#And if I see another six hits flops like I did with the Pirate and Mermaids AU I will Start Killinh

[breitzbachbea]

After watching a bit of a Luigi's Mansion Let's Play, I am no longer insane and will be back on my bs tomorrow. Goodnight.

[stressisakiller]

As You Wish

Steve Rogers x Reader Soulmate AU

(As you wish Part 2)

Summary: What happens when after moving into Stark Tower you run into a certain Captain

Warnings: None really, fluff, like one cussword a little bit of spice

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Fluffy chapter yay!  Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for future chapters! Thank yall for reading!’

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Life working side by side with Tony was dangerous. When Killian attacked Tony it was you not Pepper who was taken and subjected to the Extremis serum. This caused you to heal crazy fast and gave you super strength, which was pretty cool but not very useful for someone who spent most of their time in a robotics lab trying not to crush something when it wasn't working.

You later discovered that Killian mistakenly believed that you were in fact Tony's soulmate, while you had always thought that it was Pepper. She quickly refuted your claim when you told her, pulling the back of her jeans down enough to show the smiley face that graced her butt cheek. Turns out that her soulmate was none other than Happy the head of security.

 About six months after the battle of new york, after Tony and the whole Killian/Mandarin situation, Tony asked very nicely if you would move into the Avengers tower with him. He needed to get the Avengers tower going, and after everything that happened and his panic attacks, he really didn't want to live there alone. He was also hoping that if you lived in the tower that the avengers would be more willing to as well. By this point you had met and become friends with most of them save for Captain America, he hasn’t been around much. He was trying to find his place in this new world and taking as many missions as Shield will give him in order to feel needed 

The tower was much different this time than the last time you had been there. There was less plastic film and dust everywhere and all of the construction work was done. Most notably, the wall on Stark's living room floor was no longer a gaping hole.

The top eight levels of the tower were for the avengers. The penthouse was where Tony stayed, no surprise there. The level directly below was his lab space which was restricted access for the most part and then there was the common level under that. The common level was composed of a large kitchen and dining area, as well as a massive living room with the biggest tv you had ever seen. This floor also houses a theater, and an arcade room equipped with pool tables and any other game you could think of. Tony is such a child sometimes, not that you were complaining you loved to play pool. The next three floors are where you and the rest of the Avengers would live. You would each get your own suite that you could arrange and decorate however you saw fit. Each suite includes a kitchenette, and small living room that was separate from the bedroom, and a massive ensuite bath. The lowest two levels were dedicated to the training room and medical ward, as well as a giant pool and sauna area, these floors allowed for outside access as long as they were vetted.

Six months later, life in the tower was going well. You, Tony and Bruce, were the main people living there. You could understand that though, Nat and Clint were constantly out on missions for shield and mainly stayed on base in DC. Tony told you that Steve was currently living in an apartment in DC. He didn't want to live on base but he was running missions for Shield on and off. Thor was off-world with Loki so life was pretty quiet. 

 Then there was a mission that the Captain went on that didn’t go the way he thought. He was wounded and brought back a captive. You were in the common area when the door was thrown open and a bloody Steve Rogers burst through carrying a soaking wet girl over his shoulder.

“The Medical wing, where is it?” He questioned voice hard from pain or fatigue or both. 

“This way.” you hurried off, not looking behind you, you knew that he would follow. 

When you arrived, you called for Dr. Cho and Steve told her what was going on and placed the girl on a stretcher. The nurses pushed her to a room to monitor her until she woke up. He was then shown to a separate room to be looked over and have the bullet removed. 

 That night Tony pulled you into the living room to watch your favorite movie, the princess bride. It was about halfway through when an exhausted Steve came through the door and flopped down on the couch beside the one that you and Tony were currently lounging on. It was coming to your favorite part, Buttercup was currently yelling at the Dread Pirate Roberts and about to push him down the hill.

“Oooh,” you said hitting Tony’s shoulder, “I love this part,” you spoke along with Wesley as he rolled down the hill, “As you Wiiiisssshhhh.” you clapped your hands together, “that will forever be the best reveal ever.” 

You didn’t notice Steve’s stare as you said those words. Holy Shit he thought his tattoo finally made sense, and yet the girl that fate said was perfect for him had her legs thrown over Tony’s lap and was leaning against him while watching the movie. He stood quickly and stomped out of the room, today was just not his day. 

 You look over at Tony confused when Steve left.

“What the hell do you think that was about?” you asked, growing more confused as you noticed the smirk on Tony’s lips.

“Why are you smiling like that?” You had to stop yourself from slapping him when he started to laugh.

“What the hell, Stark, tell me what's going on?”

“I think that Capsicle just realized that you're his soulmate.” He said through chuckles.

“What the fuck do you mean he realized that I’m his soulmate?” you asked your whole body going still as you waited for him to elaborate.

“I thought you had realized this earlier,” he said looked genuinely confused, “The captain is your soulmate, I’ve known since we had that movie night after finding him in the ice. Your tattoo is his dog tags with the flower of his birth month and a phrase that I’ve heard him say multiple times while next to him in a fight.”

You just sat there frozen trying to comprehend what exactly the man sitting in front of you was saying. 

“You know, he may be a little jealous that his soulmate was cuddling someone else since he probably doesn’t realize that you're like a sister to me. You should probably go after him.”  His words seemed to break you from your trance as you threw yourself very clumsily from the couch to follow after him.

“Jarvis, where did Rogers go?” 

“He is in the training room miss.”

“Thanks, J”

You ran all the way down, opening the door you were met by the scene of Steve hitting a punching bag so hard that it broke and flew off of its chain.

“You know, I’m not sure that those are made to withstand the punch of a super soldier, maybe I should design one that can,” you said leaning against the wall and trying not to show the fact that your heart was beating a million miles a minute.

“And why would you feel the need to do that, I’m sure Stark has plenty of things that he needs you to design that are more important than a Steve-proof punching bag.” You could tell that he was gritting his teeth as he spoke, reaching for another bag. You step towards him slowly, making sure not to walk too quickly from fear of him leaving.

“Well I’m sure that the great Tony Stark can take care of himself, and anyways, I think creating something to make my soulmate's life easier is more important.”

He slowly pulled his eyes from the punching bag that he was hanging onto the hook to look at you, pain obvious in his eyes.

“Really? Cause you seemed pretty comfortable with him.” you could see the vulnerability in his eyes as he spoke, he had gone through so much already.

“Yes really, Tony is more like an annoying older brother than anything. I’ve been working around him for the past five or so years, trust me when I say that I have no desire to date him. You on the other hand.” You made sure that your voice turned teasing on the last words, you wanted to make him smile, you hadn’t gotten to see that yet.

“Well good, cause I think I may have to kick his ass if you did.” You could hear the teasing lilt in his voice and the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. But as quickly as it came it was gone.

“How long have you known?” his voice cracked a little as he spoke. You let out a small huff of a laugh.

“Would you believe me if I told you that Tony had to tell me when I was confused as to why you left the room?” His eyes snapped to yours.

“Really? You didn’t know?”

“After not meeting my soulmate by the time I turned 25 I just pushed it to the back of my mind, I stopped trying to figure out what my tattoo meant and I focused on my work. Plus there were a couple of life-threatening instances that distracted me." You joked. You weren't 100% sure how to handle this situation, your main friend group consisted of a playboy philanthropist and a science nerd that turned into a giant green guy when angry, not really the best people to show you how to be vulnerable.

“I understand that," he said pausing before continuing, "part of my problem was that my tattoo didn’t show up until after I came out of the ice.” he looked down at his hands and you noticed that they were fidgeting, he must be just as nervous as you.

“I didn’t know that,” you murmured, deciding to ask the question that was begging to be asked.

“What is your tattoo, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He shook his head, “Not at all.” he stepped towards you and pulled up his sleeve, and turned out his arm so you could see the flesh just under his armpit. As soon as you saw the tattoo you burst out laughing.

“Of course that’s what my mark is, man I’m such a nerd.” You clutched your stomach as you laughed, tears coming to your eyes from the range of emotions that you are currently going through.

“Can I ask why I have this tattooed on me?” He questioned, clearly curious to the reasoning as to why he had a movie quote on his arm forever. You were finally able to pull yourself together and sober up from the surprise of his tattoo.

“That movie came out the year after I was born and it was my mom’s favorite movie to watch with me, we watched it at least 4 times a year. But we always made sure to watch it on my birthday as a family, it became an integral part of my life, plus it’s just sooo quotable.” you said with a smile, “Do you want to look at my tattoo?” you asked motioning at your arm with your head. He slowly nodded, not able to find the words.

You slowly pulled your sleeve up, showing him the inside of your forearm and the dog tags that graced your skin. He stepped forward gently taking your arm in his hand so that he could study the markings on your skin. Tracing the outline and the words that he could see before smiling.

“What does it mean?” you asked softly looking at him through your lashes.

“It’s um,” he cleared his throat, “it’s my dog tags or at least the lower one is, it says my name, then Captain America and the city I was born in, Brooklyn. The top one however is something that I always seem to say when I’m getting beat up in a fight in order to remind myself that I could do it. And the flower… I think it’s the flower from my birth month? I was born in July so I think it’s a reference to that.” You nodded at his explanation, his fingers still gently tracing over your skin, causing goosebumps to pop up from the feeling.

“So, would you like to watch the movie with me? We can start it over so that you won’t be lost. I know that you struggle with pop culture, old man.” You smirked at him as you spoke, he just rolled his eyes.

“Be careful, this old man could still show you a thing or two.”

You laughed out loud at that, your laugh changed to a squeal when you felt him wrap his arms around your legs and throw you over his shoulder. 

“Ahh, let me down!!” you beat at his shoulders trying to get him to release you but he wouldn’t budge, he just continued to carry you until you ended back in the living room and he threw you down onto the couch. He wasn’t even breathing hard after carrying you up 2 flights of stairs, jerk. 

Tony was nowhere to been seen as you restarted the movie. You ran and grabbed some more popcorn to share, pouring in some M&Ms before plopping back down next to Steve and pulling on your couch blanket. It didn't take long for you to cuddle into his side and for your eyes to droop. 

Steve smiled at you when he realized that you had passed out before you even got to the part he had walked in on earlier. He didn't mind though, he just got comfortable and pulled you in closer before allowing himself to relax and fall asleep. 

Tagged Users: @writerwrites

[godess-ofthe-underworld]

Love Finds A Way

(sequel to “See You Again) (A Harry Hook x reader story)

Part 9

"I… I…"

"You what?"

Harry stepped closer, the movement making Hadley look up from the hook.  Their eyes met, Hadley could see the emotions swimming through his ocean blue eyes.  

She let out a deep breath she didn't know she was holding.

"I love you…"

Part 9

Harry's crystal blue eyes widened,enhanced by the thick line of eyeliner around them, his shoulders slumped, his jaw slacked a little. 

Hadley saw the other vks close to the pipe and had to act fast.

"I'm sorry"

Harry snapped out of it just as Hadley dropped the hook over the railing and into the water. 

Harry rushed past her not saying anything as she ran past to join the others. 

A few tears prickled in her eyes as she fought more pirates.

Hadley helped Ruby fight off two pirates as Jay and Lonnie ran through the pipe.

They backed closer to it.

Hadley watched as Harry fought Ben, dripping wet. There was a rage in his eyes that Hadley never saw before. She snapped out of her staring when Evie pulled her back.

"Carlos! Smoke bomb!"

Carlos tossed the smoke bomb to Evie and she held it up.

Purple smoke billowed out from the broken bomb, covering them to escape.

"Ben go!"

Evie, Ruby and Ben went through the pipe.

Hadley and Mal made it over the bridge, stopping at the opening.

Together they kicked the bridge off the docks and into the waters below.

Mal smirked at Uma and turned away going through the tunnel.

Hadley lingered a few moments longer looking at Harry.

He was looking straight back, his blue eyes sad. He almost looked like he wanted to say something.

"i'm sorry"

Hadley turned and ran through the tunnel, throwing her sword in the trunk of the limo and climbing in.

When she settled in her seat a  silent tear slipped down her cheek.

The way back was silent, no one said anything aside from Dude saying things he shouldn't.

When they got back all Hadley wanted to do was sit in her room and cry.

Ruby ran off to the dorms as soon as her feet hit Auradon soil.

Evie pulled her and Mal away walking towards the dorms.

"We need to talk"

Hadley nodded, another tear dripping down her cheek.

"No."  Carlos stepped forward making the girls turn around.

"No?"

“You guys are always going off in a huddle, whispering your girl-talk or whatever.  And Jay and I are tired of it.”

Jay looked at Carlos wide eyes before holding his hands up.

“I'm not.” He shrugged.

“We're your family, too.” Carlos continued “We've been through a lot. Together. I'm not stopping that now. Okay?” Mal and Hadley shook their heads.

Carlos looked at the other four standing around him.

“Everyone, sit.” Carlos sat down cross-legged in the grass with Dude in his lap.

They looked around at each other before sitting down.

The five sat in a circle in silence for a few seconds before Carlos spoke again looking over at Jay.

“I don't know how to start girl-talk.”

Jay shrugged “what up?”

Evie chuckled and Mal spoke up.

“Um… Well…” she paused looking for the right words, “ I'm a mess. I'm such a mess.” Mal laughed nervously and Evie placed a hand on her shoulder and Hadley reached out for her hand squeezing it reassuringly “I mean, six months ago, I was, you know, stealing candy from babies, and know, everyone wants me to be this Lady of the Court and I have no idea how to keep up the act”

“Then don't” Carlos shrugged.

“See? This was dumb.” Jay sighed starting to get up.

Evie held out her hand stopping him from leaving the grass.

“Maybe not,” she readjusted to hold Mals other hand and face the others.

“we are always going to be the kids from the Isle.  I tried to forget it, I really tried. But those are our roots.  And we all did what we had to do to survive, but it made us who we are.  And we are never going to be like anyone else here.  And that's okay.”

“And we can't fake it” Carlos added.

“Yeah, I mean, especially without my spell book.” Mal sighed.

“Well of Ben doesn't love the real you, then he's not the one.  The same goes with Harry, Hadley.  If Harry can't see the way you feel for him and what you gave up, then he doesn't deserve you” Carlos gave a small smile.

Hadley laughed nervously and another year slid down her cheek.

“See that's the thing, Harry does know how I feel, at least he does now now anyway.” Hadley looked down.

“What do you mean?” Jay furrowed his eyebrows.

“I, um.., I told him that I loved him.” Hadley let out a sharp breath.

The others gasped.

“What did he say?” Evie looked wide eyes at her.

“He didn't say anything.” Hadley gave a sheepishly sad smile “ I said it right before I dropped his hook in the water, he dove in right after,” Hadley paused before starting again. 

“He thought I forgot about him, he thought I abandoned him there.  And I know you guys don't necessarily like him because he's on Umas crew and everything, but he does have a heart.  And to see the look on his face when he confronted me outside of the Ursals’, I broke my heart.  Knowing that I was the sole purpose of it.  Hell I wouldn't be surprised if he hated me now, I mean, I did tell him I was coming back for him.  And now I won't even get to know what his answer would be.” Hadley wiped away the tears that had fallen.

“Well, if he's dumb enough to not love you back then, you don't deserve him.” Jay nodded.

Hadley smiled sadly.

There was silence for a few minutes before  Evie spoke.

“ Hadley and I are going to go make some changes to your dress. And if you're up for it, only if you're up for it, it'll be waiting for you, okay?” Mal nodded slightly and Evie pulled her into a hug mounting 'thank you’re to Carlos who nodded.

Jay, Evie, Hadley and Carlos stood up and began walking away.

When Hadley and Evie reached Evie's dorm, Hadley flopped on her bed.

“E, what am I going to do?” Evie leaned against the post at the foot of her bed.

Evie gave her a small smile.

She sat down on the bed as Hadley sat up and pulled the girl into a side hug. 

“What does your heart say?” 

“That right now, I'm hoping for a miracle” Hadley sighed.

(Evie)

They don't always happen when you ask And its easy to give in to your fears But when you're blinded by your pain Can't see the way, get through the rain A small but still, resilient voice Says hope is very near, oh (Oh) There can be miracles (Miracles) When you believe (Boy, when you believe, yeah) (Though hope is frail) Though hope is frail (Its hard) Its hard to kill (Hard to kill, oh, yeah) Who knows what miracles You can achieve (You can achieve, oh) When you believe somehow you will (Somehow, somehow, somehow) Somehow you will (I know, I know, know) You will when you believe (When you)

(A/n: for those of you who read 'see you again' will know where this song came from :))

Hadley turned and hugged Evie tight.

“What would I do without you?” She smiled.

“Not sure. But now, we have a dress to fix.” Evie stood up pulling Hadley with her.  After getting changed from their Isle clothes, Evie gladly let Hadley borrow some clothes, together they pulled out Mal's yellow and blue dress, attaching it to the mannequin.  Evie cut and Hadley sewed.

Just over an hour later, there was a frantic knock on the door.

“Come in” Hadley said through the pins in her teeth.

The door burst open and in walked a tear streaked Ruby.

Hadley stood up and removed the pins from her mouth seeing her friend in such a state.

“Ruby? What's wrong?” Hadey and Evie both rushed over to console the blonde girl.

“I think I'm in love.” Ruby didn't look up from the floor.

“Well that's great!” Evie squealed.

“Ruby?” Hadley already had an idea on who it was.

“With who?” 

Ruby looked up at them.

“I think I'm in love with Gil.” 

Hadley and Evie looked at each other.

Oh boy..

“Okay, you need to talk and we need to work, let's go” Hadley shut the door and pulled Ruby over to the dresses.

Hadey and Evie resumed their work both listening to her

“Spill.”

“I don't know, I just, I felt something when we ran into him the first time on the Isle.”

Hadley urged her for more details

“After I was captured by Umas crew, Gil never left my side. He also didn't let any of the other crew members get close to me.  We got to talking, found out we have a similar interest in adventures and discovering new places.  He's really sweet." Ruby had a far off look in her eyes. 

"Gil always was. Granted he can be a bit thick headed but, nonetheless,  he is a great guy.  Harry's told me that." Hadley hadn't looked away from the lace she was sewing.

"I understand completely" she reached out and placed her hand on Ruby's knee. 

"I just wish there was some way to bring him over, you know?"Ruby sighed.

"Oh believe me, nobody knows about wanting to bring someone over more than Hadley and I" Evie said walking around the front of the dress.

"There are many people on that island that don't deserve to be there."

Hadley finished stitching, stepping back with Evie and looking the dress up and down. 

"Its even more perfect than before." Hadley high fived Evie admiring their handywork.  

Hadley walked over to Ruby and pulled her up holding onto her hands.

"We will find a way to get Gil off the Isle.  Even if I have to go back there and drag him out myself." Hadley smiled. 

Ruby gave a slight chuckle and pulled Hadley and Evie into a hug.

"Now, its almost time for cotillion." Hadley walked over to the rack of dresses and pulled off a large dress bag labeled 'Ruby'.  She held the bag out.

"Go back to your dorm and get some rest, ill be over in a bit to help you get ready i gotta help deliver dresses and help Evie get ready." She leaned in as Ruby took the bag,and whispered "and to be honest, Evie is the only one who can get me into my dress." Ruby laughed as she nodded her head and walked out the door. 

 I gotta say this part tor me up writing... anyways.. If you liked this part and would like part 10 please like and comment.  As always you can read the illustrated version over on my Wattpad (@phelpsphan).  If you would like to be added to the tag list please message me. <3<3<3

Summary: You would think that six months in Auradon would do any villain kid good.  Well, not Hadley.  After the events of the Coronation, Hadley's mood took a downward spiral; and for one reason, guilt.  She'd broken a promise and left her best friend on the Isle of the Lost.  How will she handle seeing him again when certain circumstances bring her back to the Isle? Will she finally tell him what she really feels?  

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in Descendants.  Hadley and the plot between her and Harry are mine. 

Tag list: @unded-bride

[sanstropfremir]

kingdom episode 3 baby!!!!

listen. i’m not gonna lie i was nervous as hell for this episode. i saw that preview like everyone else and unfortunately i have ears so i was convinced the ateez stage was going to be a trainwreck. i was absolutely banking on sf9 and skz to do something even mildy interesting to save me from the ear damage and having to talk to extensively about why that disaster happened. but somehow i woke up in an alternate universe and you know what? with the exception of that high note the ateez stage fucked. i know. i don’t believe it either. i think i’m still in shock.

i’ll do individual breakdowns in order of favourites within the episode and then at the end i’ll put my personal ranking of all six. thank god i don’t have to do a stage breakdown again; if they change it again for next week i will scream.

ateez

a miracle happened. i don’t have to fight any of the staff at kq. i don’t understand either. jongho is so fucking lucky that the rest of the group pulled all that energy out of their asses because if they had been even a single iota less serious about it that stage would have flopped worse than a dead fish. i can’t believe we got this level of camp b movie schlock in the first full stage, and they stuck the landing. incredible.

fine i’ll address the elephant in the room. personally, i don’t think jongho is that good of a vocalist. he’s not bad, and he does have the potential to be a good vocalist, he just doesn’t have the training, and this is the issue with all of ateez. hanya talked about this before and i’ll say it again: he can’t switch to his head voice and he’s destroying his vocal cords by attempting to hit notes in his mid range that he should just jump to head voice for. frankly i’m surprised he got anywhere close to that note in his mid, but his technique is just not there and he’s gonna do some real damage to his voice if he doesn’t take a break and also get a good vocal coach. you can already hear the degradation in sound from their debut stage to now, and that’s in less than three years. ok i’m done talking about vocals that’s hanya’s turf, i’m pretending that that high note doesn’t exist and we’re moving on. also im in love with btob’s reaction it was fucking priceless.

costume

look, i have a one track brain and that brain can only think about seonghwa corset. seonghwa corset? seonghwa corset.

i know it’s not a real corset nor is it properly laced and i know this would never happen in a million years but a kpop mr pearl trend? i would die. just fully expire. there’s no coming back from that for me

yes i have laced boys into proper corsets before and yes it is as hot as you think it is (when it’s not work related, obviously)

ok now that i’ve got that out of my system for the moment, the costumes are actually pretty good. i’m a little obsessed with hongjoong’s coat although I know it’s stupid. fur? always, I love it, you’ll never change my mind it makes everything better. i own a lot of it and i wear it all the time. this is also a pretty good example of how to do a more modern styling within a very specific and recognizable genre.

i don’t hate the backup dancers’ costumes either, even though they would look a lot better in a not-pirate themed hiphop stage. because there is already a modern tint with the boys’ costumes, it’s not that much of a leap to the dancers, and they actually use the dancers and the camera really strategically to not put much focus on them.

the only real standout issue is the blacklight/contortionist moment, which is too gimmicky for me and doesn’t fit the rest of the theme. i do understand the purpose of them: you need a transition point from the upper deck to the more fantastical inner ship area, and blacklight paint is a really easy, cheap, and fast way to get four new costumes instantly. do i think they could have done something better though? yes.

set

this was actually a smart reuse of that pirate ship set. i know i clowned on them in the first stage that they could move on from the pirate gimmick but honestly? i’m glad they didn’t. this was fun as fuck. but also two stages was enough you can move on now.

i love how they actually used the weird double stage function that the false prosc creates for an actual architectural and narrative effect, instead of just sort of operating as though it’s just another place to travel just because you can. we are on the deck of the ship, and then we go inside the ship. it’s simple and effective. you don’t need to do a crazy amount of crossover to establish a dynamic sense of place.

i hate the ateez kingdom logo. i hate the ateez logo in general. get it out of there, at least you could have made something more fun and pirate themed.

would have loved to have seen them return to the hourglass at the end, especially if they got one that was specifically set for 4 minutes. would have been a nice bit of symmetry but i suspect it was struck before the kraken bit.

the kraken bit??? i was not at all expecting that and honestly? dope as hell. that big tentacle is just a custom inflatable santa claus that you see around christmastime and what a brilliant use of such a simple mechanic, especially to have it come through that weird little triangle arch they have upstage. smart way to use the existing architecture.

yes it is a gimmick but here’s why it works rather than just looks tacky like every other gimmick we’ve seen so far: it had a function within the narrative. this is so important. show us there’s a reason it’s there!

lighting

i didn’t love it but they did actually make some smart choices. the outer deck is warmer toned and has some good atmospheric effects, and the inner deck is cold tone and specifically lit with pin lights to imitate the light coming through portholes in an actual ship, which is so smart thank you lighting designer

also a very clear arc with the lighting, blue -> orange -> blue/red -> orange/multiple -> blue

sound

i actually kinda liked this remix? it fit theme and had a very clear dramatic arc. also i like wonderland, so sue me.

staging

WE DID IT, WE FINALLY GOT A CLEAR NARRATIVE FROM AT LEAST ONE GROUP! wonderland was actually a great choice for them because it’s a really good indicator of exactly how hungry they are. i was a bit worried that it would fall flat because it kinda rides on mingi but they actually pulled it off. i have literally no idea where they pulled all that energy from but holy shit you can practically lick the attitude off the screen. i’m also very impressed by the amount of information they managed to fit into that four minute narrative. we had a full conflict/climax/resolution, as well as a really clear understanding of the tenacity and drive of the group, as well as the desire to support one another in achieving their goals. bravo.

ok so like i said in the set section, they used that pirate ship bridge really effectively to create two different but connected spaces. this is a really smart way to make it seem like you have two spaces while having to only build one set. it was also one of the best ways to utilize this dumbass stage so it doesn’t just look like you’re running arbitrarily from area to area because you can.

also levels! levels are so important for staging but also hard to do in this context because you have to be able to move really quickly in and out of full group formation, but I think they did a really good job here.

continued point: the kraken arm worked because it was the conflict they needed to overcome in the narrative, so it had a function within the performance. also related: all the tricking and jumping also served a purpose within the narrative too. it was either used for fighting (yeosang kicking all those dancers on beat) or a demonstration of teamwork (jongho flinging yunho around on the floor). also frankly excellent use of choreographic formation with the backup dancers, each formation had a specific function and was meant to highlight ateez without being overbearing.

not a whole lot of camera choreo, but a fairly good long take at the beginning and the editing wasn’t too obnoxious which I think was more chance than intent, but i’m not gonna look a gift kraken in the beak.

sf9

i actually really liked this stage, and i really like that sf9 has established their colour as effortlessly elegant, which does set them apart from the rest of the groups. this stage was really choreographically complex and they made it seem so easy, so real props to them. however, like with ikon’s stage, there were a lot of good ideas that just weren’t followed through enough for me.

like ateez, song choice and theme were very well intertwined with this one, there was a lot of thought put into this stage. the pun with ‘jealous’ and ‘jilleosseo’ and having a fairytale/magic mirror narrative? fuckin GALAXY BRAINED. incredible. the implication that not only taeyang but the entire group is the evil queen from snow white? chef’s kiss. should have committed harder and put one of them in massive cloak à la king taemin mama 2020. instead it was subtle enough to not try to step on ateez’s schlocky camp toes but still just as serious and i love that. do i wish they pushed it farther though? also yes.

costume

not gonna lie, i had my reservations on the costumes when we saw the previews of them in the waiting room, but the thing about stage costumes is that they always look bad when not on stage. if they look good in the waiting room you’ve done something wrong. and i loved them on stage. big fan of that quilted vest/pseudo stomacher. please can we have a corset trend? y’all already adopted bondage harnesses, c’mon a little corset won’t hurt. also a good example of a modern spin on a recognizable genre.

i wish the backup dancers weren’t in all black but i am fighting single person battle against the entire entertainment industry on that one.

set

extremely simple with a few smart utilizations. had a feeling this might have been a budget thing, as it had a similar kind of vibe with ikon’s stage, but the use of the mirrors was smart and a fun device that served the purpose of the narrative.

working with mirrors on stage is really fucking hard, so kudos to them for giving it a go. for the most part it was pretty effective. especially with the combo of moving mirrors and moving lights AND moving camera, you’re kind of asking to either blind your audience or at least give them a headache. i once saw a production of the magic flute that had a rotating mirror setpiece and i swear i nearly went blind due to the constantly flashing reflections. you have to really be careful with directionality and reflection, especially with the added element of a camera. also you never use real glass mirrors on stage, it is unbelievably bad luck and theatre people are the most superstitious demographic on the fucking planet.

i kinda loved the draped gold dais. i have nothing else to say about it other than fun!

lighting

a lot of this was very weirdly lit and i’m not sure why. the quality on youtube is terrible and cameras already have trouble picking up detail in low light, and throwing a whole bunch of primary red over that (the colour with the longest wavelength and therefore disappears the easiest in the dark. also human eyes are not very good at distinguishing variations in the red spectrum) and the red costumes made it extremely difficult to tell what was happening.

i will give them props for dramatic lighting usage, especially for the two way mirror trick and for using the floor as a primary lighting source at the end, which i think groups should be using more of. how often do you have a lighting source in your floor!!! almost never!! use that opportunity!!

sound

i actually enjoyed this remix too. it was well suited to the dramatic nature of the stage. i think the sound byte at the beginning is ‘mirror mirror on the wall who’s the worthiest of them all’ but it also could be ‘who’s the worst of them all’ and that would be also fitting and kinda funny.

staging

again, not a lot of consideration for camera choreo in a meaningful way, and like the tbz stage I think the clarity in the actual choreo got hampered by the editing. because there was a lot of choreographic precision that went into making this work and it wasn’t totally obvious from the way mnet edited it.

a lot of them are actors so it works that they’re leaning more towards dramatic stages rather than the sort of performance type stages we’ve seen so far. i like this choice for them as it gives them a very obvious colour but they’re almost on the verge of making it look too easy, which does them some injustice.

next to ateez, using that long uninterrupted traverse was my favourite use of this stage. doubles as an easy way to build the atmosphere of a palace corridor/throne room with the rug, and to feed the drama of the piece.

skz

ok i have some…..things to say about this stage. so far i have not been kind to skz which makes me look like i hate them and i don’t, i promise. there were a lot of really interesting things happening in this stage and there some really successful ones, and i liked this a whole lot better than their intro stage, but their overall choreo and thematic dedication is really killing me. i’ll explain.

costume

I don’t hate them but also…….why? I got the good self vs evil self/internal struggle theme but the costumes don’t really have anything interesting to say about that. as far as modern style costuming goes i think they’re on the more interesting end, but they don’t push it far enough. there’s a few western art history visual motifs and honestly? they should have gone whole hog and whited out their faces/hair and made them look like classical sculptures. that would have been hella fun, especially with that little statue and marionette sequence, plus the shadow/leash manipulation.

this time it was actually intentional that the backup dancers were in blacks and i appreciate that.

why on EARTH did they have that ridiculous makeup that didn’t read on stage? theatre makeup and tv makeup are different, you can’t just do a light purple eyeshadow and expect to read under blue and red light. someone needs to bring an actual theatre makeup artist in and get these boys in some real crazy looks. see previous point about full-face white pancake. more extreme makeup please and thank you!

set

i liked the use of internal architecture within this massive weird stage space and they used the corridors quite well. i didn’t really like the mix of baroque scrolling and also graffiti, it wasn’t quite connected for me. this has been a common theme among this round and i think it comes from budget/props pulls rather than anything else.

also there was a distinct feeling of trying to fill the main stage space with bodies as opposed to atmosphere. this can work in some specific cases but the intent wasn’t strong enough for me. it just felt like a lot of people on stage, especially in the end choreo.

lighting

the general lighting was fine but not particularly inspired. the low light in the beginning was actually quite well done, especially combined with the fog, but in my opinion was not dramatic enough. you have a pseudo art history theme happening, pump that contrast and push the chiaroscuro!

ok stay with me, i’m gonna say something extremely controversial that might actually get me cancelled. s*per j*unior’s burn the floor did everything this stage was trying to do on a smaller scale and better. look i know ok, this is a like, a double atom bomb hot take. just forget everything you know about them and watch the performance video. tell me that’s not some of the most interesting choreo you’ve seen in kpop. if you’re going to work with practical light you need to COMMIT. not just steal the solar lanterns out of my mom’s back garden.

i have a lot of opinions on using practical light and alternate light sources in performance because it’s a huge part of my practice and this just....wasn’t interesting enough for me. push it further!

(I will wait for the subs on the full episode because there has to be a reason they chose that specific shape of lamp. if not i gotta ask jyp why he’s raiding my mom’s garden)

sound

god’s menu has such specific imagery associated within the lyrics and choreography that this stage was a bit dissonant for me. especially when seen in conjunction with two stages where the narrative was tied explicitly to the lyrics of the songs. i think maybe if it hadn’t been grouped with these other two stages i would have felt differently. the other groups chose to do songs were a little more abstract and allowed for more visual experimentation, but to go so blatantly against the food metaphor didn’t really work for me and i had a tough time divorcing the association. I found the arrangement to be a little lacking in energy for me towards the end but otherwise it was pretty interesting.

staging

Definitely a better performance overall that the intro stage. almost all of the gimmicks this time had relevance to the theme which i appreciated. the marionette bit and the shadow/mirror were probably the most interesting but i wish they were better lit.

 there was a lot of back and forth in the blocking that made the stage feel repetitive and also aimless? like there wasn’t a very clearly established directionality within the internal space, so it felt like treading over the same ground for no purposeful reason. and again, not a lot of intentional camerawork.

i really liked having the dancers under the big sheet, it fit well enough within the ‘war between internal selves’ theme, but also had a loose tie to the art imagery. again, i really wish they had stuck to a clearer visual theme. it makes them stick out especially in this grouping of stages, but also across all the groups as whole because almost everyone had a clear(ish) visual idea.

holy shit that’s a lot of backup dancers. i don’t really feel like that many were necessary and the sheer number of them took away from the emphasis of the group. with all of the other stages (except for tbz) it was very clear who the centre of attention and emphasis was, and with both skz and tbz they got swallowed by the sheer scale they were trying to operate at. bigger is not always better.

---

this is a tough round to rank because none of these stages are bad, there’s just some that are, in my opinion, more successful than others. all of these stages do very well in specific elements but fall short in others which also makes this ranking difficult. i’m evaluating these based on whether they were successful to me, as i’m pretty sure this ranking will probably not all be popular opinion, but whatever i like to live on the edge.

btob – visuals, vocals, narrative, swords? what more do you want me to say? also i watched the full episode and minhyuk did rehearsal with a real bokken and i think i am in love with him now.

ateez – honestly not sure if i would have ranked this first if that high note hadn’t been a mess. i love camp nonsense and i genuinely think this was a well designed stage. i can’t believe i keep saying that but it’s true.

sf9 – this stage was really solid, just could have been pushed farther. i think it has a really good sense of drama and it’s a pity that sf9’s colour is more subdued, because i think they’re going to be stuck around the 3rd/4th position for the rest of the show.

ikon – ikon is only ranking this high because although i am disappointed in the wasted potential of this stage, they NAILED the camerawork and actually brought in someone to block the steadicam into the choreo. also they’re incredible performers. i say this every time, but their stage presence, although maybe lower energy that they normally would be, is still not to be fucked with.

skz – i think this one is the most ‘meh’ for me. while i liked a lot of the elements here they just didn’t push it far enough and the lack of narrative and general aimless choreo led to me not having any strong feelings yea or nay.

tbz – to be quite honest the lack of costume unity is a big hit for me. all elements of design are equally as important but because of my personal practice and experience i tend to put a lot of weight on good costume and spatial design. i don’t actually like game of thrones also, so I feel mildly offended on behalf of michele clapton, who had did a fucking incredible job and doesn’t deserve to be slandered like this. also the lack of cohesive choreography and the overblown lighting made this difficult to watch, no matter how good i thought the rear projection/stretch fabric dance was.

 any questions or opinions you wanna share hit me up! see you next week!

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 23: Shuffle

Wrote some silliness in the hope it makes friends smile. Featuring the ever wonderful characters from the even more wonderful friends of mine, @foewreckem‘s Aoife Mahsa, @holyja‘s Hyana Geriel, @karoiseka‘s...Karoiseka O’dayla, and @nuclearanomaly‘s Ninira Nira

Uthengentle just wanted his stars read, not a dissertation on why it’s pointless to do it.

Word count: 2,036

It was a relatively quiet day. Quiet enough that the group had made camp for lunch, taking a rare opportunity to enjoy the mild weather. 

Hyana and Ninira tended to the fish that had been freshly caught, grilling over the fire. In a pot, they added fish stock and vegetables to the rice they had only just cooked and fluffed, the smoky, rich scent of the cooking meal enough to inspire hunger even in the most stoic of the group. Karoiseka strummed lightly on her lyre, shaded in the tree as she was. At her side, G’raha dozed on and off peacefully, intermittently humming along to the tune his dearheart plucked out. Even not knowing the song necessarily, Aoife managed to harmonize on her own lyre, her voice soft as she joined G’raha in humming. Once he had laid out a folded up blanket as a smooth surface for his triple triad board, Uthengentle held out a deck of cards in offering to his sister, and at her nod, started to cut and shuffle the deck as she produced hers and did the same. 

By all rights, it was a blessedly mundane day, where they were beholden to nothing but the road, basking in the quiet calm, hard won after the chaos and strife they had endured.

That was usually when the trouble started.

“Why don’t you ever read people’s stars?” Uthengentle asked his sister offhandedly as he looked over his hand of cards.

“I don’t see the point to it,” Serella told him with a shrug. She laid her Moogle card on the bottom middle tile of the Triple Triad board. “I can, but whatever I could say is vague and doesn’t help anyone with anything.”

“Don’t you read stars to heal and shite?” He pressed, tossing down a Morbol card on the bottom right.

Serella’s Moogle next to it turned from blue to red, lost to her. She sighed.

“That’s different,” She replied, half mumbling into her hand of cards. “That would be more akin to pulling from the stars rather than reading them.” 

“Sure, sure,” He half heartedly agreed, eyes sharp as she laid her Tonberry in the center tile. He placed down a Griffin card to its left to steal it, motion swift and decisive. “But couldn’t you, I dunno, just put up a stall when we hit towns, help people out for a bit of extra gil?”

“I’d just feel like I’m lying to them. I assure you, card reading is just unhelpful in the best of times, outright harmful in the worst of them.”

After a moment’s deliberation she decided her Moogle was utterly lost to her, and instead opted to play her Ixal card on the middle right space to reclaim the Tonberry in the center as hers, and stealing his Morbol card in the process. Uthengentle glared at her.

“Cheeky.” He clucked his tongue. “And anyway, isn’t it something useful for people anyway? If you can predict a possible future for them and all? That’s what they do, right?”

“You’d think, but it’s so vague that there’s naught to be gleaned from it,” she answered, though let out a defeated grumble when he played Hraesvelgr on the left middle slot and all three cards flanking it turned red— with all but one tile his, his victory was secured. “Absolute bastard, you are.”

“And a sore loser be ye!” Uthengentle replied in a mock pirate accent, his arms scooping the not insignificant amount of gil they’d been betting, sat in a jar, and curling around it, held to his chest as he cackled like a gremlin adding to his hoard. When he was sufficiently with her flat, unimpressed staring, he put the jar away and asked, “So why can’t you get aught from a reading?”

“It isn’t helpful,” she huffed, even as she took her cards back from the board, “the most detail I might glean from reading the cards is that something might happen, but whether that thing is good or bad depends on how the card is facing.” 

“I don’t follow.”

“The best reading you could hope for would be me saying, “hey, in the morning, something might happen to you!” She wiggled her hands in front of her. “And then, in the afternoon? Surprise! Something else might happen!” She leaned across their makeshift table as a show of mock dramatic tension, hands on her knees as she rocked forward enough for her backside to leave the grass. “And then...in the dark of night…”

“...Something might hap—?”

“Something might happen!” Serella exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air and flopping back dramatically. With a huff, she let her arms slump back to her sides. “So yes. Very vague. Unhelpful. If I charged for it, I’d be a swindler and a crook.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Can’t do it.” Serella handwaved him as she tucked her deck back into her pack. “Stars say no.”

“Can you show me?” Uthengentle asked, and she could tell that his enthusiasm would not be sated with aught less.

“Really need a demonstration of how useless it is?”

“I like judging things for myself,” Uthengentle answered, leaning back in his chair and slinging an arm over the back. “Besides, sounds like it’d be interesting.”

“You have a strange idea of, ‘interesting,’ but sure,” Serella capitulated with a sigh, “I’ll read your stars— on the condition that you don’t complain when you’re disappointed.”

“Deal,” he agreed, already shuffling the Triple Triad board to clear it of his cards and flipped it over, blank side facing up on the folded over blanket. 

“May I watch?” Ninira asked, coming over to take a seat between them. “I’m curious on how this works.”

“Ah, is Ella on her bullshit again?” Hyana called over from the fire. 

At Ninira and Uthengentle’s confirmation, she dusted her hands on her pants and moved to sit right next to Serella. When the Astrologian turned a playful quirk of her eyebrow at her, Hyana shrugged and offered only, “If one or both of you is being stupid, I at least know it’ll be entertaining.”

“Cards?” Aoife asked, standing and peering down at their little makeshift reading board.

“I’m gettin’ my fortune read. Want to see?” Uthengentle asked her over his shoulder, gesturing for her to join them.

Aoife took a moment, eyes dancing between him and Serella. After a moment, she crouched down in place, not joining the unfinished circle that was forming, but not excluding herself.

“I will watch.” She said, tail twitching behind her. “From here.”

“As you like!” Uthengentle beamed at her.

Karo joined on the other side of the makeshift table, opposite of Ninira, between Hyana and Uthengentle. G’raha, equally curious for how little he had been able to witness of Astrology in practice, sat on his knees and pressed against his beloved’s back, hands on her shoulders, peering over her shoulder, tail swishing behind him excitedly.

Even as she laid her arcanima deck on the board, Serella could only shake her head at the group’s dogged curiosity.

“I can’t stress this enough: the only prediction I’ll make today that’ll be right is that you’ll all be disappointed. Now then.” Her hands were practiced as she shuffled the cards. “Let’s see what hand fate has dealt you.”

When the group groaned collectively, she laughed out of sheer delight, as she always did when she told her puns.

“Had to get one in, didn’t you?” Hyana grumbled at her side, half into her shoulder.

“You’re smiling.” Serella mused without even looking at her; she could feel it pressed into her shirt.

“I am, and I hate it.” Hyana groused, even as it was obvious in the way she tried to hide her face entirely that her smile had only widened.

“Now then— I will draw six cards. A full sleeve.” Serella dictated her actions, laying the six cards face down on the board in two rows of three. “I will reveal them one by one, and read the stars’ intent for you.”

The first card on the top row was overturned. The group collectively leaned in ever so slightly to peer at it.

“The Bole, upright.” She gave a pleased hum. “Your immediate future is filled with potential. The energy it turns into is dictated by the energy that you put into it.”

“Explain this to me like I don’t understand it.” Uthengentle said slowly. “I do, though. Understand it. Just...just for the group, y’know?”

“Try to have a good day, and you probably will.”

“Seems a fairly straightforward reading,” Ninira noted, tapping her chin in thought. “Though I can see why it would be unhelpful.”

“Hey now, there’s five more to go!” Uthengentle insisted, pumping his fist. His optimism would not be denied.

Serella turned over the next card, and frowned as she laid it out.

“Balance, reversed. Uncertain times approach you, and you will be made to make difficult decisions. Hard though they may be, stay the course. To flounder is to spell doom.”

“For...what…?” Karoiseka asked, a ponderous tilt to her head.

“A nondescript decision of uncertain import.” Serella replied, shrugging. “As I said: unhelpful at best, harmful at worst.”

“I’m starting to understand— this is primarily meant as a guideline, rathar than a strict edict from the stars, yes?” G’raha guessed after a moment’s thought.

“Generally, that’s the way of it. The idea is that it informs you of how things can go, if—” Serella pointed her finger up. “—You play your cards right.”

Another collective groan.

“I can’t stand you.” Hyana huffed, even as she leaned bodily into her.

“I know.” Serella gestured back at the cards. “Shall we?”

At the group’s murmured agreement, she turned over the next card. As she lay it out, face up, she hummed.

“Arrow, upright. I could wax more poetic about it, but more or less, what you’re doing is working, so keep doing it.”

“What...am I doing…?” Uthengentle asked, scratching his head.

“Exactly.” Serella turned over the fourth card. “Spear, upright. Your confidence works to your favor, but avoid growing arrogant, else your luck with take a turn for the worst.”

“How do I know when I’m arrogant and not confident?” Uthengentle asked helplessly.

“How indeed.” To prove her point, she didn’t answer as she flipped the fifth card. “Ewer, reversed. Your energy is finite, and you would do well not to run yourself dry of it over useless endeavors. Save something of yourself for yourself.”

“Wh—”

“No idea.” Serella replied, already knowing what he was going to ask.

As she flipped the last card with a dramatic flourish, she held it up, and as her eyes roved over the art, her face paled. The group leaned in even more, their attention hung on her reaction.

“What...what is it?” Aoife asked from just outside the circle of people.

Wordlessly, Serella laid the card down.

“The Spire. Reversed.” She said, tone grave as she laid the card down. “Your struggles will turn against you. Everything you’ve done will be for naught.”

Uthengentle swallowed heavily, though after a moment hesitantly spoke up, “Wait...didn’t you say this only pertained to the immediate future?”

“Oh hey, you’re learning.” Serella dropped all pretense of dramaticism, posture going lax as she shrugged. “And thus your fortune predicted itself: all your anticipation led only to disappointment.” Another shrug. “Or something else might happen. Who knows?”

“Coulda just said that in the first place.” He grumbled, puffing his cheek in annoyance. 

“I did, you gullible maroon.”

Peace returned to the late morning. Ninira and Hyana dusted themselves off and returned to the food, soup now happily bubbling and fish pleasantly cooked and crispy with the perfect amount of flavorful char. Aoife took to happily rummaging around for bowls and cups, replacing the bubbling soup pot with a kettle of water and tea leaves. Karoiseka and G’raha returned to sitting against the tree stump, the former now playing a brighter song with an amused smile on her face as the latter rested his chin on her shoulder, watching Uthengentle chase his sister down the hill as he lobbed stale muffins at her head. 

Mundane, exactly as they had fought for.

[missywhomst]

Just One?

In her post regeneration haze, the Doctor discovers earrings (Thasmin if you squint). 

(This is kind of an experimental fic to see if I wanna do a series about 13′s post regeneration antics. Not sure how I feel about it, but I hope you all like it!)

- gif by @queerthasmin​ - 

Time seemed to be moving in leaps and bounds, and she was surprisingly disoriented by it which was funny, really, considering how accustomed she was to hopping around the space-time continuum like it was her own personal playset. And so she laughed, almost a scoff, a bit dizzy at the scenery change as she found herself being guided by Yaz down the hallway to a bedroom.

“What’re we up to now? Lost is my head, there,” she said, turning to look at her new friend. She’d found that she garnered much less concern if she pretended she wasn’t missing chunks of time from the last, well, if she had to guess about six hours. Maybe less. She was fairly certain it was still the same day.

Thankfully, or perhaps not, she discovered that she was able to carry on full conversations while blacked out. There had been a point when she was still on the train being fawned over by someone named Grace and another someone named Graham, telling them that she was fine, she was fine, and she just needed to walk it off. Grace insisted she wait for the police, that a PC Khan was nearby and that she just wanted to have a talk. She distinctly remembered saying great, that she’d love a talk, that she really liked talking, and that she’d gotten a new tongue so she needed to break it in. Then the next second she was stumbling after a firefly in the tall grass of a field, the train stopped behind her and Graham running after her yelling oi, where do you think you’re going, and you just fell through a train, love, and come on, now, have a seat.

Graham and Grace and Ryan, who was friends with Yaz, or wasn’t friends, or used to be friends, took her back to their place for a cuppa because she wouldn’t let them take her to A&E. And though she claimed she only tagged along so she could ask a few more questions and file a proper report, she was fairly certain Yaz was just curious about the person who fell from the sky. Some other things happened that she mostly remembered, and now they were in a bedroom, and Yaz was setting down a duffel bag on a bed. Then she put a hand on her back and led her to a chair, pushing down on her shoulders to make her sit.

“I brought some clothes from my flat. Figured they might fit you. I’m sure you’ll appreciate being out of those ones,” Yaz chuckled, walking back to the bed to unzip the bag. She looked down at her arms. Her jacket was torn and burned and about four sizes too big, the ripped cuffs flopping over her knuckles. Her whole outfit was in tatters, really, and she’d been tripping over her trouser legs for what felt like ages now.

“He liked this outfit. Bit of a magician’s coat, innit? Think he’ll be mad?” she asked, picking at the singed ends with absent fingers.

“Who?”

“Him. Me,” she offered helplessly. Yaz frowned, turning back to the bag without replying. It was a difficult sort of mental gymnastics that she had to perform after any given regeneration. The separating herself from her previous self while simultaneously reconciling the two existences. Bit of a head wonk, that one. She took a breath, turning to the cluttered desk and dusty mirror she’d been placed down in front of. Her eyes caught the little silver things scattered across its wooden surface. “Yaz, what are these?” she called, picking one of the dangly ones up between her thumb and forefinger. Yaz turned to look, and she watched her glance at the thing in the reflection of the mirror. Another frown settled on her face.

“Those are...earrings,” she said, and though it wasn’t quite a question, her voice lilted up at the end as if it was, cocking her head quizzically.

“Are you sure?” she asked back, turning her body to look Yaz dead in the eye. “You don’t seem too sure.”

“I’m fairly certain I know what earrings look like,” she said, tossing a few shirts on the bed. “Been wearing them my whole life. More concerned that you don’t know.”

She hummed, choosing to ignore that as she turned back to face the mirror and examine it in detail. There was a little silver hook and from it dangled a set of beads in warm colors. She flicked it with her other finger, watching them sway back and forth in quick succession, clinking together and tangling. Her eyes got buggy rather quickly and she blinked, setting it back down on the desk.

“What do you do with them?” she called again, frowning as she leaned forward to examine herself in the mirror.

“You wear them. They’re jewelry. Jesus, how hard did you hit your head. Are you sure you don’t want to go to A&E?” Yaz asked, walking to stand behind her with her hands on her hips. She just prodded at her cheeks, lips squishing together.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she muttered, holding her hair up above her head and watching it fall back down to her chin.

“You don’t even know your name,” Yaz sighed, pressing her hand into the back of her chair.

“Which is a perfectly natural response when all your atoms have been instantaneously rearranged,” she said simply, turning to look up at Yaz. Then she gasped, her eyes lighting up as she reached out to run her thumb across Yaz’s ear lobe. “Oh, I get it now! Ear Rings. That is brilliant,” she grinned, prodding the little hoop in Yaz’s ear and stretching the velvety skin there with gentle fingers, little hairs bending under her thumb. Yaz swallowed and grabbed her wrist. She didn’t look quite as certain now as she had a few minutes ago when she’d pressed her palms into her shoulders and decisively pushed her into a chair.

“Can you not do that again, please?” Yaz asked, voice cracking as she met her eyes.

“Okay,” she said, lowering her arm as Yaz let go of it. She remembered that humans were finicky about their personal space, and she could never seem to keep up. Still, Yaz’s reaction seemed odd. She brought her fingers to her own ear, rubbing her thumb over the equally soft skin as Yaz turned back to the bed to organize her pile of things.

“I picked out some clothes for you. Some pajamas, a couple tee shirts and trousers, a sports bra if you want it. Obviously not sure what your size for anything is, but we can go shopping tomorrow morning,” Yaz offered.

She leaned forward to look at herself in the mirror again, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Why do you wear them?”

“Clothes?” Yaz asked hesitantly, not turning around. She glanced at Yaz's back in the mirror.

“Earrings,” she clarified, and Yaz almost looked relieved as she let out a breathy laugh.

“Oh, um, I dunno really. They look nice? My mum did them when I was pretty little. It’s kind of like a thing for girls to wear them,” Yaz shrugged, unfolding a shirt from her duffel bag.

She ran a finger down her nose, over her lips, and down her neck. It was smooth. Sans adam’s apple. Sans facial hair. She examined her jawline and collar bones and ran her fingers down the V of her button down. It was all very soft. And she recognized it as hers. “I think I’m a girl,” she breathed suddenly, wide eyed as she traced her hairline. She’d been told that information already in between that precise moment in Grace and Graham’s bedroom and when she’d crashed through a train roof, but she hadn’t quite comprehended the idea until then. She heard Yaz chuckle behind her.

“Good for you, then.”

She picked up the earring again, scrutinizing it. There were others like it in a little porcelain bowl near the mirror. With eager fingers, she dug through them, sorting through safety pins and paperclips and earrings that didn’t have their other halves.

“I want an earring, Yaz,” she declared, searching Grace’s stash for the perfect one.

“Just one?” Yaz asked skeptically.

“Never had one before,” she mused. 

“So you want to be a pirate, then?” 

“Never noticed them before,” she mused, pondering what else she might have missed as a man.

“Okay, well, we can go to a piercing shop tomorrow, I guess.”

“Tomorrow?” she whined, deflating and scrunching her nose up. “That’s hours away, and I might not want one then.”

“All the better reason to wait!” Yaz protested, turning to her. Then she paused suddenly, her face going sour. “God, I sound like my mother.”

She scrambled to her feet and took a few large strides forward, hands up to emphasize her point. “Yaz, listen. Sometimes my brain makes decisions that I disagree with, but this is literally a once in a lifetime opportunity to get ahead of myself,” she pleaded. Oh, begging, that’s new. She wasn’t sure she liked it yet, but she did need this earring and it felt like she might die again if she didn’t get it.

“Right, there’s a lot to unpack there, but I’m choosing to ignore it,” Yaz sighed, so close that she felt her breath on her nose.

“I’m not all together right now—”

“That’s something we can agree on,” Yaz muttered.

“—I’m still...forming. When I wake up tomorrow, I might not like earrings. Who knows? Everything’s new and different, and I might turn out to be a total bore if I don’t do something about it right now,” she breathed, biting down on her lip. She wasn’t sure if that was true, but it felt true with all the buzzing urgency going on inside her. That might just be the regeneration energy still repairing her internal organs from that landing, not her best one admittedly, but that certainly didn’t matter in her quest for an earring.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Yaz groaned. “How are you not exhausted?” Seeing the pleading look in Yaz’s eyes made her sag just a little, huffing as she sat back down.

“Humans have terrible circadian rhythms, and you should inquire about changing them. I mean, you sleep a third of your life away!” she protested indignantly. Yaz cocked her head at her.

“What do you mean...humans?” Yaz quickly shook her head. “You know what, I’ve had enough weird for the night, so I’m just gonna step out and let you change,” she said, walking out of the room and leaving her to fiddle with loose earrings and wondering if that could be her next project, changing humanity’s sleep cycle. She wondered if they’d make her a statue or something. Did she like statues? Well, she didn’t like ones that moved, and there was no telling which ones could, so decidedly not.

Still bitter, she sulked over the desk, picking up earrings and examining them. She poked at the dull end, wondering how exactly they got them through your ear lobe if they weren’t even sharp. Another shiny thing caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and she grinned, picking it up. “Brilliant,” she breathed, opening the safety pin and watching the pointy bit sparkle in the light.

She leaned closer to the mirror, looking herself in the eye and taking a deep breath as she aligned the pin with her ear. In one decisive motion, she shoved it through, and a white hot pain burned across her skin. “Ow!” she yelped with a frown, feeling rather betrayed. Yaz poked her head in to see what was going on and was at her side in a flash when she saw the blood beading on her ear.

“Are you bloody insane?” Yaz asked, looking at the pin stuck through her ear, the skin already bright red and puffy.

“I didn’t think it would hurt,” she admitted, glancing up at Yaz.

“You just tore a hole through part of your body. It’s gonna hurt!” Yaz protested, grabbing a tissue. In the meantime, she grabbed the safety pin and winced as she latched it in place. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re taking that out right now. It could get infected!”

“No, this is the perfect time to do this!” she protested, eyes wide and urgent. “I’m still rearranging. So if I can keep the hole there until things settle down then it’ll become a part of this new body. It won’t ever close,” she said, scrambling out of her chair and inching away from a slowly approaching Yaz.

“I just wanna look at it,” she said, tissue in hand. She eyed Yaz’s posture, ready to pounce, and seriously doubted her sincerity.

“Stay away from me, Yaz,” she warned, inching toward the door.

“At least let me clean it. You’re dripping on your jacket,” she said, motioning to her shoulder. She quickly wiped her fingers along her earlobe and found them slick with dark orange blood.

“‘M fine!” she motioned, wiping her fingers on her trouser leg. Yaz eyed her. “He won’t mind,” she assured her, but that seemed to make Yaz even less assured and she lunged for her. But she was too quick, sliding out the door and running down the hallway to the living room. “I’m serious, Ya—” she yelped as strong arms wrapped around her, and then they were both on the ground, the wind knocked out of her. Yaz gasped, rolling off her. Then she turned onto her back as Yaz sat on her heels. “Oh, god, that one hurt. I think you rebruised my left kidney.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to tackle you. Just couldn’t have you running out the door. If you won’t go to A&E, you’re our responsibility now,” she breathed, pressing her palms into her thighs.

“I’m not a madman,” she protested, wincing as she propped herself up on her forearms.

“That’s highly debatable, love,” Grace chimed in, and that was when she realized that she was in the middle of the living room floor, all her new friends peering down at her.

“I’m very serious about my earrings. So I’m learning. Do you happen to have any in gold? I don’t think silver’s my color,” she offered, scrunching her nose as she brushed her hair back to show them all the safety pin secured through her ear and the blood smeared down her neck.

[the-general-hux]

@finishwhxtyoustartxd

Armitage Hux rested his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window. His parents had stopped talking hours ago, his mother was asleep in the front seat and his father was driving with white-knuckled fingers crimped around the steering wheel. Hux shared the backseat with luggage that wouldn’t fit in the trunk of their rental sedan. His knees pressed against the back of the driver’s seat and he longed for chance to stretch out his legs. His eyes blinked open and shut as he looked out the window at the endless procession of trees.

Traffic slowed down and his father spat out a string of curses at the other drivers’ abilities to keep stopping distance on the rain slick road. The air smelled damp, even through the filter of the air conditioning. A small town appeared and a sign declared it Bayport. Perhaps the settlers had never heard of redundancy, Hux thought. A smiling whale spouted a flourish of water on the sign. Hux gritted his teeth and put in his headphones.

Tourists crossed the highway, oblivious to oncoming traffic and the increasing frequency of his father’s cursing. A bead shop. Souvenirs. Weed shop. Rinse and repeat. Hux caught a glimpse of some amazing biceps in front of a coffee shop and he wrenched his neck to see if the potential face matched the muscles, but his father turned a corner and Hux lost his sight line. He huffed out a sigh. Probably just a tourist, maybe one of those bikers that cruised up and down the Oregon coast. Doing what? Whale-watching?

They pulled into a driveway that was marked with a jaunty lighthouse, Driftwood Cove. They named the rental house. Of course they did. His father stopped the car, turned off the ignition and announced. “This is our home for the next month. Let’s try to not kill each other.”

“No promises.” Hux said and his mother shot him a warning look. “Fine. You work on your book, you work on your paintings and I’ll work on growing a thick coat of mildew.”

“Now darling, it’s not that bad. The ocean air is marvelous for my health and I only have so much time with you before you go off to college and leave me behind.”

Forty two days, six hours and twelve minutes, Hux thought as he got out of the car. He sighed again and nodded because that was what you did when your sick mother guilt tripped you. This wasn’t his idea of a beach holiday. The sky was painted in shades of blue and gray, the whole landscape looked angry and battered into submission by the relentless coastal wind. Then he turned to the ocean. There was a haze covering the entire Pacific Ocean, as far as he could squint. “Twelve hours in the car and I can’t even see the fucking water.”

Hux claimed the room at the very top of the rental, it had a window overlooking the ocean and a stupid sign. “The Crow’s Nest.” He dragged his luggage up the stairs. The whole room smelled musty and forgotten. He sat down on the edge of the queen bed and flopped backwards, staring at the rafters. There was no need for a bed this big in such a small space— Hux scrunched his face up in disgust. Do not think about how many people have had sex in your bed, just don’t. That way lies madness, Hux thought. I am not going to look under the mattress pad.

“Boy!” His father hollered up the stairs, “Come help your mother with her junk!” Hux blew out the breath he was holding and descended the stairs.

It started to rain.

It continued to rain for three days. Drops splattered on the window panes and wind shrieked through the eaves. Hux made a bet with himself about how soon the roof would fly off. It was even money. He curled up on the bed, surrounded by fifteen decorative pillows that some poor soul had embroidered with seagulls and a two year old copy of People magazine. He’d read it cover to cover three times. Cellular service was complete shit and WiFi was apparently an alien concept in rustic vacation rentals. His father’s laptop had not survived the road trip and Hux’s had been commandeered, so no jerking off to his carefully curated archived amateur Alpha porn. The television downstairs had a dial to change the channels. All three channels.

“I’m going to start talking to myself. I am. I’m going to start talking to myself and go find a great white whale to have a battle to the death with. Honestly, it’s inevitable.” He could go talk to his parents. See what they were doing— Hux shook his head. Mother was sleeping, exhausted from her medication and Father was writing. He could write for days at a time, eating what was brought to him and pissing in a milk jug by his desk. He had a bestselling series, it was Regency romance of all things and the royalties were sending Hux to a very good school.

“Yet another thing for me to grateful for.” Hux told a decorative seahorse on the wall. “I have to get out of here. I have to.” He grabbed his coat and one of the guest umbrellas from the hallway. “I’m going out!” He called to his father who grunted in response and waved him off.

Hux made his way down the driveway towards the town center. He paused in front of the map of the town, drawn in a cartoon fashion that made the library and the police station look like equally jaunty places to visit. His sneakers squelched with wetness as he made his way to the coffee shop. It seemed like ages ago that he’d caught a glimpse of those glorious biceps. Everyone was wearing shapeless polar fleece and practical galoshes that he coveted with an practical intensity he’d never truly felt before.

He ordered a hot milky tea, something to chase the cold away from his bones and wrapped his fingers around it. “It's June,” he reminded himself and the counter girl smiled at him and then at his Omega Pride lapel pin. “It really is June, isn’t it?”

“It usually clears up by now. It’s not so bad. Just remember to take your vitamin D pills until the sun comes out again.” She pulled another shot of espresso after that bit of unsolicited advice. Hux pushed his sopping wet shock of red hair out of his face. He was not a natural sun worshipper, but the next time he saw the sun even he might offer up a few prayers of gratitude.

Hux wandered over to the small shelf of used books that lined the back wall. A hand lettered sign read, “Lending Library”.  Out of habit, he looked for his father’s name on the spines of the books. Only one volume this time. The fourth. Savage Unbroken Hearts. Hux couldn’t read his father’s writing, it was far too intimate an act. It was worse than the time his father had walked in on Hux taking a selfie, wearing glitter and a rainbow thong. Hux cringed at the memory and selected a paperback space opera that boasted about galactic conquest. He sat down at a table and thumbed through the yellowed pulpy pages. The previous owner had scrawled his name in childish block letters on the interior cover. Ben.

The counter girl gave him a plastic bag for the book and Hux stepped out into the rain. It wasn’t going to defeat him. “You hear me?” Hux muttered to the weather as he made his way down the boardwalk. He rolled his eyes at the tiny salon and a candy store that was only open on the weekend. He paused in front of a photograph studio that specialized in pirate portraits. Skywalker Studios. Tourists grinned in tawdry costumes and posed in front of pirate flags. Rain dripped from the tip of Hux’s nose and he snorted in disdain. There was a 90% chance that his mother would drag them all in here for a souvenir portrait.

The beach access stairwell was just beyond the photography studio and Hux gripped the guardrail as he wrestled with both the slippery seagull shit smeared steps and the wind that threatened to steal his umbrella. The ocean was surging, the tide rolling in. Hux stared out at the dark, seething waters and felt begrudging respect for the power and intensity of the storm. Also for the warning signs posted all over the beach. Rolling logs that could kill you. Rip tides. Sneaker waves. Tsunamis. This was not the ocean that was in the brochures. Icy spray hit him in the face and he blinked saltwater from his lashes.

There was a man strolling along the pebbled beach. Long dark hair whipped around his head. What kind of Alpha bullshit was this? It was a stereotype of course, but the only person who would have the sheer ballsy stupid confidence to be walking on that beach would be an Alpha. A shameful thrill trilled up the back of Hux’s neck and he tasted the salt on his own lips.

The man reached the stairwell and as he ascended, Hux hid behind his Driftwood Cove umbrella. The man paid him no mind as he passed, Hux peeked out from beneath the umbrella shade. He swallowed hard as he caught the hint of a defined, youthful jawline, speckled with interesting moles that reminded Hux of constellations. The man unlocked the door to Skywalker Studios, stepped inside and flipped on the OPEN neon sign.

Oh god dammit. He wasn’t going to follow that weirdo guy, no matter how broad his shoulders were, no matter how bored Hux was, no matter— he stood on the steps of the photography studio and pushed open the door.

A bell jingled announcing Hux’s presence as he folded up his umbrella in the entry way. “Just a moment!” A deep voice called out from behind a curtain. “Be right out!’

Hux looked at the puddle of rain water accumulating around his feet and he flushed with embarrassment. He glanced to the side at a mirror for the tourists to check their costumes. His hair was plastered to his head, water dripped from his ears. No, no, no this was a mistake—

The broad-shouldered stranger walked out in a muscle baring tank top, drying his hair with a towel. The lack of fabric made one thing painfully clear to Hux’s libido. This was the owner of the Glorious Biceps. He wrapped the towel around his hair in a makeshift turban and looked at Hux. For a long moment, the Alpha’s plush pink mouth fell open as he took in the bedraggled, soaked ginger making a mess of his shop floor. If the Earth could open up and swallow me whole right now, that would be just dandy, Hux thought. He turned to leave.

[idiot-with-a-cat-pen]

Day 1: Semblances

So I literally just finished this because I’m an idiot, but anyway Winter is helping because Qrow and Clover are dumb, and this is a soulmate au.

I will now add a break because it might not be that long, but it’s long enough.

Clover stares at his wrist in anticipation, counting down the seconds in his mind. It’s 8:15 right now, and at 8:17, he’ll see the words appear. Just two more minutes, and he gets to know his soulmate’s Semblance.

“You know, staring at your arm for that long isn’t going to make his Semblance show up any faster,” Robyn drawls, flopping over the chair she’s been lounging in. “So you might as well have some cake.”

“First of all, I haven’t been staring for that long. Second of all, cake? Where did you find cake?”

Harriet appears in the doorway, staggering as she tries to balance a cake stand on one arm. Cursing, Robyn rushes to go help her and barely catches the cake before it hits the ground.

Clover blinks. “Lucky catch?”

“We’ll never know with you around, will we?” Ari sighs as she follows Harriet into the room, the tips of her braids covered in green globs of frosting and crumbs.

Raising an eyebrow, Clover asks, “I take it your baking skills aren’t as good as you thought?”

Ari crosses her arms. “I could have done it if Harriet hadn’t insisted on speed-decorating-”

“There’s a minute until his soulmate’s Semblance shows up,” Harriet says, mimicking Ari’s pose as Robyn carefully sets the cake down on the table. “We had to get it done fast, so I did.”

Clover takes the opportunity to look at his cake. It’s clearly been haphazardly cut in the shape of what he thinks is supposed to look like a four-leaf clover, and the green frosting seems to be sliding off. On top of the mess is a message that’s nearly impossible to read, but Clover’s seen enough bad handwriting to decipher the words Happy 17th, Clover!

“Haven’t you ever watched Cake Wars?” Ari demands. “You have to wait for the cake to cool unless you want the frosting to look like that.” She points at the frosting, which is still sliding down to the base of the cake.

Harriet waves her away and checks her Scroll. “It’s fine. Clover, thirty seconds.”

Clover stiffens and turns back to his wrist. His teammates sit down in the chairs around him, their eyes on the cake. Ari pulls out one of her swords and carefully cuts a huge slice. She barely manages to balance it long enough to put it on a plate, but she doesn’t hand him the cake. Not yet.

“Twenty-five,” Robyn says distractedly, her attention split between the cake, his wrist and her Scroll. She accepts the next piece of cake and starts eating while they wait for the seconds to tick by.

“Twenty,” Ari mutters through a mouthful of cake. She gags almost immediately. “Harriet, are you sure this recipe was a good one?”

“I got it off the description of a baking hacks video, don’t ask me.”

“Why would you trust a baking hacks video-”

Harriet swallows her bite of cake, clearly not finding a problem with its taste. She gestures with her plastic fork as she responds, “They said seven quick and easy hacks for baking, so I figured it was a good idea. Besides, I knew you would mess something up.”

“That frosting exploding was your fault, but whatever,” Ari replies, setting her plate down. She checks her watch. “Ten seconds, Clover.”

“Nine,” Harriet says, putting her cake to the side so she can perch on the armrest of Clover’s chair.

Robyn, still with her cake in her hands, jumps over to the other armrest. She and Harriet lean close to his wrist and wait.

“What if it’s the other wrist?” Ari asks as she balances on the top of the chair like a gargoyle.

“It won’t be,” Clover replies. The confidence he tries for doesn’t quite make it into his tone. He’s always felt like the words should be on his right wrist.

Ari pulls out her Scroll and positions the camera so she can take a picture of his wrist. “I’ll send it to Elm and she can get it filed for you,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“Three,” Harriet says, her voice almost a shout.

Robyn does shout. “TWO!”

“One,” Ari screeches even louder than Robyn.

“Zero,” Clover finishes as everyone’s Scrolls hit 8:17:07. The members ofTeam CHRY lean as close as they can to his wrist and wait.

Red letters start to appear, one by one. MI

“Mist,” Harriet suggests.

“Mirror,” Robyn says.

“Mirage,” Ari offers.

“Misfortune,” Clover says, getting weird looks from the others. It’s an odd guess, but the letters forming do nothing to prove him wrong.

MIS

“Damn it,” Ari and Robyn say at once. Harriet waits with bated breath, but she can’t even come close to matching Clover’s level of excitement.

This is it. Sure, he’s not exactly meeting his soulmate yet, but at least he’ll have a hint. For all he knows, he’s already met them and didn’t notice.

MISF

Harriet sighs in disappointment, but Clover has a feeling he’s right that sticks with him as the next six letters appear. When he reads the full word, he’s not surprised.

MISFORTUNE

Robyn wheezes, drops her cake and falls off the armrest. Ari loses her balance and crashes to the ground, while Harriet has to put a hand on the back of the chair to steady herself.

“Well, that’s ironic,” Ari says when she picks herself up.

“How did you guess that?” Robyn groans from the floor.

Clover shrugs. “Lucky guess?”

“Of course,” Harriet sighs. She stands up straighter. “Do you think he’s naturally unlucky, or does he just make everyone else unlucky?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Robyn cackles. “Misfortune. They’re never going to be able to do epic Semblance combinations like that.”

“Yeah, like Matter Absorption could ever work with your Semblance.” Ari reaches for her cake before she thinks better of it and stops. “What if he’s just not a Huntsman?”

“Then he’d get Words instead, genius,” Harriet says. She turns to Clover. “Are you going to see if anyone in the school has misfortune?”

“Later,” Clover responds, his mind elsewhere. The rest of his team might find it funny that their Semblances are opposite, but he can’t help but think about Harriet’s question about the specifics of his soulmate’s Semblance. What if he affects the people around him? He’s always been glad that he’s able to help change the outcome of things for the better, but what if it’s the opposite for his soulmate? Would he be forced to stay distant to keep the people he loves safe? Looking around at his team, Clover can’t imagine the loneliness of staying away from everyone.

Gods, he hopes that’s not how his soulmate’s Semblance works.

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The announcer- a teacher from Shade, he thinks- leans into the microphone and says over the cheers of the crowd, “Clover Ebi and Harriet Bree of Atlas versus Qrow and Raven Branwen of Beacon!”

Clover takes a second to thank the gods that his outfit doesn’t have sleeves as the parts of the arena click into place. A glance behind him tells him that they have an area of fire Dust and an area that looks like it was cut straight out of the desert. Combined with the sun’s heat, he can bet that their half will be unbearable. Then again, sunburn might be worse.

Behind the two members of Beacon’s team STRQ, a pirate ship rises along with a biome made of ice that glistens in Vacuo’s heat. Clover and Harriet send each other meaningful looks- they’re definitely going over to Qrow and Raven’s side.

“Three…”

Kingfisher snaps out to its full form while Fast Knuckles extends around Harriet’s arms and hands. Across from them, Raven pulls out a long red blade, while Qrow puts a hand on the handle behind his back.

“Two…”

Clover slides one foot in front of the other and raises Kingfisher. Harriet curls her fingers into fists. Raven brandishes her sword, but Qrow’s only movement is a slight shift forward.

“One…”

Glancing at Harriet, Clover tries to indicate with his eyes that she should fight Qrow. She nods, smirking confidently, and turns back to their opponents.

“Go!”

Harriet takes off in a burst of speed and punches at Qrow’s face, and to her evident surprise, he ducks it with speed rivaling hers. Her second punch strikes metal as he yanks out a huge sword to block it.

Clover doesn’t see any more of their fight as Raven shoots in front of him with her sword slashing down. He raises Kingfisher to block it, just barely catching the blade before it hits him. Clover tries to kick her, but she leaps away. He uses the opportunity to grapple over to the pirate ship, and she follows him.

Swinging around the ship, Clover’s acutely aware of how quickly Raven follows him. He manages to turn at the last second to kick her away, but her sword is so long that when she jerks her arm, it still makes contact with Clover’s hand. He loses his grip on Kingfisher and lands hard on the deck of the ship.

Raven moves the second she lands, returning to attack again while he’s disarmed. Hastily, Clover flicks his pin and amplifies his Semblance. He holds out a hand, and Kingfisher drops into it. He blocks her sword just in time.

Harriet’s shout of triumph reaches him when she finally lands a hit on Qrow and swings another punch at him. Raven spins and slashes her sword through thin air, opening up a red portal. Its twin appears under Qrow and drops him right next to Raven. With Harriet too far away to attack, they both focus on Clover.

Just my luck, Clover thinks. He doesn’t have time to flick his pin again as both of them spin and bring their swords down on him with so much strength that he almost collapses from holding them both back.

Qrow frowns, and Clover’s about to grin when his sword starts to change. Gears start to whir as Qrow’s massive sword curves, its handle extending. Clover doesn’t have time to process until Qrow angles the scythe downward and shoots him in the stomach.

Flying backward, Clover sees Harriet leap over the edge of the pirate ship and hit Raven in the face so hard that the deck collapses under her. As Raven falls, Harriet catches Qrow’s scythe and tries to throw him in after her, but he dodges her attack.

Clover staggers to his feet and casts Kingfisher towards Qrow’s scythe. He tries to yank the weapon away, but Qrow only raises an eyebrow and jerks his scythe so that Clover gets dragged closer.

After that, it’s a mess. Qrow manages to dodge Harriet’s punches and kicks her right into the path of Raven’s blade. Somehow, he and Qrow start fighting in the ice Dust area.

As Clover slides over the ice, it starts to crack. Panicked, he tries to use his Semblance before he realizes that he’s so low on Aura that it’ll probably break before the ice does. At least Qrow’s at roughly the same level of Aura- if he can just get one more good hit in, he can finish him.

The ice starts to crack even more under Clover’s feet, but he does his best to avoid it as Qrow closes in. The cracking follows him until Clover’s sure that this has to do with Qrow’s Semblance.

On cue, the announcer says, “It looks like Qrow Branwen’s using his Semblance- Misfortune!”

Clover hesitates with Kingfisher inches away from Qrow, but his opponent doesn’t. Qrow spins his scythe so fast that it catches Clover and throws him against the ice so hard that the entire area rumbles.

The buzzer blares across the arena and Clover sighs, watching his Aura tick down to 0% on the screen. He remembers why he hesitated in the first place and looks up, trying to see if anything is written on Qrow’s wrist.

Clover notices two things at once- that Qrow’s wrist is covered by a black band, and that a large chunk of ice is separating to fall on him. He tries to get to his feet, but he can barely stand up on the slippery, cracked ice. “Shit.”

Luckily, Qrow notices too. Eyes lighting with alarm, he doesn’t even hesitate to leap for Clover, throwing his scythe aside. The chunk falls as Qrow tackles him, making them both slide across the ice.

The ice chunk explodes into smaller bits that fly everywhere. Qrow sees them and positions himself over Clover so none of them hit him. By the time the ice has settled, the buzzer sounds twice- once for Qrow, whose aura is at 19%, and once for Harriet, who’s clearly been distracted enough for Raven to knock her off the ship.

Qrow sighs, his face so close to Clover’s that he can feel his breath shift his hair. The red-eyed boy pushes himself up, slight disappointment in his expression as he helps Clover to stand. “Sorry,” he rasps. “You okay?”

Clover just stares at him. Now that he thinks about it, Qrow’s kind of hot, and his face was just so close to his, and he’s still holding his hand, and he might be his soulmate- Clover nods mutely, unable to form a single word.

Looking relieved, Qrow turns back to Raven, who uses another portal to come over and high-five him. Harriet zips to Clover and gives him an I-know-what-you’re-thinking look.

When they leave the arena, Robyn and Ari are already there, standing at the exit with identical shit-eating grins. Clover gives them one alarmed look before Harriet runs over to join them.

“So,” Robyn begins.

“You lost,” Ari continues.

“To a guy whose Semblance is exactly what’s written on your wrist,” Harriet finishes. She practically bounces as she asks, “Are you going to go talk to him?”

Clover hesitates. “I couldn’t even talk to him the first time,” he finally says. “And I don’t think he likes us that much. Not to mention if I ask about his soulmate’s Semblance… that kind of implies that I think it’s me, doesn’t it?”

“Your choice,” Harriet shrugs. She turns to the exit. “Let’s go get ice cream and cry over our loss, okay?”

Ari shoots a glance up at the bright sun and back down at her long sleeves. “That is something I can get behind,” she agrees, following Harriet.

Robyn starts walking after them, but she pauses when she sees Clover stay still. “Are you coming?”

“In a sec. I’ll catch up,” he replies, and Robyn shrugs and walks away.

Clover turns around to where he can see Team STRQ celebrating. Qrow is talking to his teammate, who wears a long white cloak. Her back is to Clover, but Qrow’s isn’t. Staring just a little too long, Clover knows he’s bright red when Qrow looks up, smirks and raises an eyebrow.

He turns and hurries in the other direction, his entire brain screaming at him. Clover doesn’t know if Qrow’s still looking at him, but he doesn’t want to find out.

As he leaves the arena, he runs into Harriet, who seems to have seen the entire thing. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him?”

“I’m busy trying to banish that from my memory, thanks.”

“...Good luck with that.”

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General Ironwood reads the report again. An unauthorized Manta has landed somewhere in Mantle, and now they’ve taken out their weapons. Great. At least there aren’t too many. If he sends the Ace Ops and maybe Winter, they should be able to-

His Scroll beeps. Ironwood looks down and clicks on the picture from one of the drones. It’s blurry, but he recognizes dark hair and a torn red cape. Qrow.

“Sir?” Winter speaks up from across his desk, reminding him that she’s there. “What do you want us to do?”

Something clicks in his brain, and Ironwood looks up as fast as he can. “Do you have Clover’s file?”

Winter nods and extends her Scroll, where Clover’s picture pops up on the screen. He scrolls down to the bottom part to a picture of Clover’s wrist. And the word written on.

MISFORTUNE.

“Oh, this’ll be hilarious,” Ironwood mutters. He looks up. “Just send the Ace Ops. Tell them to be stealthy.”

Winter follows his gaze to the picture of Clover’s wrist. “Oh.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for him to figure it out?” Ironwood smirks.

“Knowing both of them?” Winter shakes her head. “I’ll have to drop hints every day.”

“Something tells me that might not even do it,” Ironwood sighs.

Winter shrugs. “I’m doing it anyway.” She leaves the office.

-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-

Clover turns to Qrow. “Thanks for the call-out. That could have been bad.”

The Huntsman sighs, frowning. “I wouldn’t thank me,” he says, and Clover has the briefest flash of a fleeting memory, one about his Semblance. “My Semblance brings misfortune. Sometimes I can’t keep it under control.”

Thanking the gods that he’s learned to (somewhat) control his levels of gay panic, Clover says, “That so? Well, hey. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” He can tell that Qrow definitely has been beating himself up about it. So maybe his soulmate’s Semblance really does just affect others. Hardly daring to breathe, Clover manages to continue, “My Semblance is good fortune. Lucky you, huh?” He even winks, although that might be overkill.

This is it. If Qrow has his Semblance written on his wrist, he should react, right?

Qrow looks shocked, and although Clover can’t describe his next expression, it’s almost heartbreaking. The hope alone is enough to make him think that maybe, just maybe this is it.

He doesn’t say anything else, and Clover turns away, disappointment pooling in him. Of course. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-

“You know,” Clover says, causing Qrow to look up from his Scroll. “General Ironwood admitted he sent the Ace Ops to arrest you all on purpose. Do you have any idea what that’s supposed to mean?”

“Maybe it’s because he remembers when I kicked your ass in the Vytal Festival.”

Clover gapes at him. “First of all, why do you remember that? Second, I would have won, I just got… distracted.”

Qrow raises an eyebrow. “Distracted? By what?”

“At this point, I don’t even remember,” Clover admits. “I tried very, very hard to forget what happened, and I think it worked.”

From the hallway, Harriet screams, “YOU WERE LITERALLY ON TOP OF HIM, THAT’S WHY.”

Both of them look up to see Harriet streak by the doorway, electricity crackling in her wake.  In the blink of an eye, she’s gone.

“...What?” Clover and Qrow ask at the same time. They both shrug and go back to their Scrolls.

After a few more minutes, Winter walks into the room. She pauses when she sees them together and starts backpedaling out. “I’ll just… leave you two to it.”

Qrow gives her a suspicious glare. “What do you want, Winter?”

“Oh, nothing,” Winter replies just a little too casually, but she returns to the room. Clover knows her well enough to know that she’s definitely up to something and that her plan is working perfectly.

“Did you want to stay?” Clover asks, watching her badly hidden smirk grow wider.

“Not really,” Winter grumbles, glowering at Qrow. He returns the look. “Just out of sheer curiosity,” she begins, her words sounding forced, “Have you two ever thought about finding your soulmates?”

“Obviously,” Clover says. “I’ve only met one person with my soulmate’s Semblance, and they know mine, so it can’t be them.”

“Same,” Qrow sighs. He holds his covered wrist out to Clover and pulls the band away. “You wouldn’t happen to know someone else with good fortune as their Semblance, would you?”

Clover blinks, staring down at the teal letters on his friend’s wrist. “Your soulmate’s Semblance is-”

Winter forcibly grabs his wrist and holds it out to Qrow, shifting her gloved hand so he can read the single word written on it. Qrow’s eyes widen.

Agonizingly slowly, Qrow looks up at him. “And your soulmate’s Semblance is-”

“Yes, yes, you’re soulmates, everyone else knew, you’re idiots, and you can thank me later,” Winter huffs, releasing Clover’s wrist and standing up again. She leaves without another word, the sound of her boots audible for a good minute as she walks away.

Clover looks back to Qrow. “Um. You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a romantic soulmate, would you?”

“I..” Qrow trails off, but the way he stares at Clover answers the question for him. Clover suddenly realizes just how close Qrow’s managed to get.

Oh.

All Clover can think of in that moment is how badly he wants to kiss Qrow.

So he does.

-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-🍀-

Clover dials General Ironwood with shaking fingers, looking between Qrow and Tyrian and Robyn. The general picks up after a few rings.

“What is it?”

“Uh, sir?” Clover asks, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He feels a hand wrap around his and looks up to find Qrow holding his hand. Qrow gives him an encouraging nod, so Clover continues, “Are you sure that arresting them is a good idea? Especially-”

“I’m aware Qrow is your soulmate,” Ironwood interrupts. “But I need you to arrest him and bring him back immediately. If he cooperates, no harm will come to him.”

Clover resists glaring at the Scroll. He turns and addresses everyone else in the airship. “Right, guys, let’s get Tyrian to prison and then we’ll go down to Mantle.”

“What? Clover, I gave you an order.” Ironwood sighs louder than it should be possible to sigh. “Clover, please. This is for the good of Atlas. Arrest Qrow.”

“First of all,” Clover replies, letting his contempt shine through, “That’s bullshit.”

“Clover-”

“Second of all, no.”

“Clover-”

He hangs up.

----

uh I hope you liked it? It’s also on ao3 here?

[thedailyimagines]

Imagine working at Freddy’s Pizzeria, and telling your dad something is wrong. (Part One)

Description: The reader just got a new job at Freddy Fazbear’s. He thinks something is up and is proven right on the first night. Maybe his dad can help? This is the family business...

.

So I’ve never played FNAF, but from one reddit thread I gathered that it takes place in Utah. Please let me know if this is wrong!

~~~~~~~~

Another day, another motel in Nowhere, Utah. Y/n was starting to wonder if his dad and uncle actually knew what they were doing or if they were just taking a break from their case. They had already been here three days.

“So...when are we leaving?” Dean didn’t look up from the newspaper he was reading.

“Sam said the guy we’re talking with could need us for about another week. Maybe two.” Groaning, y/n flopped back onto the motel bed. He was so bored!

“Can I help?”

“No. Too dangerous and I can’t be worried about you getting hurt while working.” Y/n started to pick at one of the threads on the comforter.

“Sam will be there, he can keep an eye on me too.” Dean finally looked up from his newspaper.

“Y/n. I understand you want to help but I need to know your safe. That means sitting out on this one, okay?”

“Fine. But I’m helping next time.” Dean smiled and nodded in agreement.

“Alright.”

<—>

Help Wanted: Nightguard; Details inside.

That was the sign that greeted y/n when he went on a food run. The pizzeria looked run down, but hopefully looks were deceiving; otherwise it was burgers again.

“Whatever. Anything is better than burgers again.” Y/n opened the door of the pizzeria and was greeted to possibly the saddest place he’d ever seen. The restaurant looked empty and outdated, and the animal robots—animatronics, y/n told himself—on the stage were...actually kinda creepy.

“Hi! Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, how can I help you?” A cheerful voice broke through the silent restaurant, and y/n found himself faced with a waitress probably just older than himself.

“Yeah. You guys are open, right? I didn’t walk in when you were about to close?”

“We’re still open!” Y/n nodded and almost took a step back from the waitress. She was almost scary perky.

“Okay, cool. I didn’t want to walk in at the last minute. Do you have a menu I could look at?”

“Yep, here you go!” Glancing at the menu, the majority of it seemed to be character themed pizzas. Y/n decided to make conversation as he looked for something the three Winchesters would all like.

“I saw your ad about the night guard position on the door—” Y/n was cut off before he could finish.

“Oh, are you going to apply? Here, let me get my manager!” Before y/n was able to ask for more details, the overly perky waitress had gone into a back room. She returned with a balding man who was smiling widely.

“Good afternoon! So, you’re interested in the night guard job?” Y/n shook his head.

“I was actually just curious. And looking for someplace to grab lunch.” The manager’s face fell.

“Oh, my bad. I thought you were hoping to apply for the position.”

“I mean, what exactly are the details? I might know someone who could apply.” He really didn’t, but y/n felt sorta bad for getting the older man excited for nothing.

“Well, it’s a temporary position. Five nights, and all you have to do is stay in the security office.” Temporary? Maybe y/n could do this job and get some spare cash. He could use some new tires for his bike...

“That’s it?” The manager nodded.

“Yep! It does have a low pay, but we are going out of business soon and don’t have the funds to pay much more than $200.”

“I see. Could I apply?” Placing his chin in his hand, the manager looked y/n up and down.

“It depends. How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen years old.” A lie, but y/n highly doubted the man would hire a sixteen year old. He looked old enough to be eighteen (at least, Sam said he did).

“Alright. And do you have any serious health problems or conditions?” That wasn’t something y/n was expecting. Wasn’t there paperwork for this kind of thing?

“Uh...no?” The manager grinned widely. It was a bit unsettling.

“Great! Can you start tomorrow?” Y/n’s eyes widened. Was this even legal?

“Wait, seriously? That’s it?”

“Yep! And don’t worry about buying a uniform, we’ll provide you with a shirt.”

“Alright then. What time do I come in?” The manger went back to his office, returning with a shirt and a sheet of paper.

“Just be here before twelve AM. Your shift ends at six. This paper has all the details and my number in case of emergency.” Y/n took the shirt and paper from the manager.

“Got it. And one more thing?” The manager raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Can I order a large cheese pizza?”

<—>

“That was possibly the grossest pizza I’ve ever eaten.” Dean pushes his plate away, one slice still left on it. Y/n took another bite of his and grimaced, wondering how exactly you screwed up a pizza this bad.

“Don’t blame me, I didn’t make it.” Sam set his plate down, all the cheese gone on his slice after it slid off.

“Where did you get it? So we know to avoid that place.”

“Place called Freddy Fazbear’s. Also I kinda-sorta-maybe got a temporary job there.” Dean choked on his soda and Sam had a surprised look on his face.

“Wait, what?” Y/n put his hands up defensively.

“So this place needed a night guard for like five nights and I figured since we’re going to be here for a while, it wouldn’t hurt!” Dean shook his head and turned to his son.

“Y/n—” Y/n interrupted before his father could finish speaking.

“Dad, it’s only five nights in a building that was empty in the middle of the day. It’s probably just as empty at night.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea...” Y/n rolled his eyes and took a drink of his soda.

“Seriously. It’s six hours of watching a restaurant in the middle of the night. What could possibly happen?”

<—>

Y/n parked his bike outside the pizzeria and chained it to the bike rack. Even at night the place was creepy, possibly creepier. Making sure he had the keys he received earlier, y/n headed inside.

It was eerily quiet without the music playing from the speakers. The animatronics were on the stage, and y/n couldn’t help but shudder as he walked by them.

“Creepy as hell, but entertaining to kids.” Y/n snorted, walking quickly away from the stage. He soon found the security office. From a quick look around, it appeared that all y/n would have were the cameras.

“Right. Let’s see...I guess I’ll just sit and play on my phone?” At that exact moment, the office phone rang. Y/n picked it up to hear the tone for a prerecorded message.

"Hello, hello? Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I'm finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact. So, I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you there's nothing to worry about. Uh, you'll do fine. So, let's just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay? Thinking it was just a welcoming message, y/n began poking around the small office while the message played on. There really wasn’t much in there, and the doors had weird buttons near them.

“...So, you could imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort...and death. Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask, heh.”

“Wait, what?” Before y/n could entirely process what the phone guy said, he accidentally knocked the phone down and unplugged it from the wall. Y/n scrambled to plug it back in but the message was already gone. “Shit!”

Slumping down in the chair, y/n ran a hand through his hair. Why would he possibly be at risk of dying? It was only a night guard job! That was when he spotted the note on the desk.

“Seriously, what the hell is up with this place?” Y/n decided to take a look at the cameras. Yep, there were all the animatronics—where was the rabbit? Flipping through each camera, y/n kept an eye open for the rabbit until—

“There! Wait, that’s down the hall. Is it coming here?” Y/n quickly jumped out of his chair and ran to the door, hitting the button to shut it. Not a second later the rabbit was outside, trying to get in.

It didn’t stop after the rabbit left. The whole night, each animatronic kept trying to get inside the office. At one point, three animatronics

At 5:57, y/n lost power.

“It’s fine. There’s only three minutes left.”

5:58. Two minutes. The fox animatronic entered the office, and lunged towards y/n. He ducked out of the way and bit back a scream at the hook cutting deep into his shoulder.

The fox turned around for a second go, and—

—it straightened, turned, and left the office, leaving behind a very confused y/n. As soon as the manager arrived, y/n booked it back to the motel he, his father and his uncle were staying at.

<—>

“Hey, did you see where I left my keys?” Y/n didn’t pay attention, too focused on his research to notice Dean talking to him.

“Y/n?” Y/n glanced up at his father, one eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Y/n shook his head.

“Sorry, I was busy. What’s up?”

“My keys, do you know where they are?” Y/n pretended to be deep in thought for a moment.

“Uhh...your pocket?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Very funny. What’s got you so occupied?” Y/n turned his laptop around to face Dean, a search for ‘Freddy’s pizzeria’ displayed on the screen.

“The animatronics at the place I’m working tried to kill me last night. Also I should probably look into getting a tetanus shot.” Sam peeked out from the bathroom door with a confused expression.

“What?” Y/n pulled the collar of his shirt to the side, revealing a bloody bandage to his father and uncle. Dean’s eyes widened in shock.

“What the hell happened to you?!?!”

“I told you, a robot pirate fox with a hook tried to kill me!”

~~~~~~~~

I don’t own the above gif, all credit goes to the owner.

[rmjagonshi]

In For A Penny, In For A Pound - Chp 3

On AO3

Amidst the giggling and affectionate name calling, the toe fish were baked and shredded. The evening was spent eating bland fish smothered with cheese and re-hydrated guacamole. Ford had dug through their cupboards and pulled out a box of chipackers and powdered sugar. They’d used some leftover butter and water to make a crude frosting and had a desert of hobo cookies. Two folding deck chairs were pushed together, an empty bucket used as a table in the small space. The bowl of frosting sat between them, forgotten, as they watched the stars and listened to the sounds of the ocean. With no light pollution from the city, the sky lit up with millions upon billions of stars, all twinkling more brilliant than any light show Stan had ever seen. Even living in Gravity Falls, far off the beaten path, the skies were nothing like they were out on the ocean. Ford pointed out what stars and constellations and galaxies he could remember; holding Stan’s hand and helping him trace the patterns in the night sky.

Stories of Greek and Roman gods and heroes gave way to reminiscing and inside jokes. Ford regaled him with tales of his inter-dimensional travels and Stan retorted with his own sordid history of crime and punishment, and his own experience with the paranormal creatures in Gravity Falls. Though it hadn’t been as detailed or as scientific as Ford’s, Stan had tried keeping a journal of his own to keep track of everything he had learned about physics, and all the weird stuff he’d encountered. He’d been on first name basis with some of the gnomes and manitaurs, part of the reason they had run to the mystery shack when things got hairy at the end of the summer. They were both flopped on deck, a giggling mess by the time either one thought to go to bed. It was fucking magical.

Stan’s heart was light when he curled up into his freshly cleaned sheets. Not even the memories beginning to prickle at the edges of his mind could ruin his night.

“Hey, not to push, but we really are getting’ low on supplies. Think well be alright fer another week or so. Wouldn’t give it much more than that. But it’s up to you.” It wasn’t completely a lie. They were getting low. The ship’s storage could only hold two, maybe three months’ worth of food and water tablets before they had to start stacking cans in the bathroom.

“Yeah. We can hit port. The ‘toe-fish’ as you call them really aren’t that strange. They act like any other species of Atlantic cod, aside from their odd appearance. I think I have enough data to document them. We can head for Ireland starting tomorrow.” Ford had already pulled off his sweater to change and was now hunched over his bunk, straightening the sheets. Stan’s eyes traveled over the scars and ink that littered his brother’s back and arms. He felt his gut tighten and his hands hitched with the desire to reach out and touch them. It had been a long few months before Ford was ready to show Stan the damage the past thirty years had done. Stan knew they were there, knew where each one had come from, but it didn’t make seeing them any easier. Sure, Stan had his own fair share of scars, but they were few and far between compared to his brother.

Stan bit his lip to hold back saying something that really didn’t need to be said. Not at this point. He let his mind drift as he watched the muscles of Ford’s back shift and slide under the raised scars and burns. He was still amazed at how much stronger Ford was. Gone was the lanky teen from their youth. Gone was the scrawny researcher he’d caught a glimpse of that late January day. Ford was muscular, but not overly buff. Lean, like a runner. Legs able to sprint a mile with little effort and arms that could throw a punch to match Stan’s own. It was kinda hot. Intrusive thoughts prodded at Stan’s mind, but he shook his head to get rid of them. Not now. Not ever, but really not now.

Ford turned, picking up the discarded tank he slept in, and caught Stan’s eye. Stan turned his head, staring at the wall to give his brother privacy. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…I just…thinkin’s all. Didn’t mean ta stare.”

“No, Stan. It’s fine. I…it helps…sometimes…for you to see them. Helps me be more comfortable in my own skin.” Ford rolled his knuckles and flexed his fingers as he spoke. He smiled and held up his hand, fingers spread. “Of course, you’ve always helped me feel comfortable about myself.” Stan chuckled, giving his brother a shy smile. But it was getting too touchy feely for his tastes. Any way too intimate.

“Yeah. If you’re gonna be made fun of, it’s gonna be about your nerd personality, not how ya look. Besides, can’t be a badass pirate without the badass scars to go with it.” Ford had pulled on his shirt and sat on the now perfectly straightened sheets.

“Stanley, we aren’t pirates.”

“Yes we are.”

“No, we aren’t.”

“Yes, Poindexter, we are. We were in international waters, and took control of the abandoned Iceland research buoy without permission. Ergo. Pirates.” Ford had reworked the buoy’s internal system to act as a satellite sonar beacon. It was bobbing about two miles from their ship. They’d go and pick it up before they headed to port the next day.

“I…” But Ford didn’t really have a response. While the buoy hadn’t been active, it was still Icelandic property. Technically, they had stolen it. Technically, Stan was right. They were pirates. “Shut up, Knucklehead.”

“HA! I’ll get the cloth from port and sew up a nice pirate flag! Unless ya want ta string up our shirts like we did before?”

“No. And you are NOT raising a pirate flag. Do you have any idea what would happen if we ran into the coastguard?”

“Which coastguard?”

“Any! It’s bad enough that I’ve got a criminal record the length of the Mississippi, thanks to you, and you are legally deceased. We don’t need anymore legal trouble.” Ford had curled up under the three blankets he insisted on having to keep warm. Stan, being the human furnace he was, was fine with just a sheet most nights. Hot and cold, the two of them.

“Get some sleep, Stan. We’ll set out tomorrow.”

“Night, Sixer.”

Stan and Ford drifted off with the slow rocking of the boat and the gentle sounds of the ocean waves.

Stan stretched out his spine, letting his back ease into the soft mattress. The boat rocking back and forth with the smallest of motions. He felt warm. The sheet around him growing softer and heavier. He could hear music. Light and unobtrusive. A lullaby. Wait. There were words. Someone was singing? Stan blinked open his eyes to be greeted by a smiling stuffed rabbit. It was tiny and hung on a string above his bed with four other tiny stuffed toys. A mobile. His mom was singing, off somewhere else. But it was okay. She was near. Stan turned his head to see the grey fluff of his brother’s head. Ford was sleeping soundly with six fingers wrapped around Stan’s arm. Stan rolled to his side, facing his brother. With light touches so as not to wake him, he traced Ford’s features. Fingers running over each closed eyelid, trailing back to trace over the curves of his ears. Over Ford’s hairline and eyebrows. Down the bridge of his nose and over the pink parted lips.

Ford’s lips puckered as Stan traced them with his thumb. Ford mumbled, chapped lips catching on Stan’s skin. His eyes blinked open, lashes fluttering. Bright blue eyes stared blearily back at Stan as a sleepy smile spread over his lips. He gently kisses the thumb resting against his lips and nuzzles against Stan’s open palm.

“Morning.” He breathes against the callused skin. Stan grins.

“Morning, Sixer. How’d ya sleep?”

“Mhn. Good. Still tired.” Ford closed his eyes again, pulling the covers up to his neck and pushing his face further into the pillow.

“Heh. We don’t hafta get up. Nothing we gotta get done right now.” Eh, that wasn’t true. But who was paying attention out here? They could enjoy a late morning if they wanted.

Ford hummed, frowning. “Cold.”

Stan chuckled, holding the blanket up. “Well then, get yourself over here, nerd. I’ll keep ya warm.”

Ford shuffled across the space between them and wrapped his arms around Stan’s torso, burying his face in the soft grey hairs that blanketed Stan’s chest. He hummed in delight, resting his forehead on Stan’s clavicle. His body fit perfectly along Stan’s, hips chest pressed into Stan’s soft gut and hips settling against Stan’s thighs. Stan hummed at the feeling of Ford’s soft cock sliding against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He ran a hand over Ford’s bare side and back. Callused hands sliding over scarred skin to trace along the pudge of a hip, the top of a thigh. Ford squeaked when Stan gripped one ass cheek in his hand and squeezed. Dexterous fingers followed the line of it, up and down, each pass getting closer and closer to Ford’s tight puckered hole. The tip of his index finger pressed against the ring of muscle and worked to ease the tension.

“Stan.” Heavy breaths ghosted over Stan’s chest. He could feel Ford relaxing for him. The ring of muscle contracting and loosening around his fingertip. He circled the ring from the center outward. A slight press and his finger was enveloped in heat. A muffled whine echoed in the room. Stan pressed a grin into Ford’s hairline, still working his finger passed the first ring. It was dry. He wasn’t going to get far, he wasn’t trying to, but it was the best way to get Ford worked up. Light touch, teasing, just fingering the inner ring. Six fingers clutched Stan’s hips, kneading the flesh. Ford was mewling before long. His hips rocking against Stan’s thigh. He was hard, or getting there. He was panting now, hands traveling south to squeeze Stan’s ass.

“Shh. It’s alright. I gotcha.” Stan pressed a kiss to Ford’s temple. Pulling his finger free, he pushed against Ford’s shoulder to roll him onto his back. He placed a quick kiss against Ford’s lips, a soft nip along his jawline, before sucking a trail down Ford’s neck. Lips and tongue danced over pecks, pausing to give each nipple attention. Ford watched him with half-lidded eyes, gasping and wanting. Stan circled each rosy bud with his tongue, nipping at the sensitive flesh and rolling it between his gums.

“Stanley! Uh, huh, uh!”

“Heh, whatcha want, Sixer? Whatcha want yer brother ta do for ya? Just name it.” Stan purred into Ford’s abdomen. He mouthed a line down to Ford’s navel. “Hm? What is it?” He darted is tongue in and out of Ford’s navel, tracing the outer circle. “What do you need?”

“Stan, please!”

He grinned.

He leaned back, just enough to kneel on the bed and get a good look at Ford. Writhing and wanton and aching. Ford was hard and leaking. Prick straining and twitching; the head pulsing. Stan wrapped a hand around the shaft and Ford’s hips came off the mattress with a scream.

“This what you want? Need yer bro to take care of ya? Just ask me, Sixer.”

But no answer came. He looked up, expecting to see Ford red faced and shy. instead, Ford’s face was cloudy and distorted, like one of Mabel’s drawings had gotten wet and all the colors had run together. An answer came then, distant and muffled, coming through water.

“St-n”.

“Wha’, Sixer, what’s wrong?”

“Sta-, pl-se. I’m -orr-. Ple--, don- -o…”

What the hell was going on? They were just getting started. Ford was aching to go, wasn’t he? But...no. Ford wasn’t under him anymore. Least, not the one he was expecting. The sculpted body he’d been worshiping was gone. The form under him, beside him, drifting away from him, was child-like. A kid. Ford was younger now. Ford was just a kid. Scared and crying. Was it him? Was Ford crying because of him? But Ford had wanted it...didn't he?

Oh God.

What if Ford hadn't wanted it? Was he just placating Stan? Was that why Ford was going away? Was that why he was crying?

“Please. I’m so sorry...don’t…” Ford voice grew clearer, even as he drifted further and further away.

“Ford. Hey! What’s wrong? Hey! Sixer! Talk ta me!”

Stan was losing him. Ford had known about Stan's dream. Had figured out Stan had gotten off to it, even though he tried not to. Ford had cleaned his sheets, of course he knew. Genius man he was. He was going away now because he knew Stan was disgusting. Stan didn't even know why he wanted this. But it didn't matter. It was going to end now. He'd do anything to keep Ford with him. He'd never jerk-off again. He'd castrate himself. He'd do whatever Ford wanted if he'd only just stay.

"Ford! I'm sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise. I don't know why it happened the first time, but I swear, never again!"

Ford's voice was getting louder and more desperate. He was pleading. But why? Stan had stopped. He was so far away now. Why was Ford still asking him to stop?

"Don't leave!"

But Stan wasn't leaving. He wasn't moving. Then...Ford wasn't trying to leave. Something was making him.

"FORD!"

“Please…don’t…NO!”

Stan was awake and out of bed before he’d even had the chance to make a conscious decision or even realize he was asleep. His heart hammering in his chest and eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger. Survival skills ingrained and hard learned from his tie on the streets kicking into high gear. His blurred vision fell on the struggling lump across the small space on the second bunk.

“STAN!”

“Hey, I’m here. It’s okay. Shh. It’s alright.” Stan knelt on the floor beside Ford’s bunk, voice low and soothing, or as soothing as his smoker’s voice could be. Bed springs screeched under the thrashing, covers tossed and tangled around arms and legs. Ford was panicking. The last time Stan had tried to wake him from a nightmare, Ford had damn near broken his jaw. His jaw throbbed with phantom pain at the memory. But this was a bad one. Stan reached his hand out, soft and deliberate, to curl around one of Ford’s flailing hands.

“Sixer! Ford, common. Wake up.”

Ford shot up with a snap. A fist swung at Stan’s head even as a second gripped his fingers hard enough Stan felt his bones creak. Stan ducked, head and shoulders hitting the mattress and dodging the swing by millimeters. His knees slipped on the smooth floor, and Stan found himself clinging to the bed sheets and Ford’s hand for support.

“Ford, Jeezus! It’s me!”

“Stan?! Oh, God. I’m sorry…I…” But the end of his statement was swallowed up by a heart-wrenching sob. Instead, he rolled off the bed, pushing Stan flat in the space between their bunks, and crawled into Stan’s arms. Stan found himself laying on the floor, ass naked, with his brother curled up tight to him. Ford had buried his face into Stan’s gut, chest in line with Stan’s hips. He was shaking. Splatters of water caught in the grey hairs to pool in his navel.

Stan carded his fingers through the sweat damp fluff of Ford's hair, rubbing his thumb over Ford's temple. Hushed and incoherent words tumbled from his mouth. Attempts to sooth, but not to pry. Ford would talk when he was ready. Maybe. Sometimes they didn't talk about their nightmares. Too much emotion all at once that neither one was ready to deal with. Neither one used to being able to lean on someone when they were having problems. They would get there, but after a lifetime of bottling up their emotions, it wasn't going to happen right away.

So, Ford may or may not talk to him about it. Which was all well and good because Stan was not really up to talking himself. It happened again. He'd dreamt about Ford again. And this time, he was complicit. He'd known it was Ford. Before, he was just enjoying a steamy dream about a hot guy. His subconscious had made it Ford. But this time...he knew. And he still did it. What did that say about him? That he would actually, knowingly...

Stan clenched his eyes closed and willed the memories to go away. Ford was calming down now. Harsh and heaving breath eased, tears all but dried. Ford's heart at slowed, no longer hammering its way through his chest. But he showed no signs of moving anytime soon. Stubbled cheek scratching against the soft skin of Stan's navel. The delicate flutter of an eyelash tangled with the fine hairs.

Stan felt chapped lips part against his skin as Ford sighed. His hand stalled in Ford's hair. He became acutely aware that he was still naked. When Ford shifted to ease the pressure on his back, Little Stan became aware of Ford's position. Little Stan was very interested in continuing where things had left off, even if they were imaginary. Stan was strongly against it, but Little Stan wasn't listening. Stan desperately tried to imagine McGucket in his swimsuit. Or that creepy hand witch. Something, hell anything to make his erection wilt. He felt it twitch, filling with blood and rising to meet the pressure and warmth above it. Stan wondered if he could shift, ease out from Ford's grasp just enough to let the cool air shock his system enough to stop this problem before it got any worse. Ford buried his face in Stan's navel, a deep inhale and shuttering breath heaved out if his lungs. Stan pulse flared. This was way too close to a memory he was trying very hard to ignore.    

How was Ford not feeling this? Stan wasn't really complaining, he didn't want Ford to notice, but he was still confused as to how he hadn't yet. Stan didn't want to brag, but he wasn't exactly small. He wasn't a monster by any means, but a respectable 9 inches was still big enough. Certainly, big enough for Ford to notice that it was pressing up into his chest. He could feel Ford breathing. Every breath brushed against his straining cock. Another deep and shuttering sigh and Stan's eyes crossed, toes curling. NOPE!

"Hey, Sixer. Ya wanna move this off the floor? My back is gonna be yelling at me if we lay here much longer."

Ford said nothing. Just patted Stan's stomach and lifted himself onto his hands and knees. 'Wait. SHIT! NO! Don't do that. DON'T...' But it was too late. Ford's movements had brought him face to face with Little Stan. Little Stan was very happy with the arrangement.

It was dark. Completely dark below deck on the Stan O' War II. There was a chance Ford hadn't noticed. Please, please let him have missed it. But that little glimmer of hope died when Ford stopped dead. Stan couldn't see him, even if he didn't have his eyes closed, but he could fucking feel Ford's breath ghosting over the straining head. And he stayed there. He wouldn't move, get up. Wouldn't say anything. Stilted breaths enveloping Stan's prick in warmth, teasing with a promise that wasn't a promise and he didn’t want it anyway. He almost wished that ship would hit a rogue wave and knock them about. Ford took a breath to speak. Finally.

"I'm..." But that had been a mistake. Ford's lips had moved. He was a lot closer than either one had thought. Chapped lips just barely brushed Stan's leaking head. Stan's eyes bulged out of his sockets when he felt a sticky strand follow the movement of Ford's lips. NOPE!  

A foot connected with Ford's shoulder. Not a kick, but enough force to propel Ford up to his knees and as far away from Stan as they could get. Stan sat up and scooted back until his hands hit the curtain covering the doorway.

"SHIT! Sorry. It can't tell the difference between you and the busty babe I've been dreamin' about. Imma go piss, you sit. We'll talk if ya wanna when I get back." It was all said in one breath as Stan stood and backed out of their shared room. Stan felt his way to the bathroom and flicked on the light. He squinted through the brightness to the toilet, feeling a rush of deja vu as he flipped the seat up. His gut rolled, but it wasn't enough to come up this time. Instead, he braced one hand on the wall above the bowl while the other wrapped around his prick. He squeezed. He muffled a moan by biting the flesh of his upper arm. He didn’t bother trying to clear his mind this time. He couldn't, not with the real memory of...SHIT!

He pumped once, twice, hips following his fist. His mind blanked, body seizing. Sticky white jets splattered over his hand and the underside of the toilet seat. His jaw clamped down on the flesh of his arm to quiet his moans. He couldn't actually break skin without his teeth, but the bruising wasn't going to feel too great either. He felt his knees give out, and he sat awkwardly backwards on the toilet bowl, hunched over the small water tank. His chest heaved. Head spinning.

Stan was still in the shock and disbelief stage of grief. He hadn't had enough time to really comprehend what had just happened. He knows if he does sit with this, he may end up throwing himself off the boat. But he doesn't have to process this. He doesn't have to deal with this. He can shove it down and ignore it. Denial, denial, denial. But he and his subconscious were having a bit of a disagreement as to what was okay and NOT okay to think about. A little voice in the darkest and most depraved pit of his mind remind him that Ford hadn't pulled away. Ford hadn't reacted with disgust. Hadn't really reacted at all, as a matter of fact. Stan pile-drived that voice back to the rancid and perverse pit it crawled from.

But the thought was there now; he couldn't get rid of it. He'd been so close. Ford had been so close to...he'd...no. No. No way! It wasn't intentional. Ford was just as shocked as he was. He didn't pull away because his nerd brain had overloaded. He was just looking for comfort from whatever nightmare had spooked him and hadn't been expecting a hard dick in his face. And Stan had just left him there to deal with it on his own. What kind of brother was he? Stan chose not to answer that stupid question. Mainly because he wasn't ready to deal with the answer. It was fine! It was all fine. Stan's thoughts tumbling over themselves. It was best now to shove all that shit down and bury it under more and more layers of repression. A few tons of self-hate wouldn't hurt either. Just bury it where that shit won’t ever see the light of day again.

He didn't know how long he sat there, ass and thighs going numb balanced on the slim toilet bowl rim. He needed to get up, clean up and see how much Ford was freaking out. Shit! Ford was probably freaking out now. He had to explain. Though maybe the absolute truth in this case was a very shitty idea, but he could come up with a lie. He's good at that. Been doing it far longer than anything else in his life. But it was definitely time to go and figure out what hole Sixer was spinning himself into.

Stan stood on shaky legs, tore a wad of toilet paper from the roll and wiped himself and the toilet seat down before washing his hands. He refused to look at his reflection. Hands dried and all evidence flushed away, Stan was about ready to flick off the light when he spotted a pair of Ford's boxers left tucked behind the door. Comets and planets and little UFO's. Considering how awkward this was gonna be, he should try and cover himself up. Ford had been fine with Stan sleeping nude, but that was in his own bed. Best to make this less awkward. Though, they were Ford's boxers. From today, yesterday? Would that just make it worse? Stan didn't bother mulling it over. He picked up the worn fabric and slipped them on before flicking off the light and stumbling his way through the darkness.  

Stan felt his way along the galley counter, shuffling through his shitty night vision to the far wall. He stubbed his toe a few times on the books scattered on the floor and nearly tore down the curtain when he collided with it. He lifted the curtain and stood in the doorway, hesitant. There was no way to disguise what he'd done. He'd been in the bathroom too long. Ford might be oblivious to many social cues, but it wasn't hard to put two and two together. But he couldn't stand there forever. Time to rip the band-aid off.

"Hey." His throat felt dry.

"Hey." came the reply in the darkness. His ears, sans hearing aid, could only tell him that Ford was off to his left. Ford's bunk was on the right.

Stan cleared his throat. "You, ah...ya wanna talk about it." Stan paused, then corrected himself. "Nightmare, I mean. Seemed pretty bad this time. Could hear ya even in my own dream." Not that he was going to talk about that. Nope. Nope, not that. Never that.

"Heh, at least you enjoyed yours." Ford sighed. Stan could hear shifting on the bunk and he could picture Ford picking at the sheets. "I don't...I shouldn't bother you with this." The bed creaked as Ford shifted to stand, but Stan wasn't having it.

"Hey, no. I'm here if you wanna talk. You ain't bothering me. You never bother me."

"Oh"

"Well, mostly. Nerd talk is still a bother, but not this. Not something this important."

"Stan."

"No, 'cuz it is. You said yerself, we need to stop pretending we don't have feelings." Stan felt his way to the bed, hands patting the sheets to find where Ford was sitting. Hands found one hairy knee and Stan worked his way onto the bed. "So, I'm here ta listen. If ya wanna talk, that is." They sat wrapped in silence and darkness, shoulders rubbing together every so often. Stan blinked, attempting to let his eyes adjust to the dark, but there wasn't enough ambient light to see by. It was all just oppressive blackness. He couldn't even see his own knees.

Ford didn't talk, and so the silence permeated the darkness around them. It pressed in on his mind, and without a distraction, it dug into the layers and layers of freshly laid repression and self-hate to unearth what had just happened. His mind had been given enough time to work through the denial and really get to the meat of it. It was starting to set in what had actually happened. A spike of guilt and despair beat down on his shoulders while revulsion and horror clashed with each other in his gut. There wasn't much in his stomach but bile, but he doesn't think that will matter much. He enjoyed it. That was the worst part. That was the worst part of all of this. He'd wanted it. For a brief moment, he'd wanted Ford to lick....

STOP! Don't. Just, don't. Screw it. It happened, now let it go.

God, he needed to get laid.

A weight slumped to his side shook Stan out of his thoughts. A voice spoke in a harsh whisper right next to his ear. "You were gone. You were gone and there wasn't anything I could do to bring you back." Oh. Stan blinked as Ford continued. "You...", there was a long pause while Ford collected himself. "You left. Told me I made you sick. That you didn't know why you brought me back. Said you wanted to travel without me. That I was holding you back." Oh and damn. Now he really felt like a pile of shit. Ford had woken up panicking over Stan calling it quits and Stan had gone and waved his dick in his face. Stan swallowed down the rising bile and self-revulsion to address Ford’s statements.

“Ford. I’m not…I’m not going anywhere. I would be outta my mind ta want ta leave.” An uncommitted grunt was the only response. Stan sighed. “Stanford,” not a name Stan used often, “I spent thirty years trying ta get you back. All I’ve ever wanted was ta be out here with you. Nothing you could ever do, will make me want to be without you.” Stan leaned his head over, resting his lips atop Ford’s scalp. He could feel the tension drain from Ford’s body. They were pressed together, sharing the warmth and comfort of being close to one another. The bed was big enough, heck there were two beds, they didn’t have to. They were men. Pines men. But it felt nice. It felt really nice, and after the shit Stan was trying to pin down and bury, he was willing to indulge in a little nice. Even better when Ford started rocking from side to side.  

“Promise?”

“Always, Ford.”

“Even if I did something you hated?”

“You could never do something like that.”

“What about if I did something ‘unmanly’?”

“Well, when ya put it like that…” But there wasn’t really an end to that statement. Stan breathed a deep and rumbling chuckle over Ford’s hair, grinning at the responding laugh.  

"Stan..." Ford had placed a comforting hand on Stan's knee. Except it was dark, and that wasn't his knee, and his borrowed boxer shorts had ridden up his thighs. Six surprisingly soft fingers fluttered over the sensitive flesh of Stan's inner thigh for a brief moment before Stan linked his fingers with the offending appendage and lifted it to rest where it ought to be. Six fingers completely enclosed his as they rocked back and forth on the ocean waves.

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[somethingusefulfromflorida]

What if Star Wars had tanked?

May 1977, 20th Century Fox distributes a really WEIRD movie.  It’s a science fiction fantasy story about medieval knight samurais in space with laser swords and fighter pilots.  Nobody expected it to be a hit, it seemed to be such a niche movie, one that would garner a small cult following then be swept under the rug by the other summer tent poles like “Smokey and the Bandit” or “The Spy Who Loved Me.”  To everyone’s surprise, it became an instant success, rocketing no name George Lucas from a no-name bush-league indie director into the echelon of A-list Blockbusters.  His idea for a decade spanning six part saga (two sequels, three prequels) was greenlit then and there, and the budget for Star Wars 2, now called Star Wars 5, was double what he was given for the original.  Star Wars 1, nor 4, was given the subtitle “A New Hope” to let audiences know it was just the beginning of a series, and the rest is history.

But in 1977, George Lucas was not as confident in his vision as he would soon become.  He figured, as every producer did, that his film would be a flash in the pan genre piece, something that would play in theaters just long enough to make it’s budget back, then disappear into obscurity.  In 1976, he planned for the worst.

Star Wars, like many other films of the day, was being given a novelization.  Before home media became ubiquitous, the only way people could experience the film was to see it in theaters or buy the book version.  Lucas hired a ghostwriter, Alan Dean Foster, to write the novelization of Star Wars 1, AND to create a tentative Star Wars 2 that could be adapted to the screen if the original film failed to meet his high expectations.  Star Wars 2, titled “Splinter of the Minds Eye,” was written to be as low budget as possible; no big set pieces, and for that matter no big sets.  Every scene had to take place in a set that the studio already owned, and couldn’t include any major space battles because there was no guarantee that the special effects would fit into the budget.  On top of that, it meant that none of the characters played by big name actors would be included; no Harrison Ford, no Alec Guinness.  Splinter was a bare bones story set entirely on what would essentially become Dagobah, and would have taken the franchise in an entirely different direction.  None of the story elements from Lucas’ dream sequel were included, and none of the plot twists either; there is no connection between “Splinter of the Mind’s Eye” and “Empire Strikes Back,” and in fact, once Empire was released, Splinter was relegated to secondary canon because the official sequel had overidden it so the story no longer made sense.

But if Star Wars 1 had flopped, Splinter of the Mind’s Eye would have been made into the official sequel, and the story would have had to pick up where it left off; Lucas didn’t plot out a low budget version of Star Wars 3, so we can only speculate as to what may have happened.

In Splinter, Luke and Leia are going on a diplomatic mission to convince some neutral star systems to join the rebellion.  Their ship crash lands on a backwater swamp planet (called Mimban, a name eventually used for the World War I trench planet in the Disney movie Solo), which is roughly analogous to the Dagobah we saw in Empire.  Stranded on the swamp planet, Luke and Leia find their way to an imperial mining colony, get into a scuffle, and escape with the help of a Jedi witch named Halla.  The titular “splinter of the mind’s eye” is a broken fragment of a magical crystal, because this was the 1970s and crystals were a big thing in fantasy (the splinter was called the kaiburr crystal; this name would later be re-purposed in canon as the crystals used for lightsaber and Death Star laser construction).  The splinter is said to focus the force, allowing the wielder to become more powerful or something; it’s a MacGuffin, the book is vague as to what it actually physically does.  After a confrontation with locals, and a duel with none other than Darth Vader (in which Leia wields a lightsaber and Luke cuts off Vader’s whole arm), Halla takes over the role of Luke’s mentor to train him in the ways of the Force.

At this point in the series, Luke and Leia were never intended to be brother and sister.  It was clearly supposed to be a chivalric romance between a knight errant and his courtly love.  He is the royal bodyguard to the Queen of Alderaan (the entire Royal Family was destroyed in Star Wars 1, so Princess Leia should by all rights have been coronated as Queen Leia).  George Lucas added the twist that they were brother and sister well into production of Empire; in fact, in Empire he shot two scenes of Leia kissing Luke (one was to make Han jealous, the other was near the end, right after she rescued Luke from cloud city; I’m glad they cut the second one, because it undermines the fact that she literally just told Han that she loves him).  Han Solo himself is mentioned in passing, not even by name, just as some pirate Luke used to know who took his reward money from the first movie and went to pay off some debts.  If this movie had been made instead of Empire, there’s no guarantee that a Star Wars 3 would even be greenlit.

But if it had been, here’s what would have happened.

Darth Vader is not Luke’s father in this version; that too was a twist Lucas invented after the series took off.  So, in this version of Star wars 3, which I will call “Revenge of the Jedi,” Luke goes on a quest to slay the evil Emperor.  It’s a fantasy movie, in any other setting the point of the franchise would be to kill the main bad guy; imagine if Lord of the Rings had ended without the heroes destroying the ring and defeating Sauron, that would have made no sense.  In this version of the story, Darth Vader is just the archetypal Black Knight; tying back into the Japanese influence on the series, he is an evil Shogun, appointed by the Emperor to be the military dictator.  There would be more emphasis on fight choreography in this version, drawing influence from the works of Akira Kurosawa.  The word Jedi comes from the word for the Japanese film genre Jidaigeki, meaning ‘period piece,’ featuring samuri and ronin (for western audiences, “Ronin” are nomadic heroes, like Clint Eastwood’s man with no name, or the Road Warrior).

Revenge of the Jedi would end with a climactic fight scene in the Emperor’s palace, with Luke battling his way through the many levels, defeating wave after wave of imperial soldiers and those red guards fans love to care about even though they do literally nothing on screen.  The prequels we got in canon were bogged down with boring politics about trade federations and unions and guilds and alliances, but politics can be interesting if done well (and written by someone who isn’t George Lucas; the original trilogy we got was good DESPITE him, not BECAUSE of him).  Revenge of the Jedi would see Leia building an army, the rebellion becoming an actual superpower in the galaxy; the New Republic wouldn’t just be restored after the Empire was defeated, it would be restored during the war with the express intent of rallying neutral systems behind an actual government body against the Emperor.

Darth Vader betrayed and murdered Luke’s father, but more importantly he committed genocide against Leia’s people, the survivors of which now live in diaspora.  Sound familiar?  “The Rebellion” isn’t a great name, but “the Alliance” is perfect because it evokes the Allies of World War II and shows that it is a galaxy-wide phenomena, not just a single splinter cell as depicted in the films in our timeline.  Luke wants to avenge his father, but if you’re insistent that the good guy isn’t allowed to kill the bad guy, you could have Vader go out the way he did in “Return of the Jedi,” turning back to the light side and sacrificing his life to kill the Emperor.  Everyone loves a redemption story, but Darth Vader really was a piece of shit and didn’t deserve to just get a free pass into Jedi Ghost Heaven because he decided to stop being evil five minutes before he died.

Maybe in this version of Star Wars 3, Harrison Ford returns for a cameo as a favor to George Lucas.  If so, he dies; Ford wanted Han to die in “Return of the Jedi,” and only agreed to do “The Force Awakens” if they finally killed him off then.  If he returns for “Star Wars 3: Revenge of the Jedi,” he will sacrifice himself for the Alliance, going out as a hero.  After the Emperor is defeated, the threat doesn’t just go away; suddenly there’s a power vacuum, with all the admirals and regional governor’s vying to replace him.  In both pre- and post-Disney Star Wars, the Emperor had a son (Triclops in Legends continuity, and Rey’s dad in Canon), so he would be heir to his father’s throne; perhaps he is propped up as a puppet for the military leaders, or maybe he surrenders to the Alliance and allows his Empire to be balkanized into dozens of independent powers, as with the fall of every great Empire; Rome (East and West), Mongolia, China, Austria-Hungary, Britain, the USSR, the list goes on.

This Star Wars trilogy would not be the enormous franchise we know today, it would still be a very niche series with a cult following.  It would be a step up from the Planet of the Apes series; sure, people have heard of it, and there have been attempts to revive it in the modern day, but it’s not even close to being a tent pole of the modern cultural zeitgeist.  Nobody looks forward to the new Planet of the Apes movie every year, it’s not a multi-billion dollar multi-media enterprise, there’s no dedicated “Planet of the Apes Celebration,” no cartoons, no streaming service shows that everyone geeks out about online, no triple-a video games, nothing.  This version of Star Wars would be just another weird artifact of the 1970s.  Maybe there would be a push to release a sequel, Star Wars 4, in like 2007, but that would be closer to Rambo IV or Superman Returns or Tron Legacy.

There are dedicated fans, but it’s not the biggest movie of the year.

Star Wars (1977)

Star Wars 2: Splinter of the Mind’s Eye (1979)

Star Wars 3: Revenge of the Jedi (1982)

Star Wars: Journal of the Whills (2011, a prequel set during the Clone Wars mentioned in the first movie)

[sunriserose1023]

Pretty Eyes, Pirate Smile

Part 9 of the Cherry Stem Knots saga. I just want to say thank you to everyone for sticking with me through an unexpected, extended hiatus. I think I may have gotten back on track here now. If you want to refresh your memory or catch up first:

1. Cherry Stem Knots 2. Drinkin’ Me Lonely 3. Between the Raindrops 4. Rise Above This Mess 5. Tequila Talkin’ 6. Let Me Let Go 7. Hold Onto Me 8. Nothing

CHARACTERS: Female reader, Jess Moore, Jo Harvelle, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Ash, Benny Lafitte, Cassie Robinson WORD COUNT: 4339 WARNINGS: Angst, alcohol consumption, explicit sexual content, ANGST

Tag list is ridiculous, so it’s at the bottom. I love you guys.

You went on your toes to fix a streamer, going back down on your flat feet and letting out a sigh. You nodded, putting your hands on your hips as you surveyed the bar. You yelped as you were embraced from behind and you smiled, moving one hand to rest on the hands that were wrapped around you. Jess put her chin on your shoulder, and you used your other hand to pat the side of her head. She let out a happy sigh.

“This is perfect.”

You leaned your head on hers.

“That’s what I wanted.”

You shook your head.

“I still can’t believe you’re getting married.” “You? Honey, I keep trying to get whatever this weird thing is off my finger, and then oh wait. That’s right. It’s my engagement ring.”

You laughed, and Jess stepped away from you, linking her arm through one of yours.

“Heard from Dean?”

You shook your head.

“Radio silence. I guess we said all we needed to say three weeks ago.”

Jess glanced down at her hand. Three weeks ago had been the day she and Sam had gotten engaged. The day Dean basically said you were nothing to him. The day your heart shattered into pieces. You’ve been just going through the motions ever since.

The engagement party helped, because you—as maid of honor—wanted to make sure your best friend’s wedding season was the best ever. Tonight, the Roadhouse was closed to the public, but open to anyone wanting to celebrate Sam and Jess. The DJ was already setting up in one corner, some of the tables had been cleared away to make a dance floor, and you could hear Ash and Jo bickering in the kitchen about the food.

“Hey, what are you wearing tonight?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“I was thinking a long, flowy white dress. Maybe with a train. Ooh, and a veil.”

Jess lifted an eyebrow before she rolled her eyes.

“Ha ha, you’re so hilarious.”

You laughed, then grabbed her hand, dragging her upstairs.

“Come see!”

You let out a sigh as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. You’d gone with wedges instead of heels, giving you a bit of height while keeping the comfort factor. The dress was one you’d stumbled on a while back and kept in your closet for such a time as this. The dress was an emerald green, sleeveless, and hit just above your knees. You reached up to touch your hair, which you’d pulled half up, curling the underside and letting it rest around your shoulders. You sighed again, glancing at the door as it opened.

“Hey, are you … oh, wow.”

You smiled as Jo stepped in, hands on her hips. Her long, blonde hair was down and gently curled, waving around her face. She had on tight leather pants, high-heeled boots, and a button-up white flowy shirt.

“Wow yourself. Hot mama over here.”

Jo raised a hand, flipping her hair off one shoulder. You laughed, and she smiled widely as she stepped in the room.

“This dress … damn, girl. Did we know green was your color?”

You shrugged your shoulders, and Jo walked up beside you, looking at both of you in the mirror.

“Fuck, man. We’re hot as hell.”

You threw your head back and laughed, and Jo grinned as she walked to your dresser, picking up a tube of lip gloss.

“Hey, can I borrow this?” “Does it matter if I say yes or no?”

Jo shook her head, mouth open as she was already applying the lip gloss to her lips. You snorted, shaking your head as you fastened earrings in your ears.

“You ready for this?”

You nodded, making a face as you fought with a tiny piece of flyaway hair.

“Yeah, I think we’ve got it all figured out. Food, drinks, no games or anything, but we’ve got the DJ, and the old jukebox whenever the DJ quits. Dance the night away?”

Jo smiled, then spoke a little softer.

“I meant seeing Dean.”

You sighed.

“I just don’t know. I miss him, but you know …” “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. But hey, you know I’m always here, and I’ll be down there. Just shoot me a look and we’ll go do shots in the kitchen until you feel better.”

You laughed, turning and wrapping Jo in a hug.

“You’re the best, Joey.” “Eh, I try.”

You pulled away, giving one more glance in the mirror. You nodded, taking Jo’s hand as the two of you walked down the stairs.

The party was a huge success. Jess and Sam were having a wonderful time, mingling with the crowd and stepping out on the dancefloor. Jo dragged you away from the bar to dance more than a few times, and you found yourself slipping out of your shoes and into the pair of flip-flops you kept hidden behind the bar. You fixed drinks and bothered Ash in the kitchen, all the while dutifully ignoring Dean and the glances he kept shooting your way.

You were standing in a corner of the bar at one point, chugging a cold bottle of water. You bent your head and put the bottle at your neck, moaning softly at the feel of the cold condensation on your skin. It was hot as hell in the bar. Maybe it was all the people, maybe it was the three or four shots you’d done. You moved your head, moving the bottle to another part of your neck.

“Rough night?”

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling at Benny.

“Hot.” “Fans are going like crazy.” “I don’t think they’re doing much good.”

Benny smiled at you, leaning over the bar.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

You waved a hand at him.

“Jess loves you. Says you’re just a big teddy bear.” “Yeah, can y’all stop saying that? Bad for my image.”

He curled his arms and bowed up his muscular shoulders, and you couldn’t help but laugh. He smiled at you, blue eyes twinkling, and you tapped your lips with a finger.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

He winked at you, reaching over the bar and into the ice below, grabbing himself a beer. You shook your head as he popped the top and walked into the crowd.

“So it’s just me you’re avoiding, then.”

You slowly closed your eyes, swallowing the sip of water you’d just taken. You turned around, seeing Dean standing in front of you. He raised his eyebrows, like he was expecting an answer, and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Two-way street, you know? You haven’t exactly been rushing over to talk to me.” “Yeah well, the last time I did that, you ignored all my calls.” “So you didn’t even bother this time? And how pathetic is it that there’s a ‘last time’ and a ‘this time?’”

You stepped away from him, pushing open the doors and walking into the kitchen. Ash turned from the grill, raising an eyebrow at you. He opened his mouth, closing it and going wide-eyed when the doors opened again. Ash turned back to the grill and you turned around, shaking your head at Dean.

“Employees only.” “Oh, like hell.”

You ground your teeth together, and Dean let out a laugh.

“I came over here to apologize, and you’re being such a—” “Are you kidding me?! You come at with this attitude and what were you expecting me to do? Just lay down and take it? No thanks, I’ve done plenty of that in my life.”

You shook your head.

“And if this is you trying to apologize, you suck at it.”

You pushed him out of the way, walking back behind the bar and grabbing the bottle of tequila. It was quickly taken out of your hands, and when you whirled around to see who’d done such a thing, you went still when you saw Sam’s face.

“Please, just … go dance with Jess. I’ll take care of him. Don’t … do this.”

He motioned with the bottle in his hand and you nodded. You turned and walked for the dancefloor, smiling when Jess squealed and jumped up and down at the sight of you, her hands making grabby motions until you slid your hands in hers.

Six songs later, you were exhausted. You and Jo were sitting at the bar, watching Sam and Jess slow dance like they were the only two people in the bar. The crowd had thinned some, but just slightly.

“Look at them. Aren’t they just disgusting?”

You giggled, unscrewing the top from the bottle of water Ellen had all but poured down your and Jo’s throats.

“Don’t be jealous, Jo.” “I’m not jealous.”

You shot her a look and she sighed.

“Maybe just a little bit.” “Where’s Charlie, anyway?”

Jo made a face, moving her fingers over the rim of her water bottle.

“Work trip. She’s a computer genius, so whenever something new comes up, she’s got to go test it out. She, uh … She actually asked me to go with her.” “Seriously?”

Jo shrugged.

“I couldn’t miss this, though. And she completely understood. Next time, she said.” “Jo!”

Jo smiled, cheeks turning red.

“So this is getting serious?”

Jo sighed.

“I don’t know. I mean, neither one of us is seeing anybody else.” “Have you …?”

Jo nodded.

“And was it …?”

Jo closed her eyes, nodding again, and you laughed.

“Oh, Joey. Look at you, with your big girl relationship.” “Don’t put a title on it. We’re just … hanging out.” “Oh, yeah. Sure. ‘Hanging out.’ The way you and I hang out? Because I make that face when we talk about the sex I have with my friends. Oh, wait.”

Jo snorted, reaching over to push your shoulder.

“Shut up.”

You took a sip of your water, then turned to her.

“Seriously, though. I can see how happy she makes you.”

You reached over, twirling a piece of blonde hair between your fingers.

“You need to let her.” “You know how hard that is for me.” “Yes, I do. But trust me. It’ll be worth it.”

Jo leaned over, placing a smacking kiss on your cheek. She held out her hand and you shook your head.

“Please, let me rest.”

She rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at you before making a beeline for Jess on the dancefloor. You sighed, finishing off your water and tossing it to the trash can before turning back towards the dancefloor. You blinked as a new song started, filling the bar with a familiar piano riff. Cheers went up from the crowd and you went still.

“Oh, I love this song!”

Dean made a face as you leaned forward, turning the volume knob. No one—not even Sam—was allowed to touch the radio. No one but you. You smiled as you settled, pulling a leg up on the seat with you.

“Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, Seamstress for the band. Pretty eyes, pirate smile, She’ll marry a music man.”

You sang along softly, until Dean cleared his throat.

“You know, I never really understood that song.”

You stopped singing when Dean spoke, and you rolled your head towards him.

“It was the seventies. Songs didn’t make sense back then.”

Dean laughed, flipping on the blinker and changing lanes.

“Ballerina, you must’ve seen her, Dancing in the sand. Now she’s in me. Always with me. Tiny dancer, in my hand.”

You sang along a little bit more, until Dean spoke again.

“My mom liked Elton John.” “Really?”

Dean nodded.

“She used to play his records, but only when my dad wasn’t home. He didn’t like Elton. Said the songs didn’t make sense.” “Well, he had a point.”

Dean snorted, and you watched his throat as he swallowed hard.

“Do you want me to change it?”

He shook his head, knuckles white from where he was gripping the steering wheel.

“Pull over.” “We’ve got to get to Kansas City.” “No, we don’t. Pull over.”

He flipped the blinker on, pulling off to the side of the road. The car was barely in park before he threw the door open, walking around to the back of the car through the dust the tires had stirred up. After a few moments, you opened your door, stepping out and squinting your eyes at the harsh sunlight. You walked around to the back of the car, leaning against where Dean had just recently filled the car with gas. He turned back to you, throwing his hands out.

“I fucking hate this! I hate that I can’t hear a goddamn song on the fucking radio without feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut.”

He shook his head.

“Losing Mom was bad enough. Why’d he have to go and die, too?”

You felt your shoulders sag as he let his arms fall by his sides. You walked over and wrapped your arms around him, holding him tighter when he tried to fight your touch.

“Hug me back, damn it.”

With a huffed breath, he did what you commanded, burying his face in your hair and holding on tightly. You ran your fingers up and down his spine, feeling his hot breath on your neck and the tears soaking into your shoulder. You smiled, swaying slightly, until he was moving with you.

“We’ll just turn the bad into good, okay?” “How?” “Like this.”

He sniffled, not moving from where he was tucked against you.

“Standing on the side of the road?” “Not standing. Dancing.” “Y/N, we’re not dancing.” “Oh, yes we are.”

You felt his eyelashes against your skin as he blinked, before he lifted his head to look down at your feet. You stepped away from him, holding onto his hand, forcing him to twirl you. He rolled his eyes as you came back to him, wrapping him in your arms again as he went back to his space at your shoulder. You let one hand come up to push through his hair, smiling widely when his low voice rumbled against your neck as he sang.

“Hold me closer, tiny dancer.”

You laughed, tightening your arms around him.

“We’ll make this one our song. No one can ever take it away from us. You promise?”

Dean lifted his head, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I promise, tiny dancer.” “I’m not a tiny dancer, you nerd.”

Dean’s laughter rang out on the side of the road as he stepped back, twirling you once more.

You blinked as your eyes suddenly, quickly filled with tears. You scanned the dance floor, feeling your heart break in two when you saw Dean and Cassie, wrapped in each other’s arms. Green eyes opened, blinking once before locking with yours, and you shook your head, pushing off the barstool, ignoring Ash’s call, shoving open the back door and stumbling into the parking lot. You kept walking until you hit a car, and when you looked down, you lost it.

You screamed through clenched teeth as your fists slammed into the hood of the gleaming black car. She’d never been anything but good to you, but at the moment, you hated this Impala with every cell in your body. You kicked her tires, ignoring the pain that sent up your legs. You gave more than a second thought to busting out the lights, but in the end, you just leaned over the hood and sobbed.

You didn’t hear anyone come up, but at the feel of a hand on your back, you shook your head. The hand was joined by another, lifting you from the car, turning you around and pulling you against a wide chest. Your knees buckled when you breathed him in, but he held you up, murmuring the entire time.

“I’m so sorry. Y/N, sweetheart, I’m so, so sorry.”

You lifted your arms, wrapping them around his neck and clinging to him. Your entire body was shaking, and he ran his hands up and down your back.

“Come on, baby. Please stop crying.” “I can’t do this.” “I know. God, believe me, I know.”

You pulled back and looked up at him. The minute his green eyes met yours, your breath caught in your throat. It was like the entire world melted away, taking everything with it, leaving only the two of you.

Dean bent his head, and you held his face in your hands as he pressed his lips to yours. You felt the stubble on his cheeks bite into your palms, and you slid your hands from his face up into his hair. His hands drifted to your waist, pulling you closer, making you gasp when he suddenly lifted you, setting you on the hood. Your hands moved to push off the flannel he was wearing, and he tore it off, tossing it to the ground behind him. You pushed his t-shirt up, and he reached behind his head, taking hold of the neck and pulling it over his head.

His lips came back to yours, and he moaned into your mouth as your hands drifted over his skin. You gasped as his calloused fingers began sliding up, dipping under your dress and pressing right between your legs.

“Oh, god.”

Your voice was soft, barely reaching Dean’s ears. He leaned back, looking into your eyes, smiling when your gaze met his. You gasped as the warmth from his palm bled through your panties, and you reached up, grabbing hold of his strong shoulders. You gasped again as Dean wrapped his arms around you, pulling you off the car as he unzipped your dress. You wrapped your legs around him and pressed your lips to his neck as he opened the back door and laid you across the backseat.

He was on top of you before you could speak, lips locked to yours again as he tugged down the front of your dress. You groaned as his calloused hands danced over your breasts, and you managed to get his jeans unbuttoned and tugged down some, pulling your legs up as he yanked your panties off.

You gasped as he began to push into you, your eyes locking on his. He never looked away, and you’re not sure if he even blinked, a full-body shudder wracking through you before he leaned down, still staring into your eyes as the tip of his nose brushed against yours.

“I love you.”

You and Dean spoke at the same time, the words barely whispered. He bent to press his lips to yours and you tangled your fingers in his hair, moaning into his mouth as his hips began a steady, deep rhythm. You closed your eyes then, letting your body just feel. You dug your nails into his shoulders, moving your hands to feel the strength in his muscled arms. One of his hands moved to cup your face, bringing your lips back to his, and you felt your entire being shatter. Your mouth was open in a soundless scream, nails digging into Dean’s skin, raking down his back. He lifted his head enough to look down at you, and you blinked, feeling as if you were seeing him for the first time.

You whimpered as your body felt so sensitive, but his movements never stopped. You lifted your hands to cup his face, rolling your fingertips over his nose and cheekbones, tracing your thumb along his full lips and the line of his jaw. His rhythm stuttered and he bent down, burying his head in your hair, biting at your neck gently, making you moan. His hand slipped between the two of you to flick at your clit, and you leaned forward, biting his shoulder to muffle the scream as you came again. This time, Dean came with you, groaning into your hair as warmth filled you to your very soul.

Aftershocks seemed to dazzle through your veins for the longest time. You could feel the thunder of Dean’s heartbeat where his chest was pressed against you, and you couldn’t help but smile. Your fingers were gently carding through his hair, finally beginning to feel your breathing regulating once more. Dean lifted his head and looked at you, and you smiled at him, feeling that familiar double-thump of your heart in your chest.

Dean sighed, a sound that made you feel funny deep inside, and he lifted himself off you and out of the car, pushing his hands through his hair before he tugged his jeans up and buttoned them. You felt cold all of a sudden, and so very scared as you slid your arms back into your dress, pulling it back up around your torso. You slid out of the Impala and stood on shaky legs, watching Dean pull his shirt back on, skating his hands down the front of it to get the dirt and whatever off.

“D—Dean?”

He didn’t answer you, picking his flannel up and shaking it off before laying it on the hood of the car. You licked your lips, swallowing hard.

“Dean, what does this mean?”

He moved to rest his hands on the hood, hanging his head. You bit your tongue, trying your best not to throw up as he stayed where he was, still not answering you. You lifted a hand to cover your mouth, closing your eyes as waves of shame and horror rolled through you. Your voice was barely audible to you when you spoke again.

“What did we do?” “We made a mistake.”

You whipped your head to face him, watching as he slowly raised his head, sad green eyes meeting yours. He shook his head, taking a step forward.

“I’m so sorry.”

You took a step backwards, making him stop where he was, and tears filled your eyes.

“Oh my god.” “Y/N.” “Oh, I feel sick.” “Y/N, please.”

You turned away from him, eyes wide as you stared across the parking lot, the lights of the Roadhouse swimming together as the tears spilled down your cheeks. You flinched away hard when you felt Dean touch your shoulder, and you turned back to him, entire body starting to shake.

“Don’t touch me.” “I was just—” “How could you … I just … oh my god.”

You pushed your hands through your hair, walking away from the car.

“Y/N, just wait.”

You turned back to face him, walking back towards the Impala.

“You said that you loved me.”

He swallowed, and you shook your head, trying to smile.

“You said that you loved me, Dean. We said it at the same time.”

He shook his head, that same sad smile back on his lips.

“It was … a heat of the moment kind of thing.”

You wanted to die. You wanted a giant sinkhole to open up in the parking lot and swallow you, because then you wouldn’t have to feel what you were feeling. You’d made a horrible, awful mistake, one you could never, ever take back, and now everything was ruined. He didn’t love you. You loved him with every atom in your body, but he didn’t feel the same. He’d gotten caught up in the moment, and you were nothing more than …

“I’m a whore.” “Y/N.” “I am. Oh my god.” “Y/N, can I just—”

You shook your head, pressing a hand to your mouth to keep from throwing up. You closed your eyes, listening to Dean’s boots crunch through the gravel as he walked towards you. You shook your head and surged forward, wanting nothing more than to be anywhere but here, anywhere but near him. He jogged behind you, calling your name, and you came to a hard stop as the kitchen door burst open. Jo stepped outside, dragging a bag of trash behind her, going still when she saw you.

“Hey.”

You looked to her, eyes wide.

“H—hey.” “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, feeling your body start to tremble. Jo looked over your shoulder and saw Dean push his hands through his hair.

What’s going on?” “No—nothing.” “You suck at lying. Are you okay?”

You shook your head and Jo stepped forward, one eyebrow raised as she looked at Dean.

“What did you do to her?” “Jo, listen.” “Jo, go back inside, please.”

Jo shook her head, moving to stand closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, if …”

She leaned back, moving her hand, slowly taking in a breath. She blinked, then moved to stand behind you.

“Your dress is unzipped.”

You closed your eyes as she zipped your dress for you, clearing her throat as she walked to stand between you and Dean. She crossed her arms over her chest, then nodded to Dean.

“Cassie was looking for you.”

He closed his eyes, running a hand over his face again. He started towards the Roadhouse, stopping when Jo let out a whistle. He glanced over his shoulder and she motioned with her head towards the Impala.

“You might want to get your flannel. You’ve got … scratches on the back of your arms.”

You buried your face in your hands as Dean jogged back to the car, yanking his flannel off the hood and sliding his arms through it before he walked inside. You lifted your head when you heard the door shut and you looked at Jo, seeing the disappointment on her face. You couldn’t stop the tears then, and Jo sighed.

“Y/N—” “Don’t. Please, just …”

You sobbed, putting your face back in your hands and Jo blinked back tears of her own, walking to you and wrapping an arm around you.

“Come on. Let me go get rid of everyone.” “Jo, I—” “I know. We can talk when everyone else is gone.”

You hung your head and Jo wrapped you in a hug, making you cry even harder.

“It’s okay, honey.” “No, it isn’t.”

You sucked in a breath, sobbing again as you shook your head.

“I’ve fucked it up for good this time.”

PART 10: Wrong Again

TAGS: @mrs-squirrel-chester, @charliebradbury1104, @b-enfield14, @nerdflash, @onlygodcanjudgeme-sh, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog, @effie-wreads, @growningupgeek, @a-pancho-universe, @moonlitskinwalker, @zanthiasplace, @profkmoriarty13, @sandlee44, @aprofoundbondwithdean, @fandommaniacx, @deandoesthingstome, @mangasia, @cass-xxo, @feelmyroarrrr, @busybee612, @eyes-of-a-disney-princess, @nitelotus, @gaysmutstiel, @allinhishands, @allthatsupernaturallife, @lovemydean-o-saur, @sex-in-cars-with-boys, @sevendevilsinmyimpala, @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit, @sdavid09, @rizlowwritessortof, @charred-angelwings, @escabell, @supernaturalblogging, @shameless-danni, @waywardjoy, @iateglitter, @thinkwritexpress-official, @kindnessalwayswins89, @dontcallmebabe-ok, @love-me-some-pie21, @wwecrazed2010, @amazinntay, @arikas5744, @mrstheorossix3, @faithlovesupernatural, @kydamyankee, @summersol1415, @melonberri, @loudpup, @babydanixox, @perpetualabsurdity, @julia-fucking-winchester, @butiaintgonnaloveem, @lynnebla, @calicat79, @for-the-love-of-dean, @winchesterenthusiast, @winchesterswoonathon, @apple-pie-na, @atc74, @grey-stardancer, @jayankles, @waywardafbabygirl, @thegreatficmaster, @noworriesfitness, @sidebysideinsilence, @kittenofdoomage, @mamapeterson, @manawhaat, @taljav, @mega-mrs-dean-winchester, @goldenolaf25, @dreamersparadise46, @kaylynnw428, @imweirdandobsessed, @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes, @avaunderthesea, @ive-been-told-that-im-fangirling, @moonstar86, @writergirl909, @adaliamalfoy, @spn-junkie, @anokhi07, @bkwrm523, @fashiondiva88, @littlegreenplasticsoldier

If your name looks like this, Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

[tessetc]

Okay, Deacon and any (i hope that's not cheating) and... Military-grade duct tape, a wooden spoon and a coffee tin.

NSFW Deacon smut under the cut. M/F, light BDSM. This was my first time writing Deacon smut, so I hope it went well. 

The Professor did not get her name by accident. She was definitely a brains-over-brawn kind of gal. Except when it came to Deacon. For some reason, despite all the lessons he’d tried to teach her, she just. Kept. Trusting him. 

But she was cute, with her big glasses and upturned nose, and he had decided a long time ago (definitely BEFORE he had kissed her… and undressed her… and…ahem….anyway…) that he would look out for her. And look at her. And maybe grope her a little.

It had been a few months since the first time, and he was starting to think he might be in a Relationship. Ew. This had to stop. 

Maybe it was time for another lesson.

He had Tom give her the note on a Tuesday, right before he left, and waited at the Starlight Drive in for her on Wednesday. When she sauntered into the small room where she kept her things, he sat there waiting.

“Deacon, you asshole. I thought there was a synth here.”

“I told you not to trust everyone. Why would you go alone to meet some random synth?”

“The note said to come alone.”

Deacon took a step towards her. When he was right in front of her, he spoke, poking her in the chest with every word. “Don’t. Trust. Everyone.”

Prof batted his hand away, but he saw the twinkle in her eye. 

“Clearly this isn’t sinking in,” he said. “If I were a bad guy, it would be really easy to capture you.”

Like a flash, he reached out and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close.

She laughed and shoved at him, but he didn’t release her. 

She reached for his glasses but he caught her hand in his and pushed her towards the bed. When her legs hit the end she fell, landing on her back and bringing him with her. She was soft and lush and he kind of forgot what he was doing for a minute as he ran his hand up and down her body, creeping under the plaid shirt she wore to cup her breast. 

“Kiss me, Dee,” she whispered, and he leaned in close, tempted by her mouth. But he managed to resist. She was so tempting that it was hard. He was hard. Ha. But he had a plan. 

He reached over to the crate of junk sitting beside the bed, and then finally he sat up, satisfied.

“Dee, what’s that for,”

“What if I were a raider? Or like, a…. worse raider. Or a mirelurk with designs on your booty? Or! I know! What if I were a pirate? I could just… tie you up with tape!”

“No! Deacon, no!” she cried, dramatically. He could see the interest in her eyes, though. Great. She’s kinky, he thought. That thought was immediately followed by another. Ohhh! GREAT!! She’s kinky!! Yess!!

He sat up and pulled a long strip off the duct tape. Prof held still as he used it to tape her hands together. He then proceeded to unbutton her shirt, exposing her breasts, and he bent to give each one a little nip. 

“Imagine if I were a horrible pirate! I would be ravishing your…booty!” 

“No! Don’t!” she tittered, and he tried not to laugh. He was a master of disguise. He wasn’t going to let her make him break character.

He pulled her pants and underwear down in one swoop, leaving her naked except for the shirt which hung off her shoulders. He reached over, digging around in the crate for something else. It took him a minute, and he had to move the coffee can to the side, but then he found what he was after. 

When he sat up, wooden spoon in hand, her eyes widened.

“Roll over, missy. It’s time for your punishment.”

Prof gasped, but she rolled over without a word of protest. Deacon tried to ignore the way his cock was straining his jeans. He’d been banging his girl for a while now, but it had never been quite this exciting before. 

“Hm. You need to learn to be a good agent. I will punish you now, and you will be nice and quiet. No sound or you will get another one.”

“Mm..” she moaned, forcing Deacon to adjust himself again.

Deacon licked his lips, then gave her a swat on the ass with the spoon. 

It wasn’t hard. He wasn’t into hurting people, but she yelped anyway. 

“I told you to be quiet!” he said.

“I know,” she replied, rolling over to look at him. “But you said you’d give me another if I made a sound.”

Deacon was a bit surprised, but if she was into it…

He whacked her again, a bit harder this time, leaving a faint red mark on her ass. It looked quite a bit hotter than he had expected, so he ran his fingers gently over her skin. She writhed in response.

Four, five, six more swats, and by then she was moaning, her ass bright red, and so was he. He slipped his fingers between her legs to find her sex slick and hot.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Yeah, please,” she said.

“Prof, ugh, Julie…”

“Please, please,” she muttered. He couldn’t resist.

He didn’t even take his pants off. He just unzipped them, pulled out his cock and ran it between her legs a few times, coating the head in her juices, and when she lifted her ass up he slid inside so easy, so easy… 

He bottomed out and grabbed her hips and it didn’t take long before they were coming. She barely made a peep, his girl, but he could feel the shocks of it on his dick and he only just managed to pull out in time to paint her ass with his cum.

He reached for the coffee can full of clean rags, pulling one out and wiping them both off, then pulled out his knife and cut her loose of the tape.

He flopped down next to her on the bed.

“I didn’t know you had this side to you, Prof,” he said.

Julie rolled over, half way onto his chest, and kissed him.

“I wanted to make sure I could trust you first.”

Deacon pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

Yeah. Made sense.

[junker-town]

2017 MLB Season Preview & Predictions

It's that time of year again, when I'm wrong in public and write "it's that time of year again, when I'm wrong in public" to diffuse just how wrong in public I'm about to be. Baseball predictions are hard and pointless, but you're here, so we'll suspend our disbelief together.

Last year, the gimmick was false confidence. It ended with a prediction that Hector Olivera would win the National League Rookie of the Year award. He was arrested for domestic violence, traded, suspended, convicted, and released before the year was over.

He did not win the National League Rookie of the Year award.

This year, no gimmicks. I'll use the same alchemy of available information and gut feeling that I always do, except maybe this way will lead to fewer dumb emails from people who thought I was actually confident in last year's predictions. I'm not confident. I'm scared and cold, just like you.

AL East

This is easily the most difficult division to predict. Not at the top, with the Red Sox having a clear advantage according to the computers and our common sense, but the rest of the way down. Will the Yankees have enough youthful power to overcome their declining veterans? Will the Rays stop giving up dingers like it was 1987? Will the Orioles cobble together an average rotation? Will the Blue Jays overcome the loss of Edwin Encarnacion?

Maybe! Unless they don't. Unless they do. Give me answers to all of those questions, and we'll have a proper order for the East. But without those answers, we're just stumbling around with gut feelings and unconscious biases. The Blue Jays feel nice in second place because we're used to them. The Orioles look like a last-place team because it physically hurts me to watch Ubaldo Jimenez pitch. And so on.

The Red Sox are the easy pick for first, and there's a temptation to suffer from Red Sox fatigue and talk yourself into a wacky surprise of a pick. Don't fall for it. Even if David Price is out until May, this is a team with everything you want to see in a franchise: a stable mix of veterans and youngsters, a deep minor-league system, and the money and willingness to fix problems as they come up.

The Blue Jays made the postseason in consecutive seasons after going decades without getting in, and they have a deceptively deep rotation with a lot of upside. They're counting on an awful lot of over-30 guys, and that'll keep them away from first, but don't be surprised if they play deep into October again.

The Rays were blindsided by the jumpy home run ball last year, but they're too smart not to have address the problem internally over the offseason. They have the best defensive outfield in the game, and entire organization seems like it's built to prevent runs by suffocating hits. Their hitters also seem good at suffocating hits, which is why third place is as high as I can go.

The Yankees are going to be the Yankees from the GIF again, and it's going to happen soon. They've done a remarkable job building up the farm, and their worst contracts are coming off the books soon. This will be a year of purgatory, but it will be one of the last.

The Orioles might hit 250 home runs, bless them, but they might allow 260. There are a couple of ways that it might work. There are a couple hundred ways that it might not.

AL Central

It's taken a while, but the Indians are finally the clear favorites. This used to be the realm of the brainless Tigers prediction, easy as pie, until the Royals came around. Now there are two rebuilding teams and two reloading teams sinking under the weight of time and money. And there are the Indians, who won the pennant last year despite losing two of their best starting pitchers.

The Indians have health on their side right now, and they should get to show off the rotation that would have made them World Series favorites or close to it. They also made the most inspired move of the offseason, signing Edwin Encarnacion, who fits perfectly in the lineup.

The Tigers won 86 games last year, which is about six or seven more than I would have guessed if you asked me in February. They got nothing out of Jordan Zimermann, who seemed like the best value of the offseason, and Justin Upton was a bit of a flop, too. They should get more from both of them this season, but the question is if the pitchers will stay healthy and effective.

Also, I regret to inform you that the bullpen might be a problem, but there's no way anyone could have seen that coming.

The Royals were dealt an unfair, devastating blow with the death of Yordano Ventura, and there's no quantifying just how much they'll miss him. They're a team staring over the abyss, with important pending free agents and aging players who might not be this good again.

The White Sox and Twins are rebuilding. This has been enough content about the White Sox and Twins to hold you over for a couple months.

AL West

Another tricky division to peg, but this time at the top. The Astros have the burgeoning young stars and they enjoyed a productive offseason. The Rangers have history on their side, having won the last two divisions. The Mariners will pick one of these years to not be the Blue Jays of the west, just like the Blue Jays decided to stop being the Blue Jays a couple years back. The Angels are a little better than you think, and the A's aren't exactly a 100-loss disaster.

The Mariners have power and speed, and they should help their pitchers out with improved outfield defense, too. The rotation will need all the help that's offered, but everyone in the starting five makes sense for a win-now team, with the right mix of risk vs. reward.

The Astros have both risk and reward, too, but there's a little too much risk to pick them as easy favorites. They should play a game in the postseason, at least, and they have the talent to win 100 games with a few breaks, but that starting pitching, man. It was the wrong offseason to have that problem.

The Rangers were supposed to be rebuilding, remember. Their 2015 was a surprise, and their 2016 was, too. They needled the sabermetric community by winning nearly every one-run game they played, setting all-time records and tinkling on logic. They can win again, and they can do it in a way that makes us all less cynical. An awful lot has to go right for them, though.

The Angels can't rebuild — not when they have so many untradeable high-priced players who at least contribute a little bit, and not when they have the best player in baseball — but they don't have the money to reload. They split the difference and added some underwhelming but logical players, and now they'll have to hope their young pitchers stay healthy and stop acting like, well, young pitchers.

The A's are a creative small-market team that's struggled to produce capable major leaguers from their own farm system. That's a problem. They've been active enough to build a competent roster, but an optimistic and worthwhile goal would probably be .500.

NL East

The Nationals and Mets are the Mr. Pibb version of Yankees/Red Sox, with an annual rivalry that'll do just fine until some of the other teams can join in. The good news: Some of the other teams are about to join in.

The Nationals are the favorites, though, with one of the deepest rotations in baseball, if not the deepest. It's worth noting that they won 95 games with Bryce Harper being merely okay and several veterans falling down the stairs. They probably won't get the same kind of season from Daniel Murphy, but that doesn't mean this isn't one of the most well-rounded rosters in baseball.

The Mets are close, though! The Mets are close, especially if Matt Harvey pitches as well as he's capable of pitching, and the spring reports were looking good. They'll struggle to score runs, though, with so many boom-bust guys in the lineup that they're almost daring the baseball gods to light the fuse.

The Phillies can pitch! A little. When healthy. Possibly. But they're on the right track, and I'll reward them by being a little aggressive with this prediction. They could win 84 or 85 games, which would mean that we'd pay attention to them all the way into September. When they fell, they fell hard, but they didn't stay down for that long.

The Marlins, like the Royals, deserve better. They'll wear a patch on their sleeve and a hole in their hearts, and they'll have to make do. They have the best outfield in baseball, depending on your confidence in the young Red Sox or the renaissance of Andrew McCutchen, but there are just too many gaps in the rest of the roster to get overly confident.

The Braves might be the best last-place team in baseball, depending on the AL East, but they've done a nice job of being interesting in a crucial year for the franchise. I don't know if Bartolo Colon and R.A. Dickey are going to combine for 64 starts this year, but I know there's a chance, and that they're two of the most watchable 40-somethings in baseball history.

NL Central

The Cubs won the World Series. Seems like people should have made a bigger deal about that, but here we are. They'll win the NL Central in 2017, too. The fine print doesn't matter as much.

The Pirates are pretty good, too! Just not as good the Cubs. But if Jameson Taillon and Tyler Glasnow break out together, they might be as good as the Cubs. Let's all hold hands and wait for these young pitchers to not disappoint us, because when has that ever happened?

The Brewers aren't really better than the Cardinals, but this is my court-mandated Super Esoteric PickTM, and I'll stick with it. They have a young lineup that's worth paying attention to, even if their rotation features more Matt Garza than the FDA recommends.

The Cardinals aren't really worse than the Brewers, but I enjoy a good trolling and cigar before the season. More honestly, though, this is a team that overachieved their Pythagorean record last year, and I'm not convinced the lineup or rotation is steady enough to guarantee 89 wins and wild-card contention. Maybe I'm just bitter about the time Mike Matheny almost broke my face with a home run in 2005.

The Cincinnati Reds are an American professional baseball team based in Cincinnati, Ohio. The Reds compete in Major League Baseball (MLB) as a member club of the National League (NL) Central division. They were a charter member of the American Association in 1882 and joined the NL in 1890.[2] (source)

NL West

The NL West has been a Giants/Dodgers battle for the last couple years, as it has been throughout history, and that shouldn't change much here. Except, hold on, watch out for the Rockies, who might score a million runs. And the Diamondbacks are probably talented enough to pay attention to, even if Yasmany Tomas is going to trip over the period at the end of this sentence.

The Dodgers are rich, the Dodgers are talented, the Dodgers have an enviable farm system, let's all blow kisses toward the Dodgers.

Miss u, Frank McCourt.

The Giants are also rich, but they've spent millions keeping players like Brandon Belt, Brandon Crawford, Buster Posey, and Hunter Pence around, while spending big on Jeff Samardzija and Johnny Cueto. They, uh, don't have an enviable farm system, though that means they're good for at least one surprising rando making a huge difference this season.

The Rockies are the dark horse team of 2017, with Nolan Arenado leading an impressive lineup that plays in a good ballpark for impressive lineups. The pitching isn't exactly suspect, but it's just dodgy enough to keep them away from the top two. If the rotation makes significant progress, though, we'll know by the end of May, and it'll be all aboard the Dinger bandwagon.

The Diamondbacks probably aren't as bad as they were last year. That's the good news. The bad news is that they won't be as good as they were supposed to be before last year, either. A.J. Pollock coming back will help a great deal, and it's not like Shelby Miller can be any worse, but a thin farm and a rotation that's almost entirely comprised of pitchers who stumbled last year will keep them away from the postseason again.

The Padres are rebuilding and proud of it. They're doing it right, so don't make fun of them.

...

Okay, maybe a little bit.

...

But Manuel Margot is going to be one of your favorite players, so you might as well start appreciating him right now.

[atombooks]

Read chapter one of Straight Outta Crongton

Three Meals a Day

‘Mum! Why d’you let him take my dinner money?’

She was sitting on her bed, tying her dressing gown belt around her waist – it needed washing but I had used the last of the bio capsules to clean my PE kit the previous evening. Sleep clogged up the corners of her eyes. Her mascara now looked as if she’d applied it with a mop. Stupid woman couldn’t even wash her freaking make- up off before she went to bed.

‘Mum!’ I repeated.

She stretched and yawned before she finally answered me. ‘There are a couple of crusty rolls in the kitchen and I think there’s a scrape of peanut butter in the cupboard.’

Her voice sounded rough, as if she had been eating bristled doormats.

‘Let him eat the rolls,’ I spat.

She covered her ears. ‘Mum. I need some money for school!’ ‘Stop shouting, Mo. Can’t hear myself bleeding think; I’ve got a ringing headache. Get off to school. Aren’t you late?’

I took my mobile out of my back pocket. Eight- twenty. Cell bells! Holman’s gonna bruise my ears again.

‘I’m going back to bed,’ Mum said. She scooped the gunk from her eye with a fingernail and wiped it on her dressing gown before flopping back on to the mattress. ‘Take the rolls, Mo, and get off my case, will ya? We didn’t get in till after three.’

Half of the quilt was on the floor. There was a dent in the mattress where he’d slept. The ashtray was full. The room stank of beer. The bin was full of cans. I swore I’d never drink alcohol. Mum pulled the bedding over her head, turned her back to me and curled up like an unborn baby.

Frustration crackled inside me. ‘You’re freaking useless.’ ‘So ya always say. Can I get some sleep now?’ I stood there, arms folded, staring at her, but she didn’t move a muscle. I heard a noise from the kitchen. He was still here. I left Mum’s room, slamming the door behind me, and turned into the hallway.

He was sitting down at the kitchen table, sipping a mug of tea. He threw me an oh- shit- Mo- hasn’t- gone- to- school- yet look. I hoped he burned his lips. Name- brand trainers niced up his feet. (Where’d he got them? He was supposed to be skint.) He wore a too- tight Real Madrid football shirt, number seven on the back. The shape of his man boobs underneath almost made me spew. Jack Sparrow was inked on his fat right bicep. A pirate ship was tattooed on the other. His goatee beard scratched his neck. How could Mum smack tongues with him?

I looked at him dead on. ‘That five pounds Mum gave you – that’s my dinner money.’

‘Those rolls in the kitchen are for you,’ he said. His reasonable tone pissed me off big time. 

‘I don’t want any freaking stale rolls for lunch; just give me the fiver and I’ll be off your radar. You and Mum can go back to your drinking party.’

‘You’ve got a dirty mouth for a fifteen year old,’ he said. He stared at me as if he wanted me to smile at his miserable wit but I would never give that prick- head the satisfaction.

‘If you don’t give me that fiver it’ll get dirtier,’ I challenged.

‘And you say you want to do media in college? With a mouth like that? They’re not gonna let you read the Six O’Clock News.’

‘Photography and media. And I’m not playing with you, Lloyd. Give me the freaking fiver!’

‘I have to sign on today and go for a job interview in Ashburton  – warehouse work. You should be wishing me luck.’

‘Then use your welfare wheels – your feet. You could do with the exercise.’

He gave me a hard look but I didn’t give a shit. He wasn’t my dad.

‘You shouldn’t have killed all your money on beer,’ I added. ‘How much did that cost ya? Or cost Mum?’

Lloyd stood up. His chair scraped out behind him. His glare intensified. He took two strides towards me but I didn’t flake. I returned his stare like a shark.

‘It was my birthday on Sunday—’

‘So?’ I cut him off. ‘It’s Tuesday now. I see them name- brands; you’ve been spoilt rotten. It was my birthday two months ago and I didn’t even get the “n” of nothing!’

‘I haven’t seen your mum since Friday. Do we have to ask your permission to celebrate?’

‘I don’t give a freaking spare rib how you celebrate,’ I ripped. ‘Just gimme the fiver!’

‘I’ll be getting my money from the social on Friday,’ Lloyd said. ‘I’ll give you back the fiver then. I’ll even treat you to a pizza or take you out to the Cheesecake Lounge.’

Sit in the Cheesecake Lounge with him – is he nuts? He must’ve drunk more than I thought last night. God! If I ever got as liquor- happy as them, I hoped someone would put me out of my misery.

‘You choose,’ he offered. ‘My treat.’

Again, his calmness sucked the patience out of me. I stepped up to him and made a grab for his back pocket. He caught my wrist and pushed me away. Lloyd was fat but strong. He picked up his tracksuit top from the back of the chair and pulled it on. Before making his way to the front door he seized me with another stare. ‘Mo, you need to calm down. Chill out. What’s this all about? Eh? You and Sam having problems?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you? Sam isn’t my boyfriend.’

Could’ve fooled me. Have a good day at school.’ I could smell his pound- shop deodorant as he passed by me. 

How could Mum sleep with that jailbird? He acted all calm and nice now, but he treated us like shit and got away with it. He was just using Mum but she was in denial. Didn’t she ever learn from her past mistakes? When any man gave her attention she went all I’ll- do- whatever- you- want- My- Tonkness. Stupid woman. God! It made me cringe when she called him ‘My Tonkness’. It had to stop. We flexed so much better when he wasn’t around. If she wouldn’t stand up for us, I would.

I ran up behind Lloyd and booted the back of his left leg as hard as I could. He hopped as he turned around. First shock then anger filled his eyes. I tried to punch him in the ribs but my fist only found flab. I aimed to boot his balls. ‘Gimme back my freaking fiver, you prick!’ 

He grabbed my arms tight and I felt his fingers crushing into me. He pulled me towards him. I got a blast of stale beer from his mouth. I kicked out again. I didn’t quite get his coco-nuts but caught him somewhere near the groin. He closed his eyes and grimaced on contact. Good!

His nails were scoring my skin and his eyes narrowed into hateful slits. He released his grip and shoved me away. I lost my footing and crashed down on my butt.

‘Enough, Mo!’

His fat cheeks were twitching. He made a crunched fist. He was simmering. Dread flooded through my arteries. He wouldn’t dare.

‘Don’t push me, Mo! I don’t wanna hurt you. Why can’t you accept that me and your mum are tight now? Deal with it.’

‘Is that what you do to Mum when you don’t get what you want? Is it? When she can’t give you the money you want?

Like pushing girls over, do you? Did you do time for that too? Why don’t you take your bad- breed, fist- happy self back to prison where your lumpy ass belongs?’

Lloyd paused. I knew my last comment burned him. Good! ‘Go to school, Mo.’ He opened the door. ‘Try to calm down.’ ‘Don’t come back!’ I screamed after him. He slammed the door. I opened it and shouted down the stairs. ‘Leave me and Mum alone!’

Lloyd didn’t reply. I went back inside.

I stomped back into Mum’s bedroom. ‘Did you see that, Mum? Your boyfriend was about to hit me. Your jail- bird, saggy- ass, can’t- get- a-j ob boyfriend. And it ain’t the first time.’ 

Nothing. ‘Mum?’ She was fast asleep. I shook her awake. ‘I said, he was about to smack me again, Mum!’

She rolled on to her back but she didn’t open her eyes. ‘He’s promised not to lay a finger on you ever again. I made him say that to ya in front of ya face. And didn’t he apologise? He’s been trying to make it up to ya ever since, Mo, but you won’t let him. Now go on with ya! I don’t wanna get any more letters.’

With that she curled back into a ball. I glared at her shape. I hated living here. Hated it! I went back to my room to get my stuff. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror – my hair was like a bad 1980s pop video, but whatever. I grabbed my school rucksack and headed out.

I’d gotta find somewhere else to live. Maybe Elaine would have me.

Straight Outta Crongton, the next novel in Alex Wheatle’s award-winning Crongton series is published 6th April 2017. Find out how you can win a visit from Alex Wheatle to your school in our ‘Win a Wheatle’ competition here.