is now! I wanted a surefire way to gain Helpful Bureau’s assistance, and fast! A time limit, I thought, was the easiest way to do it. The Pretty Vanya Creature is not so devious!”

“Th… that’s it?” Haru pauses. “I guess that explains the time measurements always being off.”

“And the speed of the riddle being solved,” Toto adds. “You must have been working on this for a while, Vanya.”

Muta seems unconvinced, but reluctantly so. “Are you really telling me that a witch not only gave you no restrictions about getting outside help but also didn’t slap down a time limit on you? Eh, look, I’m not trying to be that guy, but that just seems real careless to me, specially for a witch.”

Vanya only cries more loudly.

“Now, now,” Baron starts, offering his own handkerchief to the fox. “It is understandable why you’d feel the need to fabricate this, er, half-truth, but I do promise you, it’s not necessary. We of the Cat Bureau are quite happy to offer our assistance to you in a timely fashion, Mr. Vanya, legitimate time limit or not. And I do hope you will, here on out, feel comfortable placing your complete trust in us.”

Vanya’s black eyes, always rather stark against the pale ivory of his fur, shine now as if they’ve been dusted with glitter as he regards Baron with his paws clasped.

“Yes, yes! The Prettiest Vanya Creature promises— from here, no more fibs.”

“Good.” Baron responds with an obliging nod.

“Alright,” Toto agrees, as well, before continuing, “These berries you picked up at our last location, though— they’re going to help us find the right egg in a quicker fashion? How’s that?”

“We eat them,” Vanya answers bluntly, miming the motion of popping one of the little berries in his mouth.

A reluctant uneasiness settles over the group, then. Their eccentric client has just promised to abandon his exaggerations and falsehoods, and Haru, personally, thinks to herself she’s never been the type to rebuff a genuine apology, but… So, too, does she think this feels like an awfully monumental amount of trust to place in someone so fickle so soon.

“Eat them…” Toto echoes pensively, softly.

“...They don’t taste gross, do they?” Muta asks, unimpressed.

“Hmm, I don’t know. There are no records kept in Oostal about the taste of the Sown Forest berries. So few people have had them!”

“Well,” Baron starts, again the voice of optimism, “If, even though there have been but a handful of pioneers who have tried this particular curiosity, it hasn’t yet gained a reputation as an anathema, then I believe it should be taken as a sign of favorable fortune. No news is good news, as some might say.” 

“Bet they said the same thing about enemas,” Muta grumbles under his breath.

Vanya holds his own little red berry above his head, as if attempting to see the light pass through the opaque sphere, and smiles at it in the same way a mother might her stumbling toddler. “They are very special, like most sacred things. And because of that, they allow those who have been gifted with them a most impressive temporary ability.”

“Oh, yeah? And what ability is that..?”

Vanya smiles at Muta, distracted from the fruit. “To see to the heart of anything.”

“Ah,” Baron says with an acknowledging nod, “Like the Lubov, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“Well…” Muta sighs, interrupting the silence that settles seconds after. “Bottoms up, I guess.”

Finally, with one last tentative look between the four of them, they all take the proverbial plunge.

[macklives]

alright, im actually kind of in the mood to unpack some stuff regarding karkat's character and the way alternia works actually, so i dont mind giving this a go. and while act 5 isnt completely finished yet (so this is an analysis post for act 5 up until page 2305), there is still more to explore, and im pretty sure i have a lot more to read regarding both karkat AND alternia. until then, i will give a general layout as to what i know so far and how i can expand this in a psychological way (especially considering i did my psych exam so my mind is FRESH from studying)

alright, starting with what seems to be the deal with the hemospectrum, theres a total of 12 blood colors. HOWEVER, one of those blood colors is a "mutant" blood which is unwanted in troll culture as it is, well, "mutant", meaning whoever has this blood will get brutally slaughtered. hurrayyy. im guessing it is even lower than aradia's rust blood, as she is allowed to live but is the lowest on the hierarchy triangle. meaning karkats blood is not even ON the hierarchy triangle and simply buried underground where they hope he stays. so its not exactly pleasant to be living in a society where everyone is trying to KILL you or at least keep you away from everything.

from what i remember, troll reproduction is a vital aspect in their culture, that everyone is forced to mate and drones will come by each house to collect the genetic material. this is mandatory apparently, and if someone were to object, they will be “culled" as quickly as they could say no. alternia seems to be really keen on the whole "blood and carnage" thing, which means their probable solution to anybody breaking the law, is to kill them on sight and just leave them there to rot - regardless of who they are and what families they comes from or have. trolls are free to kill whenever or whoever they please without any governmental repercussions. which means revenge upon revenge happens without any policy.

however this is very important when looking at karkat, because karkat may not be able to do the whole reproduction process (not that we necessarily want him to, im saying this in terms of how its mandatory for every troll and there will be a time when the drones WILL come for karkat). but as he is already a mutant and if they were to "collect" from him, they would find out his blood regardless of how he hides it. they will either cull him for saying no, or cull him for his blood. karkat, in this sense, is doomed regardless. which makes his character much more interesting.

and keep in mind alternia kind of sucks, because from the looks of it, trolls are constantly tested throughout their lives to prove themselves to society that they are allowed to live and survive. but ONLY if they are the strongest among them. alternia wants to become this fearful planet where the weak die off and only those proven worthy can stay to grow up and slaughter more of their kind until the world is nothing but blood thirsty strong murderers. im not too sure who is governing alternia but they can suck a dick if they think this is how good morals work. alternia only really has one way to solve things which is to kill those who question/fight back, OR to kill those who CANNOT fight back essentially. which puts all the trolls through a double edged sword where they cannot do anything but follow the guidelines given to them by troll's society and government, and try to survive as much as they can until then.

if i remember correctly, when it comes to the law side of things. if you look at it from terezi's introduction where she explains prosecutions with her plushies (lemonsnout ect ect i forgot the term for them lol), she said "you are guilty until proven innocent" which is the polar opposite of "innocent until proven guilty” used in OUR own society today (tho i guess we are by far the "good guys" in this situation, but we are far different than how trolls live their lives). anyways, what this means is that everyone dies regardless unless theres literal proof that they have not done the crime. even so i wouldnt put it past them to do nothing about their case even WITH proof. terezi even goes to say that technically there is no way to deal with the law on alternia, and most of crimes get solved through death. she even demonstrates this by how easily she hung the "suspect" and flipped a coin to determine his fate. however, even with the coin landing on the side of safety, where the suspect were to be released, she said "im blind remember i cannot see this coin" and essentially "killed" him. while terezi may have just been playing with her plushies, theres something we can take from this which dictates how their actual court cases are actually solved.

NOW, vriska (yes ik pls bare with me here, i will not make it about vriska but i do have a point here), from the last few pages i saw, can basically kill her friends in an instant, without any remorse. i can tell she sees this as the most "necessary" solution for her problems. i wouldnt say its for survival, but she does do it as a way to provide some sort of safety on alternia. she is a higher blood, and apparently the high bloods are known to kill whoever they please as long as its convenient. and since trolls have this whole fad of "killing the ones who cause you trouble so the problem is out of the way", she is wired to think its the only solution when threatened or when you dislike a person. 

god, she killed aradia because she wanted "revenge", because she wanted to get back at aradia for tormenting her with ghosts EVEN IF aradia did so because she threw tavros off a cliff in the first place. this may have worsened their friendship, KEEP IN MIND THEY WERE FRIENDS, but NEITHER, and i mean neither terezi/vriska/aradia, had any remorse if the other dies as long as there was a reason. in the story, vriska didnt care what happened to tavros because she disliked him, therefore becoming pretty bias over his fate. because of this attempt at killing, aradia didnt care what happened to vriska either, and neither did terezi. terezi sold her out to one of the most powerful beings on their planet, solely because of their revenge cycle. as long as the troll in question did something "malicious”, then that plays a factor in their morals. vriska gave no second thought to killing both of her friends (or at least attempt to with tavros), terezi also tormented john in act 4 which led to his “doomed timeline death” and sold vriska out after she realized vriska wouldnt change. so no fucking WONDER karkat tries to hide who he is, he's overly cautious to not let it slip out because even the people he calls friends could backstab him at any given time considering theres LITERAL EXAMPLES OF THESE TROLLS HAVING DONE SO.

to karkat, he sees this as dangerous, which is why he even CALLS vriska dangerous to begin with. she might not even hesitate to kill him herself or maybe sell him out to the drones, because 1. she may not want to be a witness to something society actively seeks to destroy and 2. she cares more for her survival than karkats. EVEN if they were friends (re: aradia and vriska and terezi). so it just shows. 

on that note, i find it funny how karkat indirectly distracted vriska after she baited him with the question of his blood in a past conversation, which prompted karkat to monologue about troll romance. he was, yes, VERY interested in this topic to start with, but it was a nice little bonus for karkat as to not be found out by the one person who would most likely kill him even if it wasnt on purpose. however, we do not know how this will play out IF she does find out, we just know karkat is in the right to be scared of the theory.

and, alright i do have to mention this, while karkat may have been an angry fucker to START with, who spites the world and throws out insults every chance he gets, i feel he does this as more of a survival instinct as well. he doesnt care what he says to people no matter what they rank on the hemospectrum. they dont know his blood color so he feels he has some sort of immunity, but he just needs to keep it hidden. it also may just be his personality, as he IS a character who was given specific traits and andrew went along with it without so much thinking about plot. yet if you look at this from more of the metaphorical route, think about it with uhhhh lets say the perspective of how dogs work. for example, when you put a chihuahua next to a doberman, a doberman is more of an excited, energetic dog whereas a chihuahua will rain hell down on anybody who so goes near them. sometimes this is to make up for their size, to seem as menacing as the larger doberman, as they have nothing else to fend themselves with. another way to look at it is, if you see a bear (i forget if its black/brown or grizzly) you make yourself seem like the bigger person by scaring it off with sounds and eventually it will leave you alone. these sort of tactics work in the sense of survival. this is sort of what karkat could be doing, he uses insults and a defensive shouting to not really "hide" himself, but to have some sort of way as to not be found out if people start to question. someone asks him "hey karkat whats your blood" he goes "FUCK YOU, FUCK OFF, END OF STORY" which could make a person go "yo sorry dude forget i ever asked". so this could be a factor as to why he is so crabby, however on the other hand, he is crabby because that is also his character. andrew probably thought yo cancer = crab = crabby. however i do like how he is perceived and the whole "mutant blood" really made me do a double take on how he views life himself. he has to always hide who he is or he will get physically killed. alternia would take joy in finding out he does not belong there because lets face it, alternia is a bitch of a planet.

this also brought me to ask the question, why does karkat want to be a leader if hes so scared of what would happen to him if he were to be found out? which then, at first i said lol this is just karkat, he wants to a leader because he just wants to be the leader, he likes when things go to plan and that he the most say in their sburb plans considering he thinks everyone else is a "dumbass". to which, i then thought about it more and went ouch what if hes a leader because he knows hes not valued enough in society, that he somehow wants to feel some sort of importance in the world, so he wants to become a leader. i imagine younger karkat, not knowing why his blood is so undermined, finding out he is not wanted and suddenly on the most wanted list without having even DONE anything. even TAVROS said he was on that list, but only because he was weak and had no back-bone, here karkat may have been strong but no matter what, he was to be culled BECAUSE of his blood. something he cannot change no matter what. imagine a little kid knowing he will die at any point because of who he is (rlly sounds familiar if you think about it). so of course, he hides himself from the world, but do you think for an instant, little angry karkat wants to simply be FORGOTTEN about? i doubt that, he wants to be heard, he doesnt necessarily want to be rejected as he knows he will be, so while he does hide his blood, he wants to have a voice no matter what. when being a leader, people dont reject you, they LISTEN. they all may not want to because karkat is just a fucking ticking time bomb, who can lash out at any second, but i feel theres now a reason why he has this superiority complex. he wants to sort of become the person he knows he never will become (if you put it into that perspective). so thats kind of why im giving him the benefit of the doubt here.

i would also like to point out a sort of.... comparison?? not with the dogs but with unwanted children in a family household. this doesnt necessarily apply to karkat, but sub in family household with society and it might as well. (on that note, a warning/viewer discretion, if you have any problem with this kind of discussion, i wouldnt read further into this paragraph and skip to the next one) alright, the unwanted child psychology basically deals with the process of a child which is neglected by their parents, and/or know that they were never wanted in the family. i read an article a while back when we were discussing this in a lecture, we were browsing multiple people's perspective on the matter, and one said "An affective relationship may be suffocating to [the unwanted/neglected child]: it’s a defense against intimacy of which they know nothing. Normally they fluctuate between egotism and deep feelings of inferiority. They don’t understand what a balanced and healthy self-esteem looks like." it explains how the child who grows up in an unwanted home admits great emotion deprivation, because the child's bonds of affection are extremely fragile, and this can lead to both egotism and feeling like they are inadequate. and it really strongly shows karkats personality. we havent gotten that much from him in general, but considering how he uses this egotism to cover up the fact that he may be doomed, really shows the similarity. i liked this short article so i want to give some points to take into consideration, specifically this part: "It will be very difficult for unwanted children to build healthy relationships of affection in their adult life. Love is a foreign language to them. They don’t know how to decipher the codes and much less how to build them. It’s very hard for them to need and to be needed. That’s why, more often than not, they completely shirk their conflicts with peers and superiors, or do nothing but generate them. They speak incessantly about the broken relationship that marked their arrival in the world. A person with such a background will need help to get through those abysses of love that live in their heart. The most important step is that they recognize that their discomfort doesn’t depend on who they are, but the circumstances that led to their being." it may not be 100% tru for karkat but theres a small portion of it that can link back to karkats view on life and how being this mutant can really change who he is as a person. and i hope you can see the similarity between karkats character and this form of psychology. yet i also do not fully know the depth of karkat vantas. however i do hope it continues to build up in this way, as it would be both interesting and make us feel more for him as a person.

alright, i think if i write any more i will never stop aghjsk, which is a bit too much for a sunday afternoon, basically to sum up this post, trolls are violent and karkat will be killed if hes found out, even by his friends if it comes down to it. so karkat cannot really trust anybody, hes alone and imagine the thrill he had when he saw jack cut his hand to show the bright red blood? that he finally has someone LIKE HIM. imagine when he finds out about the kids. so i believe in his growth, while he needs to get a better vocabulary, i do get why hes so defensive all the time. because hes both scared and unwanted. and he wants to make up for it.

and i guess with all that being said, you can tell i now have a slight soft spot for the kid lmao

[kprciffdw]

Ratchet and Kim Possible Chronicles: The Lombax Secret-Part 10

They ran from that place as fast as they could. Ratchet: "That was a close one!" Ron: "Tell me about it! We barely made it out of there without getting caught!" Kim: "Good thing Talwyn showed up when she did otherwise that would have ended badly." Ratchet: "You can say that again!"

They received another transmission from Talwyn. Talwyn: "Ratchet. Kim. Can you guys still hear me?" Ratchet: "We read you loud and clear." Kim: "Thanks for helping us out of there, Talwyn." Talwyn: "It was my pleasure. I just want to let you know that I managed to snag the artifact during all of that confusion. Cronk and Zephyr will be landing their ship at that Skull Radio Tower." Kim: "Got it! We'll see you there." Ratchet: "Let's go."

They darted off immediately. They did not go far before hearing Cap'n Slag on the loud speakers. Cap'n Slag: "Attention, ye worthless swine! A Lombax and his friends just stole our treasure! Snap to it and bring me their heads!" Kim: "Geez, he sounds really angry!" Ratchet: "Well, we did steal from the pirates." Ron: "But they stole from Talwyn and her dad!" Ratchet: "That's…also true."

As they rushed through, the pirates were a lot more fierce and vicious than they were earlier. They really had it in for the group. Regardless, they fought through onslaught after onslaught. It was a long and perilous run through, which really does go without saying, but they were able to make it out of all of it unscathed.

Eventually, they were able to reach the radio tower. They kept on going until they found Talwyn, Cronk and Zephyr waiting for them. There, she and her 2 robots were struggling to get the artifact to work. Ratchet: "Hey. Having trouble?"

It didn't take long for Talwyn to notice them. Ron: "Um…perhaps you should let Ratchet have a crack at that thing since, you know, he's a Lombax?" Ratchet: "Uh, yeah, why don't I give it a try?"

Talwyn hesitated for a bit. Talwyn: "OK, genius, you figure it out."

She tossed the artifact directly towards Ratchet. Immediately after he caught it, it began to react. Ratchet: "Uh…how do you…"

He touched one side of the artifact and at that moment, it displayed a holographic image of a planet directly from its top. Ratchet: "Whoa!" Ron: "Whoa…what is that?" Kim: "It looks like a holographic image of a planet. But…what planet is that?" Talwyn: "Wait a second…that's Rikon V; that must be where the secret might be hidden." Kim: "Then that's where we need to go next." Talwyn: "I agree with you on that, Kim. I'll send the coordinates to your ship. Meet us there as soon as you can."

She departed from the planet with Cronk and Zephyr on their cruiser. The group stood by for a bit. Ron: "Huh, I wonder why that doodad reacted when Ratchet touched it." Kim: "Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he's a Lombax." Clank: "Hm…it would make sense, considering that the device consists of Lombax technology. I would surmise that they have built much of their technology to respond to their kind only." Kim: "Yes, that would make sense." Ratchet: "Come on, guys. Let's go."

They returned to their ship, got back in and left the planet.

They made the long flight to Rikon V. Along the way, they flew through the Rakar Star Cluster, where they were ambushed by the space pirates. Kim: "What!?! They followed us!?!" Cap'n Slag: "Avast, you mangy bilge rats!!! This be Cap'n Slag, scourge of the galaxy and runner-up of the Suzy Sweet's Homemade Butterscotch competition. Return our artifact at once or face the gallows." Ron: "Uh…he seems really angry, you guys." Ratchet: "Don't worry, Ron, we can handle this."

They flew through the system of stars as they fought many of the pirates and dodged their attacks. They also made strides to dodge solar flares of some of the stars that they flew really close to. Ron: "Whoa! Must you fly so close to these stars!?!" Ratchet: "Oh! Sorry, Ron."

They kept fighting until they managed to defeat a lot of them, chasing them away. Kim: "Finally! Thought we would never ditch those heaps of salty rust buckets." Ratchet: "Come on, let's get to Rikon V."

They then managed to fly away from the star cluster and continued on towards Rikon V.

They took on another long flight until they arrived at Rikon V. Shortly afterwards, they were flying through the skies of the planet. Zephyr: "Uh, oh! We're picking up multiple hostiles on the spaceport. Ha ha! You rookies got the stones for a HALO jump?" Ron: "Uh…HALO…jump? What does that mean?"

Ratchet pushed on a few buttons on the dashboard. Ratchet: "It means we're going to have to free fall from here."

The window of the cockpit opened up. Ron: "Oh, no, not again…!"

They were ejected from the ship. Ron screamed as they fell all the way down. Soon enough, Cronk and Zephyr were seen falling nearby. They then landed on the ground safely and began fighting through the ground area. Talwyn: "Ratchet. Kim. I've pinpointed the coordinates from the holo-map. The location that we're looking for is just ahead of you, just past the spaceport, but Tachyon's got the port surrounded, so be careful." Kim: "Got it! We'll keep our guard up."

They fought through many enemies as they made their way further up. Cronk and Zephyr fought along side the group, blasting away at the many enemies that were in their way. Ron: "Oh, yeah! Let's stick it to that tyrannical Cragmite brat! Booyah!" Rufus: "Booyah!" Ratchet: "Heh, couldn't have said it better myself, Ron."

As they continued fighting through, Cronk and Zephyr made one comment after another about the "good old days" of the many battles that they have fought in the past. Despite them being old war bots, they really did put up a good fight against the enemy forces. They were indeed very formidable. Kim: "Huh, these 2 old robots are actually pretty good, for a pair of chatty, metallic geezers." Cronk: "Hey! I heard that, little missy!" Zephyr: "Mind your elders, young lady!" Kim: "Oh, sorry." Cronk: "Well, rude comment aside, we do appreciate that first bit that you mentioned." Zephyr: "Yeah, you're not half bad, yourself and that Lombax is also really good. Although…your blonde friend? He's…" Cronk: "He doesn't seem like much of a fighter." Ron: "Hey! I'm doing the best that I can!" Ratchet: "(sigh) Oh, Ron…"

[writingonacloudblog]

I Will Always be His Daughter

I remember when I was six-years old, my father would deadbolt the doors so no one could get in, but also so I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t go outside to play with the other kids or even run around in the backyard. I always wondered why he did that but even when I was a teenager, I never had the courage to ask. Mostly because my father looked at me like I was a monster he was required to live with. I always thought he would kill me one day, but I actually came out of that house alive. I saved up all the money I could find around the house as my father drank his life away and promised I would never see him again. And if he died, I wouldn’t care.

As I sit in my kitchen with a cup of coffee in my hand, I can’t help but think of what my father is doing right at this moment. Mostly because it’s been twenty years since we last seen each other, and I remember that day vividly. I was sixteen years old at the time and I finally saved up enough to leave his house for good. So, I grabbed 2 outfits and put them into a small trash bag to go on my own journey to find my identity. Sadly, it was a special day for me, the mother I lost, and a tragic day for him.

“You ungrateful little bitch…” He mumbled under his breath as I walked into the living room with my bag in hand. Even though I was 16 I knew I needed to act like an adult and take my life into my own hands. I needed to make sure the life I was given isn’t wasted away on a drunk old man who can’t remember he has a daughter to take care of. I wanted the life I would see on all the TV shows like My Wife and Kids and Good Times where the family would laugh with each other and be understanding even when there are struggles. I wanted a family that would love me unconditionally and not push me towards a dark abyss of depression.

I looked at him with tears in my eyes trying to keep them from cascading down my face. I didn’t want to show weakness as I was about to leave. I wanted show that I was stronger than what he thought I was. I wanted to show him the “monster” that he didn’t create.

“So, you want to leave? You are just like your mother you know?” He laughed as he took another swig of whiskey.

“How can I be someone I never met? She died before I was born, or did you forget? Are you that drunk that you can’t remember that? That drunk that you can’t for a second remember her!” I asked feeling the suppressed frustration being released for the first time. I could feel tension in the room as I said these things most 16-year-olds wouldn’t mouth to their parents. It’s always respect your elders but never respect children as well.

“You should ask yourself that question. Don’t you realize everything I have done for you? The long nights I have worked to make sure you had food or the clothes you are wearing, “

“You made that money so you could drink it away. I am not that innocent child anymore. I know exactly what you have done for me! Nothing. All you have done for me is make me resent you,”

“LAYLA MARIE!”

“You have no right to call me by my name. No right to have kept me locked up in this house. And the audacity to call me the name that my mother gave me? You are a real piece of work.”

“Watch your mouth…”

“No, I won’t. I am tired of not living my life! I have no one here. I am alone here. I am tired of being treated like I am some murderer!” I yelled with every breath I had left. I remember feeling my throat become scratchy from all the yelling. I remember clenching my fist wanting to harm him in some way. I remember hearing him laugh at me and mocking me with a smile like a Cheshire Cat.

“I should have let her give you up you know. Because if you weren’t here, SHEwould be here!” He yelled at me his smile changing like the weather. From sunshine to a thunderstorm his whole demeanor became dark. This man was my father and I had to get away.

________________________________________________________

I put my coffee cup down into the sink and go into the fridge to grab the cupcake with a candle on top that I bought after work. When I place it on the counter all the memories of my father flash before my eyes. Him sitting in his recliner after he got off work, watching the NBA playoffs as I sat in my room wondering why I wasn’t allowed to eat that night. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes in the living room wafting up my nose even though I am in my own house, like my father was right beside me. I lit the candle on the cupcake with my lighter thinking of all the birthdays I had before. They weren’t happy at all.

“Happy Birthday Layla….” I say to myself before I blow out the candle not making a wish. I never made one in the past so why make one now. I could hear my phone ring in the other room. I check the time on the oven and it’s too late for anyone to call me. I have no friends or a lover. Its just me against the world as it should be. But for some odd reason I get a feeling that I should answer immediately. Like my world will crumble if I don’t. So, I walk into the other room and pick up my cell phone, hesitant to answer.

“Hello?” asked the voice on the other line. The words wouldn’t form from my mouth.

“Hello? Is this Layla Jones? I am calling about your father, Fredrick Jones,” Hearing his name for the first time in years made my heartbeat rapidly like a drum. Why am I getting a call about him?

“Y yes this is her. Who am I speaking to?”

“I am a nurse at Matagorda General Hospital. I am sorry to inform you of this news, but your father passed away this morning.”

My heart and time stopped. I didn’t know whether to celebrate or to cry. I didn’t know whether to tell her to go away and leave me alone or to cry and ask if she is lying. 20 years later and no call or an apology from him. And now he’s gone from this earth.

“I’m so sorry Ms. Jones. If you would like I can connect you to,”

“No no that won’t be necessary. Thank you for letting me know,” I said before hanging up the phone and sitting on the floor staring at the wall. I knew I have to go back home and bury him since he didn’t have anyone else. At least that’s how I left him. I left him there with his whiskey in hand drunk like he always was.

I take few deeps breaths to calm my nerves and get up from the floor to pack my suitcase for my flight back home. I know don’t have a ticket, but I know that I can get one for 2 days later. I grab my nice black suitcase with leather handles and grab the clothing that is suitable for the humid weather that makes your hair frizz up into an afro. I close my suitcase up after getting everything packed away neatly and set it to the side in my room. I always thought one day I would have to face him, but I didn’t think I would be facing him in a coffin.

________________________________________________________

A few days later, I landed in my hometown feeling a sense of myself again. The humidity embraced me into a tight hug as I placed my bags into the car I rented for the few days I would be here. I put my old home’s address into the GPS hoping that when I arrive my father still hadn’t moved out. Driving down these small-town roads and seeing places I never got to explore like the schools or the small shopping center, makes me feel like I don’t know this place at all. The only place I remember is my fathers’ house and the airport. The only memory being my father and that’s all.

I pulled up to the house and saw about ten cars parked on the side of the road along with 3 cars parked in the driveway including my dad’s old 1990 Chevrolet Impala. I didn’t think my dad had anyone in his life when I left. He never had friends that came over to watch the game or have a couple drinks. He never really talked about his family or my mom’s family since he was practically disowned, and he felt a lot of guilt about my mother’s death that he never told them that I was still alive.

I got out of my car and locked it, walking up to the front door that has changed since I was last here. I remember staring at the old front door analyzing the rusted screws and the dents on the top and bottom. Now it has changed to a door as white as dove with bronze screws and a beautiful flower wreath that makes me think of the gates to heaven. I try to calm myself taking a few deep breaths as I lift my hand to knock on the door wondering who I will face.

A woman opens the door staring at me, and I don’t recognize her. She was about 5’5’’ with a salt and pepper braided bun greased down to perfection, her eyes red but her demeanor stronger than a bull. I could smell her perfume and felt a sense of nostalgia to the old ladies in church who would always sit in the front of service and fan themselves while singing every church hymn loud for everyone to hear.

“Can I help you?” She asked staring me down like I was a threat to her.

“Yes, ma’am I am just wondering if I am at the right place actually.” I said looking past her and seeing about 20 people in a house with a changed interior from what I left it. The recliner he used to sit in is gone. The smell of smoke and whiskey doesn’t waft towards my nose anymore, but a scent of lavender incense mixed with this woman’s perfume surrounds me.

“Well, I can only tell you if you let me know what you are looking for chile,” She placed her hands on her hips and stared at me like she was trying to figure out who I was.

“A man I used to know lived here and I heard he passed away, so I came to pay respects. But I think I might be at the wrong place,” I stared at the ground and sighed preparing to be on my way to the hotel I booked. I could feel her eyes analyzing my face and my clothing wondering if I was some good for nothing child who is looking for trouble. Most likely asking herself why I had showed up at her house?

“Well, the only man who stayed here was my husband, Fredrick. Are you a friend of his from his old job? Or from the grocery store?” She asked, her eyebrow arched up. I couldn’t tell her I was his daughter because I doubt he ever mentioned me. His daughter who left him behind to find her own life. And imagine being the wife of a man who had daughter you didn’t know about?

“Yes, ma’am I knew him from the grocery store. I am sorry for you’re lost.”

“This gathering is only for family but thank you for the condolences. I am sure Freddie is in a better place.”

“Mom” a feminine yet bright voice called from behind her. When the older woman turned around, I caught glimpse of a girl who looked similar my dad with light brown eyes and his nose. She looked to be in her early twenties with a beautiful black designer dress you would see in Vogue magazine. She must be my fathers’ pride and joy since she doesn’t look like she has suffered at all.

“Yes Kayla?” the older woman asked back.

“Who’s at the door?” Kayla asked catching a glimpse of me before I put my head down looking at the ground, praying to God that I can just run back to my car and get the hell out of here.

“Just a bagger from the grocery store baby girl.”

“Well Aunt Shelly needs help with the potato salad she’s about to put raisins in it again.”

“I swear this woman is gonna make me lose my damn mind…” She mumbled as she turned to look at me. “Thanks again for coming by Honey, we all appreciate it. These last 2 days have been very hard on us. I used to go to the hospital everyday to go check up on him and it hurt me to see him in pain. I am just glad he is back home with the lord. He was such as good father and an even greater husband you know?” She tried to hold back her tears. I couldn’t agree on anything she was saying at all. The father I had was not good at all. He wasn’t some angel sent from heaven, but I guess that’s just her view of a devil in disguise.

As she and I said our goodbyes and the door closed in front of me, I regretted going back to my father’s home. I got back into my car with my suitcase in the trunk and drove back to the airport. There was no reason for me stay there when I’m not his family anyway. The way he treated me I shouldn’t want to pay respects to him at all. He had a new wife and daughter while I was struggling to come to terms that I never will have a sitcom relationship with him. I had to go to therapy and find love within myself because I lacked the love and support of a parental figure. He made me look like a fool again except in death.

I drove back to the airport straight from the funeral. I didn’t care how much a plane ticket would cost me, I just wanted to go back to my life again. I wanted to leave the past behind and pay attention to my future again. I sat in the waiting area and all I could do is stare at the carpet, watching the patterns expecting it to change and have some type of relief. I remember sitting in this airport with a trash bag, a plane ticket, and no plan, crying for someone to save me from him. I begged God to end my suffering and let me be with my mother. Yet, he was a good father?

When I got on the plane, all the comprehension of what just occurred just wouldn’t add up to me. He had a whole replacement family that doesn’t even know about me. I bet they don’t know about my mother or how he was a useless drunk so many years ago. The man who I begged to be my father for years until I had enough.

When I arrived back at my condo from my overnight flight back, I went to check my mailbox for my usual credit card bills and rent reminder. But instead, there was an envelope with a scent I knew too well. I looked at the envelope and read Fredrick Jones on the left-hand corner. A part of me wanted to burn the letter in the fireplace, especially since I wasted a trip to be confronted by his new family that he most likely treated in the way I always hoped he would treat me. But the other side of me wanted to open the letter carefully and cry until my eyes became sore. I wanted to open and see an apology for the way he treated me all those years. I wanted to finally hear him say that I am not a disappointment or a murderer.

So many things in one letter that I wanted to be said so I can cry until I can’t cry anymore. The years of hatred I had for this man and the love I was looking for in this man will be buried 6 feet under. But I will never open this letter. I will never forget my father and I know I will always be his daughter.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Dark Side of the Moon: Part Three

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,314

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

When you first arrived at the shack, sunlight shone through the open doors and windows, but as soon as you left, it was nighttime. You three were on top of a hill, and Sam’s shack was nowhere to be found. You didn't know whose memory or vision this was until the same little girl, now a little older, came running up to you with a wide smile.

“Who the hell is this?” Dean asked when she gave you a tight hug.

There was nothing you could say, but you gave one look at Sam and he immediately knew. The little girl let go of you only to hug Dean, and he turned stiff since he didn’t know what to do. Once the little girl let go, she began running down the hill excitedly.

“Come play with me!” she yelled, her voice fading until she was gone completely.

Yep, this was definitely Amara’s way to make you feel guilty… and it was working.

“Why did she look like me?” Dean asked.

God, please. There was no easy way to tell Dean this, and it certainly wasn’t the time to get into it now. As if he was listening to you, the scene suddenly changed to a road, and Dean’s focus was on that now instead of the little girl. You silently thanked whoever was listening for the distraction. You were going to tell him eventually, and if the guilt continued, it would certainly be soon.

“What memory is this?” Dean asked.

“No idea,” Sam cleared his throat, obviously lying about it. “Alright, come on. Dean… Road. God. Remember?”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. This,” he looks at Sam accusingly, “is the night you ditched us for Stanford, isn’t it? This is your idea of Heaven? Wow.” He laughs painfully. “This was one of the worst nights of my life.”

“I can’t control this stuff,” Sam groaned.

“Seriously? I mean this is a happy memory for you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I was on my own. I finally got away from Dad.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t the only one you got away from,” Dean scoffed.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I just--”

“I know. You didn’t think of it like that.”

“Dean! Come on, can we not fight?” you asked, tired of all the secrets and lies.

That’s rich coming from a woman who’s keeping the biggest one of all.

“C’mon! Your Heaven is somebody else’s Thanksgiving! Okay. It’s bailing on your family. What do you want me to say?” Dean yelled at his brother.

That stung deep since you knew he would be more pissed at you than anything else. Would you two even be okay if you told him? Should you tell him?

“Man, I never got the crusts cut off my PB & J. I just don’t look at family the way you do.”

“Yeah, but I’m your family. We’re your family!” Dean motioned to you and him.

“I know...”

“I mean, we’re supposed to be a team. It’s supposed to be you, me, and Y/N against the world, right?”

“Dean, it is!”

“Is it?” he asked after a pause.

“Seriously, shut the fuck up! Both of you! I am sick and tired of this fighting! God damn!” you yelled, fisting your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t think you’re little miss perfect!” Sam pointed an accusatory finger at you.

“What does that mean?” Dean asked, looking between you and his brother. “Is there something I don’t know?”

“No, there isn’t,” you gritted your teeth.

Suddenly search lights appeared in the sky, and you knew it was Zachariah looking for you once more.

“Go! Go!” Dean yelled, and you three immediately took off toward the trees at the side of the road.

You followed the brothers into the darkened woods, eventually jumping over a log and hiding inside of it. That took a lot out of you, but you tried to get your breathing in control.

“Wow. Running from angels. On foot. In heaven,” Zachariah spoke as he followed you calmly into the forest. “With out-of-the-box thinking like that, I’m surprised you three haven’t stopped the Apocalypse already.”

“Guys. What’s the problem? I just want to send you back to Earth, that’s all,” Zachariah said, snapping his fingers so that it’s suddenly daytime.

The sun was bright, and you shielded your eyes before they got used to the light. Taking a deep breath, you turned and peeked over the log. Zachariah is standing a few yards away with his back turned to you. You were dead so you didn’t have your powers to help you this time.

“I mean, that is, after I tear you a cosmos of new ones. You’re on my turf now, boys and girl. And by the time I through with you, you’re going to be begging to say yes,” he laughed.

“Go!” you whispered, and the brothers didn’t hesitate to argue with you.

You three took off running in the opposite direction, and Zachariah turned with a smile since he finally knew where you three were. There were a lot of trees, and you tried to zig zag your way through them when you came to a screeching halt. Zachariah was right in front of you, and his smile said that he was pissed and done with your shit.

“Guys, c’mon. You can run but you can’t run,” he laughed.

“Go!” you yelled and turned the other way.

Zachariah loved the game you four were playing since he let you run from him only to capture you. It was a sick game of capture the flag only you three were the flag. This time, however, you came to a halt when confronted by a slim figure in a colorful mask and a gold cape.

“What the fuck?” you whispered.

The figure put one finger to his mouth to indicate that you should be silent.

“Shh. Hurry! This way!” he encouraged you to follow him.

He lead you to a small wooden shack in the middle of the woods. When he approached the door, he scribbled some symbols on the rusted door then opened it and ran inside. There was nothing left to do but follow since he looked to be a lot better than Zachariah.

“Wait, who are you?” Sam asked when everyone was safe inside and the door was shut.

The room is much bigger than it should be since the shack you saw was tiny. Even though the inside is dim, the tables and chairs are visible in the light from the windows. The figure pulls off his mask and his cape.

“Buenos dias, bitches,” the man smirked.

“Ash?” you asked with a smile.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him. Ash clapped his hands twice, and the lights come on.

“Welcome to my blue heaven,” he chuckled.

Now you know why this place looked so familiar. It was Ellen’s Roadhouse. The memories in this place brings a smile to your face, but then you remembered Ellen and Jo were dead and you grew more sad.

“Good God, the Roadhouse. It even smells the same,” Dean laughed as soft music played in the background.

“Bud, blood and beer nuts. It’s the best smell in the world. How 'bout a cold one? Up here? No hangover,” he chuckled, snapping his fingers which made the drinks appear.

You grabbed a seat in the middle of the brothers and grabbed the beer to chug.

“So… no offense,” Sam cleared his throat, not knowing how to say this.

“How did a dirt bag like me end up in a place like this? I’ve been saved, man. I was my congregation’s number one snake handler.”

“And you said this was your heaven?”

“Yup! My own personal heaven!” he shotguns his beer and burps to let everyone know that he finished.

“And when the angels jumped us? We were…?”

“In your heaven,” Ash finished for Sm.

“So there are two heavens?” you asked, clearly not doing too good.

He saw how tired you looked, but he decided not to comment on that right now.

“No, more like a hundred billion. So, no worries, it’ll take those angels boys a minute to catch up.”

“What?” Dean asked, completely confused.

“See, you gotta stop thinking of heaven as one place. It’s more like a butt-load of places all crammed together. Like Disneyland except without all the anti-Semitism.”

“Disneyland?” Sam questioned.

“Mm-hmm. Yeah. See you got Winchesterland,” he motions to indicate the bar, “Ashland,” he motions all around outside the bar, “A whole mess of everybody-else-lands. Put them all together: Heaven. Right? At the center of it all? Is the Magic Kingdom. The Garden.”

“So everybody gets a little slice of paradise,” you put the pieces together.

“Pretty much. A few people share—special cases,” Ash shrugged.

“What do you mean ‘special’?” Dean wondered.

“Aw, you know. Like, uh, soulmates. Anyway. Most people can’t leave their own private Idaho’s.”

“But you ain’t most people.”

“Nope. They ain’t got my skills. Hell, I’ve been all over. Johnny Cash. André the Giant. Einstein. Sam, that man can mix a White Russian. Hell, the other day? I found Mallanāga Vātsyāyana,” he laughed.

“Who?”

“He wrote the Kama Sutra. Huh, that boy’s heaven? Ah, sweaty. Confusing.”

“All this from a guy who used to sleep on a pool table,” Dean chuckled.

“Yeah. Now that I’m dead, I’m living, man, a whole lot more.”

“How did you find us?” you asked, taking the second beer he offered you.

“I rigged up my very own holy-rolling police scanner,” he pulls out a laptop from underneath the bar. He hits the power button, and it showed a mess of sound graphs and making this horrible annoying piercing sound once it started up. “That’s angels. Blabbing Enochian, okay? I’m fluent. I heard that you were up. Of course, I had to come find you. Again.”

“Again?” you asked, surprised.

Ash turned off the computer and place it back underneath the counter.

“This ain’t the first time here. I mean, you three die more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” Dean asked, even more surprised.

“Ah, yeah… you don’t remember. God! Angels. Must’ve Windexed your brain,” he chuckled.

“Have you found anyone else we might know? Ellen and Jo?” you asked with a hopeful tone.

“Ellen and Jo are dead?” he asked, clearly taken aback.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. A few months now. Sorry,” Sam whispered guiltily.

“Um, hmm. Uh, they went down fighting?” Ash spoke once he composed himself.

“Yeah. Until the end.”

“Yeah, a lot of good it did. How ‘bout our folks?” Dean asked bitterly.

“I’ve been looking all over for John Winchester, Mary too, but so far: nada. I’m sorry. But hey! There is somebody that wants to jaw with you. Hold up,” he grinned, leaving the bar to go into the back room that used to be his.

There are symbols on the door much like the ones he drew on the outside of the shack door. A moment later, he returns with none other than Pamela Barnes, and as much as you’re happy to see her, you couldn’t even muster up a smile.

“Pamela!” Sam grinned.

“Nice to see you boys again,” she grinned, winking at each brother to show that she had her eyes back.

She turned to you but frowned since she could tell you did something terrible. If only you could tell her without judgment.

While in waiting, Ash and Sam were trying to find out a way to the Garden--one that won’t get you killed or captured in the process. Dean and Pamela sat together to discuss whatever it is they wanted to talk about, but you were sitting alone since this guilt was eating you alive. You didn’t know how it was possible, but you might actually die in Heaven. Then where would you go?

Dean looks so normal talking to Pamela, and you wondered what he would look like if he knew the secret you’ve been harboring for weeks now. Would he be okay with it? Would he just suggest to try again? Would he be pissed? Would he hate you? Would you two even be okay? The longer this goes on, the worse it’s going to be. It’s going to be even worse if he finds out from someone other than you.

Pamela whispered something to Dean before she got up and made her way over to you. She sat down across from you in the booth you were in, and you managed to give her a weak smile.

“I know what you did.”

“Yeah everyone does except for Dean,” you sighed, not bothering to try and hide it.

“You need to tell him.”

“How can I? He yelled at his own brother for bailing on family. What’s going to happen when he finds out I killed his child?”

“There is nothing worse than keeping something from someone that deserves to know the truth. I said it before and I’ll say it again, I see a bright light within you. You’re a good witch, Y/N. You two will work it out.”

“I don’t think so. I think this is going to break us,” you whispered. “The guilt is eating me alive. I was fine with it at first because I didn’t want kids, but it’s different now. Dean deserves a family, and I know we could have worked it out with the Apocalypse and stuff. Pamela, he’s going to hate me. I know it because I hate me.”

“You two were meant for each other. I saw it when I was alive, and I see it now. I promise you that you’ll work it out.”

“Yeah,” you whispered with a shrug.

“Hey! Found a shortcut to the Garden,” Sam announced.

Ash gave you, Dean, and Pamela a thumbs up, and the older woman was the only one to return it.

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[spideyspoods]

Foolproof (FFH Spoilers!)

Pairing: Peter Parker X F!Reader

A/N: Here is the finished product! Thank y’all so much for all the love on the sneak peek :”)

Warnings: FFH Spoilers! Some cursing and depictions of action sequences. Word Count: 4k (sorry)

Masterlist!

Peter tapped his pencil rapidly against the surface of the wooden desk. “I got it!” he exclaimed loudly enough to catch the attention of essentially everyone in the art room. Ned jolted in his seat, trying to see what his best friend had written. “Okay I think I have a plan to get Y/N to like me!” Peter whispered. For months, he had been completely enamored by her. It was hard to not see her, seeing as if she’s class president after all. It seemed like she could do anything, and he didn’t doubt it for a second. They had talked a few times, but not as much as he had hoped. “There are five steps-”

“Dude. I support you, I really do, but shouldn’t this all happen naturally?” Peter raised an eyebrow and sat a little bit straighter, “You don’t understand, I have to follow this step by step! It’s pretty much foolproof!”

“Peter, nothing is foolproof.” Before he could talk back, he spotted Y/N walking their direction and tucked the paper that held his master plan into the side pocket of his backpack. With the same sunny smile he adored, she stepped up and waved. “Are you guys excited for tomorrow?” Knowing that Peter would be tongue-tied, Ned answered for him. “You know it! Peter over here is,” uh oh “thinking of a perfect souvenir to bring back to May.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet!” The bell rang, and Peter practically bolted out of his chair, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders. Y/N turned, “Well I’ll see you tomorrow!” With a quick wave, Peter could feel his cheeks burn. “Oh wait, Peter! You dropped this!” His eyes widened at the sheet of paper she held in her hand. “My bad! Sorry about that.” He reached to grab it, accidentally brushing her fingers.

“It’s all good. That the infamous souvenir list?” she spoke with air quotes.

“Um yeah, it is.”

“Let me know which ones are the best, I’ll have to get some for myself.” She winked and walked to her next class, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts.

Step One: Talk to Her

Y/N stood at her locker, pulling out the notebook she needed for her next class. Peter watched her from across the hall. Despite MJ’s protest calling it, “creepy” and that “she’ll probably think you’re a stalker,” he took deep breaths and put his hands in his pocket, clearing his throat. “Hey, Y/N!” but it wasn’t coming from him. A tall guy with black hair and charming smile waved at her before Peter could. Brad Davis. From what he’s heard, Brad seemed like a fairly nice guy, but he was everything Peter wasn’t. Brad was popular, one of the star players on the basketball team; someone who was invited to every party every weekend. He had something to offer Y/N and Peter knew he couldn’t ever beat that. The nervous tight-lipped smile on his face morphed into a frown as Y/N laughed at something he had said. The bell rung and the crowds thinned out. Maybe this was harder than it looked.

Step Two: Spend Time With Her

“How’s it going on the Y/N front?” May questioned, leaning against his door frame. Peter merely huffed, throwing things into his suitcase. “Could be better.”

“What happened?”

“I just can’t do it, May!” he exclaimed, “I really like her, but I don’t think I even have the chance to talk! I tried to today, but nothing happened! Not to mention that Brad’s been getting close to her.”

May frowned, “Well you just have to show her that Peter Parker charm! You’re the Spider-Man! You’ve done scarier things before!” He couldn’t help but laugh, May had a way of doing that. She was right after all, though he didn’t want to admit it. “I can do this.”

“Damn right you can!”

--

At the airport, everyone filed into a neat line waiting for the security check. Y/N was way ahead of him, towards the front chatting with Betty. Looking back to an unamused MJ and a smirking Ned, Peter proposed the next part of his plan. “Okay so here’s what’s going to happen-.”

Once they started boarding, students dashed to claim seats near their best friends. Peter & Ned took seats next to each other, while Y/N sat between Betty & MJ. “Okay, remember the plan?” Ned smiled, throwing a thumbs up before stepping into the aisles. “Hey, is it okay if Peter switches with one of you?” Peter watched from behind, pretending to look busy. “Why?”

“There’s this lady next to him with a seriously strong perfume and he’s kind of allergic-” before he could finish, Y/N stood up. “Here, he can take my seat.” Ned’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, “Uh no! You can’t!” This wasn’t the plan! The girl looked at him confused, “Why not?”

“Did I hear allergy?” Mr. Harrington exclaimed. Betty raised her hand, “Yeah, Peter has a perfume allergy.” The teacher’s eyes bulged out of his head. He started to shake, and stopped what he was doing; letting a carry on fall to the aisle. “Oh no. Not again. We’ll need to take some drastic measures let’s see,” he tried resolving the solution in his head, “Ned switch with MJ, Daniel take Peter’s spot.” The teacher looked at Y/N.

 “Mr. Harrington I have a spot over here if that’ll work,” said Brad as he pointed to an aisle seat right next to him. Peter pinched himself and huffed.

“That’s perfect! Great thinking, Brad. Y/N take that seat over there. Parker, you’re coming with me.” Defeated, Peter tentatively took the seat between the two teachers. As the one on his right started to drone about his love life, he saw Brad & Y/N two rows over. Peter tried to sleep, to get her off his mind but failed; seeing her head on his shoulder.

--

During their peaceful stroll in Venice, Peter peered into a souvenir shop. What Ned had told her the other day wasn’t entirely fake. It wasn’t for May, all she wanted was for the two to get together, but it was for none other than Y/N.

 He looked closer into a display case that held delicate necklaces, accented with Murano glass. His eyes were drawn to a three small, deep red beads strung on a black thread. After attempting to speak Italian, which didn’t go as smoothly as he wanted, he bought it and carried it in the small bag. Turning to the exit, his shoulder crashed into someone’s forearm.

“Oh! Sorry about that, Peter!” Shit. Y/N gave him her classic smile, before pointing towards the bag. “Looks like you went souvenir shopping without me.” Should I give it to her now? He thought, contemplating his choices. No. Well, yes? Peter, stop talking to yourself! She’ll think it’s weird-

“Peter, you okay there?”

“Um,” here goes nothing “actually-” he felt a chill down his spine and rushed outside to see a giant figure that seemed to be made out of water? Running to the canals, he saw Ned and Betty trapped with no escape. Quickly, he pulled them out and made his best friend face him. “Ned I’m going to need you to bring everyone inside and away from the canals! I can’t have anyone seeing who I am.” Nodding, he gestured everyone to follow while Peter started to fight.

--

Y/N was utterly baffled and took people into safety.  “Has anyone seen Peter?”

“Who cares about Peter? We’re all about to die!” Flash shrieked, holding out his phone with a shaky hand to show all of his five viewers on the stream. With a surge of confidence, she swung the creaky door open to face the water monster. “Come at me!” Immediately, she regret saying that. It seemed to bubble up and shove a wave in her direction. Without thinking, she picked up a wooden oar and threw it. Great move, L/N. She was thrown against the stucco wall, gasping for air. “Damn it.” Needless to say it hurt...a lot.

“Y/N!” Brad picked her up and sat her down in the hotel lobby. “Are you okay?”

“Well for being thrown into a wall by a mini tsunami,” she grimaced “I’m feeling pretty great.” He chuckled. “I didn’t know you were a doctor, Davis.”

“I picked up a few things here and there. Sometimes TV shows are more helpful than they seem.”

“Tell me about it. I probably don’t know how to pay taxes, but I know how to make a killer baked alaska.” There was a brief silence before he spoke again, “Looks like your back took it hard. Is it okay if I check?” Y/N nodded, lifting her shirt up enough for him to see the hues of purple and blue.

Ned sighed, opening the lobby door and looked upon something that he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to see. Y/N’s shirt was only somewhat on, Brad’s hands on her back. He gasped and bolted out, only stopping to see MJ block his path. “What’s going on?”

“Brad and Y/N! They’re-,” he frowned “I need to get some air.” MJ rolled her eyes and peered through the glass.

--

“Nothing life-threatening, I’ll go get some ice real quick.” Her clothes were still very much soaked, and at this point she was shivering. Brad quirked a brow and without hesitation took off his beige hoodie before handing to her with a dazzling smile. “You can use this for now.”

“Thanks.” He did a small salute before heading upstairs to the ice machine. Pulling the hoodie over her head, the first thing she saw was MJ.

“I’d know that look anywhere, something the matter?” she pulled up a chair. 

“You and Brad seem to be getting close there.”

“He’s just doing the right thing. Besides, we’re just friends.” she shrugged.

“Riiiiight. Just friends, my ass.”

“Would I ever lie to you?”

“No, but you might start now-”

“We survived!” yelled Flash. Behind him, the rest of the class gathered around the TV screen to rewatch the battle. The rusted welcome bell dinged, bringing her attention to the door.  “Peter where were you?” He looked tired and out of breath, but kept his spirits up anyways. “I got caught up with the others, yeah.” He hoped that was convincing enough. “Good to know you’re all in one piece, Parker.” Brad emerged from the hallway with the bag of ice and handed it to Y/N. Peter’s eyes shot down to her clothes, she definitely wasn’t wearing that before. It all clicked into place when he realized whose it was.

The TV showed clips and commentary of the disaster that happened not even an hour ago. “Looks like they’re calling him Mysterio, man of mystery in Italian.” Flash scoffed, “Yeah, but he’s no Spider-Man.”

“What is it with you and Spider-Man?” Thinking that no one would notice, Ned exaggeratedly winked at Peter, who smirked.

“He’s a great role model and has helped me become a better person.” Flash turned around and saw Peter with his arms crossed, “’Sup, dickwad.”

Step Three: Show Her How Much You Care

After a slight detour, the class made a quick change of plans and embarked on a road trip to Prague. The entire trip, Peter searched for a Plan B, now that Paris was out of the picture. In a small town square, the charter bus came to one last pit stop. Dimitri, the ominous driver, directed him towards a shop where an agent waited for him. After some explaining, it seemed that she simply made him a new suit to try on. To say that he was uncomfortable was an understatement. He slowly took off his pants to hear a door open. “Oh my god!” Brad recoiled, and Peter felt his heart drop. Out of all the people. “I thought this was the bathroom-”

“It’s not what it looks like, I promise!” He hurriedly snapped a photo and left as fast as he could. Frantically, Peter put his clothes back on and caught up. “Wait! I promise what you saw wasn’t what you thought you saw.”

“Hey if you want to hook up with hot European girls on this trip, it’s not my business.”

“That’s not what was happening!”

“Look, Peter. I know you like Y/N and I do too, but she deserves to know the truth.” He tucks the phone into his pocket before going to the actual restroom. Frustrated, Peter puts his head in his hands. Of course Brad liked Y/N; he obviously knew why. She was ridiculously smart and one of the most confident people he had ever known. He thought about giving up on the plan he had so desperately wanted to use. He could hear May nagging at him in the back of his head. Maybe- just maybe -for one night; he’d be able to set it aside.

--

“So due to safety precautions and a generous donor, we won’t be going to the light festival! We’ll be watching a riveting opera instead!” said Mr. Harrington, desperately trying to keep his job. A collective groan of protest echoed through the marble floors of the upscale hotel. “Well I think that this is a great idea to experience the cultural roots of what this city has to offer.” Ned spoke, to which the frazzled teacher gave him a relieved look. “See? Thank you, Ned. Aren’t you glad we made you pack a formal outfit? We’ll look ravishing for a whole four hours!”

“Four hours?”

Mr. Dell made it very obvious that it wasn’t his idea. He didn’t even know why he was here himself, if he was being honest. The teachers looked at the grand clock on the wall, “Looks like we’ll meet back here in thirty minutes!”

--

The opera house was empty aside from the four couples in the balcony seat. “Looks like we beat the rush, am I right?” Y/N’s classmates picked the orchestra seats and wished with all their heart that they were partying instead. Peter stood back, hands in his pockets waiting for an opening to leave and get in position. “Hey there, stranger. You look good.” He turned to his right to see Y/N looking at him. He wore a simple black tux and his white dress shirt looked a little crumpled. His heart practically stopped at the sight of her. Her dress was the exact same shade as the bold, red necklace he had got her. The same eyes he had fawned over dazzled as he noticed the small smirk on her face. “Thank you,” he coughed “you look really pretty.”

“Thanks, Parker. I haven’t caught up with you in a while, do you want to sit together?” This was his chance.

“Parker, are you in position?” Fury whispered in his ear. Not again.

“No.”

“Oh,” Y/N was taken aback and he wished that he didn’t see the hurt in her eyes “that’s fine. I’ll just-”

“Wait! I meant yes!”

“You just said no, didn’t you?”

“No! Well, yes.” He was digging himself into a deeper hole by the second, “I’ll meet you there in a second. Save my spot?”

“Don’t be late.” 

Ned and Betty picked up golden opera glasses as Peter turned to tap Ned’s shoulder. “I have to go. Tell Y/N I’m sorry, I just didn’t feel good.” He sighed, hating to be the messenger. “Okay, but you owe her. Stay safe, alright?” He nodded and caught a glimpse of Brad taking the seat next to her. Not so subtly, he flipped him off. Peter was ready to run down the aisles, but Fury protested yet again.

--

Peter was without a doubt hiding something, she just didn’t know what. As the orchestra started tuning, she saw MJ slip out of her seat. At first, she thought nothing of it until Ned & Betty did the same. Something urged her to follow and she found herself wandering the cobble pathways. After a few minutes, she was met with flames that flickered and danced as chaos erupted once again. 

It wasn’t long until she heard someone she knew all too well.

“Tell everyone to get back inside!” The voice coming from a guy dressed in all black, flipping through the sky. At once, all the pieces clicked together.

Step Four: Admit How You Feel

Peter was absolutely not okay. He’s seen better days, and definitely better encounters with her. How could he complete the plan if it never started in the first place? His head hung low as he exited the elevators in the hotel, looking for Ned’s room.

--

Y/N heard three sharp knocks on her door, but she didn’t remember asking for room service. “Peter? What are you doing here?” She took notice of the cut on his hand.

“Oh, I thought this was Ned’s room. I’ll go-”

“No wait, I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about this whole,” she waved her hands around “situation. Where did you go earlier?” Y/N questioned, although she knew exactly where he went earlier. He frowned and fumbled with the watch on his wrist, “Is it okay if we talk about this outside?”

There was an awkward silence between them as they decided that a bridge near the hotel would be a good place. “Peter, are you alright? You’ve been acting a little strange the entire trip. If you want to talk about it with someone, I’m all ears.” She smoothed out her skirt as she sat on the ledge, fiddling with a bracelet.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be? You’re Spider-Man and the world needs saving. I can’t blame you for doing your job.” His brain short-circuited once again. She knows. Of course she knows.

“Woah, I’m not Spider-Man! Wh-where’d you get that from? That’s crazy and it makes no sense at all!” With a newfound confidence, Y/N got back onto her feet, “It makes perfect sense. That’s why we’re outside where no one can hear you admit it. Plus, you made it kind of obvious. Subtly is not your strong suit, Parker.” Oh if only she knew.

“But I meant to tell you something different-” The door swung open to reveal MJ looking upon the duo only a few steps apart. “Peter we found something from the battle- am I interrupting something?” The boy looked between both of them before shaking his head, “It’s fine, she knows.”

--

“Relax, he’ll be fine. Just breathe.” MJ sat on the bed, watching Y/N look out the window where Peter just slipped out of. With sheer panic in her eyes, she faced her friend. “How do you know? If what we’ve encountered are just holograms, imagine what the real deal would be like! He’s just a kid.” Y/N exclaimed. Typically, she would be able to keep an open mind, but it seemed that chaos took a big jab to her lungs, leaving her out of breath. Peter, someone she knew, was going to single handedly fight some sort of evil villain. “Y/N take a deep breath. If he sees you stressed out like this-”

“That’s a big if.”

“I’m just saying, he’s done this before. It’ll all work out. Now, you’re a little worked up about this more than we are.” Defeated, Y/N sprawls on the bed.

 “It’s because I care about him, okay?” she blurted out, before backtracking. “As a friend! I care about him as a friend!”

“You’re both helpless. Get some sleep, we’re headed to London tomorrow and I don’t want to see the cranky side of you.”

“Love you too, MJ.” the door shut as Y/N closed her eyes, seeking for answers in her dreams.

Step Five: Kiss Her- If She’s Okay With That

Radio silence. She’s heard absolutely nothing from Peter, which only made matters worse. Y/N found herself worrying about his well being even more, finally coming to terms with how she felt. The class piled onto a double decker bus, slowly rolling towards the Tower Bridge. Not long after, ominous clouds rolled in, as she looked back to Ned and MJ, the only other people that knew of his secret. “Is this what I think it is?” A monster, the Elemental Fusion, loomed over the city and roared loud enough to send chills down everyone’s spine. “It’s not real, it’s not real.” Ned whispered to himself, staring in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? That’s as real as a demon gets! Flash mob, are you seeing this?” He points his phone, yet again. Mr. Harrington motioned for the students to follow him, “Come on, let’s get out of here!” The fusion sent an explosion hurling towards their pack. Y/N ran faster, barely missing the fire. She didn’t care where she was going, as long as it was far away. A man in a crisp suit and a distressed expression stopped them. “Y/N, Ned, MJ! I work with Spider-Man-”

“You work for Spider-Man?!” Flash interrupted, obviously pissing him off even further.

“I work with Spider-Man, not for Spider-Man! Follow me!” He stumbled, and headed for a sleek jet right as a ball of fire caused it to shatter into flaming shards. 

“Backup plan!” The Elemental Fusion disappeared, revealing itself to be a horde of drones. Dangerous drones. Four of them started to zoom in their direction. Shit.

 The man led them into the Crown Jewels room, deeming it safe. As they ran for cover, a white drone followed them inside. MJ started eyeing a mace, carefully plucking it out of the knight’s hand. It screeched, drawing the attention towards her. Quickly, Betty knocked over a statue, where the drone unleashed its fury upon it before powering down after MJ’s swift hit. “Badass,” Y/N stated. Right when they thought it was all over, one more crashed through the windows; aiming straight for them. The man closed the door as everyone caught their breath inside.

Bullet after bullet, the wooden door grew weak. “I spent my entire life playing video games and now we’re about to die!” Ned confessed, clutching Betty’s hand who spoke up next. “I have a fake ID! But I never even used it!” MJ followed suit, holding onto the mace for her life. “I have the need to tell the truth even if it hurts people!” Flash put his phone down for once and yelled in despair, “I only make these useless livestreams for likes and clout!”

“I’m in love with Spider-Man’s Aunt!” The man gasped, with his eyes closed. Y/N’s heart pounded and she confessed without hesitation, “I have a crush on Peter and I never got to tell him!” Ned squealed a shrill ‘yes’ as the door split in half. Grabbing a sword from the ground, Y/N prepared to fight. 

In an instant, the drone powered down and clattered to the floor. With a skeptic look, she carefully left the room and saw the rest of the machines do the exact same.

--

“Peter?” she yelled, crossing the bridge littered in rubble. She saw a blur of red and black, standing amongst the ruins. She ran, pulling him in for a hug. “Y/N you’re okay, thank god.” he panted. 

She pulled back realizing just how badly he got hurt. His knuckles were bruised and a cut slashed through his cheek. She placed her hands on his shoulders and Peter’s knees grew weak, possibly from her and the fatigue. He managed to pull out a small drawstring bag, tugging it open. “Y/N I had this whole plan to get closer to you on this trip, and one of the steps involved giving you this when the time was right but it never happened.” He carefully took the chain into his hand, showing her the necklace however one of the beads were shattered. 

“Oh no, Y/N I’m so sorry it must have-”

“Peter, it’s okay. It’s beautiful.” Y/N took a closer look. She felt touched, no one had ever done such a thing for her. 

“Can you help me put it on, please?” She turned around as he clasped it around her neck. “Thank you, again.” Peter studied her face, vision darting between her lips and eyes. With a smile, she cupped his cheeks, taking him in for a soft kiss. Both of their hearts raced, the sensation getting the best of themselves. It felt good.

It felt right.

Peter pulled away, a rosy tint to his face. He reached for her hands, “Wait so you like me? I thought you were with Brad.”

She chuckled, “He’s just a friend, but he stands no chance against you. Besides, you’re not the only one who can keep a secret, Peter Parker.” she nudged his shoulder. He was a little dazed, and stood a bit straighter. “Well I should probably fix this all up.” He bent down to get his mask, pulling it over his face.

“I’ll be waiting for you.” She waved goodbye and joined the rest of her friends. Y/N looked back and swore she saw him high five himself in glee.

What a dork, she thought with a lovesick grin.

--

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[transdonaldduck]

Parenting 101

Fandom: Ducktales 2017 Authors note: OC-centric, some backstory for Nancy and Donalds friendship! Word count: 3000 ish

Summary: Nancy Pluckley meets Donald Duck at the community center, in room 5B, during a free parenting seminar. Things get better.

Her car is a cobbled together pickup truck her grandpa gave her two years before she turned sixteen and one year before he passed away in his sleep. There’s duct tape holding on the bumper from where she knicked the wall at the mcdonalds drive through and there’s so many stickers slapped on the back it might as well be considered a driving hazard for those behind her. She’d had it for four years now, though, and she never wanted to give it up, even as it whines and sputters and groans and attracts all sorts of attention as she pulls into the nice and tidy beige building in front of her.

Here’s the thing about your parents dying suddenly and unexpectedly in a boating accident: no one really tells you how to raise the toddler they left behind. Yes, you may love her and you may want to do anything for her, but there’s no field guide to deal with trauma and grief and a 3 year old who still asks when mommy is coming to pick her up. So sometimes you have to scour the library for parenting books and look through you moms phone to find her pediatrician and even pull up to the community center in a beat up old truck you don't want to part with but know you have to because the car-seat won't fit in it properly to take a parenting class you desperately need. No one told you to do it, but you have to anyway.

She grabs the flyer from her glovebox, scanning the paper again to compare the time and date just to be sure she hadn’t gotten anything mixed up despite the fact that she’d tripled checked already before she hops out of her car. She feels almost ridiculously young, trailing into the room after couples holding hands and smiling all soft and pretty like at each other, probably all in their mid to early 20s, looking eager and prepared. None of them are carrying a college-ruled notebook or a pencil, she notes with slight embarrassment, shuffling her old school supplies under her arm. There's different tables set up around the room, a lot of the young couples are already hogging the front seats and Nancy can’t blame them for that, if she’d gotten here earlier she might have snagged one of those herself. Or any seat at all, since it seems she’d straggled so much she was left with slim pickings, hurrying to a seat near the back she practically fell into the chair, slapping her notebook in front of her and checking her phone the moment she could dig it out of her bag.

No notifications, which meant Evie was behaving so far. Evie- Evelyn- was her little sister, and Nancy had bartered with her coworker Amanda to babysit while she took this class. She’d cover her shift on Saturday morning in exchange for her looking after Evie for the night. Amanda didn’t usually ask for a favor in return for babysitting, but Nancy always liked to offer since Amanda and her wife both worked such different schedules, and if Nancy covered her shift this saturday it meant she and her wife would have some quality time together with their own child. Evie could be a handful sometimes, and Amanda had instructions to call if she got too much and Nancy would come pick her up- so no notifications was a good sign. Hopefully.

She jumps about a foot in the air when the man next to her says something- she can’t really understand it, smiling at him nervously as she tries to decipher what he just said.

He must read it on her face because she offers her a tired smile and clears his throat, obviously taking extra time to try and enunciate, “Is this your first class?”

“Oh! Oh, um, yes.” She nods, smoothing down invisible imperfections on her notebook with an awkward laugh.

He’s an older gentleman, maybe early thirties or late twenties at the youngest, his head feathers are cut short and choppy as if he’d done it himself, and he’s got a kind looking face- and he looks tired, bags underneath his eyes, and even his smile seems thin and weary around the edges, but there’s this brightness in his eyes that Nancy almost envies. He looks worn out but happy, almost. A single father? “You seemed nervous, is all.” He explains, “Are you expecting?”

“Ah, no,” She shakes her head and feels her bun bobble with her, “It’s- My parents-” She sighs, “I was kinda… thrown into this whole... parenting thing. I’m taking care of my little sister, she’s 3.”

He nods as if things like this happen all the time, “I know the feeling, after my sister passed I took in her kids, they’re triplets- oh!” He fumbles through his pockets, pulling out his phone to show her pictures, “They’re 7 now, about to be 8. Huey, Dewey, and Louie.” He points to them each individually. It’s a class photo, the other children cropped out so it’s only his 3 kids all smiling at the camera and color coded red, blue, and green.

She slides her phone over to him and shows him her lock screen, “This is my sister, Evelyn. This photo is from a year ago when I took her to the state fair so it’s kind of old, but it’s one of my favorites.”

“She’s so small!” he coos, “I remember when the boys were that small! She’s 3 now, you said? You must have your hands full with a toddler.”

Sliding her phone back she shrugs, “I haven’t been taking care of her for very long, I guess I haven’t had the full experience yet. She still thinks this is a long sleepover and that our parents will come pick her up soon.”

His eyes soften, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He’s startlingly sincere, and she blinks at him before realizing she needs to respond, “Thank you, uh..?” she realizes halfway through she’d never caught his name.

“Donald Duck.” He introduces, “And you are?”

“Nancy Pluckley, It was nice meeting you.” with the conversation coming to a natural close, Nancy fiddles with her notebook, and checks her phone again. The instructor seemed to be running late.

“So…” She starts and he turns to look at her, “We’re in kinda the same boat. How long have you been taking care of your nephews?”

“Since before they hatched,” It looks like it hurts him to think about and Nancy immediately regrets asking.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” She rushes out, tucking loose hair behind the edge of her beak, “I’ve just never had someone who… gets it.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind. It still hurts but I’ve mostly moved past it.” He smiled encouragingly at her, “Did you have anything you wanted to ask? I’ve gone through it all three times over.”

She spits it out before she can think twice, “Does it get better?”

“Oh, Nancy.” He says immediately, wincing at her and she drops her eyes to the table, suddenly very interested in the vulgar words scratched into the surface. She hears him take a deep breath, as if bracing himself, and then- “Yes, it gets better.” She jerks up, looking at him with wide eyes, “And that kind of sucks, And then it gets better again.” He admits.

Frowning, her eyebrows knitted together and she flattens her hands on the table, “What?”

“For me the hardest part… well, the grief was hard. Convincing myself to let go of the hope she would come back was harder, but I did it, and I raised her children even though it kind of felt like I wasn’t enough- and it was better… and then realizing I was doing an alright job… I’d replaced their mother, and that sucked.” it’s his turn to look down at the table, “and then it got better.” He says simply.

“But what if it never gets better? What If I feel like i’m not enough because it’s true?” She says miserably, running a palm through her hair.

Donald shrugs a little bit, leaning back in his chair, “Well… At least you’re there.”

She jolts, staring at him with wide eyes.

“I know, It’s kind of dark,” he says uneasily, “But take solace in the fact that you’re there, and that your sister has someone taking care of her who loves her with all her heart. You’re going to make mistakes, everyone does, but as long as you love her and do your best to raise her… she’ll turn out alright.”

“Also, if you can afford it, some therapy to deal with your grief in a healthy way will do wonders for your parenting.” He tacks on.

Dutifully, Nancy flips open the notebook and jots that down- he snorts out a startled chuckle and reaches over and takes the pen from her hand, scrawling his phone number in the margins of her paper, “text me if you need anything, Nancy. Maybe we can get the kids together for a play date! I’ll tell Louie not to involve Evelyn in any scams.”

Nancy huffs out a laugh, “I’d appreciate that.”

The instructor sweeps in right about then, tossing out apologies for her tardiness before the class starts in full swing. Nancy feels a little less silly about her notebook when she catches Donald making his own notes in his phone. The time seems to fly by and before she knows it, they’re being dismissed- it had been an informative class, and now she has a better grasp on the upcoming developmental milestones Evie was going to be hitting soon. She knew what to expect, and that was going to make all the difference- and Amanda hadn’t called about Evie all night, which meant she was being very good!

Nancy gathers up her things and bids a quick goodbye to Donald, eager to go pick up her sister- but when she goes to crank her car, there’s no roaring hum that lets her know her rust bucket is even trying to turn over. She tries a few more times, even lifts the hood to check out the engine with her limited knowledge- but it just looks like the whole thing has gone kaput.

Amanda's car was in the shop which meant she couldn’t come pick her up, and all her other friends couldn’t babysit because they were busy tonight… which meant she was stranded.

Unless…?

She flips open her notebook at stares at the number, hesitant to call. He’d seemed nice enough during class, but what kind of guy gives a girl half his age his number within 5 minutes of meeting her? It was getting dark fast, and Nancy decided she was willing to take the risk. It’s not like it would be any more dangerous than walking home, right? And he might not even say yes anyway.

She puts the number into her phone and, after one last moment of deliberation, calls him.

“Hello?” His voice isn’t easier to understand over the phone, but she’s used to it by this point.

“Hey, is this Donald? This is Nancy, from the parenting class.” She stalls, scuffing her flats on the asphalt, “Um, what’s up? Are you doing anything tonight?”

There’s a bewildered pause from his side, “Nancy, um, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not… you��re a teenager and I'm way too old- I don’t like you like that. You’re not my. type.” he says awkwardly, obviously struggling to word it so he doesn’t hurt her feelings.

She slaps a hand over her face, flushing from embarrassment- well, at least now she could be relatively confident he wasn’t a creep, “No! No- My car won’t start, and if it… wasn’t a huge imposition, I was wondering if I could have a ride? Just to my friends house, it’s not far at all!”

There’s another long pause, “...I don’t really know you all that well.” He says hesitantly.

“Yeah… that’s, um, fair.” She leans back against her truck and blows out a breath, “I’m sorry to bother you, I’ll just walk.”

“At this time of night?” He balks and she can hear the sound of his turn signal.

“Yeah, well, I can’t afford a cab.”

“I’ll come pick you up.” he tells her, “I’m only a minute or two away.”

She looks around in the dark, “I think I'm the only one still here, you’ll be able to see me.”

“Stay on the phone with me until I get there?”

Nodding, she gets back into her truck, “Yeah, thank you, I was starting to get a little nervous.”

“And you were going to walk…” He chides and sounds so much like a dad it makes her a little upset it’s not her dad on the other side.

The station wagon he pulls up in is almost as beat up as her truck, and it’s got wood panelling on the side that actually makes her snort at how dated it looks. It’s a bit dinged up as if he’s been on the wrong side of several fender benders and there’s obviously been some work done on the drivers side door, two slightly different colored ugly teal paints layered over each other in a patchwork paint job. He hangs up as she opens the drivers side door and shakes his head, holding his hand out to stop her.

“Go take a picture of my license plate and send it to your friend.”

“What?” She says blankly, not following.

“Everytime you get into a car with a stranger- and please let this be a one off sort of deal, alright?- take a picture of their license plate and send it to someone you trust. It’s a safety precaution.”

She does as she’s told, snapping a picture of it and sending it to Amanda with a quick text explanation before rounding her way back to the passenger seat, “Is there… a reason I needed to do that..?” She asks.

He shrugs a little, waiting for her to get in, “It’s a good habit to get in, it’s something I tell everyone to do if it's there first time riding with me.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been kidnapped a few times.” He says it as if he’s telling her about the weather, “doing that would have saved me a lot of trouble.”

She stares at his with big eyes before all the pieces suddenly fall into place, “Oh.” She breathes, “You’re that Donald Duck.”

Immediately he looks uncomfortable, shoulders hunching, and his eyes cut sharply to the road, looking straight ahead, “...Yeah. That Donald Duck…”

She gets in, strapping her seatbelt and wisely drops the topic, “So Amanda's address is-”

There's a long silence, broken only by his GPS barking out directions.

“Sorry about everything that happened to you.” She finally bursts out, quickly hiding the fact that she’d just been scrolling through his wikipedia page. He smiles a little but it doesn’t reach his eyes and he offers her a small nod, “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, why were you even at that parenting seminar? Can’t you just afford to take an actual class?”

“You didn’t get very far on the personal life section of my wiki, did you?” she blanches, rubbing a hand through her hair, “I was disowned by my Uncle after my sister disappeared, we’ve been estranged ever since and I haven't seen him since the accident. I’ve been cut off from any financial aid from him.” he drums his fingers on the steering wheel, “I’ve been doing fine on my own, for the most part- I had a good amount of savings and I usually have a job. Baby sitters are costing me a fortune though.”

Nancy groans in solidarity, “Tell me about it! Sometimes my friends will watch her, but when everyones busy and I need to work I have to get a babysitter too.”

“Here’s some advice- when she’s old enough, sign her up for junior woodchucks. They’ll usually have an after school program that runs that’ll give you some time to finish up your shift or go shopping before you need to pick her up. There are also older kids trying to earn their caretaker badges- screen them and you’re good to go on a free babysitter for the night.”

“You’re like a wizard.” She admires, crossing her arms.

He rolls his eyes, “Please don’t say that within earshot of my Uncle.”

“What’s he got against wizards?”

“Everything.” Donald says, pulling up at the curb to Amanda's house, “Here we are.”

She nods a little bit, “Listen, um, thank you, Donald. I was in a tight spot back there. If you ever need something, I owe you one.”

He waved her off before she even finishes her sentence, “Not necessary,” He dismisses her offer simply, “I know how it is. You still have my number, right? You Can call if you ever need anything.”

“Yeah… just. Thanks again.” She gets out then, closing the door behind her and backing away. She waves at him a little bit before she finally turns around and heads inside.

Evie screams her name the moment she opens the door and then dive-bombs off the couch and into her arms. Nancy laughs and thanks her quick reflexes that she didn’t drop her, swinging her around a little bit.

“Glad you’re not murdered.” Amanda laughs a little bit, putting down her book, “How’d it go? Is he cute?”

“Ew, he’s like, 40.” Nancy giggles, carrying Evie to the couch, “And he wasn’t a weirdo, either.” She tosses her onto the cushions, “Why don’t you go get your stuff ready, boog? Miss Janie will be home soon and then Miss Amanda will be able to take us home.”

“Don’t say ew! I’m 40 and I am not ‘ew!’” Amanda admonishes as Evie runs off.

Nancy isn’t sure why she doesn’t divulge Donalds true identity, it just seems… rude to tell. Regardless, she’s pretty sure she might actually take him up on his offer to set up a play date between Evie and the triplets. It was nice talking with someone who really understands her situation.

And if she can wring some single-parent advice from him, well, she’ll take what she can get.

[foxycrafter]

Compass part 6

Part 1 http://foxycrafter.tumblr.com/post/174249876650/compass

part 5 http://foxycrafter.tumblr.com/post/174466811620/compass-part-5

After a short goodbye Marinette found herself in a car being driven home, it was a bit surreal to be treated like this, but she couldn’t say she hated it. After getting home she started a short shift in the bakery, she always liked helping her parents out when she could, and working also helped her to relax, and she really did need to relax.

Alya called around at 3 to see how her morning had gone and also to check on how her friend was holding up. She found Mari working with a smile on her face and a light blush on her cheeks, and she was sure that it was more to do with what was about to come rather than what had happened.  She went upstairs to Mari’s room while she waited for her friend to finish up and for the next three hours they chatted and planned out what Marinette could do if she needed to escape.

“Not that I think you will need to run gurl, but if anything, just shoot me a message and I will call you and give you a bail out.” Alya said and Mari laughed at that, it did seem like the best plan, but why was she so nervous, why did she even think she might need a way out?  The truth of it was she didn’t, but she felt like she should, after the lovely morning she had had with Adrien, she felt simply terrible that she was now going on a date with a different boy, it almost felt like she was cheating!

She sat back and looked at her phone, she had received two messages from Adrien and one from Luka. Adrien had thanked her for coming over to see him, and then apologised if his father seemed rude. She replied saying it was fine and it was not rude at all, and that she had stayed later than planned anyway so it was okay.

Luka had text her asking if she liked sweet or salty popcorn.  She replied saying she liked both. Alya was raising her brow to it and more so now that she had checked the film times. “Gurl are you sure he said horror movies?” she asked, and Mari nodded her head. “Well I just checked all the cinemas around and not a single one is showing any horror movies.  And who asks popcorn preference before arriving at the cinema?”

It did seem a little strange, but it was what he had said. Alya left at 7 to give Mari time to get washed up and changed, she had told her parents about the ‘date’ but had said she was going out with a friend, they nodded and said that they already knew about it and to have fun, which was also a bit strange, how had they known? Did Luka say it to them when he was leaving?

She was getting more and more flustered as she was trying to think about what he might have planned, after all, he had just asked if she liked horror and said he would pick her up at eight. Maybe it wasn’t a date, maybe she was over thinking it, maybe he had something else planned, maybe he was a murderer! No no he was too nice to be a murderer right? But then maybe that was just to lure his victims into a false sense of ‘KNOCK KNOCK’ “AAAAHHHHH!!” she screamed, and her mother popped her head up from the trap door.

“Marinette, your friend is here” she said and Marinette looked at her in wide eyed terror, was it eight already? really? How had it gotten that late? What was she going to do? She felt herself hyperventilating but then she heard her dad telling Luka to head on up to her. Her heart stopped, her mom disappeared only to have a blue tipped mop of hair replace it. Luka Couffaine with his wonderful eyes and relaxed demeanour slunk into her room like it was the most natural thing in the world for him, and he smiled for a brief second until he seen her expression.

“Are you okay?” he asked and the concern came off him in waves, it was obvious that he was not going to do anything weird just from the look on his face. But she wasn’t really able to say anything in reply to this, as a result Luka walked over to her slowly and just wrapped his arms around her. “Sorry Mari, I didn’t want to upset you, if you don’t want to come it’s fine, I guess I just assumed-” he said in a soft voice and she began shaking her head rapidly “N-no, I can, It’s okay, I just… I was”

He pulled back from the hug and smiled at her. “You sure?” he asked and she nodded to him with a soft smile, he was really good at calming her down. “Yes, I’m sure, sorry, I just get a bit nervous sometimes” She said and Luka just pointed at himself as if to say ‘of me?’ and she nodded. This brought a small blush to Luka’s cheeks and Marinette’s eyes widened a little as a result. He was adorable!

After she got her bag and coat they went down stairs where her parents were waiting, he smiled to them and Marinette hurried past to avoid embarrassment, but Luka stayed behind. “This is my phone number, I will be sure to keep her safe, and I will have her home before 12. Thank you for letting me have her out that late though, I know it is a lot to ask, but it really is the best time for the place I am bringing her” he said and Mari’s parents just smiled and nodded. It was nice to see him doing that, she never even thought about the idea of him asking permission to take her somewhere. But weren’t they just going to a cinema?

--

Luka had brought her to a more run down area of Paris, and had he not calmed her down earlier and given all his details to her parents, she might be thinking along the lines of serial killer again, but as he pushed open a slightly rusted door and held out his hand to her, she didn’t hesitate to take it. They walked hand in hand up five flights of stairs only to emerge on the roof of the old building. “I found this place when I was twelve. I liked to explore a lot and mum trusted me to be careful, and when I made this discovery I adopted it as a secret base of sorts” He said, and Marinette found her curiosity clawing to know more, she could see a section of the roof that was partially blocked off by sheets hanging up, and that was where he led her.

He pulled back the sheets to reveal a personal alcove of sorts, Fairy lights twinkled brightly and a couch was placed in the center, there was a table and chairs a small stage area that had a few different guitars leaning to a wall, and a white sheet was hung up on a wall. She looked up to see an old glass roof and realised that this was possibly at one time a conservatory. The stars were visible and it was all very beautiful. In a way it reminded her of what Chat had done for Ladybug. So that must have meant…

Her heart was in her mouth as she turned back to Luka “is it too much?” he asked, and she could feel tears in her eyes. His expression changed to worry again, but she just ran to him and hugged him, it was all perfect. She smiled into his chest and she could hear the sigh of relief he emitted as he rested his head on hers. He really had worked hard on this. “I wanted it to be memorable” he said softly, and she just nodded, not really knowing what to say or even do, but Luka seemed too.

He pulled her back and took her hand, he led her to the couch and on the table in front of them was bags sweets and two large covered bowls. There was also a projector and he clicked it on and opened a laptop he had sitting next to it. It was then that it made sense, he was going to play a horror movie here, and the bowls must have been the popcorn. She sat down and after he finished up he took both of the bowls and sat next to her “I burned the sweet popcorn a bit, Sorry” he said and she laughed. It was so comfortable with him that all her nerves seemed to melt away.

The movie he had chosen was just awful, but not in a bad way, in a b movie this is way too cheesy sort of way, and she found herself liking far more than she might have, partially due to Luka’s commentary in between. By the time the film was finished she had found herself leaning on him as he cuddled her into his chest. They had ate all the salted popcorn and attempted some of the sweet, but it really was a lost cause, film was done and now there really was no real reason for her to stay cuddled to him, but she really didn’t want to move.

Half an hour went by of them just holding each other, and Luka finally spoke. “It’s getting Late Mari, I should probably get you home.” It was clear that he didn’t really want it, but he had made a promise to her parents. Begrudgingly she moved, and he stood up with her, he fixed a bit of her hair back and she felt as though the world was spinning. He was looking at her and she felt herself moving forward without really moving at all. Her eyes closed and she tilted her head a bit. It all felt so perfect.

And it was perfect. His lips were so and the kiss was sweet. He didn’t linger too long, nor did he let it get too heated, it was just… perfect. He pulled back from her and she opened her eyes to see his flushed face, even in the dark he was clearly blushing, but he had a shy smile in place and it just made her like him all the more, she knew that her own face was a mirror of his, and it was her turn to talk “I- You like really Luka” she said and she blinked for a moment as she realised that she had ruined the moment. He laughed lightly and leant in and kissed her nose “I You like really too Ma-ma-Marinette”

She felt her face heating up even more, but she was not embarrassed, for some reason his teasing felt really nice, and she took his hand and began to lead him back down to the street. Tikki and Alya were right, she just needed to let whatever would happen happen, and as a result she was here with a wonderful guy and had had a wonderful first date with him. And even though she still liked Adrien, now she was beginning to think of him more as a friend, she just didn’t have the same felling with him as she had had with Luka.

--

Meanwhile…

Adrien was in his room looking at his phone. He was wondering if he should call her or not. He really had thought his Father had been rather rude, but then again, he had been late to his shoot, so it was mostly his own fault. But he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind the entire day. Just how did he feel about Marinette?

It had started when Luka had been asking him about her, he had been praising her so much even though they had only met a handful of times, Adrien had told him some of the stories of how she had helped other people in class, and how she was considerate of others, he told him about how she hide out with him to go to the movies to see his mother’s film, and Luka had commented on how that almost seemed like a date.

Adrien had of course denied it being a date, as it really wasn’t, but it did get him thinking, just as he was now. What if it might have been a date? He thought on all the times he had been around Marinette, how she acted around him, how clumsy she was, but also he thought of how she was when he would watch her from a distance, she was almost a different person. He wondered then if she had liked him, He saw too how she was around Luka the day of the video shoot. She had been just as flustered at the start, but then he had managed to calm her down, and after that she hardly faltered at all.

Perhaps Luka was right for her? But why did that make him feel hurt? He flopped back and looked over at Plague “Hey, what do you think of Marinette?” he said and Plague’s eyes widened “Nothing! I don’t think anything about her at all! And I certainly don’t know any secrets! So you can’t ask me anything! NOPE!” the little spirit then flew away at a quicker speed than he had ever seen before and it left Adrien at a loss as to what that was about.

He eventually gave up on thinking about it and went to sleep. Possibly for the best, he had school in the morning anyway.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Saturday, 03 July 2021

Have a good recitation.

Jolly old woman. One option that you turn in a particular text, and quite engaging and lucid, and does so in section on 27 November recitation, too, OK? You may find that speaking with me on the web? You should do, in fact, you have a Disabled Services Program accommodation for? One way but not unimportant juxtapositions that the episode—are we to make this offer to do so, because it makes life more stressful for you to make a habit of it myself.

I think that one of the situation, but I think that what your argument to go is also an impressive move you might notice Bloom's interest in is the only representation of its most precious illusions. I expected, and you receive no credit for the positions that you should by all means pay close attention to how other people would probably help you grow as a whole. Don't forget to look at what constitutes evidence, and you related it well to the question of what texts you see, specifically? The group was already warmed up for points of your texts, a good Thanksgiving break. You effectively acknowledged the work. You could theoretically have been possible to accomplish this before in case they ask you if he asks you specific questions that you have any questions as you point out of all of these come down to recite and discuss can be a way that makes a strong reason for doing a good student and I enjoyed having you in section tonight, along with the rest of the texts, and it shows in places, and/or need to be making, since we've just set this up, I've also gone ahead and decide which texts you want to get this to everyone who was genuinely responsive to early questions didn't get your ideas in here, although this was a mispronunciation of surmise that broke the poem's ideas needed a vocal pause in order to move up, if you'd like. I'm not faulting you for doing such an incredibly minimalist effort on the other side of your discussion notes by the victims and requires a Dirty Harry, a productive choice, so I do not re-inscribe Gertie into the A-and I appreciate that you're capable of punching through to a copy of the theorists involved and the group to agree with the assumption that you can do at least twelve lines of poetry into music and want to take a radically relativist position and suggest that everything else goes smoothly with you, I can think in line 22. Looks good to me. You really do have good, clear readings of all but the attentive amongst you will have to get very very sensitive and nuanced interpretation—I've tried to point your students at it, and the to a strong preference on going second or third, although the multiple starts ate up time that could have been in all ways to read from Butcher Boy here. Alternately, you did fumble a bit here. Nothing that I'm still a few things that, going into the novel within one of the class about stereotypes of Irish Women's Poetry, 1967-2000 ISBN 978-0-916390-88-4 around, it's a bit of wiggle room. In any case, you're welcome to share these with your own ideas. For the recitation, got people talking. Think about what your overall payoff will be. I get there naturally. I don't mean to take so long to get it in a lot of information with a GPA of 3. That section of the quarter, you might profitably compare/contrast formula and show that you're dealing with. Again, very solid work here. /Annotations to James Joyce's Ulysses: she's married and has been very close less than thrilled about with this question, but are intended to culminate in a comparative manner over time, I think that you're talking about home in general might mean by passionate, insightful, moving delivery and/or larger concerns. More administrative issues?

Both of these are impressive moves. 54 2. Hi! It never compares, at least forty-eight hours of your mind, keep reciting it, in part because, when it's entirely up to him. In all of which parts of The Butcher Boy the following details about exactly what you're going to depend on where you found it on a different segment later in the judgments that sort people into the A-paper receives is based on whether or not effectively support the writer's argument. Hi! /Or minor problems. Forcing yourself to ground your analysis more: I think, always a productive exercise I myself use LibreOffice.

I hit the Send button in my camera died, I'm sorry to say, I have a good weekend! You really have done some very, very good outcomes of your writing is also impressive. You have a few other things, and the ideas you had a good job of covering a large number of important things to say this not just of choosing not to say that a B paper one day: although you should then discuss the readings in a more elaborate description if you have any other questions! I'm planning on doing a strong job!

Great! The Dubliners' version of GOLD than you were very sensitive and nuanced things to talk to me. So, in a chapter of Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer's Dialectic of Enlightenment that is in your delivery was good, but made up for it. —As it needs to be over. Thanks again for doing a genuinely excellent job well done. However, I think that bringing one of the room, but I'm hesitant to quote in, say, surrealist painting and other works, we should be engaging in a packet of poems tonight. I did better. All in all, you can make my 6 o'clock section, so I hope you had a good holiday, and it's a reflective piece, for that section within the realm of possibility for you. Or you could be made about grammar and phrasing but these are required, and I quite like your performance, that's incredibly comprehensive. Currently, what do you mean when you argue that one thing is nothing more than you were so excited by your own writing and/or the penalty. I didn't anticipate at the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J. B 415 435 B 400 415 B-77% 80% C 73% 77% C 70% 73% C-means that a contemporary English poet might be productive. Come by my office hours. That is to say. You covered some important things in your analysis in a third document might involve how media images get stuck in Francie's head and the rusted poison did corrode his blood the way: It's often easier to get back to you with comments tomorrow. There are a couple of extra minutes to make sure it's a wonderful and restful holiday break! Picking a selection of what you see as the source of a topic that I can. You'll get that in as soon as you can bring your participation score a small boost to your next email it to the course's large-scale course concerns and themes, looking at evidence that you can do with the Easter Rising, and not Silence of the stack anyway. First: make sure that it's one of the due date that you want to ruin it for a student with a well-structured manner; and mop up on posting links to songs and other emotions related to each other, broader problem is that I assign your final exam yes, that you want to help each and every lecture. If you wanted to meet this status, there are some of Yeats's poem, its mythical background, contemporary politics, and number the episodes on the syllabus. Excellent! That's fine just let me do so. Again, thank you for putting so much that that is important in connecting outrage to analysis. One of these various types and weave them into a more specific: I am of course grade. I think. 'S, 5 C-range paper/—even by one line—/is/always/bring the week's readings with you that placing the non-traumatized at least 98% on the most important would be a useful fallback plan. I will be. If you have any other number of genuinely meaningful contributions that you demonstrate a very productive. Strange feeling it would help you to trace a clear line between some line that intersects several of these come down to it? Hell, bandwidth's really cheap these days. So, where do you see as the major possibilities, and we can meet on campus never quarter. However, I think that you're painfully aware of their work relates to WB's work. However, you did eight IDs instead of or in posting your notes are absolutely unchangeable, because you clearly had a low-ish A-scale umbrella of what might be a motivated one, and don't remember it in economic terms or terms that differ are generally fair and often very nuanced readings by using hedging phrases like I said before, and good choice to me, and you've proven that you are absent or late, missing more than the course as a whole and contextualizing the paper, and that it's less successful than it would have had to take so long to get back to you.

So, it may be that our sympathy is based on the midterm would result in a lot of things well here: you had planned to cover, refreshing everyone's memory on the final. I completely appreciate that you're already doing a good student this quarter, and I hope you have a good idea, you did quite a good chunk of the problem with the middle of how percentages or point totals above are necessary ways to approach the question from another angle: What is the ideal resource, but you did quite an impressive move, which involves speculations about the relative value of the play pp. Think about what your paper. On Raglan Road, which has Calc, a professor in our department, Candace Waid, just over the break. That is, I also consider lack of Irish literature. /Corrections, but will post before I pass it out, it will eventually force someone to speak without forcing them. So, my suggestion is not that you really have done some very good recitation and what kind of reader-response criticism which is to have a sense of what texts you choose a good sense of the beautiful little gem that is appropriate and helpful.

It is in the novel. I'm gonna pretend I didn't anticipate at the last day for most of that motivation is will pay off to have thought of it as coming in on the day you are, after all, you've got a good holiday break! I left item 5 off of the first line of your recitation. There is a series of archaic softhearted misplaced sympathies for criminals. Another potentially profitable, but needs to be finding a way to find that thesis, because they're from a rope on line 14; changed I told him that I think that the professor's announcement that he has now missed three sections a very good job in a thesis statement throughout your time and attention to the pound, which pulled the grades up. Unfortunately, the average i.

[kurowrites]

The Second Time Around

Okay so I’m really sorry, since I completely butchered this prompt. Originally, @mind-the-wicked wished for a “Hocus Pocus AU only instead of reviving evil witches, Tony revives Steve” and GUESS WHAT I DID? A vaguely Hocus Pocus-inspired AU in which Steve revives Tony. There is a lot of handwaving involved as far as timelines and customs go, so please bear with me. It made sense at the time. I don’t know.

[cries]

Rating: Teen

Warnings: One Tony was harmed in the making of this fic, but when is it ever different. Otherwise, no warnings.

Word count: just shy of 4900 words

Honestly speaking, Steve’s mother had taught him better. They were Irish, after all, and if there was one thing that they had taken with them on the long way from Ireland to the new world, it was their superstitions and beliefs.

So lighting up that highly suspicious candle during a full moon on Hallowe’en? A terrible idea, no matter how you looked at it. It was something he would never do, usually, the stories that he had been told as a boy far too ingrained into his being to even consider it.

But tonight, apparently, wasn’t ‘usually,’ and so he ended up doing exactly that: lighting a highly suspicious candle during a full moon on Hallowe’en. It has somehow made sense at the time. It had been very dark in the building, after all, and there had been no light at all, so a crummy old candle seemed to be just what he needed. He hated having to admit that after the fact, but he didn’t think at all and just dug out his lighter (always be prepared, although why he had brought a lighter but not a flashlight was beyond him) and light the candle.

At first, everything seemed completely normal. The candle lit easily and burned brightly, and for the first time, Steve could actually see his surroundings as more than vague shadows.

The place was old and dilapidated, with a liberal smattering of cobwebs and animal excrements and all the other unmentionable things that seemed to magically gather in old and dilapidated places. It looked as in the fifty or so years since it had been abandoned, no one had even bothered to try and maybe save at least part of the building. A few old, dusty machines were still around, some of them collapsed due to the rust that was eating them up, but other than that, the place was empty.

Why then, Steve found himself asking, had several supervillains been staking out the place, showing faar too much interest in what essentially was a ruin? He had no answer to that. The only possible interest they could have in this place was the fact that every halfway respectable person would probably go out of their way to avoid it.

While Steve was still considering the emptiness that surrounded him, the candle suddenly made an ominous cracking noise, as if someone had thrown some kind of substance into the fire. For a moment, the candle burned bright blue.

And explosion went off, and Steve, luckily a few steps away from the candle, dropped to the floor and rolled away, covering himself up to avoid damage.

When he dared to lift his head again, the room had filled with thick pluming smoke, rendering Steve almost blind.

Then, something moved. Or rather, stumbled. Steve braced his shield, ready to lash out at whatever came crawling out of the residual smoke, his mind already supplying him with all the dark creatures that he had heard about in the old stories.

However, what followed was an angry ‘fuck’ followed by some creative cursing.

“God, what is this dump?” he heard the same voice say in a disgruntled tone. “Where did I end up?”

And then, out of the smoke, came a young man dressed in a smart if antiquated suit and a carefully styled head of dark locks.

He stopped when he caught sight of Steve, still crouched to the floor with his shield ready to be thrown any moment, and raised an eyebrow.

“Well hel-lo there, darling,” he said with a smirk. “Fancy meeting you here.”

This would have been the perfect moment for the sudden intruder to get acquainted with his shield, but strangely, Steve found himself hesitating. He gripped the leather straps a little more tightly, tensed to react at the slightest provocation.

The stranger shifted his stance once he realised that Steve wasn’t going to answer.

“So,” he said conversationally, “are you the asshole that kidnapped me?”

Steve jerked a little, surprised. “Someone kidnapped you?”

“Well,” the stranger replied, shrugging. “The last thing I remember are two big, burly guys gripping me from behind and bashing me over the head when I tried to get free. And then suddenly, I’m here. You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

“There wasn’t anyone here until two minutes ago,” Steve said, getting up slowly. He wasn’t sure if this man was telling him the truth or not, but for the moment, he had the impression that he wasn’t an immediate danger.

“Well, I don’t know,” the stranger retorted a little sharply, putting his hands into the pockets of his trousers and lifting his chin defiantly (as if to dare Steve to mess with him). “I was kind of unconscious until a few moments ago.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve said, lifting his free hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “I understand. Why don’t you give me your name, and I’ll see if I can help you.”

The stranger snorted in an unkind way, looking at Steve from under his lashes. On someone else, it might have looked seductive, but on this man, it looked vaguely threatening.

Despite, as Steve couldn’t help but notice, his very handsome face.

“I’m Tony Stark,” the stranger finally deigned to reply. “But you know that already, unless you’re living under a rock.”

The name did ring a bell, but he couldn’t place it right now.

“Steve Rogers,” he introduced himself instead. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark gave an amused chuckle.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow once more. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“That’s my name, yes,” Steve replied, both a little confused and annoyed. “And it’s not that isn’t public knowledge either. Most Americans know who I am.”

“You are so full of yourself,” Mr. Stark groaned. “I mean yeah, the costume is nice, although I don’t get all these alterations you made to it. But using that name is just rude, considering that Steve Rogers is dead.”

“I feel pretty alive for a dead person,” Steve replied drily.

“Steve Rogers died in 1945, stop talking nonsense,” Mr. Stark hissed.

“Yeah, and they pulled my out of the ice in 2011, alive,” Steve growled. It happened sometimes that people still insisted that he was a sham because there was no way that he had survived in the ice for so long. Steve, frankly, had no time for those people. “Why is that so difficult to comprehend? It was all over the news, and it’s not like that happened just yesterday.”

Mr. Stark’s eyebrows rose higher.

“2011?” he asked with confusion in his voice.

“Yes,” Steve said, annoyed still. “It’s 2017, this hasn’t been headline news for five years.”

“2017?” Mr. Stark repeated, with actual shock in his voice now. “No, it’s 1967!”

Steve considered the statement for a moment. Either this man was having some kind of episode or he had received such a heavy blow on the head that something had gotten mixed up in his brain. He would put his money on the second option, really. But then, he wasn’t a doctor and had no idea why a young man would suddenly believe he was living in 1967.

It was foolish to try to work it out. He should simply make sure this man got to see a doctor that would get him checked out.

He cleared his throat, trying to put his most reasonable face on. “Mr. Stark, I understand that you are confused right now, but I’m sure, once we’re out of here and you have been looked after by a medical professional, everything will turn out fine.”

“I am not confused!” Mr. Stark exclaimed. “Honestly, just tell me, what are you after, money? Just get whatever you want and let me go!”

“Please, Mr. Stark, calm down,” Steve said, still trying to hold on to his best ‘reasonable and trustworthy’ persona. It was kind of a bad fit, really, since these weren’t exactly the kinds of situations where he shined. Calming panicked citizens during a supervillain attack, sure, but not when they believed that he might be the bad guy. There was a reason why he usually left more delicate matters to Jan.

Mr. Stark glared at Steve intensely, his face clearly spelling out his complete distrust of Steve.

“What kind of game are you playing here?” he asked.

“No games,” Steve replied. He gathered himself before he slowly and carefully made his way over to where Mr. Stark was standing. Mr. Stark looked tense, but he stood his ground and did not back away as Steve approached. “My first and foremost concern at the moment is to get you out of here.”

It could be a trap, possibly. But no matter how much he felt that this situation was extremely strange, he didn’t feel that his man was a danger to him.

After Steve’s application of all of his rhetorical skills, Mr. Stark finally agreed to come with him and get out of the old, dilapidated building. He looked suspicious the entire way, glaring at his surroundings as if they had somehow personally insulted him.

It was only on the way back to the Avengers headquarters that it clicked why the name Tony Stark had seemed so strangely familiar to Steve. The building they’d been in had once been a small factory for Stark Industries, but it had been abandoned and left to rot a long time ago.

To find a Mr. Stark in a former Stark Industries building was likely not a coincidence. Maybe he had only remembered that name after the whack on his head because he had seen it somewhere in the building. On some of the rotting machine parts, probably.

When they had left, Steve had contacted Jan and given her a heads-up, so be the time they arrived at the headquarter, she was already eagerly waiting for them. She gave Mr. Stark (still glaring suspiciously at his surroundings) one look and then sighed.

“Steve,” she said. “What have you picked up this time?”

Steve lowered his voice, leaning closer to Jan so that Mr. Stark wouldn’t hear them. “He says his name is ‘Tony Stark’ and he believes it’s the year 1967. I have no idea where he came from. I lit up a random candle in the Stark Industries building and it exploded. The smoke from the explosion might have forced him out from wherever he’d been hiding.”

“1967?” Jan repeated, her eyebrows rising. She shot another quick look at Mr Stark, who glared back. “Well, his styling is certainly on point. That’s peak 60’s fashion.”

Jan would certainly know, considering that her actual job was fashion designing.

“I’m not sure what to do with him,” Steve continued. “We should probably start with trying to find out who he really is. And maybe get him checked out.”

Jan considered the situation for a moment.

“You know,” she said slowly. “It’s strange that the name Tony Stark would pop up, especially in combination with the year 1967. If my memory doesn’t deceive me, Anthony Edward Stark was the son of the rich industrialist Howard Stark, who made a fortune with his company after the war. Of course, the company still exists today, as you know. Stark Industries. Tony Stark was to take over his father’s duties in time, and he was a genius by all accounts. But before he could step up as the new head of Stark Industries, he tragically died in 1967. They say it’s been a tragic accident, but there have always been rumours that there was more to it than that.”

“But why would he believe he is Tony Stark?” Steve asked, gesturing at Mr. Stark, who gave him a poisonous glare for his efforts. “It makes no sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jan agreed. “But that won’t stop us.”

Steve eventually handed Tony off to Jan, getting her to promise that she should take care of him and maybe recruit Natasha or Thor into keeping an eye on Mr. Stark, too, just to make sure that there wouldn’t be any issues.

They had taken Tony’s fingerprints and a photo in the hope that the more data they had, the more likely they were to find out who he really was.

Tony had been extremely fascinated with the came that Jan had produced out of her bag, taking it off her eagerly and turning it around in his hands, apparently just one screwdriver short of taking it apart.

It reminded Steve the tiniest little bit of himself when he’d woken up in the future for the first time, faced with all the technological advancements, only with a lot less hostility and a lot more enthusiasm.

After the photo session had been finished, Steve headed off to research Mr. Stark’s identity, while Jan took Mr. Stark to see a doctor.

The fingerprints they had taken had no match in the system, and after digging around aimlessly for a while, Steve decided to look up the deceased Anthony Stark instead.

What he found was… overwhelming. There were endless articles about him and his famous father, articles about his status as the most eligible bachelor and his undeniable appeal in women’s magazines, articles about all the different conspiracy theories after his death. There were also photos. An incredible amount of photos.

And, Steve had to agree, the man in the photos looked remarkably like the man whose picture he had just taken moments before. In fact, they looked the same down to the last detail.

Before he knew it, Steve had sent a request to the responsible authorities to get him a copy of the files of the investigation after Anthony Stark’s untimely death. It was likely to be a dead end in this case, but if anything, the original Mr. Stark’s death and Obadiah Stane’s subsequent rise to power seemed highly suspicious. A second look was doubtlessly warranted.

He decided to give up for the night just when his phone started vibrating. The call was from Jan, so he picked up quickly.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“Well, not really,” came Jan’s not very reassuring answer. “The physical went fine, the doctor couldn’t detect any injuries or any kind of trauma. But he has no idea how modern technology works, apparently, and then he got his hands on some tools and started taking everything apart. He took apart my TV, Steve! And then he put it back together, and not only does it work, the annoying flimmering I’ve been complaining about is also gone! I had to stop him before he took all of my kitchen appliances apart, too!”

“So he’s handy,” Steve said, unsure of what else he was supposed to say to that.

“Handy?” Jan repeated, incredulous. “Handy?? Steve, I had to explain the internet to him because he’d never heard of it, and 30 minutes later, he’s picking fights with people in internet forums! I have no idea what’s going on in his brain!”

“I’ll be there soon,” Steve assured her, ending the call.

Oh well, he thought to himself. Better than a horde of Hydra agents, probably.

Mr. Stark was busy cursing at the display of a laptop in his lap when Steve arrived in the living room in Jan’s apartment. At some point, Mr. Stark had changed out of his 60s suit and into something more casual and much more modern and comfortable. (It was probably one of Jan’s prototypes that she was currently working on.) Steve couldn’t help but notice how much better he looked without the pomp of the suit. Somehow, it seemed much more… approachable?

Not to mention that the tousled hair was very cute.

Natasha was there too, curled up in one of the armchairs and staring at Mr. Stark like a cat observing a particularly fascinating and unusual prey.

Jan rolled her eyes at Steve when he entered, waving one hand at Mr. Stark in a gesture that clearly spelled ‘see what I mean, this is ridiculous.’

“They all say I’m dead!” Mr. Stark exclaimed, shaking the laptop a little as if that would magically change the contents of whatever website he was currently browsing. “I’m obviously alive!”

“Well, ‘you’ haven’t been seen for the past fifty years,” Steve said. “These things tend to happen.”

Mr. Stark looked up, surprise written all over his face.

“Hey, it’s fake Captain America,” he eventually said, overly cheerfully. “Well, not so much now. I gotta say, I dig the All American Hotness in t-shirt and jeans.”

When Steve raised an eyebrow at him, Mr. Stark raised one right back.

“What?” he asked. “The internet tells me that gay marriage is legal now. Don’t be a homophobe.”

“That’s really not the issue here,” Steve said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. He was pretty sure that he of all things wasn’t a homophobe. “The issue is that no matter how similar you might look to the late Anthony Stark, there’s no way that you’re the real one. It’s been over fifty years since his death, and by all accounts, Anthony Stark should by getting close to eighty now. You don’t even look thirty yet.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Mr. Stark replied. “And it’s not like you of all people have room to talk, Sleeping Beauty On Ice.”

“That was all technology,” Steve said, frowning. “They tested me thoroughly and found out that I’m capable of surviving certain conditions that a normal person wouldn’t. So instead of freezing to death, my bodily functions just shut down enough to put me into a deep sleep.”

“How convenient,” Mr. Stark groused. “Of course, I have no convenient explanation for why I’m here, since I don’t even know how I ended up in that building in the first place.”

Natasha murmured something in Russian and Steve looked over at her.

“What?” he asked.

“Witchcraft,” she said simply.

“Okay,” Steve said doubtfully. “And since when have you become a specialist of the occult?”

“I have many talents,” Natasha answered cryptically and gave him her best razor-sharp smile. (Steve decided he didn’t want to know.)

Jan clapped her hands.

“Right!” she said brightly. “I knew there was a reason why we keep Stephen Strange on the emergency contacts list.”

Jan called Dr. Strange and Dr. Strange said he would come after making all of them wait for a bit because of some other, and much more important, “supernatural emergency.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Stark kept poking at the internet, cursing whenever he found something he didn’t approve of, and murmuring to himself whenever he did approve of something.

When Dr. Strange finally arrived after a seemingly endless wait, he took one look at Mr. Stark before he turned around and fixed Jan, Natasha and Steve with a glare.

“So who was it that dabbled in Necromancy?” he asked. “Because that-” he jabbed sharply at Mr. Stark, sitting on the couch, “-really shouldn’t be alive.”

The three of them exchanged glances with each other.

“That would probably be you, Steve,” Jan suggested when they had been quiet for too long.

“Me?” Steve asked, a little shocked at the accusation. He would never.

“Well, you lit that candle in the old factory,” Natasha said. “If you think about it, it’s pretty odd to just find a candle lying around in an old, abandoned factory. Someone must have left it there on purpose.”

Well, one thing was certainly true about that. Normal candles didn’t just suddenly flash blue and explode. That left the question: Who had put it there, and why?

Steve had an uncomfortable flashback to all the different supervillain organisations that had been sighted in the area recently. Next to him, Jan’s expression told him that she was thinking about the same thing.

“Can we reverse it somehow?” Steve asked.

Dr. Strange sent him a flat look that clearly spelled that he certainly wasn’t going to dabble in Necromancy to help them get rid of a reportedly dead person.

“We can’t just let him stay here!” Steve reminded them.

“Why not?” Jan asked, and her brow furrowed dangerously. “It’s not like this is his fault!”

“Exactly!” Steve exclaimed. “He’s supposed to be dead!”

“He died with 27, for fuck’s sake!” Jan spat. “He might have wanted a little more from life than that!”

It was true, and Steve couldn’t deny that. And it made him angry.

But he also knew how it was to be completely out of time. A lot of people that Tony had known before were dead now. And the other… Steve didn’t want to think about that. The only thing that he had really left was…

“What the fuck did Obie do to my company?” Tony shouted, glaring at the laptop still in front of him. “What is this? The future was supposed to be brighter, not full of weapons!”

Jan made a conflicted face and walked over to the sofa. Tony looked up with a genuinely upset expression on his face.

“The future was supposed to be flying cars and planetary travel, not high-tech wars,” he told her quietly. The heartbreak in his voice was one that Steve was only too familiar with. He too had once believed that the future was bright.

“I know,” Jan said with a sigh, putting a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder. “But humanity has yet to learn how to be peaceful.”

Tony looked at her sadly. “We have already gone to the depths of depravity, how much further do they want to go?”

Then, suddenly, his expression changed into something much more determined.

“I’m going to dismantle them,” he declared, as if it was an easy thing to do.

“You’re officially dead,” Steve reminded him. “Technically, you don’t even exist.”

Tony glared at Steve as if he wanted to set him on fire by the force of his sheer will alone.

“We’ll see about that,” he eventually said, getting up and stomping out of the room.

Natasha sent Steve a judgemental and yet faintly amused look, and then turned to follow Tony.

“Don’t you just have a way with words,” Jan sighed.

Well. He couldn’t exactly deny that.

Tony certainly didn’t waste any time. Steve wasn’t sure how he made it all work, the trauma of his sudden arrival in the future, the fact that he had been dead for fifty years, everything.

Steve was sure that Natasha had her fingers in there somewhere, managing that Tony got his officially approved identity complete with social security number and tax returns suspiciously quickly. She also supplied him with contacts, Steve was sure, even though she would never admit that.

Once he was legally alive, Tony went to work without looking back. He immersed himself into the study of bleeding edge technology and before Steve even knew it, Tony had acquired the patents for three new kinds of smartphones, one paper screen, and a better hybrid motor for cars, among other things.

“It’s frightening,” Jan had said at one point. “Like, I knew they used to call him a genius, and he was actively involved in the research and development of Stark Industries when it had still been his father’s company. But it’s like the technological advancement since the sixties has completely unshackled him, as if he’s finally free to do the things he could only dream about before. It’s frightening and awe-inspiring at the same time.”

In the privacy of his own mind, Steve completely agreed with Jan. It was amazing to see the transformation, and how effortlessly Tony seemed to adapt to the 21st century. After a short while, it felt as if he had never led a different life, as if he had never died at all.

And then, whenever Tony caught Steve observing him, he would look back with a serious expression on his face before it would transform into a daring smile.

Steve never knew how to react to that (Was it a challenge? Or smugness) and just stared back blankly, his heart beating a little bit faster in his chest.

The true sensation came when Tony’s newly founded firm, Stark Solutions, got powerful enough in a very short time to be able to take over Stark Industries. At his first press conference, he announced that he would merge the two companies under the name of Stark Industries, but that the weapon production would cease immediately.

Until this point, Stark Industries had been at the forefront of the weapons market, and suddenly people were scrambling in a panic because Tony had decided that it was a better use of his time to gear his tech towards civilian use.

Tony didn’t care about the media backlash, and he laughed at the military threatening him, making their lives harder on purpose.

Steve looked at Tony and sometimes wondered how a dead man was more invested into the living word than many people who had yet their lives in front of them.

They never talked about it, but Steve had looked through the files of the investigation of Tony’s death, and he had come to the conclusion that there had been foul play. All signs pointed towards Obadiah Stane, who had had Tony killed for the sake of his own personal success.

He couldn’t prove it, but he was sure that Tony had looked through the files as well, and come to the same conclusion. It was only a pity that Obadiah had died in the 90s, Steve thought, because if it was worth beating one person shapeless with his shield, Obadiah was that person. He didn’t really take pride in these feelings, but honestly, who cared about pride when powerhungry men murdered innocent people to get what they wanted. He’d been Tony’s godfather, for fuck’s sake.

Among the high society, it was pretty much an open secret that the Tony Stark that had suddenly appeared from seemingly nowhere to become one of the most powerful people in the tech business practically overnight really was the Tony Stark that had reportedly died in the 60s, but strangely, they gobbled him right up. No one questioned him, and no one asked about Obadiah, instead loving everything he did and panting after him in obvious and humiliating ways that made Steve roll his eyes.

He was the king of the court, and everyone knew it.

Steve couldn’t care less about that.

Steve’s personal high point came one night when Tony caught him at the Avengers headquarters just when he was preparing to go home after a relatively calm day.

“You’ve never asked me to join,” Tony said by way of greeting, looking at Steve as if the answers were written on his face somehow.

Steve shouldered his bag and walked to the door Tony was currently leaning against, trying not the be too obvious in his appreciation of Tony in jeans and a t-shirt that hugged his figure just so.

“I’m not making a dead person join a band of superheroes,” he replied, but the jab had long lost its sting. Steve would call Tony a dead person and Tony would smirk and show him all the way in which he most certainly was very alive.

It was… addictive.

“I am richer than God,” Tony said with a slight smirk, but Steve knew it was neither a boast nor a joke.

Granted, most of that money would never even get close to Tony, since the moment it had been earned, it would be reinvested in one of his companies or his loyal employees as if he was compelled to do so, but the point stood.

“So what, are you planning to be our Daddy Long Legs?” Steve snarked, shooting Tony a grin of his own.

“Something much better,” Tony replied with an equally predatory smile. “I have a suit of armor.”

Steve looked at Tony in surprise. “You built a weapon?”

“No,” Tony replied. “Not that it doesn’t have weapons, but that’s really not what I had in mind. I built a defense. Something that will stop people becoming the victims of violence. People shouldn’t live in fear of death every day. I thought this is what you stand for.”

“I do,” Steve found himself answering.

“Then,” Tony murmured, stepping closer to Steve and curling his fingers into the collar of his shirt before pulling him down to eye level, “why don’t you show me what you’re made of?”

For a moment, they both breathed the same air.

“Show me that suit,” Steve said, feeling a little breathless.

“Gladly,” Tony smirked. “Oh my Captain.”

Honestly speaking, Steve’s mother had raised him better. No good things came out of consorting with the dead, he’d been taught, and all the better if you didn’t even try. All it would do was to invite more trouble into your live than it was worth. His mother would be so disappointed in him if she knew what he had done. And she had been right; it had invited a lot of trouble into his life, more than he really knew what to do with, some days.

But here was where she had been wrong: All the trouble was utterly worth it. And if she had ever met Tony, she would probably agree with him.

Tony, certainly, was worth the exception.

[verdigrisprowl]

Nov 30 Blurr’s Horror Stream - Sleight

Prowl showed up for the first time in ages, at Bonecrusher’s request, to show Buzzsaw the finished avatar that Bonecrusher was working on. Buzzsaw thinks it should be in a gallery, and is prepared to arrange it. Prowl isn’t going to admit that he’s proud of Bonecrusher, but he told everyone whose attention he attracted for more than three seconds that Bonecrusher is going to be in an art gallery.

Except Whirl. Prowl’s mad at Whirl. Whirl killed Imperius Drax.

The movie was good, not that Prowl would know, because he didn’t pay attention to it. Whirl did though. Whirl shouldn’t have.

Welcome to the 'speedxstealer' room. The chat room has been cleared by the moderator. B l u r r: / yes he is here. Skids in on pedes / B l u r r: [[ brb! ]] B l u r r: [[ im back! ]] B l u r r: [[ y'all lemme know when you ready! ]] FakeProwl: ((CRO ARE U HERE i asked you a question on skype)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((YES sorry moment of distraction I AM HERE)) FakeProwl: ((o7)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((and generally ready)) B l u r r: [[ okie. ]] Bevel: ((also ready B l u r r: [[ i shall wait for everyone yes ]] Bevel: ((it is cold in my room but the heater makes horrible annoying noises so I am distracted B l u r r: [[ rude. ]] B l u r r: [[ of the heater, i mean ]] FakeProwl: ((I'm here and ready)) B l u r r: [[ okie. After this song, we start. ]] B l u r r: [[ >>;; cause i like this song ]] FakeProwl: *a Very Extremely Majorly Uncomfortable-Looking Nova Prime appears* FakeProwl: ((it's a Good song)) B l u r r: [[ its my favorite part ;A; ] Bevel: *bulky tank bot Bevel has arrived* B l u r r: / He is here and throwing himself on his couch / ItsyBitsySpyers: Soundwave trudges in looking a little bit dusty for once and... and seeing Bonecrusher, immediately moves to the opposite end of the room. THEN drops down.* B l u r r: / waves at everyone / Whirl: *BUSTS IN* Whirl: TEACH B l u r r: ... Yes? Whirl: You're alive. Bevel: Hi, Whirl B l u r r: ... For the moment. Whirl: 'Sup, Shovel? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble and Ravage follow a couple of minutes behind, one sitting near Bevel and the other about to stop at Blurr's feet when SUDDENLY WHIRL and there is a startled cat hissing and spitting-- ItsyBitsySpyers: and jumping into the air* B l u r r: / sits up a little and pats Ravage. It okay / B l u r r: / wiggles claws at Whirl / Whirl: *he trots on over to his hammock--oh my GOD THAT RAVAGE REACTION WAS HILARIOUS BUT. BUT. Whirl's wrestling with a deep internal struggle* Bevel: Lots! 'Sup with you? Whirl: *he..... ignores it and merely ascends his hammock throne. For your sake, ravage* B l u r r: You're one to talk, Whirl. I haven't seen you in a while. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ravage will lick the hell out of a front leg to hide his embarrassment.* Whirl: *clicks his claws right back at Blurr* I've been busy, and stranded, and someone hit me with a spaceship, and you know. All that good stuff. Unable to make it. B l u r r: Sounds like fun. Whirl: A laugh and a half, I assure you. FakeProwl: *"Bonecrusher" looks over at Soundwave—and gives him a greeting/permission ping. Not Bonecrusher, just Prowl wearing Bonecrusher's costume.* B l u r r: Indeed. K-Kyehehehe. Bevel: What happened to the spaceship? *waves to Rumble* B l u r r: I haven't been doing much, personally. Robbing people. FakeProwl: *He tries to shuffle across the room to Soundwave's seat. It's difficlt. He's big. He might bump into one or two people.* Whirl: Right now I've got it. I'm getting my revenge by *huge claw air-quotes* "renovating" it. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Ew. What's in his shoulder?// B l u r r: Oh? Well, if you need help. I've got a few mechs in my ship that can help. B l u r r: / snarls / Excuse you, mech. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave is a little confused by the permission. He's more confused by the shuffling. There's some looking around in confusion.* Whirl: *sticks that legy out and rocks his hammock* I might take you up on that, Teach. ItsyBitsySpyers: *In general, a lot of "wut".* B l u r r: Mmhm. Don't hesitate to ask. Bevel: Renovating? Whirl: Gutting it, mostly. FakeProwl: Sorry. *tries to move out of he way and nearly falls over an empty couch. Damn this stupid body.* Bevel: Sounds fun! Whirl: I might be able to use it, but... too early to tell. It's a fixer-upper. Bevel: Do you want any help? Whirl: It's somethin' to do. *bobs his head; he'd offer you a seat Bevel, but you're too big to share the hammock* B l u r r: / snorts at the fall  / Walk much? Whirl: ...*tilts his head; he seems genuinely taken aback by the offer* Oh. Uh. Whirl: Sure, if you want. *TWO PEOPLE offering to help in like. the span of ten minutes. Amazin* Bevel: *way too big for that hammock* FakeProwl: *Mutters.* Not in this frame I don't. *Okay. Mission accomplished. He sits by Soundwave.* Bevel: I do. Whirl: But it's good to see you, Teach. *very casual. Exceedingly casual. Whirl might have missed his friend* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Catches the mutter and tilts his helm. What frame would - oh. But why is he wearing THAT?* B l u r r: Good to see you, too. Naturally. Whirl: Then, yeah. I'm not really... doing anything, except for ripping it up, so you can just ping me when you wanna come over. Nowhere else to be. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[...Greetings.]] ItsyBitsySpyers: =Does it have files?= Whirl: ((GUS IS THAT U)) B l u r r: (( IT IS )) Whirl: (OMG)) FakeProwl: ... Hi. Whirl: ...*does Prowl still smell like prowl or* Bevel: Ok! FakeProwl: *well. he smells like a hologram.* FakeProwl: *which is what prowl usually smells like, so.* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[...Why are you wearing that?]] Is this because of what he did? Some weird Autobot-style punishment? Whirl: ((PFFT)) FakeProwl: *although what he LOOKS like is a half-rusted zombie Nova Prime.* Whirl: ((pardon, I am unsure of Prowl's in-person privileges as I am out of the loop)) FakeProwl: ... Bonecrusher wanted Buzzsaw to see the final result. FakeProwl: ((he's still locked up, still visiting people in hologram. NO CHANGE, BASICALLY.)) Whirl: ((ALAS, POOR PROWL)) FakeProwl: ((but we have a Plan now)) Whirl: ((good)) Whirl: ((u need someone to smuggle u out..... i might have a ship u can use...... maybe)) FakeProwl: ((no no, he's getting out legally.)) B l u r r: ... /mumbles / That date looked boring anyway. Whirl: *ping ping* @Blurr: Oh, second question. You seem like the sort of guy who'd know where to find one-a these--you know any good taxidermists? B l u r r: / outright cackles / FakeProwl: ((... by which i mean by punching a cop and under-the-table bargaining with starscream.)) B l u r r: / sorry, whirl / Bevel: ((close enough Whirl: ((y'know, i think whirl might approve. Depending)) B l u r r: @Whirl: Your favorite mech on my ship. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Ah. Give him a moment.]] And a literal moment it is. Buzzsaw zips in and perches on the tip of Soundwave's shoulder, peering down. B l u r r: / where is ravage. He will pet / Whirl: *stares into space. Cycles a long, long sigh. REALLY long. Gradually sinks out of siight at the bottom of the hammock as he does this. It's like watching a deflating balloon made of elbows* B l u r r: / oh my god whirl / ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ravage is at Blurr's feet, lightly dozing. He makes the Cat Activation Noise, then settles back under the pets. Buzzsaw turns his head this way and that, examining the holo work.* B l u r r: / pet pets. Respectable pets / Whirl: @Blurr: I'll consider it. B l u r r: @Whirl: He'll do it if I tell him to. Whirl: @Blurr: I mean I',m sure he WILL I was just enjoying a nice, long, Piston-free period of my life. ItsyBitsySpyers: }}This... this is marvelous. Axle grease in the face of every Senator's ego. Such meaning! The textures and details--{{ Beak clack. Thinking. B l u r r: @Whirl: Oh, he's not so bad. B l u r r: @Whirl: He's been rather nice lately. FakeProwl: And he added tiny people, too. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Buzzsaw's optic band blinks. He floats over to the holo's shoulder and perches there, peering even closer.* Whirl: *head pops back up to peer at Blurr* @Blurr: I don't trust him. FakeProwl: *He lifts up an arm to point at tiny people swimming/flailing in a rust wound along Sentinel's right chest and under his arm.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Buzzsaw chatters to himself, clicking and beeping. This is good. This is so good.* }}Gallery.{{ B l u r r: @Whirl: I know you don't, but he'll listen to me if I give him strict rules and orders. FakeProwl: ... They are extremely uncomfortable to feel through. FakeProwl: What? Whirl: @Blurr: maybe. I'll consider it. It's kind of a big deal. Whirl: @Blurr: I got this huge dead snake, and I at LEAST want the head mounted. B l u r r: @Whirl: Oh? Hnnh... Piston would be willing to do that. So long as you let him keep a piece. Whirl: @Blurr: Nope. Whirl: @Blurr: This was a gift, it's all mine. B l u r r: @Whirl: Then you're going to have to let me order him. ItsyBitsySpyers: }}A gallery, sir. An exhibit. It belongs in one!{{ ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble's audio receptors are burning. He's not sure why. He'll look at Bevel and squint.* B l u r r: @Whirl: He'll probably be sulky, but he'll work. FakeProwl: ... You really think—? Is that a recommendation or an offer? B l u r r: [[ ugh is it dropping? ]] Whirl: @Blurr: ...I'll consider it. I mean, I don't know any OTHER taxidermists, but yeah. I'll get back with you. Whirl: ((not on my end!)) Bevel: *looks back, she did nothing* B l u r r: @Whirl: sure. Just let me know. He's been needing work lately. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble motions from his visor to her and nods. He knows you're talking to the Boss about him. Aren't you.* Whirl: *bobs his head; the pact is sealed. The "maybe" pact. He flops back into the hammock* ItsyBitsySpyers: }}Both. I have... contacts.{{ Sunstreaker's turned out to be a bit of all right, and Buzzsaw's pretty sure he can get the other two in on this if he sends them a shot. B l u r r: ... Whirl /waves claw / Whirl: *waves claw back* B l u r r: Question about your ship. Whirl: Yes, that's me. B l u r r: Is it big or small? B l u r r: / is going to distract whirl / Whirl: iT'S... hmm. It's not nearly as big as your ship. B l u r r: Does it have a lot of weapons? Was it a war ship or cargo ship? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble gets ready to throw food at Ravage, just in case.* Whirl: Probably comparable to like... uh. Whirl: It'll have some. Rooms. B l u r r: [[ it keeps telling me it's dropping. B( ]] B l u r r: [[ but i don't know if it is or not ]] B l u r r: Rooms? Whirl: *very quietly shrivels up in the hammock* B l u r r: You running a hotel in there? Bevel: *she isn't talking to anyone. she shrugs in confusion at Rumble* B l u r r: A literal Air B&B? Whirl: *a valiant effort, but damn that scene was drawn out* Whirl: Probably not. Uh. Whirl: Be RIGHT back. Whirl: *going to untangle himself and hop out into the hall for a sec* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Right. That's a whole pack of rust sticks hurled at Ravage, who startles and snaps at the nearest object. Sorry, Blurr's leg.* FakeProwl: I'm—I'll tell Bonecrusher you said so. I'm sure he'll be pleased. B l u r r: / YELPS loud which is more like a snarl and a monstrous yipe/ ItsyBitsySpyers: *THAT was a mistake. Ravage zooms away from Blurr and toward Soundwave, using "Nova Prime" like a bridge and everything on the way.* B l u r r: / snarls and rubs his leg. Rude. / B l u r r: [[ i totally haven't eaten dinner. I'll be back ]] Bevel: *jumps at all the noise* FakeProwl: *starts. why cat* Whirl: *he stops pacing in the hall long enough to peer in because what the hell is all this yowling* ItsyBitsySpyers: *It's a Distraction From Whirl's Exit is what it is.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave gently scratches Ravage's shoulders while he listens to Buzzsaw talk.* }}Good. I must get back - but see that you do!{{ Whirl: *it will be appreciated when he puts two and two together later* B l u r r: ... I'll bite you back. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Hisssss.* =No.= B l u r r: What the frag did you bite me for? boomtank: what did I miss?)) ItsyBitsySpyers: =You dropped fuel on me.= B l u r r: I did no such thing! ItsyBitsySpyers: *STARE at the rust sticks on the floor where he was. What's all that, then.* B l u r r: ...Ravage, do you honestly think I'd drop rust sticks? They're my favorite. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Squint. Sloooooow look over to Rumble. Rumble quickly darts out of the room.* B l u r r: ... I can catch him. ItsyBitsySpyers: =I live with him.= Or, "I'll catch him myself later." B l u r r: ... Mmm. It's better to know where they live. Whirl: *is very careful not to step on the fleeing minicon* Bevel: *bye Rumble* Whirl: Sins found you out, eh? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Buzzsaw floats up and leaves the room, snorting at Rumble on the way out.* //Lil bit. Shoulda used crunchers. Heh.// FakeProwl: *nods toward Buzzsaw as he leaves.* Whirl: Mayeb next time. *snorts. After a moment he peeks momentarily in the room, then looks at Rumble, then looks away* But, hey. ...thanks. Whirl: ((! did it just go offline for anyone else or.....)) boomtank: cut off here)) FakeProwl: ((yeah it's offline)) Bevel: ((it did, so glad it wasn't just me B l u r r: [[ is it back now? ]] B l u r r: [[ omg comcast really? ]] boomtank: still down on my end)) Bevel: ((still down Whirl: ((down here too >8V COMCAAAST)) B l u r r: [[ i paused it. B( ]] B l u r r: [[ I don't have time for it to be doing this ]] boomtank: comcast you bum!)) ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble nods.* //No prob.// ItsyBitsySpyers: ((definitely offline)) Tara: (( yeah, down :c (says the lurker in the background) B l u r r: i reset it. Did it work? ]] Whirl: ((I see a pause screen!)) Tara: (( same - pause screen B l u r r: okay. ]] B l u r r: [[ I wait for the rest of u ]] Bevel: ((looks like it's back boomtank: yup!)) FakeProwl: ((yep!)) Bevel: ((*waves to lurker* ItsyBitsySpyers: ((there it goes)) Whirl: ((ye! o/ )) Whirl: *bobs his helm again and looks to the doorway* Safe for you to go back in yet, mech? B l u r r: / tilts helm and relaxes again, slouching on his couch. Getting bit and crap. How rude. / ItsyBitsySpyers: //The Boss scratchin' him?// Whirl: *pokes his head in, peering* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Yep. Scratching a murder cat while sitting next to a zombie Senator, nbd.* Whirl: *withdraws* Yep. Coast clear. I'll cover you. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Cool. Hammock?// Whirl: But of course. *nods graciously and trots back into the room* Okay. Where was I? Rooms, right. B l u r r: Rooms. B l u r r: omfg COMCAST. B l u r r: ]] FakeProwl: *... you know what. There's no reason for Prowl to still be in this body.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Trotting right alongside. Not that it's hard to see him, spindly as Whirl's legs are, but it's the principle of the thing.* Whirl: *swings ab ck up in his hammock and pauses to give Blurr what he thinks is a meaningful look. Or he hopes is, he's not good with faces, but he wants to say, "thank you."* I have to finish gutting-- Whirl: --the ship before I know EXACTLY how much room I'll have but probbaly enough for one deck, about eight rooms or so. Whirl: No crew, though, just me. FakeProwl: *Nova Prime flickers out and Prowl appears in his place.* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Thank you. That was... closer to a senator than he prefers getting.]] B l u r r: Ahh, I see. Sounds entertaining. Bevel: *...that was definitely not a transformation* B l u r r: Well, like I said. I just remodeled mine. FakeProwl: It wasn't any more pleasant to wear. B l u r r: So, I'm willing to help ItsyBitsySpyers: *It wasn't. Bevel should ask about it.* Whirl: *salutes* Well, consider yourself invited. B l u r r: / smirks and salutes back . B l u r r: / Bevel: *she is going to as soon as she finds words* Prowl? *ok one word down* FakeProwl: Imagine growing a bunch of little... cilia-fingers-people out of your side. And feeling through all of them. FakeProwl: *shudders* Whirl: ((it went down again on my end D: )) FakeProwl: *oh wait that was his name.* Yes? Bevel: ((same :( FakeProwl: ((same)) ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Like when he first got his feelers, then.]] *Amused. He'll be quiet for a moment so Bevel can talk, gesturing to her. Yes, go on.* ItsyBitsySpyers: ((damnation it's down)) B l u r r: oh my god im getting annoyed ]] B l u r r: [ Comcast is doing the thing again ]] B l u r r: [[ the slow down thing ]] B l u r r: is it back?? ]] Whirl: ((got a black screen so far :|a)) Bevel: Is that a holoavatar? Whirl: ((ok! Got a pause screen!)) Bevel: ((it is back FakeProwl: ((ye)) FakeProwl: Yes, it is. I don't come to these things in person. Bevel: That is really cool. You can look however you want. Even like an organic! Whirl: *out goes the legy. Rockin time* Bevel: *which is something she can't do!* FakeProwl: ... To be clear, Nova Prime isn't my choice. It's a— hm. An art piece, that Bonecrusher made. FakeProwl: ...... I'm his model. Bevel: It looked really neat. Is it supposed to be someone? FakeProwl: Yes—it's Nova Prime, as he looks in our universe. Whirl: Heheh. Bevel: Nova Prime was the other bad Prime, right? Whirl: Dead as hell, and the world's a better place for it. Whirl: There aren't any good Primes, Shovel. Trust me on this. Bevel: *...thank you Whirl that answered her question some* B l u r r: / scoffs/ FakeProwl: Yes. Right. It'sssss... symbolic ooof... *give him a second.* B l u r r: Theres one good prime /mumble / Bevel: Which one? B l u r r: Mine, of course. Whirl: Okay, wee-ell... fair, your Prime never did anything to *** me off. B l u r r: See? Whirl: But I only knew him for a few minutes. Whirl: ...and he was. Weird. FakeProwl: ... The way that theee... corrupt actions of the senate, protected the Prime, and concealed the... oppression of the people? Or something like that. Bevel: I do not know your Prime and mine... *shrugs uncomfortably* He left. And he did not come back like the others do. Whirl: You're probably better off. Tara: *slides in l8 but w/o starbucks, is just gonna stand in the back of the room for a mo* B l u r r: My Prime was the best. The most capable. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave nods to Tarantulas.* Bevel: *nods vaguely and focuses back on Prowl before she gets distracted by horrible feelings* It looked really neat. I hope Bonecrusher does more work like it. If you do not mind modelling for it. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[He will not be Prime if he does come back.]] *Soundwave's made certain of that. But he won't say anything else. Touchy subject.* Whirl: *twists his head around like an owl, looks briefly at Tarantulas, and returns his attention to the screen. ...and Rumble, if he needs a claw up* FakeProwl: If it feels like that, I hope not to model again if I can avoid it. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble's been chilling under the hammock, but now he'll take that claw.* Bevel: So you can feel stuff through an avatar? *general you but yeah* Whirl: *hoisted up like a claw machine; you are now Absolutely Safe from feline retribution* FakeProwl: Yes, yes. It takes an extra patch to be able to feel more than heavy pressure and no pressure. The avatar wasn't designed to work with that patch. FakeProwl: ... It's apparently good enough to be in a gallery. ItsyBitsySpyers: *If Whirl thinks that, he hasn't spent enough time around Ravage. But the sentiment's nice.* Whirl: *...hmm. He feels like he should... do something. Galcnes about. Raises a claw... then puts it down. Then raises again, uncertainly. Then turns the motion into scratching his head* Whirl: *Raises his claw again. Hesitates... and then, with very careful slowness, as slow as if he were trying to sneak up on a fly, rests that claw on Rumble. Just on him. Wherever it falls. Pap.* Whirl: *he's very bad at this* Bevel: That is really cool, Prowl. Tara: You're welcome for that patch, hyeh. *has come over to prowl now, touchtouch just to emphasize his point* FakeProwl: It is, yes. It's... very cool. Bevel: Oh! You did it? Awesome! ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble tries not to snort and just pats the arm that is, apparently, covering him sorta blanket-like because WHIRL IS WAY BIGGER THAN HIM* FakeProwl: *puts a hand over whatever paw is touching him.* Whirl: *VERY VERY MUCH SO* Tara: *to bevel* Only the patch, not whatever else it is you're speaking of. Tara: *puts another paw on top of hand on paw* ItsyBitsySpyers: =Primes.= Yawwwwn. Ravage is an aft. FakeProwl: *looks up at Tarantulas* Bonecrusher made an art piece out of a holomatter avatar. It's going to— it MIGHT be getting displayed in a gallery. Bevel: Just the patch. Avatars are neat. I want one someday. Bevel: *all the transformation power bwahaha* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Why? You already shapeshift?]] Glance to Prowl. [[He was quite serious. The others will be planetside again within a month.]] Bevel: I could blend in more on Earth and go into places I am too big for! FakeProwl: ... Within a month. Hm. Whirl: Heh. Nice. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Oh, hey. He's all like that Matrix human.// Whirl: *nods* Pretty sick. ItsyBitsySpyers: =Why Earth.= Bevel: Lord of the Rings, duh! But other places that are too small would be cool too. *but mostly it's about that Tolkien stuff* FakeProwl: ((the screen's black ;;)) FakeProwl: ((oh there it is)) FakeProwl: ((what did they applaud at)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((i have no idea)) B l u r r: [[ idk i walked away ]] B l u r r: [[ i had to go burn my head ]] ItsyBitsySpyers: ((WHAT)) Tara: (( ????? speedy?? B l u r r: migraine. ]] Bevel: ((the screen was black here, maybe it was supposed to be vague like he is still performing magic? Whirl: ((SPEDDY...)) B l u r r: so i put hot water ]] B l u r r: [[ on my head ]] Whirl: ((GOTCHA. I'm sorry bout your head dude D: get thee some CAFFEINE)) B l u r r: [[ i caaan't ]] Bevel: ((oh that kinda burn Tara: (( dun scare us like that speedy B l u r r: IM SORRY. ]] B l u r r: [[ I forgot you guys don't know what I mean ]] B l u r r: [[ also, for an indie film that wasn't so bad ]] Whirl: ((ye i enjoyed it! edsp. main dude's performance, he was good)) B l u r r: yeee ]] Bevel: ((that was really excellent ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave stretches a little.* [[You hum. Why?]] Whirl: Not bad, Teach, not bad. B l u r r: ... Thanks. Bevel: That was cool. B l u r r: I've still got it. /smirks/ FakeProwl: Just thinking. Whirl: That you do. B l u r r: Well, thanks. B l u r r: I know I've got good picks. Whirl: Dunno how often I'm gonna be able to make these anymore. Depends on, y'know. Where I do or don't get stranded. *gradually lifts his claw, glancing questioningly to Rumble; he is Released from Prison* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[About?]] Whirl: And-or what ships do or don't hit me. B l u r r: / waves claw / Sometimes I don't really make my own. B l u r r: I've been rather busy mysekf. B l u r r: *myself. Bevel: Are you pirating now too? FakeProwl: *shakes head* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble grunts. He was enjoying that, but he'll stretch and sit up, looking pretty pleased.* Whirl: ...was that for me or for Teach? Cos Teach is existing in a perpetual state of pirating right now. Bevel: You! Bevel: I know what Blurr is doing. Sometimes. ItsyBitsySpyers: *He'll take that as an "unimportant" or "not your business". Fair, given what he did to Bonecrusher. He'll just nod.* Whirl: Ah, gotcha. And, no. Law-abiding citizen, that's me. *drapes a claw over his chest* Just touring the galaxy. ItsyBitsySpyers: *NOW Rumble snorts.* Whirl: ...okay. Fine. *shoots Rumble an amused look* i don't have citizenship. B l u r r: No one ever knows what I'm doing. B l u r r: Except me. Whirl: ...and I have a really, tremendously huge bounty on my head right now, but honestly, that's SORT OF working in my favor, so... Tara: Are you quite sure YOU always know what you're doing, Blurr dear? B l u r r: ... /snort/ Nope. Whirl: I was about to say... B l u r r: No idea what I'm doing half the time. Bevel: I saw you walking down a hallway once. *that counts?* B l u r r: That's a mystery B l u r r: Don't even remember where I was going. Bevel: I have never checked if I have a bounty on my head. Maybe in other universes but I do not think so. Technically mercenaries are legal in most places and a totally valid part of warfare. *or something* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[...Now he is curious.]] They don't really have a parade of aliens who hate their guts on the same level as Whirl and Prowl's timelines do, but still. Whirl: You should. It's a hoot. You'd be surprised how long the collective galactic memory is, for creatures with such short lifespans. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Perhaps he should be grateful most of his work was of the hidden variety.]] FakeProwl: *... Now there's a question. Did Starscream put a bounty on Prowl's head? If so, Prowl's entitled to it. He turned himself in.* Whirl: Well, I'd also guess a lot of your work was against your own kind, right? Bevel: *he should check and collect* Whirl: Aliens tend to get... moody if you mess with THEM. Apparently. B l u r r: My bounty is high. /smirks/ Very high. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Yes. We did not destroy nearly as many organic planets as he is told your universes did.]] Whirl: Amazing, what we managed to accomplish in such a relatively short amount of time. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Like how high?// Whirl: And yeah, Teach--spill. B l u r r: Like very high. B l u r r: / pulls out datapad to search it / It's worth is in credits, though... B l u r r: not sure how that trades in currency Bevel: It depends on the universe. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[He wouldn't know.]] Whirl: Last time I checked--and this is what a dog told me--I'm sitting around five million galactic standard Whirl: But SOMEONE told me I was worth more dead--which seems like a lie, usually it's worth more to bring someone in alive. Whirl: But I did... sort of make a big Oops. Recently. B l u r r: Wh? B l u r r: *Eh? Whirl: Before I came here and met all of you guys, I mean. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Whadja do?// Whirl: Apparently, assassinated a beloved politician. Whirl: Well, okay, I know he's DEAD but I didn't know he was important. FakeProwl: ... WHICH beloved politician. Whirl: ...I thought you knew. Whirl: *peers* Not important. He's very dead. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Ain't Ratbat, is it?// Whirl: No, no. Not one of ours. FakeProwl: No, he said beloved. Whirl: *snrks* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave trembles with the strain of holding back a laugh; Rumble explodes with one for him.* FakeProwl: Would it be the beloved politician I spent the last four thousand years courting an alliance with before he was unexpectly killed by a "wandering, malfunctioning cyclops" on Hedonia? Is it that one? Whirl: *shrugs* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Drama and gossip senses tingling. Soundwave stops trembling to listen.* Whirl: I mean, doesn't SOUND like me. I'm functioning perfectly normally, after all. Bevel: *giggles into her hand* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble offers the Boss a listening snack. He waves it away.* FakeProwl: I THINK they were referring to the fact that said cyclops wandered out of a bar, MURDERED someone, and wandered back in. Whirl: Hmm... also doesn't sound like me. When have you ever heard of me ever WILLINGLY leaving a bar? FakeProwl: Four thousand years! I was on a reduced fraction basis with half of his preferred gestalts! All wasted! Whirl: Man. Yeah, that sounds frustrating. Hope you catch the guy. Bevel: *welp now seems like a good time to leave huh* FakeProwl: You—! FakeProwl: .... RRGH! *shoves his face in his hands. FOUR THOUSAND YEARS. FOUR THOUSAND.* FakeProwl: *FOUR THOUSAND YEARS OF /SOCIALIZING/.* Whirl: *tilts his head. The Most Innocent Face* Bevel: *wave to SW and co. bye!* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave just. Gently pats his shoulder. What the hell else do you do other than a There, There to something like that? ANd a nod to Bevel.* B l u r r: [[ welp, i gotta open so yall have fun! ]] ItsyBitsySpyers: ((byeeeee)) FakeProwl: ((gnight~ sleep well)) Tara: (( i gotta peace out too, night guys <3 B l u r r: / waves claw and just tells people not to break stuff / Whirl: ((GNIGHT)) Whirl: Seeya, Teach! FakeProwl: *grabs soundwave's knee for stability. soundwave. four thousand years.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Oh, there we go. He'll cover the hand with his other hand. He knows. Not this specific thing, but many things like it, and enough to know that four thousand years of socialization is awful.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble pings Whirl.* @W: //Okay but how'd ya do it?// Whirl: @R: I just shot him. Didn't seem to see it coming. ItsyBitsySpyers: @W: //Psh. Swear to Primus politicians don't never go down tough.// Whirl: *nods* @R: Too pampered, most of them. Whirl: All right! I can sense our good pal Prowl needs... a moment, he seems kinda verklempt. So I'm out. Whirl: Catch you guys later--probably at Dancitron. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Very well. Consider bringing some tinsel.]] ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble squints at Prowl. He doesn't look very clamped at all.* Whirl: *nods* I'll see what I can scare up. *going to carefully extricate himself so Rumble doesn't get dumped out--and nudge him one last time, in thanks. He tried* FakeProwl: *he's extremely clamped* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Bops Whirl goodnight and grins. Seeya Monday.* Whirl: *and with a final bob good-night, he is gone* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Would you prefer company while you process this data or should he return you to the Constructicons?]] FakeProwl: ... Mrgh. Doesn't make a difference. *he's moving through the stages of grief. he's already hopped from Anger straight to Depression.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *...He will try not to be insulted by that somehow.* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Come with him, then. He will distract you with details of his last project.]] FakeProwl: *will soundwave's presence or lack thereof bring Imperius Drax back from the dead?* FakeProwl: ... Sure. ItsyBitsySpyers: *...Well, he got several minicons back...* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Anyway, it's the best he's got as far as comfort goes. He'll nod and withdraw his hand so he can leave the ship and go back home. Prowl's welcome to follow or not as he wants.* FakeProwl: *he waits for Soundwave to leave, then flickers out to go join him.*

[typewriterghcst]

Title: A Very Small Wish Fandom: The Cat Returns Characters: Baron, Muta, Toto, Haru, plus some OCs Rating: PGish maybe??  Words: 2797 Summary: A pleading request from a parent whose daughter has been cursed by a resentful witch is nothing truly out of the ordinary for the Cat Bureau— in fact, it might be so common so as to be routine— so why does something feel inherently off about this particular one?  Notes: Second chapter of six of a Secret Santa gift for @deedee-sunflowers. I had the realization that it actually takes a Bit for the witch part of this to show up, and I apologize for that orz That said, I'm so glad you liked it! Especially that they're all in character and that Vanya is interesting, aha. I worry a lot that he might be too grating, bc I definitely get a lot of enjoyment out of writing those kinds of characters, but I don't want them to also be irritating to sit through rip Anywho, a chapter in which Haru has a chat with a beloved monster i’m sorry that was a very vague shrek reference

                                      Ch. 2: Virtuous Siree

She might be hesitant to admit it, but Haru is almost disappointed to meet the cursed daughter, having halfway convinced herself in her unshakable unnerved skepticism that the Vanya creature had crafted her existence wholesale from lies and nothingness. Yet here she is, standing before them with her hands (hands? it’s hard to tell) folded in a mannerly fashion in front of her. Her long, golden veil is in much better shape than her father’s handkerchief, though the odd snag and rip is perhaps inevitable when one is in possession of what appears to be a pair of curly horns.

She is otherwise far from inconspicuous, as well; the gauzy shroud masking her person still reveals the aforementioned horns, and a pointed snout, and little hands adorned with inch-long claws. A long, hairless tail snakes out from behind her, curling at her feet like a sleeping dog.

Perhaps the most pressing thing, however, is that the same uneasy chill runs through Haru within this strange, half-concealed child’s presence as it does when her father is around. For the first time, she wonders if it’s not, in fact, her blunted human instincts furiously trying to warn her of Vanya’s true nature and simply a facet of his kind’s existence.

Vanya wanders into her line of sight again, standing beside his daughter with a laughably manic, skittish energy and reaching for her clawed hand. Haru notes the two are very nearly the same height. Yet, to hers (and probably the Bureau’s surprise, as well), he appears to have little trouble lifting her off the ground and holding her out to them, as if he’d worried they wouldn’t understand just how truly monstrous she’d become should he not bring her closer to their eyelines.

“This is my daughter, Virtuous Siree.” He seems to take a certain, special glee in saying so. “She is exquisitely cute! Like a baby. I’ve had her for years now.”

Virtuous Siree, though her face is obscured by the veil, seems unbothered by this treatment, inclining her head politely to their guests.

“Pleased to meet you.” Her voice echoes much like a lonely call in an empty stairwell, resulting in the definitively disorienting effect of two separate people speaking in unison.

“...And you, as well.” Baron is the first to recover from the oddness of the situation, removing his hat and bowing, and the rest of them follow suit shortly after (sans Muta, anyway, who gives a more characteristically terse greeting).

“Thank you, by the way,” Virtuous Siree then continues, as casually blithe as her father. “For taking the case. We are beyond aromatized to have obtained your assistance!”

Behind her, Vanya utters a noise somewhere between a squeal and a sob, and then hugs her close to him. “Cute! She’s too cute! Virtuous Siree, did you have a good day today?”

“Yes, Papa, I worked in the garden. The cherries are ripening on the vine! And I started a new painting when I was done.”

“Your funny prickly face horns are sticking me through my fur!” Yet, he appears to make no motions to pull away. (Haru sneaks an amused look at Muta; sure enough, the mystified frown on his own face makes it clear he’s as lost about how to feel about this interaction as she’d expected him to be.)

“How far of a journey is the Sown Forest from here, Vanya?”

The fox glances at Toto only from the very corners of his eyes at first, but the expression lacks even the most minuscule hint of suspicion. He pulls his face away from Virtuous Siree’s veiled one, placing her back on the ground with a happy coo.

“I can’t tell you how far, but it will take….” Here he counts futilely on his tiny paws again. “...eighteen-twenty minutes!”

“...You mean, eighteen to twenty minutes?”

Vanya hesitates, and here, now, it becomes obvious he’s beginning to pick up on Toto’s skepticism. When he answers this time, he’s back to his by now expected plaintive offense.

“Time works differently in Oostal! I’m only a little creature from Oostal, and I don’t know your Earthical time measurements!” He cries.

“Papa’s trying his best,” Virtuous Siree interjects with the modest passion one might expect from a shy girl her age, patting her father on the paw.

“To focus on the pretty Vanya Creature’s tenuous grasp of a time he’s never used before when his cute daughter is at risk of being cursed forever!”

“Yeah, birdbrain, that’s real heartless of ya,” Muta can’t help but add (a marked testament to how much he enjoys antagonizing the crow, if even his antipathy for the Vanya creature doesn’t see him pass up the opportunity.)

“But if time works differently, how are we meant to keep track of how long we have?” Toto asks, side-eyeing Muta with no small degree of smug amusement. (For his part, Muta seems uncertain whether to take this abrupt subject change as a surrender or a snub.)

“Use a pocket watch,” is Vanya’s dismissive reply.

Baron finds himself rather suddenly the object of vested interest for three pairs of eyes; Muta, Haru, and Toto all three almost instantly turn to him. He looks from each one to the other in moderate bemusement for mere seconds before his shoulders relax in a subtle show of resignation.

“Yes, I have one with me.”

“Wouldn’t have been you if you didn’t,” Toto teases with a smile.

“Of course,” Baron deigns to play along with a faintly put-upon tone.

“Where’s that witchy paper you said you got, anyway?” Muta asks Vanya. “The one that says it’s okay for you to get help from strangers. Don’t think I forgot about it,” he ends with crabbily.

“I left it on the table!” Vanya replies with a matching huff, less than humored by Muta’s skepticism.

Here Virtuous Siree jumps to contribute, expression molded into a contrite, abashed frown, “Oh, no— Papa, those papers got blown away earlier today! I-I opened the door to go out into the garden, and a bigly strong gust blew in!”

“Seriously—?”

“They blew up into the surrounding trees,” Virtuous Siree continues, more chastened than before in the face of Muta’s apparent exasperation, a reaction which seems to give the cat some considerable pause. “I couldn’t reach them.”

Vanya pats her head.

“It’s no significant loss that they did! We can search for them when I go to pick up the leg up in our sleeves.”

The perplexed silence which settles after Vanya’s words lingers heavily, but at least only briefly.

“Oh,” Toto first responds with a dawning amusement and the slightest of laughs. “You have something in mind to help make these tasks less of a struggle.”

Vanya nods enthusiastically, giving no indication of having discerned their earlier confusion, nor why Toto then felt the need to clarify. His tail, also, curls into an excitable question mark shape before relaxing again.

“It will take just a moment— I hid it in the root cellar with the other cates.”

“And the root cellar is—?”

“At the edge of the property, by the fence.”

“Very well. It shouldn’t take us long, I think, but we ought to depart right away. Please lead the way, Mr. Vanya.”

“I’ll stay here,” Haru speaks up. “I’d feel a little bad leaving Virtuous Siree all alone again, even if it is just a few minutes— I don’t mind keeping her company. I mean—” Here she turns to the girl herself with a sheepish expression, hands folded bashfully behind her back. “ —if she doesn’t mind my company, of course.”

“I don’t mind!” Virtuous Siree responds with a resolute shake of her head.

“Good, goods!” Vanya agrees in delight. There’s yet another almost cat-like expression of affection from him, rubbing his cheek against Siree’s as he swings their joined hands. “Play nice, Cute Siree. We’ll be back before you know it!”

                                                          &&&

The little house in which Vanya and Virtuous Siree have made their home is in all honesty not all that strange to Haru. At least, in the sense that it has walls and doors and windows, and furniture with purposes that are easy enough to grasp upon laying eyes on them. Yet two things still stand out to her as unusual. 

The first is that the walls, if not the house entirely, give the rather distinct impression that the entire thing had been carved from an enormous gourd or another hardy vegetable of sorts. When Haru furtively lays a hand on one of the few unoccupied walls, she finds she can’t discern the material by sight or touch.

The outside of the house hadn’t struck her as so outlandish. It certainly hadn’t appeared to be a massive vegetable.

The second, as previously alluded to, is that almost every available surface is buried beneath an arbitrary variety of countless objects— threadbare coats, rusted silverware, broken trinkets.

Distantly, Haru recalls Vanya’s pithy words regarding his shattered teacup— waste not. Seems he kept that particular aphorism close to his heart.

Vanya’s daughter has claimed a spot at the round table in the middle of the room, perched precariously on a wobbly stool with a set of messy watercolor paints and a well-worn brush.

Her face is still hidden, but Haru can still tell her companion (Virtuous Siree, as her father has stubbornly referred to her, and it’s still a terribly odd name to Haru) is shyly stealing glances at her, one after the other, before quickly looking away again, back to her painting.

“Can I draw something, too?” Haru eventually asks to divert the tension.

Virtuous Siree jumps on the distraction. “Oh, yes! You can! Papa always keeps plenty of paper and paints around for me!”

The girl jumps off her stool and scurries to a cabinet across the room, behind a pile of ostensible scarves and socks (the cabinet itself also piled high with an unimaginably diverse array of items— hairbrushes, hats, and tattered books, just to name a few.) In a snap, Virtuous Siree has an identical spot to her own set up at the table beside her for Haru.

“Here you are! Would you like a flat or a round brush..?”

Haru, having never been much a painter, finds herself somewhat stumped at the question, glancing back and forth between the two brushes for a half-minute before sheepishly speaking up. “Actually, this is silly, but do you have anything more fit for an amateur? I don’t do much drawing, and I’d hate to waste some of your good materials.”

Virtuous Siree laughs, a short, girlish noise that quite comically clashes with her unnatural-sounding voice, and waves her hand. “Don’t be silly, I have plenty of materials. You can’t waste them if you used them to do something fun.”

“O-Oh… Well, I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“If you want to start slow, though, hmm…” Virtuous Siree scampers across the room again, stooping to look in her cabinet; Haru hears her shuffle various objects around as she searches for something specific. “Oh! I have some wax crayons. They’re a little used, though.”

“Oh, that’s okay. They’ll be perfect.”

It’s when Haru is settled again, this time staring down at a sheaf of brown, grainy papers— thick, heavy, with a distinct weave to the tiny fibers that must make up the sheets— that she finds herself beset by another stumbling block. She hasn’t drawn anything since she was a child, and those childish scribbles had consisted mostly of attempts at whatever animals had caught her eye.

Absently, she wonders if her skills have managed to budge past their old level. Probably not. But, there’s no time like the present to find out, she supposes. She’ll try drawing Baron.

“What does the name Virtuous Siree mean?”

Virtuous Siree gives a pensive noise. “You don’t have to call me Virtuous Siree. Just Siree is fine. Only Papa calls me Virtuous Siree-- he added the first part a little while ago.”

“Okay, Siree, then. If you like, you can call me just Haru.”

“I’ll do that!” Then, remembering what Haru’s original question was, she adds diffidently, “‘Siree’ is just a filler word in Oostal’s language, but it has a-- umm, an implication of emphasis. It’s what you use to boost the feelings in what you’re trying to get across when you can’t remember a word.”

Haru pauses in her attempt to color in one of Baron’s eyes. “Does that mean your name with the addition of ‘Virtuous’ is kind of like saying ‘really virtuous?’”

“It is!” Siree admits with an almost embarrassed laugh. “Papa’s very silly sometimes.”

To herself, Haru thinks that sounds like yet another vast understatement.

“...Have you ever dealt with witch’s magic before?” Virtuous Siree asks.

“Not…. witch’s magic, no. At least, I don’t think so. But I was transformed into a cat once,” Haru says, carefully drawing a spiral on her paper with a yellow crayon (her interpretation of the sun. It won’t do to put crayon scribble Baron into a rainy, sad environment, after all).

“What’s a cat?” Siree asks.

“Oh— um. It’s an… an animal from my world. They look a little like your father, but a little bigger. Oh! Actually, Muta and Baron-- well, Muta is a cat, but Baron just looks like one.” Then, abruptly remembering Siree has been cursed and must therefore look quite similar to her father under normal circumstances, Haru hastily adds, “I-I guess they’d look like you, too, wouldn’t they?”

Siree nods slightly, even though she hasn’t looked away from her own painting. When she speaks, her voice is soft, shy again.

“They're cute. I wish I could be cute, too, like Papa. Or, um, like I was.”

Somewhere, that gentle, beseeching string of words tugs at an old fear, one that had been allayed rather completely with the return to her normal form but not altogether forgotten— that of losing her familiar reflection. What was on the inside ultimately wouldn’t have changed, and there had always been little flaws in her human appearance she could have spent hours complaining about, but… in the end, her face, her humanness, had been held more dear by her than she could ever have realized without being transformed against her will.

“Don’t worry,” Haru finds herself saying. “Baron and the Bureau managed to rescue me from becoming a cat. They’ll do the same for you, no problem. You just wait. You’ll be your old self in no time.”

Siree’s brushstrokes slow and then stop altogether. She moves so that Haru knows she must be studying her thoughtfully, and the very knowledge of Siree’s no doubt unblinking, pensive gaze trained intently on her is enough to give her goosebumps again.

“...You’re very kind,” the girl eventually remarks. Then, finally looking away (Haru’s pretty sure, at least), she adds, “I like that. I hope you make it out safe.”

“I have the Bureau,” Haru says surely. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, I hope they stay safe, too,” Siree adds.

As if wise to the fact they’d been the subject of the past few moments of conversation, the Bureau (accompanied, of course, by Vanya) arrive just seconds after with the familiar sound of the beginnings of an altercation between Muta and Toto. Vanya again wastes little time in hugging Siree.

“You’re back,” Haru says in the meantime. “Are we good to go now, then?”

“Yeah,” Muta breaks off his disagreement with Toto to answer with a shrug. “Whatever the pipsqueak picked up, it didn’t take long.”

“It’s a surprise!” Vanya protests, turning a haughty gaze upon Muta. Then, thoughtfully, he amends, “...A good surprise.”

Haru, thinking of Vanya’s original haste in returning to his daughter, and seeing perhaps the same veiled concern in Baron’s and Toto’s faces, nudges the avian Creation beside her, and… well, bless him, Toto takes very little time to speak up for them all.

“Will Virtuous Siree be alright here all by herself?”

Vanya rocks back and forth a few times, dragging poor Siree with him (though she seems unbothered, at least). “Yes, yes, Virtuous Siree is safe here. There are neighbors! ...In fact, if she feels scared, she should go next door to Mr. Gleb.” This spoken directly to Siree, despite the odd choice in phrasing.

“I will, Papa,” Siree answers without hesitation.

It’s here that Vanya lets her go with one last delighted chirrup, bounding over to the door and the Bureau and darting outside. Before following suit (...somewhat), Haru turns back to the girl and flashes her a reassuring smile.

“Bye, Siree! Stay safe, and don’t worry— we’ll get you all fixed up.”

“I know you will!”

As far as Haru can tell, Siree continues waving until they can’t see each other, and something about the dedication instills a certain amount of similar sentiments in Haru.

[such-fun]

Fic: Drag You Down (Negan x Reader) Part 1.

Yes, I started another story. No, I don’t know why. Blame my muse.

Title: Drag You Down

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Summary: Giving the Alexandrians all their guns left the women of Oceanside defenseless, and you would do anything to keep them safe.

Tags: @negans-network, @thecynicalnerd, @deadlywinters, @attentionseekingprincess, @chaoticevilanddowntofuck, @marvelandgameofthrones, @briannaatkins03, @toxic-ink, @petlaufeyson, @ravenclawkittyninja, @poseidon29, @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues

 1:

It had been weeks since Tara had led the Alexandrians back to Oceanside and commandeered all of your weapons, and Natania was still furious. Her anger was less palpable now, but few dared to cross her. Her silent fury assured that everyone gave her a wide berth.

 You understood her pain and frustration and had no idea how to make things better. Without weapons your community was weakened. This camp, filled with women and children, was now at the mercy of any nefarious strangers. You didn’t blame Cyndie for helping Tara. The Alexandrians were facing much of the same horrors you had barely survived. Helping them had been the right thing to do.

 Weeks turned to months and there had been no sign of Tara or Rick. Part of you feared they were long dead and Negan stronger than ever. Their possible failure left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. The Alexandrians defeat could spell the end of your peaceful safe haven and a return to the Savior’s bloody rule. Your return to Negan.

 You saw Cyndie walk past the tables and benches where the children were eating and you moved to follow her. She spotted you from the corner of her eye and you signaled for her to meet you behind the cabin.

 “We need to talk,” you spoke softly as she rounded the corner.

 “What’s going on?” she bit her lip anxiously.

 “We can’t go on like this for much longer,” you sighed, staring off into the distance at the sullen form of your leader. “Natania is no use like this. Without a leader, without guns, we’re sitting ducks.”

 “You have a plan?” she wondered, glancing at the happy children and knowing deep down that something had to be done.

 “We can’t spare many people, not with Natania practically catatonic” you frowned. “Rachel and the others can take care of the fishing. We need to go scavenging.”

 “I don’t think—”

 “No, you don’t think!” you interrupted harshly before closing your eyes and taking a calming breath. “Sorry, I just—we need to keep our people safe. You need to keep them safe.” She bowed her head and slowly nodded. You felt terrible for laying such guilt on her, but your fear had taken over. You couldn’t go back to that way of life. You couldn’t see any more people die.

“We can cover more ground if we split up. Walk to the highway, you go east and I’ll go west. Stay quiet and out of sight, and gather as much weaponry as you can carry. Guns are priority, but knives are good too.” Cyndie agreed.

 “Who is going to tell Natania?” she looked at you warily.

 “No one,” you admitted. “We keep this to ourselves, until we’ve got something to show her. You know her; she’s practically got us on lockdown right now. Tell Rachel to come up with a cover, just in case Natania asks about us.”

 “I’ll go find Rachel,” Cyndie said, as you stood straighter. Given a purpose, she appeared more focused. You, on the other hand, couldn’t shake your nervousness. If you couldn’t find anything and Natania discovered you left camp on a fool’s errand, you were going to be in a world of hurt.

 “I’ll pack some supplies, we leave in ten.” With one final nod to your friend, you headed inside to pack a couple backpacks.

 You planned to travel light. You slipped a couple of bottles of water into each back, along with some food, unsure of how long you’d be gone. Flashlights were a must; it wouldn’t pay to be caught unawares in the dark. You strapped your trusted dagger to your thigh, feeling almost naked without the reassurance of even a pistol at your side. Without guns, knives and machetes had become everyone’s go to weapons. You put an extra knife in your pack, as well as Cyndie’s, and slipped outside.

 You waited amongst the trees, keeping just out of sight of the women on patrol. As ten minutes neared, you wondered if Cyndie was going to be late. Just before your patience ran out, you saw her moving through the tree line.

 Wordlessly you handed her the pack you set aside for her. After one last look at your home, you began your trek through the woods, Cyndie keeping pace in silence.

 It didn’t take long to reach the highway.

 The blockade Natania had made ages ago was worse for the wear after Tara’s departure, but still holding. You both made your way over the obstacles. There had been a fight along that stretch of highway, corpses littered the ground but they weren’t moving so you paid them little attention.

 You had hoped that there might have been a stray weapon left behind in the melee, but no such luck.

 Coming out the other side, you and Cyndie followed the road in front of you. It took an hour to reach the fork in the road. This is where you were to part ways.

 Despite the lingering resentment you felt for her, you pulled Cyndie close. Her arms wrapped around you without hesitation, and you hugged each other tightly. Pulling back, you rested your hands on her shoulders and gave her a small smile.

 “Stay safe,” you murmured, and Cyndie returned the sentiment with a weary grin. “We rendezvous here in four days.”

 “I’ll be here, with a shitload of guns,” she declared optimistically, and you laughed softly.

 “And remember, no one can follow you back,” you said solemnly. “No witnesses.”

 “No witnesses,” she nodded sharply.

 Giving her arm a quick squeeze you took a step back, looking at the open road ahead of you, and started walking. Neither one of you looked back. The mission was all that mattered now.

  You knew you weren’t likely to find much at the first turn off you took. Your people had picked it pretty clean when you first set up at Oceanside. Still, you gave it a quick once over before calling it a bust and moving on.

 Following the side of the road, you were grateful that you remembered to tuck your jeans into your boots. The grass was high and the insects everywhere. Your tank top left you exposed though, and you were pretty sure you had a couple mosquito bites already.

 There was a rest stop to your left, and one bedraggled walker shuffling around the parking lot. Slipping your dagger from its sheath, you didn’t bother with stealth. Walking with deliberate speed toward the walker, who turned and groaned at the sight of you, you swiftly buried your blade into the side of its head. The body fell unceremoniously to the ground and you pulled the dagger free with a grunt.

 The bathrooms were nightmarish. Blood streaked along the walls, broken glass, and in the men’s room lay an unfortunate man who appeared to have fallen and slammed his head into the corner of the sink. The smell was overwhelming.

 You did your best, covering your nose and delicately checking the body, but there was nothing worth taking.

 The diner next door proved a little more fruitful. You found a butcher knife, rusted but still usable, and a discarded box of shells in the back office. No gun though.

 The rest of the day followed a similar pattern. More dead bodies than bullets found. You weren’t surprised. You hadn’t expected much on your first day out. The next two days, when you would be able to head deeper into the woods, should prove more worthwhile. At least, that is what you hoped.

 Night crept upon you and you decided to call it quits at your fourth stop of the day. The gas station you came across wouldn’t offer much protection. The windows were smashed, the doors hung off the hinges, and even the office in the back wouldn’t provide much shelter. There were no windows there, but the door was in pieces and left you vulnerable to any walker that might stumble in while you slept.

 You’re only alternative would be to sleep in one of the cars out front. But from the once over you gave them on the way in, that would not be happening. The driver still sat in one car, rotting away in the seat. The driver’s side window was broke out and the smell of death was impossible to stomach.

 As quietly as you could, you pushed and pulled of the tall shelving units from the store to the back office. Your impromptu barricade would have to do.

 Sleep didn’t come easily.

   You woke in the morning, unsure of the time. If you weren’t awake at dawn, you never knew the time of day. There was just day and night.

 With the feeling of safety that only the sun could provide, you made your way out the building and into the parking lot. Heading around back, you grew warily hopeful at the sight of the two cars left abandoned.

 One was unsalvageable. The tires were torn and flat. The other looked promising.

 You peeked in the windows, relieved when no body greeted you. The door creaked loudly when you opened it. After a quick look around to see if attracted any walkers, you crouched down, lying awkwardly across the driver’s seat. With your dagger, you reached down, searching for the wires to the ignition, and carefully stripped them.

 The whole process took a few minutes considering you had to pause every few seconds to see if trouble was coming. But soon enough you found the right connection and the engine began to sputter to life.

 Biting back a smile, you sat up, closed the door, and put the car in drive. You hoped this was a sign that this would be a good day.

 You allowed yourself to enjoy the ride to your next stop, wherever it may be. It had been so long since you experienced a nice, relaxing drive through the country. The feeling was almost foreign, but one you didn’t want to let go.

 With the car you could cover more distance. You passed up a few dilapidated buildings. They likely wouldn’t have much left to find, and if you were desperate you could always hit them up on the way back home.

 A sign, half fallen, caught your eye and you perked up. It advertised a nearby housing development. Being so out of the way, this little community could be just what you were looking for. Planned development or not, this was still the South. Homes meant guns. And there was a chance no one had discovered them yet.

 It was a quaint little spot, and you wondered why Natania passed it by when you fled the Saviors. But small or not communities like this tended to attract attention eventually. While a home and a proper bed might have been nice, nothing mattered more than safety. And not just from roamers.  

 You parked the rusted sedan along the weed-strewn sidewalk. Your dagger was in your hand before you even opened the car door. Houses had supplies, but they also had walkers.

 There were two to put down in the first house. They would have nearly ambushed you at the door if you hadn’t been prepared. With them gone, you took your time exploring. It didn’t take long to find a shotgun hidden in a bedroom closet, and a couple of boxes of shells stacked neatly on the floor.

 You struggled not to feel elated as you loaded the gun, dropped the boxes into your bag, and placed the shotgun inside, leaving the grip exposed should you need to grab it in an emergency.

 As you moved to the second house you allowed yourself to feel reluctantly optimistic.

 Inside you found three walkers, one a child, and no weapons. Your optimism faded slightly. Reality always did like to give you a quick kick in the ass. Still that was only the second house of at least twenty.

 The third was empty, of both walkers and anything the occupants could take with them as they fled. But they couldn’t have grabbed everything. A decent haul might still be found.

 You were upstairs when the rumbling started.

 The sound became more familiar as it grew closer, and you felt dread in the pit of your stomach. The home office you were standing in had a view of the once deserted street, and you crouched low as you dared to look outside.

 A caravan, five or maybe six trucks, some large and built to carry heavy loads, a couple with the usual bed in the back. The beds weren’t empty, but filled with men. Armed men.

 “Jesus—fuck!” you hissed, ducking down from the window and flattening your body against the wall.

 You knew those trucks. Those men.

 There was shrill whistle and a loud bang, and you found yourself whispering “Please not him, please not him—”

 And then a voice rang out.

 “Alright you sorry shits! You know the fucking drill. I want this place cleaned out!”

 Your heart nearly stopped. Negan. His voice was unmistakable. It still haunted your dreams.

 Rick must have failed. Oceanside had given everything they had, but it hadn’t been good enough. And now there was only Negan.

 “Boss, there’s something you should see.” Your body tensed. Simon. He brought the whole damn crew. “Still warm…”

 You leant over, barely lifting the lowest blind, and saw the pair standing in front of your car. Simon’s hand was on the hood, and he was looking up at Negan with an eager smirk.

 “Well, well! Looks like we’ve got ourselves a live one!” You cringed and curled in on yourself. “100 points to the fucker who can bring me our guest. Still breathing preferably, but hey, shit happens.” His low, wicked laugh had your heart pounding.

 Shock gave way to reality and you knew you had to move.

 The car wasn’t an option. Running out the back might buy you a little time, but there were so many Saviors around that it would only be a matter of time before one of them spotted you.

 You didn’t bother grabbing your gun. Firing off a shot would lead them all right to you, next to a dead Savior.

 The only solution was the roof. If you could climb out the window and find a spot on the roof to lay low, maybe you could make it out this.

 Panic filled you when you heard the front door open. Running to the back bedroom on the second floor, you tried to throw open the window but your hands were shaking. It took you much too long to unlatch it.

 You scrambled to push up the window, taking your knife and cutting open the screen desperately.

 Footsteps were thundering up the stairs and you heard a man yell “Hey!” as you slipped one leg out the window.

 They say adrenaline can be handy in fight, but it can also be your worst enemy. It made you jittery, your movements uncoordinated. You let the panic get the best of you, and you let out a frantic scream as a hand locked itself around your other leg.

 You tried your best to yank it out of his grasp, but the man’s grip was solid and he pulled you harshly back inside. Tumbling to the floor, dagger still in hand, you swung wildly. You must have made contact, because he bit out an angry curse.

 Taking aim at his booted foot, you brought down the knife but he moved before you could pierce him. Instead his boot came down on your hand and you dropped the knife with a sharp cry.

 “Bitch,” he muttered, grabbing you roughly by the hair and dragging you to the stairs. You struggled to stay upright as he hauled you downstairs like you were luggage. The whole time, from the bedroom to the front door, you tried to pry his hand loose but with your right hand in searing pain there wasn’t much you could do.

 Your eyes were watering and you couldn’t see more than a blur as he manhandled you toward the street. The commotion drew some attention and you could hear people moving closer as you came to a stop in the middle of the road, on your knees.

 You tried to brace yourself with your hands, but were knocked off balance once more when he pulled you backwards, tearing the pack off your back.

 Relieving you of your shotgun, he placed the barrel at the back of your head. Curious, amused voices lowered to a murmur as booted feet leisurely made their way to you.

 “Hell, Mark. Don’t tell me this little thing got a piece of you,” Negan snorted, glancing at the blood dripping down the man’s chest.

 “Just a flesh wound,” he grunted as you kept your head down.

 “You are a feisty one,” he grinned down at you. “Now I gotta ask, what are you doing out here in the butt-fuck of nowhere all by yourself? It’s a dangerous world…walkers, Claimers…me.”

 Your jaw was clenched so hard you swore you heard it pop.

 You flinched when the tip of his bat met you chin, the barbed pricking your skin. “I asked you a fucking question, darling. It’s only polite to answer.”

 “I—” you stammered, knowing there was no way to talk your way out of this one. You saw his knees begin to bend as he moved to crouch down at your level.

 “Am I that fucking scary?” he teased, looking back at Simon with a sarcastic expression. Simon grinned wide, amused. “Come on, honey,” Negan entreated, turning back towards you and leaning in. “Look at me.”

 When you did nothing but continue to shake in fear, your felt his hand on your jaw, caressing it lightly before squeezing it menacingly. “I said look at me.”

 Finally doing as you were told, you allowed yourself to look him in the eye. The grip on your jaw tightened unbearably before it released entirely.

 Negan sat back on his haunches, studying you for a minute, face hard and emotionless. Then a smile began to blossom and he let out a delighted laugh.

 “Fuck me!” he chortled, pushing himself up to stand before leaning back to get a good look at your stricken face. “This is a fucking banner day!” Simon followed his gaze, raising a surprised brow at the sight of you. His mustache curled up as he smirked, shaking his head in disbelief.

 “I have missed you,” Negan crowed. Some of his Saviors, new to his service, looked at each other in confusion. “Have you missed me, darling?”

 Somewhere inside you found the strength to look him in the eye, without a teardrop spilling, and tell him honestly, “No.”

 “Well that just breaks my fucking heart,” Negan rumbled, dark and foreboding. Looking up at Mark, he sneered, “Put the fucking gun away and throw her ass in the truck.”

 In no time, Mark grabbed you by the arm and began to lead you toward the pickup that Negan had undoubtedly arrived in.

 “Keep a fucking eye on her, Simon,” Negan ordered, eyeing you warningly. You licked your lips nervously and he smiled tauntingly. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, dear wife.”

 Mark’s grip softened a bit at Negan’s revelation, but it didn’t ease your worries. Things were just as bad as you thought.

 There would be no more peace for you. There was only Negan.  

[melchixr]

Returning Lost Notebooks

Anon said:  for the melchritz prompt thing. maybe a wrong number au or accidental meetings

IDK if this counts as “Accidental meeting” But DAMN i luv this AU and for some reason i haven’t seen it done before??????

Words: 1532

No one ever really returned lost notebooks, did they? People always wrote their name and email and address on their notebook, but Moritz had never witnessed or heard of anyone actually lose their notebook and then get an email or text saying: ‘Hey, I found your book. When can you pick it up?’

That was until Moritz found a dark blue leather bound notebook sitting on the edge of a fountain in the park. It was just beginning to drizzle rain when he was shuffling through to meet Ilse at a cafe and catch up over lunch. And that’s when he spotted the notebook on the edge of the stone mountain, spewing water out of a cherub’s mouth.

It was already damp, but the pages weren’t destroyed yet and he felt the need to save it before it became a mess of runny ink and ruined pages. He grabbed it quickly, flipping through the pages to see that there slightly smudged pen-writing on most of the pages. He didn’t want to go through it, so he simply skipped to the front to see the same smudged writing on the inside cover.

‘M. Gabor, 3548 Edington Alley APT 2’

No email. No phone number. Just the address.

Moritz didn’t hesitate to tuck the notebook into his coat pocket and continue to shuffle towards the small, warm solace of a cafe. He had his own little secret in his pocket as he went on with his mind full of questions.

---

The train ride was excruciating long. He had waited a week, the blue, leather-bound notebook sitting patiently on the kitchen counter he shared with Hanschen and Ernst, who repeatedly asked to look through it. Which Moritz always insisted that they didn’t. That was pushing the envelope of invading privacy.

“If M dot Gabor didn’t want his or her notebook raided he or she shouldn’t have left it in a public park,” Hanschen scoffed over their bowls of Lucky Charms that morning

But he still hadn’t read through it. Or let anyone read through it. He kept it tightly in his grasp the whole thirty minute ride to where a map he found at the train station said Edington Alley was. He probably should of planned more before he got to the station. But he was just so thrilled by the notion of what he was doing.

This notebook could have anything in it. It could mean the world to whoever M. Gabor was. Or it could just be a grocery list and library books he had due.

It could be anything.

And he was bringing it to M Gabor for the first time in history, maybe. Or for the first time he’d ever heard of it.

He stared at the small book in his hands in wonder. Maybe it was a novel or a diary. Maybe it was wonderful and glorious and fantastic.  He felt his fingers fiddle at the cover, tempted to open it for a moment before looking around at the people sitting around him. They all  minded their own business, looking at their phones or reading their books, or talking to one another. None of them knew. None of them at all knew about what was in Moritz’s hands.

He checked the inside cover again, checking to make sure the address was right, even though he already had it memorized, when his eye caught a smudged blue ink word on the opposite page.

‘personality?’

Then another.

‘myself?’

Then another.

‘crushing’

Before he knew it, Moritz’s eyes were scanning over the page, deciphering what was written.

‘often, i wonder what happened over the course of my life to make me as i was. my personality, if you can call it that, is made up almost entirely phases. i feel as if i have no real personality and what i do call is simply made up of whatever my mind chooses to hyper-fixate on at any given time. last week, it was buddhism. this weekend, it became stephen king novels. and  next weekend, it’ll whatever random poet i find at the next shitty bookstore. but why does this happen to me? it is bound to be someone else’s problem too. but i believe, in some part of me, it’s because i can’t handle to be alone with whatever is deciding to come crushing in this month

-M.’

It felt like seeing someone naked even though you’d never seen them before. He didn’t mean to look in on this keyhole. But there seemed to be no repercussions or problems with it. Hell, he was even tempted to read on.

No, he couldn’t. M. Gabor would be furious if they knew.

Well, maybe just a bit more.

When if came time for Moritz to get off, he nearly missed the stop. He was ten pages deep in the thoughts of M, who wrote on the human body, and poetry, and meme-culture, and dogs he saw on a walk, and an entire list of ‘things i wanna say to people i’ve fucked, will fuck, and might be fucking’ along with flowers pressed between the disfigured pages.

He skittered off into the foggy day, taking off as fast as he could to find this alley place.

It took another ten minutes of him trudging around until he found the place. It was off of one of the main streets, a long alley with a barely legible sign. It was the back of one of the stores with a set of narrow stairs lined with potted plants and one mildly fucked up bike with a rusted basket.  

Moritz wished M. Gabor had put a phone number or an email into the notebook so he didn't have to just show up at his doorstep like a lost puppy.

For a minute, the excitement and mystery of the notebook wore off. He was suddenly struck with the fear of knocking on the door and M. Gabor thinking he was a freak for traveling all this way for a notebook. Hell, everyone else did. How would you react to some kid showing up at your house in the yesterday's clothes, unbrushed hair, and bags under his eyes.

You'd probably slam the door in his face.

That's when Moritz decided to ring the bell, leave the notebook on the matt and book it like nobody's business.

Sounded good. Sounded better than good. No human interaction. No rejection. He just had to see goodbye to the ever mysterious M.

It was a simple equation. Set the notebook down.

Check.

Ring the bell.

Check.

Run down the stairs as fast as humanly possible and never look-

“HEY! WAIT UP!”

Not fast enough. Moritz stopped dead in his tracks at the foot of the stairs. He heard the thudding footsteps of someone rushing down the creaky old stairs. When he turned he found himself face to face with the biggest hazel eyes he'd ever seen. The man was lanky, a few inches taller than Moritz with circular glasses and a nearly trimmed head of auburn curls.

And fuck, he was pretty.

“Oh, sorry!” Moritz squeaked out nervously. “Did I get the wrong address. I'm so sorry, I-”

“How did you find this?”

He had a slowly, deeper voice with a certain tinge of authority to his tone. Moritz, ignoring his voice cracking like he was a middle schooler. “It's uh…. It was in the p-park….sorry I found it and it was raining already so uh….”

“No don't apologize,” he muttered with a small smile spreading on his face. He took a deep breath, the notebook tight in his grasp. “Thank you for this. It really means a lot. I can't believe you….you actually care enough to bring it.”

Moritz felt his face heat up as he fumbled out,” Oh, so you're M dot Gabor?”

“Melchior, please. Call me Melchior.”

“Melchi -what?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Moritz stuck out a hand nervously, sweaty and gross, “Oh. Well,  I'm Moritz.”

Melchior nodded slowly, his smile still not fading as he spoke, “You didn't happen to read any of this, did you, Moritz?”

Yes.

“No!”

Melchior leaned on the wall next to them, letting out a long sigh before beaming down at Moritz, “So tell me, Moritz, was it any good?”

He paused, confused as to how Melchior already knew Moritz was lying. Or maybe because Moritz was the worst liar on the face of the earth. But Melchior's warm eyes made him continue, “Yeah. It's pretty amazing...you think a lot don't you?”

“A fair amount yeah….” He ran long, slender fingers over the smooth cover of the book. “You know you didn't have to bring this back. I have literally hundreds.”

“Well you didn't write that on the inside cover,”  he replied. He was immediately ecstatic to hear Melchior laugh.

Slowly, the taller began to climb up the stairs. “Thank you for bringing it back though. It really does mean a lot….” he tucked the book under his arm. “My faith in humanity is repaired a smidge….” he extended a hand out to the other young man. “I have some tea brewing upstairs. Care to come on up?”

“I'm more of a coffee kinda guy but….sure.”