#I had some good ideas but it’s hidden under layers of crap

[ace-of-sspades]

Sometimes I write things,,, and then I read them years later and I’m simultaneously disgusted, proud, and nostalgic

[chilly-me-softly]

fluff alphabet for jordan (henderson)

This is my first alphabet so hope I did it right and that you like it! x

A - APRON

Jordan wasn't the best cook in the world, he kept it simple and always made the same recipes sure that the result was more than acceptable. And you loved to see him in action, from the moment he put on his apron until he got to the cooker, his expression always focused as if he were in the middle of a surgical operation. And then his eagerness to know if it was good, the smile on his face when you complimented him, him enormously pleased with himself.

B - BALL

Of course he always has a ball between his feet, many times urging you to play with him. And you're not a professional player at his level, but you certainly manage to distract him in other ways...

C - CUDDLE

After a day of practice what better thing than holding you in his arms while you tell him what happened while he was gone or anything else that comes to mind. Your voice is better than any relaxing drink, so much so that many times he has closed his eyes without even noticing.

But it's the little circles you draw on his arm, the light kisses you leave on his chin from time to time that make his night. Because no matter how much he likes being around the boys, no one pampers him like you do.

D - DINOSAUR

The little dinosaur is supposed to be for your son, but ever since it was given to you, it keeps you company when you're alone. Or even to annoy Jordan as he often complains that you spend more time hugging that soft toy than he does.

"I swear, as soon as he's born, I'll let him have it"

"If you say so" Jordan strokes your eight month old baby bump with a smile on his face, "did you hear mommy? She'll leave you her toys" he leaves a light kiss on your belly as you gasp hitting him with the dinosaur head.

"You're really mean Jordan, go away I never want to see you again" you put on a fake pout as he looks at you softly getting up to be at your height.

"How about you keep this dinosaur, and our son gets another one? You can match"

"I don't need a stuffed animal, I'm a big girl now" but you don't believe it either, him raising an eyebrow clearly amused and you hitting him with the dinosaur again.

E - EXERCISE

Even on his days off Jordan had to work out, the home gym built for the occasion. And he loves showing off for you, when you go to sit on a bench and your gaze settles on his toned, sweaty body.

"Like what you see?" he sneers, gently passing the towel over his face and then laying it on your shoulders, you rolling your eyes faking nonchalance.

"Please my lover is in better shape"

"Oh yeah?" Jordan walks over trapping your legs against the bench and starting to lie on top of you.

"No Jordan you're sticky" you try to desist but he's already on your lips. So you draw him to you by the neck, the thin layer of clothing separating you starting to get annoying.

F - FAMILY PHOTO

Jordan literally loves family photos, a big one of you just on the fireplace. He claims that every year you have to redo it because you all change so much, especially the little ones. Plus that year there is a new member of the family so it has to be redone.

You smile, arranging the ribbon around the baby's head in your arms as a three-year-old runs past your side almost tripping.

"Careful" you sigh, "Come on come over here next to us so we can take the picture and then you can go play" you don't know how he hasn't gotten dirty in some way yet. Jordan and the light shirt obsession. It's cute but totally not appropriate for a vulcano like your kid.

Finally Jordan arrives after talking to the photographer about the shots, wrapping an arm around you briefly. He places a kiss on your temple and the forehead of the little one in your arms before stopping the baby who was about to run away again.

"Just two minutes okay?" he smiles, crouching down and resting his hands on the kid's shoulders, smoothing down his jacket and adjusting his little bow tie before guiding him back to his seat.

And at the end of the week all you have to do is choose the best photo.

G - GETAWAY

Especially in summer you used to disappear to spend some time alone away from schedules, appointments, dinners to attend, families. Nothing was better than disconnecting, just you and Jordan relaxing in a secluded place or being tourists in some unknown location. You did everything you could to keep your mind off your troubles for even a couple of nights and it was always worth it.

H - HUG

All you had to do was say that word and Jordan would drop what he was doing, his arms gently around your body. Sometimes you did it just for the sake of it, but most of the time you just felt the need to be held and he was almost always there to satisfy you.

I - ILL

Sick Jordan was absolutely something. His unkempt state, his bright eyes and his drawling smile made him so cute in your eyes even though he felt like crap.

"Stop looking at me like that" he complains as he always does trying to hide his head somewhere while you smile.

"I'm not doing anything"

"You're looking at me" his voice comes muffled from under the pillow as you try to take it off, stroking his slightly damp hair. You liked taking care of him for once, even if it meant he wasn't at his best. He always seemed so strong, always available for you and that was one of the few times you could somehow return the favour.

He got annoying but you couldn't really take it out on him, could you?!

J - JORDAN

You didn't use nicknames, his name was good like that and you didn't need to change it or not use it at all. And he loved to hear his name coming from you. With hilarity when you were having fun; with sweetness in intimate moments; and yet angry, joking, alarmed, every possible nuance brought a smile to his face.

K - KEY

You were having breakfast one morning, you were enjoying your bowl of cereal while his had become un-eatable by now as he kept throwing you glances not caring about it.

He continues to twist something between the fingers of the hand he has hidden from your view when suddenly Jordan reaches across the table, sliding something towards you. A key.

"This is the house key. I wanted to... well give it to you but don't feel pressured in any way" he doesn't know exactly what he's nervous about, many times he's left you his keys to get in or when he was out of town for emergencies. But you looking at him motionless certainly doesn't help him. Has he made a mistake?

"You're giving me the key to your house?" your gaze on that object, incredulous, not touching it as if it might shock you. "Really?" you always had his keys on loan, having your own meant he trusted you enough to let you into his space even unannounced, or that you wouldn't lose it and risk someone else finding it. It was a really great gesture.

"Yeah I mean I thought you could have your own copy, and use it even when I'm here" a huge smile breaks across your face as you stand up going to sit on Jordan's lap, him scooting his chair further back to allow you to be more comfortable.

"That's...I have no words. Just thank you"

"I like the idea of coming home to find you already comfortable"

"Oh I surely will" you chuckle as you finally take that key in your hands, snapping to your feet causing a confused expression to appear on Jordan's face as you leave for the door.

"I forgot something" you walk back inside using the key and going straight to leave a kiss on his lips as he stands up immediately wrapping his arms around your body. "Are you crazy? It's so cold out there"

"I have a key now" you state with satisfaction as you cling to him.

L - LAUGH

Definitely his trademark, you can recognise it even with your eyes closed. You couldn't be more different than that, you always trying to be as quiet as possible while he was always so loud. But you couldn't help but be mesmerised by his face when he laughed, from his squinted eyes to his head thrown back.

"If I were to lose my memory, I'm sure your laugh would make me remember you" a soft smile on your face as you looked up at him slightly from below lying on his chest as he raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? Why would you lose your memory?"

"I said if, it's a scenario" you roll your eyes pouting, him quickly running his thumb over your lips to remove it.

"Why do you always have to be so tragic?"

"Ugh Jordan it was a compliment, it's not my fault you don't get it" and that laugh is always there to fill your heart.

M - MATCHDAY

Every home game Jordan is sure to have you at the stadium cheering for him. Over the years that has never changed, only skipping games when you weren't feeling well or when you were really pregnant and Jordan would be more concerned about you and your safety than the outcome of the game.

A little unspoken routine between you, him always leaving home early no matter the kick off time to review tactics and you sending him a text to wish him luck with a picture of you - and later a picture of you and the kids - wearing his jersey.

After the match regardless of the result and after he has done any interviews, here you are together sharing a short but sweet moment. You remind him how proud you are of him, the children want to go and play on the pitch.

N - NOSE

His nose brushes your neck as he snuggles up against you to rest; his nose brushes yours gently in an Eskimo kiss before he makes your lips connect; his nose brushes your skin after you have just stepped out of the shower. You often teased him by saying he looked like a tracker but you liked that little attention, the build up to what came next.

O - OLD

You always tease him by claiming he's getting old, sprawled out on the couch after spending half an hour chasing his son completely out of energy while the kid would happily take another ten thousand steps in the backyard.

"If I'm old then so are you, you know that don't you?"

"Yeah" you shrug, "but I'm still younger than you"

P - PIXEL

It's no secret that Jordan travels a lot during the year, your pixilated face seen more times than he'd like. But you don't hold it against him, besides being work it's his dream and moving around so much means he's living it to the fullest; that he's required and indispensable to the team besides being its captain of course.

You have learned to live the moments when you are together, to cheer and not waste it. And every time he stops to look at you while you're sleeping by his side or even just at any other time, he can't stop remembering how much those pixels don't really do you justice.

R - RING

It was a normal day in your life when you realised as a teenager that you had a thing for guys' hands, and if they had rings for some reason it was a bonus.

And many times you'd literally froze as you stared at Jordan's hands moving as he talked or wrote or cooked, the addition of that ring after your wedding didn't help the cause. You were brought back down to earth by his laughter because it was always surprising how one minute you were actively participating in the conversation and the next you were like in trance.

S - SAFE

You don't think you've ever told him verbally but you were lucky enough to have met him. Jordan makes you feel safe and you don't talk about the need to be defended from the bad. You know that with Jordan you can talk about whatever is on your mind without fear of being judged, you know he will always be there for you no matter what. You're immediately heartened by the reminder that he's by your side because any moment is less hard if the right person is by your side.

T - TOMORROW

It is something you often talk about, tomorrow. Everything is unpredictable, you never wanted to make long-term plans because you never know what might happen but only one thing you know for sure that you want Jordan by your side. And your idea matches his.

"You are my tomorrow and as long as I wake up with you by my side I will have a reason to smile"

U - UNIVERSE

"You are my universe"

"Stop it"

"But you are, why wouldn't I tell you" he chuckles as you hit him trying to hide your face.

You are one who is always on the move, always available for others but at the same time doesn't know how to react to compliments. You do what you do not to be praised or anything else but just because you feel like it and every time after a compliment of any kind any word would seem unnecessary, making you stand in front of that person smiling embarrassed making you feel uncomfortable. There, if you had to find a word to describe it you could say that compliments make you uncomfortable.

And Jordan knows this very well, but every now and then when you're alone he starts showering you with compliments and sweet phrases for the sake of it. But the truth is that he likes it when you blush, your cheeks turning red as you do your best not to look him in the eye or hide your face in your hands.

V - VOWS

It seemed years away, but your wedding day had arrived overwhelmingly. You couldn't wait to experience that day and those emotions to the fullest. The thing that had been most challenging for you was the vows, so many things to say without finding the right words. Everything seemed already said, obvious, not perfect and several times you had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown for that small detail.

But on your wedding day, no one around you exists anymore. There's just you and Jordan and your hearts full of love for each other, his thumb caressing the back of your hand for support. You almost forget what you've been struggling to write over those last few months, the words that come easily from your lips just by looking into his eyes.

W - WINNER

Winner takes it all. Jordan watches from afar as you joke with some of his teammates and the only thing he can think about is how that year just ended was one of the most amazing of his life so far, both professionally and in his personal life. He had achieved extraordinary goals with the team, broken records and set new ones. And then he had you who had given him a child a few months earlier and he felt like a winner.

Y - YUMMY

"Yeah that's yummy" Jordan watches his baby close his mouth around the spoon and then bring his thumb to his mouth getting messy with his own food.

"Why do you do that hm? Why?" his tone of voice only makes the child laugh as he waits for another bite clapping his hands on the high chair. Jordan quickly satisfies him seeing the same scene repeat itself, the little hands that have now become sticky and are getting everything they touch dirty like they always do at feeding time.

Z - ZOOM

His professionalism never fails to amaze you as you watch him from afar managing to handle questions in front of a computer. It will be the third interview in which he's asked the same things over and over again and you have never seen him make any gesture of tiredness or annoyance. And you are waiting for him to finally get up from that chair to wrap him in your arm and give him the right amount of pampering he needs to clear his head of everything.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 10 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Meta)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Unclean Realm

Lan Wangji has a Louis Henry Sullivan moment on seeing the Nie family home, becoming enraptured by its overwrought monumental architecture after a lifetime of restrained good taste and single-story buildings.

He approaches the fortress with the expression of delighted wonder that he usually reserves for when he’s looking at the moon or at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is like, yep that’s a building, all right, but he supports Lan Wangji’s kinks.  

Meng Yao tells them about the Wen Clan directive, and has what appears to be a moment of genuine, affectionate amusement at Nie Huaisang’s reaction.

Jiang Cheng kinda blames the Lans for inventing the whole “indoctrination” thing and for encouraging his brother’s disaster bi tendencies. Wei Wuxian responds by complimenting the Lan Clan, almost like someone who met his true love got some real value out of the instruction he received there.  

(more after the cut)

One of the great ironies of this story is that Wei Wuxian sort of becomes a rogue Lan disciple because of his relationship with Lan Wangji. He relies on Lan temperament techniques, uses music as a primary cultivation method, has committed all of the Lan rules to his supposedly terrible memory and cites them on multiple occasions, and is an important mentor for the younger generation Lan disciples. Because Hanguang-Jun is just that good in bed.

Xue Yang in the background of this conversation is channeling OP’s church-enduring, school-enduring inner 10-year-old.

Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-Zun, appears, and couldn’t be more different than his brother. On first watching this episode, I saw him as a grumpy, sexy, very emotional leather daddy man who is quick to anger. Rewatching, I see someone who’s struggling with a growing illness...the resentful energy kind.

Nie Mingjue’s handling of resentful energy is very different from Wei Wuxian’s straightforward interest and acceptance. NMJ has a traditional cultivator’s view of it, regarding it as evil and as something to resist, while he is literally carrying it on his back. He’s like a secret alcoholic who is preaching temperence, and can’t find a way to be reconciled with himself.  

At this point of the story, Nie Mingjue is keeping it together, but is under a hell of a lot of stress, and Baxia’s blood thirst is already maybe a problem.

The Yunmeng bros think that Nie Huaisang’s fear of his brother is hilarious, because they don’t understand the situation. They think he’s just living in a hideously toxic family dynamic like theirs, when actually he’s in a loving, sorta healthy, if parentless, family that is being crushed under a generational curse.

Compliments for the Yunmeng Bros

I’m not the first meta poster to notice how happy Jiang Cheng is to be praised by Nie Mingjue.

He never gets this at home. Jiang Yanli praises him, but in that watery “you tried your best” way that doesn’t really stick.  Nie Mingjue’s praise really means something, because he is a fearsome warrior and stern authority figure. And this is a double compliment, because Nie Mingjue says he heard it from Lan Xichen, and agrees with it.

Let’s Make Terrible Decisions

Keep Xue Yang alive, says Wei Wuxian, and Meng Yao immediately agrees, although I’m pretty sure he would have proposed that even if WWX hadn’t.

So they do, not realizing that “kill him later” is never a good plan for someone who 1. super needs killing 2. has a whole lot of death-dealing skills.

Future clan leader Jiang Cheng notices how smart and talented Meng Yao is.  Xue Yang finds it hilarious when the trio praises Meng Yao, possibly because their evil team up is already underway.

Boss’ Bed Warmer Son of a Ho

The constant insults toward Meng Yao are about his mom, but there’s another level of leering implication, that Meng Yao seems to encourage in his conversation with the soon-to-be-murdered guard captain.

Nie Mingjue elevated him way above his expectations, and he is ridiculously pretty, which has to create rumors. In the Nightless City scenes when he’s fondling Baxia and telling Nie Mingjue’s family secrets there’s definitely a sense of intimacy that’s not just “loyal retainer.”

I feel like maybe this whole exchange is a bit of theater designed to show Xue Yang something without showing it to anyone else. Meng Yao didn’t need to have this conversation in front of his prisoner.

Let’s Do Exactly What We Said We Wouldn’t

Once the younger quartet are alone with Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian crosses the room away from his friends and practically into Lan Wangji’s pocket, if Lan Wangji had pockets.

He has no pockets and also has no personal bubble any more, when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

We could make a weapon out of Yin Iron, Wei Wuxian says, completely forgetting his entire conversation with Lan Yi, apparently. Lan Wangji doesn’t argue with this idea.

Nie Mingjue warns Wei Wuxian not to try it.

I stabbed a man in Qinghe just to watch him die

Nie Mingjue is like the Johnny Cash of the cultivation world, carrying the weight of his poor choices and trying to steer the young folk to the path of righteousness. But--like Johnny Cash--his bad choices have made him really fucking cool, so he isn’t very good at deterring anybody.

Meng Yao Didn’t Come Here to Make Friends

Immediately after Meng Yao’s fellow Nie clan people call him “son of a whore” again, Wei Wuxian meets him, is nice to him, addresses him by his military title, bows to him, asks why he’s away from the party, and thanks him for his service.

But Meng Yao has already decided to make friends with Xue Yang, so Wei Wuxian goes onto his list of people that he doesn’t give a crap about except if they can be useful to him.  Then Meng Yao goes to make out hatch a plot with Xue Yang.

I’ll Sleep On Your Roof

Meeting SongXiao seems to have done away with the last of Lan Wangji’s resistance to his connection with Wei Wuxian.

He hears a noise on the roof and, when realizing it’s Wei Wuxian, he smiles one of his tiny reserved smiles before heading outside.

When he sees Wei Wuxian drunkenly sprawled on the roof, limbs akimbo, wine on his chin and neck, mouth full of poetry about the open road, Lan Wangji gives him the most fond look imaginable.

Then he reluctantly leaves, with his signature “say goodbye, but only when he can’t hear you” thing.

They’ve both come a really long way since their first meeting. Wei Wuxian is openly and vocally attaching himself to Lan Wangji...but is not actually entering his space or asking for anything from him; he just wants to be near him, and wants to let him know that. “I’ll sleep on your roof tonight.”

And Lan Wangji just...loves him. Wei Wuxian is drunk, embarrassing, demonstrative, eager to make a hell weapon out of yin iron, touchy feely, and absurdly sexy. And Lan Wangji is pretty okay with all of that.

I Might Have Been Drunk

Wei Wuxian carefully avoids telling Jiang Cheng where he was last night.

Even if he did get blackout drunk, he would have woken up on Lan Wangji’s roof. And I don’t think he was as drunk as that. He just knows Jiang Cheng wouldn’t like the truth.

Wen Fucking Chao, Again

Wen Chao shows up to be annoying and boring.  This leads to a pretty good fight between Nie Mingjue and Wen Zhuliu. Note that when the chips are down, Nie Huaisang stands with his Gege without any cowering. Almost as if he had hidden reserves of bravery, and is not as helpless as he lets on.

Wen Zhuliu isn’t styled to be super hot, although he’s certainly compelling, and in Dance of the Phoenix he looks good with sensitive-guy hair wispies. I wonder what actor Feng Mingjing looks like out of character?

BRB, adding a tag to my follow list

Battle Bros

When the fighting breaks out, the Yunmeng brothers are decisive and united, with Wei Wuxian giving orders to Jiang Cheng and JC following without hesitation.

I feel like if these two could have gone through a few big battles together, instead of being separated during most of the Sunshot campaign, their whole relationship would have improved. On the battlefield, they respect, trust, and understand each other.  

The Pointy End

Nie Mingjue is holding his own against Wen Zhuliu, but he gets distracted by Meng Yao hollering “Xue Yang has escaped” and then shanking the guard captain right in front of him.

Wen Zhuliu takes advantage of the distraction to aim a very slow stab at Nie Huasang, and Meng Yao jumps in front to get stabbed on his behalf.

When the Yunmeng bros show up to help NMJ, Wen Zhuliu immeiately yanks Wen Chao back behind him and points his sword at Wei Wuxian. He absolutely sees these two as a serious threat.  Considering that eventually WWX is going to kill Wen Chao while JC kills Wen Zhuliu, this concern is not misplaced.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Chao to stop being such a jerk, and Wen Chao menaces Wei Wuxian and gloats about the burning of cloud recesses. The burning, that is, of some part of cloud recesses that doesn’t include the library, the Jingshi, the main cultivation chamber, the rabbit warren, or Lan Qiren’s house, unless the Lan Clan is really really good at rebuilding things to very exact specifications.

In a rare moment of seeing Meng Yao’s internal thoughts, he is worried about Lan Xichen when he hears about cloud recesses.

The Yelling Part

Now we have the particularly nasty breakup between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. It’s...got some layers. Meng Yao is cowering on the floor, but is not apologizing.

He never apologizes throughout this encounter.

孟瑤無悔  - Meng Yao (has) no regrets

This scene is amazing and excruciating to watch, even more when you know what’s ahead.

What the Fuck is Meng Yao’s Plan

On one level this is Meng Yao, manipulative sociopath, setting up a cover story for his aiding and alliance with Xue Yang.  On another, this is Meng Yao, loving subordinate, being tossed aside by his lord because he dared to stand up for himself.

He uses the same “scout’s honor” gesture we’ve seen Wei Wuxian use to swear he’s telling the truth. Wei Wuxian is always lying when he uses this gesture.

I’m...not sure exactly what Meng Yao’s plan is, with all these chess moves? By stabbing the captain in front of NHS, he created an opportunity to plant a cover story about Xue Yang’s escape. He might be hoping that Nie Mingjue will forgive him and keep him on, while Xue Yang can stay in his back pocket to be used later.

Dry eyes? Try Visene

Or he might be intending to get kicked out, given his non-apology. In any case, Nie Mingjue is weeping during this encounter, and Meng Yao...isn’t. He is signaling distress in his voice, expression, and body language, but his eyes are dry up until the last moment, and even then they just glisten a bit. In a show where every actor is an expert at crying on cue, that’s got to be a deliberate choice.

Which isn’t to say that Meng Yao is faking being full of emotion in this scene. It’s just that the emotion isn’t necessarily sorrow.

What Does Nie Mingjue’s Head Think

Flip the view and this is about Nie Mingjue being betrayed by a subordinate, who has turned out to be a self-serving murderer. And on another level it’s Nie Mingjue being betrayed by his lover, who was just using him for advancement.

I rewatched the later episode where we get the scene as Nie Mingjue’s head perceived it, and he’s particularly brokenhearted and disillusioned from his head’s POV.  In that version there is a telling addition to the conversation.

Nie Mingjue asks about the guys who were roasting Meng Yao behind his back. He asks, if I hadn’t come, would you have murdered all of them?

Um. No, dude. Of course fucking not. That’s what a patriarchal authority does. That’s the way an angry Nie Mingjue/Baxia team might solve a problem.

Meng Yao has to use subterfuge to kill his enemies. And while he super hates being called “son of a whore” it’s absolutely not enough to make him kill someone, with the risk murder brings. Likewise, being treated well isn’t enough to make him spare someone. Nie Mingjue totally doesn’t get this, because he’s been the patriarch of this clan his entire adult life.

And Here’s the Actual Problem

There is a betrayal here, but Nie Mingjue is not simply a victim.  Whether it’s a sexual relationship or a non-sexual bond of affection, there can be nothing solid in Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s relationship within a feudal society, because it is fundamentally unequal. Even if they love each other deeply - which I’m not convinced either of them does - every encounter they have is tainted with power dynamics.

Meng Yao has been elevated by Nie Mingjue and quite probably taken into his bed, as well as being told many family secrets, but has not been given a new surname (like, for example, Wen Zhuliu was) or independent power. More importantly, Nie Mingjue has not used his authority to remove or punish the many people who disrespect his subordinate.  Lan Qiren would have had all of those gossipy fuckers kneeling in the snow, and Wen Ruohan would feed them to his mosh pit zombies.

Meng Yao is a murderous little snake, but he is right to be angry with Nie Mingjue about some things, and his pursuit of his own agenda is understandable.

Well, That Was a Slice

Meng Yao leaves, hurt, with a dignified bow; just as he did that one time when his dad kicked him down the Carp Tower steps.

Take note, both patriarchal authorities: that is his way of saying “I’m going to murder you one day.”

Nie Mingjue sits with his broken heart, as we realize that we’ve only spent 20 minutes with this guy and we’ve gone on an entire emotional journey with him. This episode packed in a LOT.

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues

[sylph-feather]

Half-hot water

Summary: Phantom disguising as his normal self is a strange prospect, but one must do what needs to be done.

Wordcount: 2174

Prompt: by @ecto-american

“Danny being stuck as Phantom and forced to deal with situations that he'd normally be as Fenton (like going to school, having a family dinner, etc)”

“This is possibly the most stupid idea we’ve ever had,” Danny mumbles.

“And that’s saying something,” Tuck chirps an aside.

“Stop moving,” Sam instructs, “I’m trying to make you look like you.”

Green eyes blink, baleful as Sam adds a layer of human toned makeup to Danny’s green toned skin. Danny pouts, but his lips are sealed.

“How long do you think it’ll last?” Tucker hums, thinking back to Skulker’s new weapon— obviously inspired by (if not provided by) Plasmius.

Danny’s lips part to reveal sharp canines as he makes to reply, but Sam shoots him a glaring look. Exaggeratedly and spitefully, Danny lifts his arms in a frustrated I don’t know motion.

“Find him an outfit,” Sam instructs to get the two to stop talking. Tucker shrugs and scampers off.

xXx

By the time he’s back, Tucker has procured gender ambiguous things from Sam’s closet— all black, yes, but just a hoodie with a t-shirt and lounge pants.

The first step, of course, is removing the jumpsuit. Danny’s friends turn around.

And wait.

And wait.

And—

“C’mon man, what’s taking so long?” Tucker groans.

“Uh,” Danny’s small voice comes, “we may have a problem,” he says slowly, drifting over to them. His hair is black, but it drifts like Phantom’s wispy underwater hair; it’s a strange image, to see him so intentionally human, yet still with an aura and glowing green eyes and all the other subtly ghostly things.

Danny is still in his jumpsuit, just minus the gloves that he has tucked into one of the thing’s sleek pockets— really cementing his Phantom image.

Fantom? Tucker considers as a name for this, or maybe Fentom…? Phentom? Hm.

Sam, meanwhile, looks about ready to yell at Danny, asking why he is still in that jumpsuit.

In answer to the unsaid rant, Danny peels off a shiningly white jumpsuit boot, throwing it to the side.

For a moment, his foot is bare, and fairly human asides from the skin toned with green blood and the sharpened nails— and then. And then the boot makes a faint hiss, a bubbling sound on Sam’s carpet, and it melts. The leg of Danny’s jumpsuit then also seems to melt, rubbery material dripping into a new boot.

“That’s weird,” Tucker grunts as Danny settles on shoving all his clothes over the jumpsuit.

xXx

He can’t transform by the time the makeup is done, or by the time he reaches home from his “study session” (as was his excuse, his lie).

He tested all the other powers, putting a little float into his step, a little glow to his hands, flickering out of existence and tangibility… only the going-human one was left broken by that stupid, stupid electrical shock.

He gives his outfit a once over, tugging at things. His skin glows faintly beneath the makeup, and his eyes glow less faintly under the uncomfortable colored contacts (he’d almost gagged, putting the things in his eyes and blinking them into position), hence why he’s wearing sunglasses as additional cover, to keep people from noticing the toxic green light behind the blue.

Keep people like his parents from noticing. Parents that would— don’t think about that. He breathes in, breathes out, puts his feet back on the floor from which he had slightly drifted.

“I’m home,” he announces slowly, awkwardly bringing up that mask of normal to try to outrun the fact that he was anything but. He hopes his voice doesn’t echo too much. From this distance, at least, he doesn’t feel bad about removing the sunglasses (after all, he’d be questioned more about wearing them inside). Danny just tries to slant his eyes down.

“Hey sweetie,” Maddie says, absentmindedly fiddling with some machine at the table as Jack gives a muffled echo of that around the food he has shoved in his mouth. Jazz gives him a wave from her book, not even glancing up. His mother continues, “how was studying?”

That alone is enough to make him sigh a little in relief. “Good,” he pushes out with a nervous titter. “You know how great Sam and Tuck are,” he awkwardly adds. He considers excuses to get up to his room— normally he hangs around and chats a little, or listens to his parents rant, or does homework downstairs. But today he doesn’t exactly want to do that, but he also doesn’t want to be too dramatic and draw attention, so—

“There is a ghost ahead,” the sleek machine beeps, lights on it whirring.

Jazz, of all of them, freezes and stares at him— and then she stares harder, and Danny can feel his sharp nailed hands itching, and his hair feels scratchy around his pricked ears, and his aura feels bright— it’s as though he can see that she’s noticing all that.

Thankfully, Maddie and Jack on the other hand just laugh. “Silly thing. There’s no signs of a presence of one of those suffering spooks” his father guffaws.

(Behind him, the kitchen light flickers a little).

Danny barks a nervous, raucous laugh. You’re being paranoid, they don’t suspect you at all. “I’m, uh,” he pauses, stuttering, “gonna work upstairs today, if that’s alright,” he laughs, and it’s so fake he wants to claw at his throat. “I’m just feeling a little people-d out today, you know?” Danny is at least proud of coming up with a reasonable excuse that doesn’t invite scrutiny, and gives him an out for other extended family time.

“Aw, alright,” his dad pouts. “How can ya get people-d out?” he grunts with a laugh.

Maddie rolls her eyes. “You’re just too energetic, Jack. That’s fine, Danny— though do come down for dinner, please. Just a little time, at least,” she smiles.

Oh, crap. Now Danny feels bad. Wednesdays are usually reserved specifically for sit down together dinners; they have them other days, but Wednesday is the always, the guaranteed.

Danny’s head swirls with excuses from nausea to more introvertedness to headaches. What his mouth, against his better judgement, says is, “OK, yeah! Sounds good.”

He smiles nervously, lips moving to keep sharp teeth hidden, and he leaves just at a speed just a little under too fast to be considered normal.

xXx

Danny feels like throwing something as he angrily paces the air of his bedroom. Why did I say that? I’m so stupid.

There’s a knock on his door, and Danny thumps to the ground, scrabbling at his outfit to get it tugged down over his jumpsuit and glow. “Come in,” he stammers.

Jazz enters. “Sorry to bother you,” she says.

Danny shrugs.

And— and she just stands there, staring. Subconscious and feeling all the failures of his disguise, Danny picks at the threads of the hoodie to keep himself from further drawing attention to those features— after all, he now wants nothing more than to fiddle with all of them; to close his eyes even more, to ensure there’s no white patch in his hair that Sam missed, to brush that hair more thoroughly over his sharper ears, to flood the lights in his room so his glow isn’t so noticeable.

It isn’t until Jazz, still silent, takes a step forward while staring deep into the colored contacts that Danny blinks (and now those contacts feel so uncomfortable and gritty against his eye, ugh) ans says, “uh.”

“Right,” Jazz says slowly. “Sorry.”

And then she leaves.

Weird.

xXx

Danny is left to his own devices for the rest of the evening, which… asides from the tendency to float as he does them, he doesn’t do anything all that abnormal in relation to his routine. That is: keeping an eye for the foggy breath that came with ghost attacks while doing homework and studies, cleaning his room, and videogaming (or otherwise relaxing).

Thankfully, the universe for once decides to let Danny have a break, leaving him with finished homework and a clean room (for once), and time aplenty to just relax.

It isn’t until he smells dinner cooking that the dread kicks in.

xXx

His parents are calling him, and Danny is having a mental breakdown over sunglasses. Sunglasses.

He ditches them, because ultimately the thought that they’d invite more suspicion, or even worse, concern, is just too much.

“You look a little flushed,” his mother points out, pushing a plate towards him so he can serve himself.

Danny refrains from making a pale as a ghost joke, or saying something about that’s why his eyes look bright (that would only point them out, even if it excuses them in the same motion), and instead just laughs a breathy laugh. He keeps his lips tucked over his sharpened teeth, nervous.

Over the whole dinner, Danny can’t restrain himself from that urge to excessively fiddle. He messes with his hair, running sharp nails to comb it into place— make sure it isn’t drifting in that watery way it does sometimes, make sure it’s covering his pointed ears. He stares at his skin, checking for makeup smudges, carefully eats so that the makeup that feels so heavy on his lips does not become overly smudged and so that his teeth are not to exposed.

It’s calculated, it’s exhausting, and it’s frankly overdoing it for his rather selectively observant parents.

What reason would they have to suspect me? Danny constantly reminds himself as he stares at the food to keep his glowing eyes from their faces.

He babbles; he knows not about what, just generalizations. School, how his tests have gone, assignments he finds interesting (he is a nerd at the core, despite his grades). Sam and Tucker and the renewed fight of diet.

Thankfully, his family is enough to carry the conversation as well— especially, of course, Jack (as usual). Not per usual, Jazz does not participate. No, she spends dinner doggedly trying to meet his eyes, and Danny spends it vehemently avoiding hers.

Never would he have thought Jazz, the rational, logical, sister that didn’t believe in ghosts would be the biggest threat to his secret.

“I’m going to get some more,” she hums, and walks behind Danny.

His shoulders tense, body gone rigid.

Her hand just ruffles his hair— he feels it tickle at the edge of his ear, meaning it was exposed... and Jazz just gives him an odd smile, meeting his eyes briefly (he dropped guard on that feature out of surprise), before spooning more food on her plate.

...Danny doesn’t look the gift horse in the mouth (or the eyes), and he counts his blessings.

xXx

Sleep is, apparently, not something that comes easy in ghost form. Danny wouldn’t have known before all this, considering any time he was knocked out or fell asleep ordinarily, he’d revert to being a human, and he was never stupid enough to be a ghost in his own house as he did something as vulnerable as sleep.

Emphasis on that he was never stupid enough, on that past tense, because that is exactly what is doing now.

...Or, trying to do.

Instead, he floats a little above the bed, unable to keep concentration on staying grounded while trying to perform the activity of little concentration. A hard balancing act.

Really, after what felt like forever, Danny concludes it is highly likely that ghosts weren’t exactly made to sleep. That, or they weren’t made to do so at night; the darkness sends his cells abuzz, and explains to him why so many freaky things happened in the dark because he so wants to just go crazy. It is almost like Danny had drunk caffeine too late in the day, and now he’s gotten jittery— except he didn’t do that, so.

For good measure, he tries again on the human form front. Just a faint white spark— better than nothing, at least, and a little improvement considering it was nothing last he had checked. If it still was without improvement by now, maybe Danny would’ve worried about dying the rest of the way by an idiotic taser, but that improvement indicated he was (probably) fine, so he didn’t need to have one of his many existential crises.

So he stares,

— stares… stares… stares…

He feels his lids getting heavy.

xXx

Maddie shakes him awake.

“Rough night?” she asks, and Danny gives a nervous laugh, startlingly awake as memories jolt back.

Maddie frowns at her fingers, rubbing together waxy makeup, but shrugs it off.

Unable to stop himself, Danny’s eyes (crusty and uncomfortable with a night of sleeping with contacts in; the things feel more like shards in his eyes than ever) flick down to look at the hand his mother grabbed… to find it unsmudged.

No, wait.

He runs a finger along it, and makeup comes off, but it reveals human toned, pink tinted skin beneath.

His mom continues, oblivious to Danny’s joy— “I had trouble sleeping, too— trying to fix that new invention, because it kept saying there was a ghost here.” She laughs in a scoff.

Danny can’t project that same confidence, but he can laugh anyways, fully human once again.

[mcfanely]

A Powerful Treasure

Archive of our Own

A new enemy has surfaced in Ninjago, but before his plans have even properly come to light, before much is even significantly known about the man; the ninja are attacked in the Monastery. They all get out unscathed, more or less, but when they can’t find Cole...

7488 words

There were times when Cole woke up in the Monastery and forgot where he was. It seemed to just be a fact of life, especially when that life included being a ninja and most of the time going from place to place in a mad rush to prevent the whole of Ninjago from being destroyed. So waking up to brief confusion as a soft orange haze of light managed to bleed through his closed eyelids was nothing new to the Earth ninja. He must have been in the bunk room on the Bounty, and unfortunate shifting in his sleep along with a perfectly angled ship had meant that a direct ray of sunlight was destined to go into his eyes as soon as he opened them. 

No matter where he moved his head, nothing seemed to help it other than an arm thrown haphazardly over his face to prevent the light from coming in. 

Then, over the course of a few seconds, it occurred suddenly that he didn't even remember boarding the Bounty the day before, nor he didn't remember going to sleep either. The process of getting ready for bed, it was the same every night. A few hours of relaxation and watching TV, maybe some games, late night training if Cole felt like it and his body didn’t ache, then he'd climb into bed and wake up to his alarm the next day to get ready for morning practice. 

In fact, Cole didn't even recall having dinner that night. He remembered that Zane had started cooking, because everyone had set up shop in the dining room because they were researching… Something. 

Something important, something that was a pressing matter. Something that Cole had no reason to have forgotten, but that wasn't the only thing he was blanking on. 

A good portion of the previous day, a sheer blank slate in his mind. 

Cole shot up sharply in bed, the quilt falling off where it had been tucked in around him and off the edge of the bed. Though the white cotton sheet getting dirtied on the floor wasn't the biggest of his problems in that instance. 

It was what he was wearing, and the fact that he didn't own anything like it. They were simple clothes, a white t-shirt and trousers that seemed to be made from the same material, all the way down to the threading used to hold it all together. It looked like spools of sheer gold to the naked eye, so thin and sewn so carefully that each pass looked far too delicate to even touch. 

He was barefoot, legs now crossed beneath himself as he sat up, staring down at his new get-up with a building sense of confusion and honestly, unease. 

That wasn't even half of it. The next thing that Cole's sleep filled eyes were drawn to were the multiple golden necklaces adorned around his neck. The clothing in itself wasn't the best, the low cut shirt was nothing he'd ever choose to wear, but jewellery? And so much of it? Necklaces of varying sizes, with varying styles. Some with more of a chunkier design, interlaced with embedded gems, some that shone blue and deep purples, even some crystals that were clear and perfectly cut were set in their own golden casts, resting heavy around his neck and cold against his skin.

Cole couldn't help but grimace slightly at the sight, and partially at the situation he'd woken up to. His mind was still groggy with sleep, as it was every morning before he'd properly woken up, but sometimes a large enough shock was enough to force his mind into gear. That's exactly what he got when he looked up, the drowsy side of his brain telling him all he was going to see was his bedroom and nothing more. 

Nothing more. 

That wasn't what he was met with, and the sharp mental slingshot he experienced when what his eyes met didn't correlate with what he'd thought he was going to see made his mouth drop open. 

"Holy crap." Cole whispered as his eyes graced over the room. 

Not his bedroom, not the Bounty. 

He was alert and on edge in mere seconds, shuffling to the edge of a king sized four-poster that was definitely not his own, his eyes flicking between every inch of the room he found himself in. Cole had no idea where he was. 

The room was huge by bedroom standards, it was wide, circular in shape as if it had been crafted to fit into a tower, or the outer edges of a palace, because that's the first thing the Earth Master thought as he took in his surroundings. 

Everything was varying between shades of near opalescent whites and solid and sheer golds. There were bookcases full of old tomes lining one wall, their pages cracked and wrinkled with time, use, and most likely exposure to the sunlight leaking into the room. The walls stood tall, almost twice the height than those in a regular house, the white finish patterned with ornate golden curves and flurries, some crafted and guided to form the shape of flowers, some budding and some fully open with their petals spread wide; some formed leaves and stems, climbing up higher and higher in an ornate mural to nature. Each stroke seemed to be hand painted to perfection, not a single aspect out of place. The other walls had the same treatment, towering high and covered beautifully with art. 

There were chairs dotted around the place, carpets and cushions set out in an organised fashion over the wooden boarded floor, a table with a small stack of what seemed to be notebooks and an assortment of pens and pencils beside them. 

Then, just to his left, there was the most elaborate window Cole had ever seen in his life. It stretched floor to ceiling in an arched pattern, twin golden frames curving up and meeting together just before the ceiling began, and a single pane of fitted glass had been oh so carefully slotted in between. An incredible and astounding feat of craftsmanship, only emboldened by the curtains draped down the sides, long enough to collect and bunch on the floor in what nearly seemed like a treasonous act. The golden fabric was almost opaque, doing no significant job of keeping the sunlight out. They were there for futilities sake; serving no purpose other than to look nice in the room and that was it. 

Cole stepped just a bit closer to the window, his bare feet tapping lightly on the wooden boards as he neared the looking glass which currently only displayed the world outside as a layer of blue with multiple different blankets of clouds dotted over the skyscape. 

That was all he could see before he was halted in his step half-way between the bed and one possible way outside, by a force that held his arms back and almost tripped him in his step. 

The situation he was in changed in that single instant, from a clear sense of uncertainty and wariness of waking up in a completely unknown environment; to immediately being on edge and alert for any possible dangers that could be shrouded in the room that seemed to be built for royalty. 

All Cole could do was stare back towards his bed, specifically at the floor, and wonder how he hadn't noticed it before. Maybe it was the shock of the room, or overall being thrown into the new situation, but it had now become something much more threatening. 

Lengths of chains were stretched out over the floor, thick links that dragged and scratched with each movement Cole made. Stretching from seemingly some hidden point under the bed over to where he was standing, only then lifting off the floor and reaching up to where they ended, welded neatly onto a set of ornate cuffs that sat tightly around his wrist. How had he not noticed them, how had he not realised--

Chained… I'm chained down and the first thing I notice is the damn room?

Cole found himself staring down at the metal, moving his arms and legs and watching as the four individual lengths of chains shifted with each movement, as if those objects themselves were driving home the fact that they were in fact locked around his wrists and ankles in a present and heavy weight. The chains themselves were bulky, but the cuffs were a whole other thing. They stretched half way up his forearms and Cole couldn't find the seam where the clicked shut, nor a slot for a key to open them up. 

They seemed to be one single piece of metal all the way around, they shifted and turned when he moved but they didn't do much else. Mere millimeters away from cutting off circulation to his extremities, and for a way to keep him captive in that one room they had no business being as elegant as they were. Reflecting the sunlight of what occurred to Cole as an ending day, the bright yellows that had cascaded through the window faded further and further into the depths of orange that indicated an oncoming sunset, it gave the cuffs a glow to them. Warm and soft, a sheer oxymoron. The surface of them was etched with light grooves, interspersed with an inset obsidian black stone. 

Cole was around five minutes into pulling on the chains, the clang of metal hitting the ground and then being pulled taut to within an inch of its life resounded around the previously quiet room; when he realised the black rock was Vengestone. The cuffs dug into the skin at his wrists, leaving deep grooves and reddened skin in its wake, and whilst his strength was great even without his elemental abilities, even if he had his powers something told him that these chains weren't going to give so easily. 

"Come on, come on! Break! Please break, please--!" 

It was when blood was drawn that Cole decided to stop, a red line manoeuvring its way down the palm of his hand and his index finger to drip silently onto the floor. 

Cole followed suit, sitting down against the side of the bed and just allowing his head to droop forwards. It wasn't in defeat, he wouldn't allow it to be in defeat, he wasn't giving up already. When the pain in his arms subsided he'd just try again, and again afterwards. 

Again until he either broke the chains, or pulled the deadbolt out from where it was embedded in the concrete wall underneath the bed. 

He just had to wait for his muscles to stop aching before he started up his onslaught on the chains again. The brief respite from activity gave him some time to try and resolve the gaps he had in his memory. 

There was a large blank section, starting the day before, as he'd just sat down at the dining table with a brand new and far too large book on Ninjagian Lore and Power, entirely reluctant to open it up even though he did enjoy reading. There was a vast difference between reading for pleasure and mandatory reading, and Cole knew which one he preferred. 

Then there was nothing, an empty space in his memories that must have been extensive since he was sure it had been at least a day since he'd been walking the halls of the Monastery. Though the more Cole tried to discern what fitted into the gap, what had occurred that had ended with him waking up in an unknown room who-even-knew-where, chained down, the more the answer eluded him. 

Cole grit his teeth, closed his eyes, and tried to find something. Anything. He'd sat down with a book, gone to open it-- nothing. 

He'd sat down with a book and opened it, then nothing. 

Always nothing. 

"Why don't I remember..?" Cole mumbled quietly to himself, his hands fisted tightly at his sides. "Why is everything blank, why can't I think?" He wasn't talking to anyone in particular, but he needed to vent his frustration some way. 

All he needed was one thing, one memory! Anything that would just give him something to work with. 

That section remained carefully blank. 

The room he was in had no reason to look so nice, the mattress at his back shouldn't have felt so soft. It was a cage, no matter what it looked like. The chains around his wrists didn't have enough slack to let him reach the window so they definitely didn't reach the door on the opposite side, it was a gilded cage fit for royalty. Far too lavish. Nauseating almost. 

There wasn't anywhere in Ninjago like it, at least no place that Cole could think of off the top of his head. 

All the golds and light pouring in from a giant window provided a rolling and extensive view of the fading sky. Then, looking at himself, he realised with startling clarity that he fitted the theme too with what he was wearing. Whites and golds, even the vengestone chains followed suit. 

He knew he wasn't getting them off any time soon, but he could definitely make himself feel better. Starting with the golden cords around his neck, lacing his fingers around them and yanking until either the clasps broke or the small chains splintered. They ended up thrown at the opposite wall, landing in a broken and heaped mess, flecks of metal and inlaid gems clanking and bouncing out over the floor as the ruined jewellery landed. Cole then moved on to the bangles around his wrists, twisting and distorting the thin metal until they gave in to strain and broke. Again, discarded in their own wreaked pile. 

He was about to move onto the shirt, hands poised to start tearing at the seams and tearing the fabric when the click of a lock quickly drew his attention to the door of the room. 

Cole was on his feet in an instant, his arms drawn up and in front of himself in a defensive position. As the door swung open he stood his ground and readied himself for whoever or whatever was about to step inside. 

Whether years of fighting against less than human entities in an effort to prevent the destruction of Ninjago, a man who looked just a little bit older than himself walking in hadn't been what Cole had anticipated; but an enemy was an enemy. 

He was the one in chains, that man was not. There was an all too present imbalance but that didn't mean that Cole was at a disadvantage. All he had to do was wait for him to step closer, when they were close enough and if there was enough slack on the chains then all it would take was a well timed and solid strike to the side of the head and the man would go down. Clearly, the man had a key to the door, so he'd probably also have something for the cuffs too. 

Though with the distance, all Cole could do was stand his ground, stare down his captor and demand some answers. 

Only to be completely thrown off by the first words that come out of the guy's mouth. 

"Ah, my treasure wakes." 

The man proceeded to advance further into the room, closer to where Cole was standing and besides his better judgement, besides the plan he was going to enact just a few seconds ago, the ninja took a few steps back to maintain the distance between the two of them. The words, the almost honey-sweet lilt to them, the way the man's voice made the hair on the back of his neck and his arms prickle. He was on edge in an instant, uneasy, and the look held in the man's eyes as they just seemed to trace over his body was anything but calming. If he was at all bothered by the broken jewellery, he wasn’t letting on. 

His eyes were a deep yellow, and not just the cornea, but the entire thing. Almost like a buffed tigers eye gemstone had been dropped into each of his sockets. The man was dressed regally too, flowing robes in vibrant shades of purple and interspersed with golden trim, shoulder length jet black hair clashing sharply with the pale pallor of his skin. There's a crown on his head too, and Cole realises that within the intricate pattern of gold, a yellow veined piece of vengestone was suspended in the centre. It almost looked to be floating. 

Still, he was advancing, and Cole's legs coming into contact with the bed frame forced himself to halt his own retreat. He liked to think he was tall, but as the man stopped just in front of him, there was enough of a height difference that it forced the Earth Master to cast his gaze upwards. 

"I've been waiting for you to wake up, you were asleep for a lot longer than I'd anticipated but alas, here we are." The man gave a small smile, and Cole's expression blanched as he felt the man's fingers wrap lightly around his left wrist. It was more than easy to bat them away, the motion accompanied by the clank of swinging chains. That rejection didn't seem to perturb the man, who just continued with what he was doing, this time lifting one hand and threading it into the strands of Cole's hair. 

One warning, that was enough, but the instant he felt the grip tighten in his hair was the point at which the man was solidly shoved away. There was a light stumble, and Cole's brows were furrowed in indignation, his own hands up in between the two of them to act as a barrier. It hadn't taken much strength to get the guy to move away but the hand yanking at his hair as it was dislodged left a low hum of pain in his temple. 

"Don't touch me." He ground out, his fists clenched tightly. He wasn't going to stand there and be handled by a stranger as if he was just something to be admired. That was what he saw in the man's eyes, what he read in his expression even just after a few seconds. Initially, he'd hoped that the assumption was mistaken, but the actions and words? 

"I get that I'm a prisoner, but that doesn't mean I'm taking your crap, you touch me again and I'll break your face." Cole spat. 

Only to be met with a light and jovial laugh. "Ah, as stoic as your element. I knew there was a reason I picked you." the man spoke, something new and entirely unreadable floating in his eyes, "You're not a prisoner, Cole."

Cole didn't allow himself to bristle at the fact that the man knew his name, most people did nowadays, so he just lifted his wrists and the chains moved with them, his expression shifting carefully to neutral, "Sure, because I definitely don't feel like one."

The man nodded, as if he didn't get the joke. Or maybe he did, he just wasn't going to humour him with the sarcasm he'd tried to use. There was a brief moment when the room fell into silence, only for the man to break it quickly by crouching down and picking two loose loops of chain in his hands, rolling the golden links over in his palm for a brief second as he looked over the glinting metal. "Exactly." 

Then he tightened his grip and pulled in one fluid motion. Cole's arms were yanked forwards first, the chains dragging the cuffs with them only caused him to stumble forwards and forcibly bridge the gap he'd just made between the two of them. His hands were pulled down to his side by the unyielding chains grasped in the man's hold. 

It was embarrassing, but any other feeling was quickly overtaken by the situation as a whole. He hadn't even noticed what the man had been doing before it was too late, he hadn't even spared a second glance when he'd stooped to lift the chains, Cole hadn't even thought twice about what he'd planned. He'd just watched it all play out like an idiot. 

He twisted his wrists in the shackles, pulling upwards against the opposing strength but whoever that guy was, there was no contention of who was stronger in that situation. He simply held the chains in one hand by his side, preventing Cole from lifting his arms to any significant degree. 

They were chest to chest, the man's face crooning down to his own with an all too soft expression, "You're my guest. You're safe here." 

The unnerving calm of the man's manner was opposed by the seething vitriol that the Earth Ninja managed to muster as he glared back. Their faces were mere inches apart, solid yellow eyes boring down into his own. 

Again, like before, he felt the man's free hand lift into his hair, looping a longer strand around one of his fingers. There wasn't time to take in the discomfort that came with the light touch as Cole shook his head to dislodge the hold. 

This time, it didn't do much good. The hand was there again, fingers carding through like before. 

He wanted nothing more than to deliver on the previous promise of breaking the guys face, if it meant just getting him to let go and go away, but with his hands pinned down and no way to manoeuvre out the situation at hand, he forced out a heavy breath and decided on a much more logical approach. If all options are exhausted, go from a different angle. 

If he couldn't break the man's hold, he'd talk. Get more information, try and fill the gap in his memory. Stall for time and find an opening. Something.

"I'm not a guest, but if I'm not a prisoner, then what am I?" Cole questioned, forcing himself to keep his face neutral as he felt the strangers hand tug lightly on the back of his hair. "Why am I here?" 

The man gave a chuckle, his hand blessedly dropping away from his hair only to get the ghost of fingers caressing lightly over his cheek. Then when he felt the full warm touch cupping the side of his face, Cole couldn't keep the repulsed look at bay as he tilted his head as far as he could in the other direction. 

There was a sudden flash of irritation, but that quickly quashed under a careful sigh as if he'd never been phased to begin with. Though it was preceded by a glowing glare in his eyes, the different scars that Cole could now see cleaved through the man's hair, leaving present but healed grooves. Then there was the grin, the all too white smile and the sharpened canines that he could see now that they were far too close quarters, "That's not of any importance, you're here now and that's all that matters."

In that instant, unannounced, memories came flooding back. 

The rumours that he and his brothers had heard about a travelling sorcerer. A man, passing from village to village who generally stayed on the rural outskirts of Ninjago. Whether it was to stay under the radar or something else, any and all pertinent news tended to find its way to them at one point or another. 

An unknown man who would charm the locals and spend a few days at each new location, for then to simply raze the area to the ground and move on. 

He'd disappear for a few days and then crop up again, seemingly as bedraggled as he had been that very first time the man had shown his face. No trace of the kindness the previous villages had expressed to him, no gifts of fresh clothes to replace the worn ones that were practically falling from his body. He would just stay, wreak havoc, and then move on. With each new village, the end result seemed to get worse and worse. It started with harvests being culled, vast fields of rice rotting and dead. Then, homes had been targeted. Old, dried wooden beams weakened with rot and mould that worked its way from the inside out until the houses collapsed. 

Every time the ninja had heard of this mystery man being in a certain area, all they constantly arrived to find where displaced lives, ruined livelihoods. But always too late. They all helped in any way they could, clean-up crew, basic first aid, collected as much information they could, then like every other time before that they just returned back to the monastery with nothing more than a feeling of uselessness. 

It had taken their collective force around a week to figure out who this wandering destroyer was, and Sensei Wu had been fairly insightful even if what he had provided had been a bedtime story he'd been told of in his youth. It was exactly the man they'd been searching for. 

A powerful sorcerer by the name of Acacius had used to travel the land during the time of the First Spinjitzu Master. A wanderer. He'd go from place to place, areas of power as Sensei Wu had dubbed them, and drain it all dry. Then move on to the next place. He'd done it for decades, terrorising people and elemental masters alike, draining life away from lands, destroying crops, removing life forces. Apparently when a story was told by the man who had split apart a continent and created a realm, there was no moral or warning, just information and a true tale. Either way, it was also a pretty dark bedtime story. 

The story ended as most did, with the heroes triumphing over evil. Though it wasn't anything large or garish, it was resolved quietly. 

The First Spinjitzu Master had finally caught up with this incredibly powerful sorcerer, this creature twisted on stolen power and a near incandescent drive for more, and had locked him away. Where? That hadn't been important to the story. Apparently vagueness ran in the family. 

Cole remembered listening to the story before picking up a book on ancient lore, flipping straight to the back and to the index of the tome, tracing his finger carefully down the letters until he found Acacius. 

Before he'd even focused properly on the list, the front gates of the Monastery had ruptured inwards, followed by a sheer cascade of energy that had ricocheted through the halls and blown all their written notes clean off the dining table and onto the floor. 

They'd all grabbed their weapons and headed to the courtyard of the Monastery in seconds, facing a man-- Acacius, no longer dressed in rags, no longer lying to appeal to the good nature of caring people. He was standing tall, back straight, a wicked grin on his lips which only seemed to widen further when both Lloyd and Wu had stepped out to face this ancient enemy.

Cole remembered that they'd fought. They'd fought and fallen, been batted into the stone walls encasing their home and watched as different sections fell down and crumbled around their brothers, who proceeded to get up and join the fray again with no second thought to injuries. No one could seem to get close enough to the sorcerer, charging at Acacius with unrelenting synchronisation though all the while he continued to laugh about how it had been so easy to find them. 

Creation and Energy, both in one place? It's almost easy pickings, I could sense you from miles away!

The voice was deep, it vibrated through Cole's core with the power the words alone exuded. It was clear how the man had been able to hold his ground, however briefly, against the First Spinjitzu Master. 

It promptly became a fight to protect Lloyd and Sensei Wu and the power they both possessed. Only it didn't end like that. 

Cole was the only one who'd managed to get some form of a significant hit in. He'd shuck the ground with a light stamp of his foot, and the fissure that had split the inlaid stone of the courtyard was enough to cause a mere second of distraction for the sorcerer. 

He'd charged forwards, and had kept going even as Acacius had locked eyes with his own. His legs were already moving and there was already so much momentum, all Cole needed to do was commit and swing his hammer. The attack wasn't his best, and with a last minute shift from the sorcerer, it left him swinging that bit too wide. Initially, he'd thought it would miss in its entirety, yet the weighted metal had scarcely managed to clip the man's jaw enough to throw him off balance. 

In the following seconds, he had felt a hand pressed to his forehead, and the world had flickered to black. 

Then he'd woken up. 

Cole couldn't help but stumble at the sudden flood of information, the gap in his memory all too quickly blazed with missing images and memories, enough that the abrupt movement had caught both him and his captor- Acacius, off guard. 

It took one step back and his legs clipped the edge of the bed frame, the obstacle only caused him to fall backwards onto the mattress. Though he recovered quickly and used that short moment to put more space in between him and the sorcerer, pulling his wrists and yanking the chains until all the slack that he had was now on his side of the bed and couldn't be used by the man as a immobilisation tactic again. 

Acacius, who hadn't shifted from where he'd been standing beforehand, had a large grin plastered over his face. His gaze seemed almost soft, almost caring even; it only served to make Cole shudder. 

"I visited your home to gain more power." He explains after a short moment of quiet, his gaze resolutely fixed on where Cole was standing, Acacius almost seemed annoyed at the bed between them, "So many elemental masters in one place, it was like a buffet." He took a deep breath in, his eyes closing. It was almost like he was being chided for the circumstances that had led the man to their home. Not that there had been any feasible way to find out in such a short space of time that Lloyd and Sensei Wu would be at risk.

Why he'd decided to change tact and take him instead, Cole wasn't sure. If there was power, as much as he hated that he even thought it, Lloyd was the logical pick. Though between any one of his family and himself, if he knew that they'd end up locked and chained in the room he was in now, staring back at a powerful sorcerer with an unknown plan and newfound freedom after being imprisoned; Cole was glad it was him in that situation. 

"But then I saw you," Acacius continued, "And my plans changed just a little. I've always liked you Earth Masters, you see." He kept his gaze on his captive as he took a short step to the side, one that Cole mirrored in the opposite direction. The sorcerer seemed amused by the reaction. "You have a lot of power, sure, nothing comparable to Creation or Energy but you're definitely up there. You can direct energy, just like I can. I'm sure you can make nature flourish with just a small nudge," He says, it's more of a question than a statement, and Cole almost answers before he caught himself and closed his mouth again. "My power decreased vastly over my… Many decades being imprisoned, but you. You can help me." 

At that, the short step the man had taken previously turned into a stride as he circled around the bed. Cole had both feet on top of the mattress in a second, intent on cutting over to the other side but a hand clasped around his wrist halted any significant plan of getting away. He should have moved faster, but what the sorcerer was planning, it had him stumped. His power didn't redirect energy, it made the earth shake. Sure, maybe plants grew around him, grass seemed to be greener in his presence, but that wasn't energy, that was just his element. That short moment of being lost in thought was a moment too much. 

He was dragged from the bed with a yelp, his back shoved sharply against the wall and the grip on his wrist tightened to a near bruising hold that made him grit his teeth against the pain. 

Acacius was hemming him in, more so than before. With the wall at his back there wasn't anywhere he could retreat to, and with the bed to his left and his captor looming too close to his right he was well and truly backed into a corner.

"Think about it," He hummed in a whispered tone, "With your power, you can move energy around more freely than I can. Maybe only to plant life and through the earth currently, but given time, you can learn to transfer it to me." Cole simply stared, was he really giving away what he was planning? That he just wanted more power, and a constant supply of it? That Cole could help with it and that was why he'd taken him? Why his powers were locked down with Vengestone instead of being drained away at the hands of this power hungry ancient being? 

Trapped where he was, listening to Acacius liking the sound of his own voice, Cole scoffed loudly in the face of the man who was standing far too close, far too in his personal space. It was uncomfortable and he wasn't a fan of being pulled around by his wrist and chains as if that was what it took to have a civilised conversation. There was no being civil about anything, so he wasn't going to be polite in return. There wasn't much that was going to stop him from throwing a wrench into his plans, being spoken down to was more than enough to develop a solid dislike of a person, though before he could say anything along the lines of no, that's never going to happen. You have about two days before my brothers find me and you, and then less than a week until you're imprisoned again. 

He had faith, and the speed of which they reacted to a situation increased tenfold when someone they cared about was in danger. 

"You're so beautiful." 

Cole froze in place, his eyes widening just a fraction at what he'd just heard. It was said with a quiet sigh, the warm puff of air just beside his face. He grimaced, pushing himself back into the wall to just try in vain to get further away from the man. The situation had taken a turn, a very dangerous turn. 

"... What?" He questioned, his voice carefully measured. It gave nothing away, though he was sure his eyes were being windows to his soul. He could feel the tenseness in his body, the rush of adrenaline through his muscles. 

Cole felt the grip that was latched around his wrist move down to his hand. His mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to figure out what he'd missed about his current circumstances. Usually prisoners were taken in order to give said person no other choice but to carry out the demands of their captor, or outright refuse and await rescue, whatever the repercussions may be. He had been taken prisoner because of his supposed complimentary power to the sorcerer, but he could clearly see that wasn't the whole story. Was this supposed affection the driving force behind everything, or was it all part of some larger plan in place? 

There must have been so much more to it, there had to be. 

Or maybe there wasn't. Maybe his powers and how they could apparently be used was the added bonus in this situation.

Cole took in a sharp breath, and solidified his gaze, "I don't care what you think, or what you want from having me here, but I'm not helping you with anything." He spat out. 

Acacius lent forward, his voice close enough to Cole's ear that he shuddered, leaning away as much as he could. He forced himself to remain calm, ignoring the man's advances in favour of staring at the door that was just left hanging open as if tempting something he couldn’t have. Outside, there seemed to be a corridor that went off in either direction, but even if he could get out of the sorcerer's hold, he still wouldn't be able to leave. Not with the chains. 

He really was counting on his brothers this time, placing faith in the fact that they would find out where he was, that they'd come barging in, breaking down the door and freeing him. He needed them to come in at that very moment. The silent hope that they'd walk in any second depleted as the seconds ticked by. 

"The great thing is, Cole, I don't need you to be okay with helping me increase my power." Acacius pulled back just a little, his solid eyes dancing slowly over Cole's face, as if looking for something, or waiting. 

"When we're married," He started, and Cole felt a lead weight drop down in his stomach, but before he could say anything against it, laugh, roll his eyes, lash out, anything at all, Acacius continued on as if what he was saying was completely normal. "I'll get to keep you all to myself. Your power will be mine to wield, and mine alone.” His voice was so carefully measured, “I don't need you to agree to my plans, I just need to keep you here for a few more days. What did you say, two days ? And your friends will be here? You'd better hope you're correct, my sweet." A thumb was stroked carefully over his cheek. 

Cole saw red in an instant, and closed in against a wall or not, mind still reeling and trying to take in and just compute what he'd just heard; he could work on instinct when everything else failed. Instinct brought a hand up, balled tightly into a fist and whilst the impact that was made between his knuckles and his captors nose wasn't anything to shout about, the clank of the chains being permeated by a shout of pain and what was hopefully the crack of cartilage was music to Cole's ears. 

The action was over before he'd even realised what he'd done, but the aftereffects were a sight. Acacius collected himself off the floor from where he'd fallen backwards, hands held resolutely over his face to presumably stem the blood flow and conceal a broken nose. 

Cole wasn't smiling though, his heart was racing, his teeth were clenched as he stepped closer to his captor. 

"My power isn't yours to use!" 

The Earth Master dropped down into a fighting stance, his gaze set on the sorcerer as he got up. Yet, when he stood up straight and moved his hand away from his face there wasn't the pouring line of red blood dripping from his nostrils that Cole had anticipated. It was black, flowing like ink from a quill, dripping off his chin and staining the floorboards below. Surprisingly, there was no anger in the man's eyes, just an unusual admiration and to Cole's disgust, a fondness that was now clearly at the surface. Teeth were bared in a small grin, the black blood staining his teeth when it found its way into his mouth. 

He'd fought worse enemies before, and he'd inevitably do it again in the future. This man… This thing, he would just be another name on an ever growing list. Cole tilted his head until his neck popped lightly, then clenched his knuckles until those joints followed suit. He was at a disadvantage, but he wasn't going to lose this fight. 

His anger just spiked sharply with every second they stared at each other. "You can't make me do anything. I'm not marrying anyone, I'm not helping you with your energy addiction and I'm not just going to sit back and do nothing!" 

Acacius seemed to be taking all the time in the world righting himself, starting with tugging on his waistcoat to flatten the crumples back down, to pulling a pure white handkerchief out of a hidden pocket to wipe at the black ooze still falling from his nose. It didn't do much, only serving to smear what was there, but he didn't seem too bothered by it, nor the blackened stains that had fallen onto his clothes. No, his attention was stoically set on Cole. 

He didn't take a step forward this time, almost as if he was treating his prisoner like a frightened animal, which he wasn't. Though he was fairly predisposed to fight back in an instant should he feel at all threatened. Cole hadn't moved out of his fighting stance, and wasn't going to any time soon. That was clear. 

"You must be pretty exhausted, with all this thinking and worrying." came the man's voice, softly spoken over the space that had formed between them. 

All that was gained in return was a raised eyebrow and a scowl.

Acacius spread his hands carefully, and Cole could have sworn that the man’s eyes seemed to flicker with an all too sudden yellow glow. 

There was a minute step closer, the sole of the sorcerer's shoes clicking against the wood as he said, "You don't want to fight me, perhaps some sleep will do you some good."

The effect was instant, the words… They seemed to resonate so deeply, cascade around the room in a reverberating wave until they met Cole's ears, crashing down and enveloping his mind in a sudden and palpable haze. 

His arms dropped from their defencive stand, hanging loosely down at his sides. His eyes followed suit, eyelids growing heavy in mere seconds, the drag of sleep so instant and all encompassing that he'd never felt such sheer levels of exhaustion in his life. 

It felt wrong. 

"What-- what did you do..?" Cole questioned, his words slurred and drawn out, his tongue heavy in his mouth. The question was quiet, whispered, and broken by a large yawn that came up from nowhere. 

He could feel his body shutting down, any drive to fight the man that was stepping closer had all but faded out of existence. He didn't want to fight, he could even keep his eyes open. All he wanted was to sleep. 

Cole's legs were the first to buckle, but he didn't hit the ground. Acacius was by his side in an instant, one arm weaved carefully around his waist to support his weight and keep him more or less upright. The other hand came to rest on the back of his head, guiding it until his cheek was resting against his captors shoulder as his eyes fluttered, his mind trying to force himself to stay awake. That small part, struggling to keep cognitive thought running through his sleep laden mind. 

"I just helped you, my sweet." Was the reply, the voice flowing past the fog in his head as if it wasn't even there, trying to keep wakefulness at bay. Acacius's voice was clear, perfectly so. The clearest thing in the whole room. "I can't have you worried, you see? Constantly alert for any opportunity to escape, ruining my plans, you don't want that, do you?" 

Cole finds himself tuning in to the sickly sweet voice, his head shaking in a silent no against the man's shoulder, before he caught himself, his mind snapping back to reality, but a second was enough to drive himself to speak around the forced slumber. 

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" there was a small breath, almost a laugh, but not quite there. The hand on his head moved lightly, fingers carding back and forth through his hair in a rhythmic fashion. Cole wanted nothing more than to reach up, drag the touch away and beat the guy until he was a blackened grease smear on the floor, but he couldn't make his body move. 

He could just feel it relax more and more, the tenseness of his muscles falling away as his body collapsed, resting fully against the sorcerers chest. 

"Sleep, my treasure.” The voice almost echoed around his head, the words blanketing, all-encompassing. “We will be wed before the week is done. You're safe here, this is the best place you could be." 

His eyes slipped closed, body slumping entirely in the man's hold, breathing slowed in the throes of the forced rest.

"Sleep."

Cole's mind finally gave in. 

-

[brokasteltranslations]

Fate/Requiem: Chapter 6

It had not been enough.

Nzambi had been wounded by my blow, but it had failed to destroy her Saint Graph. Beneath the soft surface of her body lurked an incredibly hard layer. My Freischütz had been allowed to pass through, but my axe had not.

She looked down at the glaring gash I had opened in her chest in irritation, then reached for one of the many hands dangling from her body. Then she tipped her head back, with her mouth agape like an anglerfish, slipped it between her teeth, and bit down hard. With a crunching of bones, the Command Seals faded from it – and from many of the other hands too, which crumbled into dust.

She's... eating them? Eating Command Seals?

With my foe preoccupied, I took advantage of the lull in the fighting to retrieve Koharu from the ground and retreat with her clutched in my arms. I made it back to where Pran was waiting, and turned to find that my foe's wound had closed entirely. Even her cape was as good as new, with no tear to be seen.

“Your nature eludes me, spellcaster. Though I understand those branches you wield, at least. The grasping claws of poor, vengeful souls. Rather fitting for you, I think.”

The desiccated hands dropped to the ground, one after the other.

“Still, I swore an oath to take care of any who fled through these gates, and take care of them I shall. That branch of yours is certainly bothersome... but I doubt it can save you from these.”

She gave no signal, but still the two war elephants advanced. They smashed two of the pillars standing in the hall with their foreheads, and then curled their mighty trunks around their toppled remains.

“Surely it can't...? Wah! It can!”

The pillar one of the beasts flung at me must have weighed several tons. With Koharu slumped on my shoulder, we just barely dodged out of the way. I had no idea that an elephant could be so dexterous.

The other took the signal to charge, wielding its pillar like a battering ram.

“I have no more interest in you. Perhaps I shall seek out that boy next. His dear little head would look wonderful dangling from my neck.” Nzambi stepped up to squat on one of the war elephants' trunks, and it obediently scooped her up onto its back. “Hm. Or perhaps he has gone and hidden himself away somewhere.”

We turned to run from the two advancing elephants, only to find our way blocked by more ranks of the walking dead.

“I'm... I'll be fine, Erice. Get the boy... away from here...” Koharu had come to. She stumbled a little at first without my support, but soon enough raised her sword once more and set to cutting down the advancing zombies. It was clear that she was on her last legs, but I had no choice but to hope that that would suffice.

With a magus' tactical thinking, she had already attempted to heal herself. Seven-tenths of her Command Seal had vanished from the back of her hand, but it would take more than that to repair the damage from her collision with the wall, and her right arm was in no better a state. Whatever that blade was that Nzambi had stabbed her with, it had been no ordinary weapon.

It must have damaged her magic circuit somehow. Oh, Koharu...

----

The war elephant's thunderous footsteps shook the floor as it lumbered toward us. Nzambi's voice echoed around the corridor from the beast's back.

“You should know very well, that outside of this citadel sprawls a kingdom of the dead.”

A 'kingdom of the dead'? I had no idea what she was talking about, but I could sense nothing. Perhaps if I were a proper Master, I would have more insight.

“All those who have tasted death become my children, and how very dear they are to me.”

“All those who have tasted death”? It took me a moment to comprehend the true scale of what she had said. Was she simply spouting nonsense in an attempt to break our spirits? Or could it be possible that the Servants here had been so easily overwhelmed, rendered incapable of marshalling their full power, because of Nzambi's sorcery?

“Although some are terribly forgetful. All I do is recall the memories of death that they have forgotten. Memento Mori, as they say. Come, Galahad. No more hiding behind a little girl's skirts. Face me like a knight, and let us see how you died.”

We were not so green as to fall for cheap taunts. I flashed Koharu a glance, and she responded wordlessly: she was not to undo her Possession if she could at all help it.

-

Suddenly the internal broadcast system flared to life, projecting Ms. Fujimura's voice around the arena.

“Code Crimson has been invoked. The barrier around the Colosseum interior has been deactivated. All survivors, proceed to the central battlefield.”

The barrier she referred to was the forcefield erected between the battlefield and the seats to ensure that no harm came to spectators during a match. Deactivating it was highly unusual.

The announcement played once more. I doubted that anyone else listening it would know the true significance of Code Crimson. I don't know about the rest of the announcement, but that bit must be a message for me. I touched a finger to my forelock, but my call went unheeded.

Where are you, Ms. Fujimura?

At that moment, my phone ringtone blared. Karin.

“Hey, Eri! You alive? Still in the stadium? Listen, I'm super sorry, but the kid gave me the slip! I'll seppuku myself later, okay?”

“Guess you get to live. Pran's with me.”

“He's what?!”

“Are you barricaded up over there?”

“Damn straight! We're holed up in an empty stable just next to the arena! Got quite a few other survivors with us, too, and some of the fighters are helping us hold out, but they're knockin' on our door! I'm not sure how much lo- Crap! Momi, left!”

I heard a muted crash through the speaker, like something colliding with an iron cage, followed by the trumpeting of an elephant. Hannibal's final remaining war elephant, most likely – probably alongside the man himself.

“That announcement just now was Caren's voice, right? Is everything okay? Can we trust it?”

“It's real. Can you get to the central arena from where you are?”

“I think so. The shutters are down, but we can blast our way through. Apparently we can use Noble Phantasms now.”

“Then do it! Before it's too late! I'll-” A muffled boom echoed through the speaker, followed by static, and then the line went dead.

I turned to Koharu. “Let's go. We need to get to the arena.”

“But my teammates might still... I mean, there could still be competitors there, and you've seen what they can do. It's as dangerous in there as it is out here. And what was that Code Crimson they mentioned?”

“It means you're going to get your wish.”

She gave a little noise of surprise. Apparently she had understood what I was getting at.

“I see. In that case, let me lead the way. I'm more familiar with the Colosseum.”

----

“A little late for directions, don't you think? How could heading further inside help you, anyway? Are you hoping to checkmate yourselves?”

Still squatted atop the elephant, Nzambi rested her head on a bored hand.

“A trap, of course. Not appealing at all. I would prefer to leave it for my children.”

Another charge, and, a few seconds later, another crash. The war elephants' advance upon us had reduced the artistic interior of the hall to rubble. Zombies seemed to spring out of every nook and cranny, reaching for us with grasping hands.

I followed Koharu's lead, desperately trying to keep myself and Pran from harm.

-

Midway through our flight, Koharu stopped and turned. It was her turn to shout a taunt at our pursuers.

“Come, proud allies of Hannibal! Have you mistaken that woman for your master? I see how you strain under her yoke. Allow me to end your suffering!”

Nzambi's eyebrows knotted in irritation. “Such ignorance. These kind souls were stolen from their forest homes to watch their comrades die on the battlefield. Do you truly think you can appeal to their better nature?”

She stood up on the elephant's back and levelled her sword at Koharu.

“Enough of this. I shall crush you and be done with it.”

With a bellowing bray, the war elephants charged straight for Koharu. The knight stood waiting, sword clutched firmly in hand.

-

I hardly dared to look as the two collided with a violent crash... and then there was silence. The first thing Pran and I could make out was the beams of sunlight streaming into the corridor through the rising cloud of dust. The impact of their clash had torn a hole in the wall, opening the corridor to the open stadium in the middle of the Colosseum. The enormous battlefield lay before us once more.

Nzambi had leapt from her perch a second before the collision, and alighted before us without a care in the world for the destruction around her. The bellowing of the elephants was distant now, and I spared a moment's pity for the poor zombies who must have been blown far and wide by the blast.

-

“So this is the Holy Lance, hm? A child this young?” Nzambi peered at the boy as she spoke.

“You'll find out soon enough.”

I ushered him behind me. At that moment, Koharu appeared over her shoulder, streaking toward her like a bolt of azure lightning.

Nzambi deflected the strike with a nonchalant swing of her blade, sending the tall knight flying. It was almost as though she'd seen it coming.

Dammit! Koharu!

She struck hard against the interior wall once more, but this time slid to the ground as two separate figures: the girl Koharu, and the knight Galahad. Her Possession had come undone; likely, it had been unable to bear the damage she had accrued. From the look of him, Galahad had hardly escaped unscathed either.

“Perhaps a Heroic Spirit from the future, drawn here from the Throne?” Nzambi closed on Pran. “No, I cannot imagine so. Well, whatever the case, any Heroic Spirit must know death. My knife will tell me true. What do you say, little golden child? Shall we spill your guts and find out how you died?”

What do I do? I've got to buy time somehow... but how?

If Nzambi's gaze turned to Galahad and she elected to turn him into one of her zombies, I doubted we could escape with our lives. My best bet was to draw her attention to Pran, but...

Before the notion could fully occur to me, I was running. I bound my 'branches' together into a blade - a shortsword, simple, fast and accurate – and planted myself firmly in front of her. I was well aware that my weapon could harm the boy I wanted to protect just as easily as my enemy: a quite literal double-edged sword.

“I won't let you near him!”

“Do you mind? I thought I had said I was done with you.”

Nzambi's blade – her enormous knife – and my branch-sword clashed, and locked together.

“He's...” I swung my blade upward, placing my trust in the techniques he had once taught me. “Dammit, he's my Servant!”

My foe easily batted the blow aside. “I think not. You are nothing but a spellcaster, and I know your kind well. Magi, spellcasters - miserable creatures all, caring only for their own gain, and nothing for the lives of others. It is the value you see in this child that makes you so desperate, nothing more.”

I knew that better than anyone, but... but!

“He's my Servant! I don't care if he's useless!”

“Hahaha! So tell me, would you make him a toy to satisfy your affections? How cruel, how cruel! How do you expect someone useless to take pride in themselves?”

“Then let me be alone! It's all I need!”

At this close a range, it was impossible to muster as much force as my axe could. The crushing weight behind Nzambi's swing forced me back, and my blade began to come undone. The recoil sent one of its constituent branches lashing backwards, coming close to striking Pran. I immediately retracted my blade. My own defence was nothing compared to what would happen if that touched him.

“...Nngh...”

Seeing their prey snatched away before their very eyes, the evil spirits' anger swelled. Gore sprayed as I began to lose control over the defiled blood they inhabited. Black blood oozed from the countless wounds their wrath opened across my body, even from behind my eyeballs, and dripped to the floor, defiling this sacred battleground.

“Well now. It seems that if you do not satisfy that loathsome branch's hunger for spirits, it will devour you instead.”

“So... what?” None knew that better than I. My Erlkönig and my Freischütz, of which only a few bullets now remained, were not tools that would blithely heed my command. They were evil spirits in their purest form, and they were always watching for an opportunity to turn against their master. But even so...

“You'll never touch him!”

“Pitiful. I can hardly watch. Even the child has better sense than you.”

Nzambi leapt forward to plant both hands on the ground, then, with her body still in midair, uncoiled her legs like a spring to land a devastating kick in my abdomen. If there had been any air left in my lungs, I would have screamed. The blow sent me flying, bouncing across the dirt floor of the arena. One of my ribs cracked from the impact, and I fought for breath.

As I lay sprawled, I suddenly felt the entire arena shake violently. The roar of an explosion rolled from the other side of the Colosseum. I heard clamouring voices, collapsing walls, sustained gunfire, shouts and screams. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I thought I heard Karin's voice.

Through the earth, I heard the confused hubbub of battle.

-

My eyeballs were blocked with clotted blood, and sheer agony had rolled them back into my head. I forced them into place with my fingers and tried to struggle to my feet.

Before me stood Nzambi, with her knife to Pran's chest.

I have to stop her.

My fingers clawed furrows through the dirt as I dragged myself onward, seeking him.

Praying that there existed something in this world so pure that it must not, could not be tarnished. Praying that there existed something in this world even the omnipotence of the Grail could not replace.

If not, how was I ever to move forward?

-

“You don't seem to fear me, boy. Why is that?”

The child gazed silently back up into Nzambi's crimson eyes.

“You aren't a snake.”

He gently set his fingertip to the point of her blade.

“So I'm not scared of you.”

“...What?” Nzambi warily made to withdraw her knife, only to find it stuck fast. “Is that... It's cracking?! What have you...?!”

A white-hot glow spread across the outlandish blade from the child's finger. It flared fiercely for a moment, and then burst apart.

----

After a moment, the heat and light receded enough that I could make out Pran standing alone. He sank to his knees, then collapsed to the ground, as though all strength had been drained from his tiny body.

Where's Nzambi? I can't see her!

The dusk-skinned woman had vanished without a trace. I reached out with my senses, seeking. Perhaps she had temporarily relinquished her physical body and returned to her transparent spiritual form? That would present its own dangers, but in any case, it seemed that for now we had one fewer threat to worry about.

Galahad approached the boy, taking care to keep his own two swords as far away from him as possible. Koharu, now a young girl once more, staggered to where I lay huddled on the ground. She winced with pain, but bore it bravely.

“Erice! She's... She's here! The Stigmata!”

“Finally... She's here... with Lucius...”

-

As though a dam had burst, a wave of berserk Servants and resurrected corpses rolled across the open arena.

The pair entered from the upper seats far above, where they had a commanding view of the sorry state of the arena. He took a moment to survey the scene below him and then quite literally flew down the gentle curve of the outer wall. She lay clutched in his arms, clad in her ever-present black sailor uniform.

The great cape that fluttered from his shoulders was dyed in his colour: the purest, deepest red.

-

Code Crimson, it was called. The scarlet summons.

Its red was not the red of danger. It was the red of Rome. Of the proud battle standard of the Roman army, and their patron, Mars.

The Grail had build a thousand-year empire, and the cries of the populus called its defenders to their posts.

Now they had come, those defenders of the peace, and they would do their duty.

Manazuru Chitose, the Stigmata – and at her side, Lucius Longinus, the Holy Lance. They had answered the call.

-

“I'm sorry I'm late. The train was delayed, but we came as fast as we could.”

Chitose did not sound particularly apologetic as she alighted gently on the floor of the arena.

“I seem to recall doing most of the legwork.” Lucius responded, a little peeved.

“Well, of course you did. I worked up a fine sweat dealing with that mess in Shinjuku. Even the best of us need a break once in a while.”

Chitose's Command Seals shone dully even as the pair bickered. These were no cheap imitations; they were true Command Seals, of the old world. These four arcane symbols were what had earned her the moniker of the Stigmata.

-

Recognising what that light signified, the Servants around her flocked to her. Perhaps, with their minds lost, they behaved no differently to startled beasts... or perhaps even in their berserk state, their warrior's instincts acknowledged her as a worthy foe.

She spotted the pocket of resistance among her enemies – a rag-tag group of surviving citizens and Servants who still maintained their sanity – and called out to them in a voice that carried easily across the battlefield.

“Make your way around to me! Lucius and I will deal with them!”

----

Those words presaged a massacre.

In one hand, Lucius readied a greatshield summoned from nothingness; in the other, he gripped his crimson spear. Roman soldier and Master stood back-to-back, cutting down their enemies faster than I could follow. “Overwhelming” barely seemed fit to describe the sheer power that accompanied each flourish of the Holy Lance.

-

This was the might of the champion who had emerged from the Holy Grail War. Lucius Longinus, the centurion who met his fate atop the hill of Calvary. The Lancer of the Seven Heroic Spirits. The strongest Servant, who had stood victorious atop the melee of the Holy Grail War and delivered its prize to Chitose's hands.

No matter how illustrious the heroes whose souls they reflected, the Heroic Spirits of Mosaic City were but pale shades before his majesty.

-

We retreated warily, careful of our surroundings. Even as we distanced ourselves from the unfolding bloodbath, Koharu's gaze remained locked on the battle.

“Did you see that... Erice? That... That strike? What are those... on her hands and feet? Are those... Black Keys?”

It was little surprise that she was so fascinated. Chitose took neither the Black Keys nor Gandr for her weapon. This display of violence, so unbefitting of a magus, was something particular to her.

“They're called Sacri Clavi. They're replicas of the nails used to pin the Messiah to the cross...”

Or more simply Holy Nails: a conceptual weapon imbued with the concept of “binding”, born from the Command Seals adorning each of her four limbs. With every strike, square iron nails briefly manifested around her limbs to skewer her enemies, wicked and indomitable. An empty-handed pile bunker.

“Or so Lucius told me once. You wouldn't believe how hopeless she is at teaching anyone anything useful.”

“Holy... Nails?” Koharu shivered. She seemed nothing short of awestruck by this living legend.

But I doubt she herself is so pleased.

I knew Chitose would regard this battle as her greatest shame. She had been forced to acknowledge the breakdown of the city's peace and personally take up arms against its people and their Servants. It was grim work, and she would not have undertaken it gladly.

She had tried to safeguard against this possibility by distancing me from my work, but it hadn't been sufficient. An outside enemy had appeared in Mosaic City, and its arrival had been a long time in coming.

----

Finally the wave of chaos began to recede, and I managed to regroup with Karin. Usually she would greet me with a cheerful grin or by chiding me for my carelessness when I returned from a job, but this time she could only blanch at the sight of our injuries. If Pran had been in the same sorry state, she might have fainted on the spot. However, fortunately there wasn't so much as a scratch on him, and the sight of him – seemingly in an entirely different world to his surroundings, as usual - seemed to relieve her immensely.

That wasn't enough to excuse him from a furious telling-off, though. He looked a little shell-shocked as he stood next to a wounded and bloody Kouyou.

-

The wings of the battlefield had been transformed into a temporary evacuation point, and the air was heavy with exhaustion and that uneasy relaxation that takes the place of terror once it recedes. People huddled together in anxious groups, rejoicing to find each other safe and well, finally contacting family and friends. A group of pigs raced past me, squealing shrilly. Pigs? What on earth are pigs doing here?

Of the competitors I had seen earlier onscreen, I spotted at least Minamoto Yoshitsune and her Master having escaped infection. The young samurai stood a little way from the rest in her own corner of the battlefield, attracting uneasy gazes as she stacked her collection of severed heads into an enormous pile.

-

Hannibal was the last Servant to fall before Chitose and Longinus' unstoppable onslaught. Koharu watched his end herself, unable to do anything for him but witness his final moments. She fell to her knees in the spot where the Holy Lance had pierced him through, and heaved a heavy sigh.

Yoshitsune and her master stood at her shoulder, and after a moment offered some words of consolation. I had no words I could offer her; only the regrets welling up within me, as they always did.

-

Chitose had contacted the Caren Series in the other wards and was in the process of confirming the situation there. Koharu occasionally glanced at her from afar as she revealed that she had come to a decision.

“We can't allow this Nzambi to wander Mosaic City as she wishes. I will contact the rest of House Riedenflaus and set to work pursuing her. She certainly left no small amount of promising evidence behind. We should start by identifying her Master...”

Karin did a double-take. “You're going to what? Now?! Let yourself rest for five minutes, sheesh!”

“Hm? Very well. It has been so long since my last fox-hunt.” The latter dubious encouragement came from none other than her own partner, Galahad. What was he trying to accomplish with that?

I tried to talk her down as logically as I could. “Koharu, think for a minute. If you push yourself in your current state, you might never use magecraft again.”

“Then I will no longer be a magus.”

I struggled for a response in the face of such foolhardiness... but fortunately Lucius had arrived, and he understood her on a deeper level than I.

“I know you regret not being able to save your comrades, Riedenflaus, but it would mean nothing to chase this Servant alone. Now that we know her true name and capabilities, we can put together a proper plan.”

“The Roman's right, Koharu. Right now, you and Erice need to be focusing on not being half-dead. You yourself said this Nzambi wasn't even hurt, for goodness sake!” Karin's concern was plain to see.

Koharu sank into thought. I knew full well that she had thrown everything she had into facing Nzambi, and yet it had not been enough. In the end, it had been the woman she respected more than anyone else who had needed to clean up her mess. She doubtless felt that she had shamed herself and her dead comrades both.

It was her Servant's interjection that snapped her out of her fugue. “Let the little lady do what she wants. You don't have any right to be lecturing her about anything, Longinus.”

“Sir Galahad, I see. Just what are you defending? Look around you. Do you feel nothing, to look at this awful scene?”

-

“That will do, both of you.” Just as Koharu's fury with Galahad's arrogance was about to hit boiling point, Chitose returned from her inspection of the evacuees. “The situation is still in flux. You should be using your brains to plan, not to bicker. What’s more, I still can't seen to get in contact with Caren. Caren Fujimura of Akihabara, I mean.”

“I wonder what's wrong... The city's normal functions are currently paralysed, aren't they? Could that be because of the failure of an administrative AI?” Koharu ventured hesitantly.

She shrugged. “Not possible. She's alive, that much I know.”

Ever since the breakout of the infection, the entire Akihabara ward had been thrown into a state of chaos. An emergency team should have long since been dispatched to the Colosseum, but there was no sign of them. Interpersonal communications were still down, too; the best we could manage was expending Command Seals to communicate via magecraft.

None of it pointed anywhere good.

“We know she's got to be somewhere in the Colosseum. I'll go look for her.”

“I'll go with y-”

“You stay here, Karin. You and Kouyou need to take care of the wounded.”

I flashed her a smile to try and salve her worries, and suppress my own fears. Chitose wordlessly gave the go-ahead.

“Wait.” The child called out, but not to me. Rather, to someone I never would have expected.

“Chitose. I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me what?”

“A dog called to me. A black one.”

He's still going on about that dog? I was sure that Chitose would laugh it off... but instead she froze. Her confident smile had never faltered, even while surrounded by enemies a few minutes before, but now it was nowhere to be seen.

“It said to tell you something.”

“A black dog... And what did this dog say?”

“That death had come for you.”

[justjessame]

Avery Emerson Clay: Daddy's Little... Taser Zapper

Jake helped me undress, unwind, and take a very slow shower. Instead of waiting to talk it over after the shower, he brought it up while hosing off the first layers of dust.

“I know that I get pissed at sparring dummies because of those smug expressionless faces they have,” he offered, his fingers untangling my braid and working shampoo through the strands. “I mean where do they get off, with their no eye having asses?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Yeah, and they can’t even talk back.” I leaned back, letting the shower stream flow over my face, giving me a reprieve and cleaning it free of dust and sweat. When I straightened up, I opened my eyes to see him waiting, watching me carefully. “I was pissed off at my dad.” I considered those words, my words. “I AM pissed off at my dad.” I wasn’t seeing red, not right now, but Dad wasn’t in front of me, Jake was. And Jake was naked, so I was in a different frame of mind.

Jake reached around me for the soap and a washcloth he’d brought into the shower with us. Lathering the terry cloth up, he was taking the time to gauge his words, by the time the cloth was soapy and ready to touch my skin so was he. “Because of the Op?” He started at my shoulders and neck, since I’d managed to clear my face on my own. I relaxed into his ministrations, letting him take care of me while I explained why I was angry enough to lose my shit on an inanimate dummy.

I told him all the reasons I’d seen red, literally. Why I went off and beat the high holy fuck out of a dummy, getting stuffing all over myself and the gym and forcing him to come play babysitter.

“Babysitter?” His lips quirked into a smile at the term. “You think your mom called me to babysit you?” He’d finished washing all the parts of me that had been coated in stuffing, but that left some of my more personal parts untouched and neglected. Jake’s hands, which he’d been keeping carefully above the waist while we worked on my issues, started to slither lower, reminding me of Jake Jensen’s ability to prove he had game when the time was right. “I’m pretty damn sure that your mom would NEVER hire me as your babysitter, Avery.” He pulled lightly on my waist and then our mouths were together and I forgot all about Dad and the stupid Operation.

We were dressed and walking back to the kitchen for something to eat when I heard the reminder that we weren’t in a bubble without rage triggers. Jake’s fingers were still linked with mine, which probably helped keep the flare of anger from growing to a full roar.

“Avery Emerson,” did Daddy always greet me with my first and middle names? Was this a new thing or was it normal? “I heard that you made a mess in the gym.”

“Don’t worry,” I moved carefully to the refrigerator to pull one of Rose’s pre-made meals from the freezer to reheat for Jake and I. Good luck getting a meal out of me, Daddy Dearest. “I plan on cleaning it up right after Jake and I eat.”

Dad grunted and I read the instructions that Rose had taped to the container twice, just to allow myself extra time to ignore him. Preheating the oven meant that there would be time to kill, which in a Dadless kitchen could mean extra Jake nudity, but as I looked up from the stove I saw that Dad was in it for the long haul. Shit.

“I think that you and I still have a few things to iron out, Avery.” Don’t roll your eyes, don’t sigh, and don’t throw something heavy at him. Weakness, remember? I nodded and took a seat beside Jake, which had Dad’s eyes narrowing. “Your brother isn’t completely sure where this Max might make the move, which means that you are going to have to be more available.”

“More available?” I tilted my head. “Should I wear a sign that says ‘Take me, I’m bait’?” I was baiting my father, dangerous, but honestly, what the fuck? “I can’t go into GI more often, Dad, the court frowns on that, since it’s the ‘scene of the crime’ and all.” I was using air quotes. I was three beats from rolling my eyes. I was wondering where the fuck my mom was.

“You can go in if I send you in with documents,” loopholes, I nearly snorted. Dad was utilizing loopholes to get me kidnapped. “And we aren’t just thinking of GI.” I waited, thinking that I’d better not test him with another bout of daydreaming. “You jog at least twice a week off property, kick it up to three times.” Great, I hated to fucking jog. There was a reason I only did it twice a week. “Start shopping more. You’re an heiress, sweetheart, start acting the part.” Did I imagine the shift of his eyes to Jake when he called me an heiress? Was he actually playing the fucking class card? For fuck’s -

I felt Jake’s fingers tighten on my thigh so I didn’t speak, or at least I didn’t say what first came to mind, which shocked Daddy, I think. “Fine.” I exhaled, and nearly cheered when the stove announced that the oven was ready. “Let me get this put in the oven and we’ll hash out my new schedule.” I knew I sounded exactly like a child who just learned that they had piano lessons added when they hated the piano, but damn it, I really hated this entire fucking idea.

We ate, I gave in and gave Daddy a portion after he admitted that Mom had been called away to one of her charity luncheons. Clay and Aisha were off on their own, Pooch was in the pool house probably hooked up and connecting with his little family, and Cougar was doing whatever Cougar did when left to his own devices. It seemed that Daddy was given the task of putting Avery to rights. Yay.

“Shopping like a Hilton,” I muttered, once lunch was finished and I’d put the dishes in the dishwasher and Jake wiped up the crumbs. Dad had gone off to his home office while Jake was still with me. He wrapped his arms around me as I sighed and leaned back. We could look out over the pool and backyard, where puppies were relaxing and cats were sunbathing. “Jogging even when I hate sweating,” his chuckle ruffled my hair. “And errands into an office that I no longer have an office in, thanks to my temper.” My hands covered his and I was sorely tempted to leave the gym for tomorrow, but that wouldn’t work, because Rose would be back to work and she’d by some extra sense sniff out the mess and clean it up for me. “I have a mess to clean up.”

“WE have a mess to clean up,” Jake insisted, and took my hand and walked with me back to the scene of the massacre.

As we worked, vacuuming up the loose filler first, then sweeping up the crap that wasn’t easily gripped by the vacuum, I tried to understand my dad’s attitude. Why was he acting so weird about Clay being home, and bringing his team with him?

“And that bit about me being an HEIRESS?” I was shoving the larger bits of Mr. Sparsnomore into an industrial strength lawn and garden garbage bag as I muttered darkly about my dad’s shortcomings. “What was that all about?”

Jake snorted, causing my head to pop up and our eyes to meet over the length of the mat. When he saw my confusion he chuckled and shook his head, but I was no less confused. “You really don’t get it?” I shook my head right back at the broad shouldered dork. “How often do you have a guy you’re openly sleeping with staying in the house, Avery?” My eyes were narrowed at the question. The answer was rarely, if ever, but he didn’t wait for me to answer. “Better yet, a guy you tell your entire family you plan on having very aggressive sex with minutes after leaving their company, under the same roof, that happens to be a guest who is staying in the guest room NEXT to your bedroom?”

I was going to shrug it off, tell this adorably awkward, yet truly naive hottie that he was beyond wrong. I mean, MY dad, the man who basically screwed my mother over the entire property we stood on, in fact, I was pretty sure he might have had Mom pinned against this poor dead dummy at one point or another, if I strained my memory banks I bet I had that one hidden in there, was going to go full prude with ME?

“Don’t even think of saying I’m wrong, Avery,” he was grinning and I bit my lip because even when he was being obnoxious about being right he was pretty damn sexy. “I have a sister, remember? And while my parents aren’t quite as tuned into what we were up to, my dad was super fucking weird when she started dating. More so when the guys started being around the house.”

I considered what he was saying. Aside from Mom, Dad, and Clay, I was the private one. I kept my personal life under wraps, and BEHIND CLOSED FUCKING DOORS. So Jake was a first, in that they actually met him. And I HAD sort of insinuated that I’d planned on maybe tying him up. Shit. Damn it. Jake crawled over the still slightly grubby floor and kissed my nose. “It’s ok, I’m not scared off.”

[johnny3finger]

Ch.1 of my book Anemone Blue! Please read if you’ve got the chance, I could really use the critiques on this. What works? What doesn’t? Hope you enjoy!

Anemone Blue:

A picture is worth a thousand words, but a thousand words will never be worth a photo’s eternity, I thought to myself, imagining I was some great, famous photographer being interviewed. It was true though, my little quote I mean, a memory could be retold forever but slowly be morphed, while a photo has the ability to show you the moment... forever.

1

I couldn’t help but ignore the monotone lecture about summer photos coming from Mr. Aberdale’s mustache hidden mouth, and instead stared at the cemetery across the road, it always seemed like the spirits were calling out for me to watch them through their mossy stones. School was finally almost out for summer, and it was only minutes before the halls were going to become a zoo of students. To pass the time, I decided to take one final, longing look at the classroom around me. Of course it still looked the same, and of course I’d see it all again next year, but it’s different knowing you’ll never be in that exact moment ever again. The leaves would still sway in the humid June heat, the clock would still tick and tock asynchronously, the cream colored walls would still crack and peel, but never again would it be the exact same.

The bell rang, and just like that, my junior year had ended. Everybody pushed, shoved, and stomped their way out every door, ready to inhale that sweet smell of summer freedom, the smell of fresh cut grass and hot air. I eagerly crammed my things into my bag and rushed to join the hallway mosh pit, I made my way down the stairs of the two story school, squirming between classmates, and made my way towards the main lobby. Cycling through what summer things I’d be doing, I was struck with sudden realization, Oh crap! I’ve gotta meet the crew out front for our group picture! I was so tied up in the freedom fever that I had entirely forgotten about my favorite part of the year, the “Forever-Together Photo”. A stupid name sure, but my best friend Clancy came up with it, so it was the sentiment I liked, as well as taking pictures with everyone. It became tradition back in fifth grade, that at the beginning and the end of every school year, all of my friends would all gather together in front of the school and take a group picture together, to capture the memory forever.

I walked through the student infested double doors and made my way toward our usual spot in front of the school’s sign, “Bowy County High School” it read. Halfway there with the sign in sight, I hear a familiar voice call out to me from behind me, “Hey Connor, wait up!” I pause, and turn around to see nothing but a big wig of ginger curls and round spectacles bobbing up and down towards me, “Dude, dude, dude! This summer is going to be so awesome like you don’t even know! Not only is the ‘Galactic Bounty Hunter 3’ movie coming out, I also just got the new ‘Cosmic Crusaders’ comic too, and from what I’ve heard at the comic shop, this time they fight Doctor Shade, and it’s gonna be the fight of the century! Like this fight has literally been hyped up so much!” Clancy Armstrong, my best friend since way back in kindergarten, and I still had never met a nerdier, geekier, nor a more ginger kid than him. Once we finally caught up, I asked if he had any big summer plans, “Yeah, I guess you could say so, that movie is gonna be a pretty cool summer story,” He restated. He then paused in realization, and you could see the lightbulb in his head glow brighter than his red curls,“You should tag along with me to see the movie! Maybe we can even get the whole crew together, I mean I know Paris doesn’t like to openly talk about ‘nerdy’ stuff but I'm sure she’d love it, Taylor can crack jokes, Sarah can do her thing, and you and I can make our signature ‘chocopop’ bucket! What do you say?” His freckled cheeks curled into an excited and eager smile.

Before I could even return a response to him, almost as if on cue, everyone else appeared out of the front double doors and made their way to us. Taylor was prophesying his future while Sarah and Paris only pretended to listen. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m gonna try shooting some more hoops than usual this summer, to practice you know? I’m gonna go pro one day, and when I do, you guys will think I’m the coolest guy around. Nobody’s gonna stop me.” Their only response was a unanimous eye roll followed by a sigh. Taylor Buckley was always talking about sports, himself, and his future, even back when we met. I remember it vaguely, but we were gym partners all of third grade, we got along so great because we both had the same sense of humor, that, “joke about doing some disturbing action, but never actually do it,” kind of humor. He was definitely proficient at basketball all jokes aside, maybe not as good as his egotistical attitude defines, but a good player for sure. He had been playing on the school’s team since sixth grade, the Bowy Bulls, with ‘Bucky the Bull’ as their mascot.

“All you do is play basketball, you know there’s more to life than slapping balls around Taylor.” Paris smuggly crossed her arm and whipped her hair in comedic triumph. Paris Harper was the it girl, she had it all, wits, looks, personality, attitude, you name it, she was like a ‘mary sue’ in real life, I honestly couldn’t believe how perfect she seemed when we first met versus how diverse of a person she actually is now that I’ve known her for some years. “Ohhh wow, you should know a lot about slapping balls Paris, I bet you know the whole football team by last name!” Taylor sneered while Paris flipped her hair again, now in playful disdain. Her hair shimmered like a tree in autumn, with brown leaves layered in gold, like a setting sun.

Of course she’d never do something lewd like that, but with looks like hers, you build a reputation. That was the main reason she started hanging out with our ‘crew’ in the first place, we were the few good people left who didn’t judge her based on rumors, her worst years were freshman year, it was a new rumor every month, getting more heinous each time, it’s a miracle she never moved away. I looked over at Sarah, and like usual, she was nose deep in her sketchbook concocting some sort of new outfit, “What are your plans this summer Sarah?” I asked. Her eyes, bluer than any tide, contrasting her sunshine hair, looked up for just a second in acknowledgement, then shrugging her shoulders, and finally looking back into her little world, “Nothing really, some new drawings and stuff, I might buy some new pencils, but that’s probably about it,” She muttered. Sarah was the quietest of the group, very soft spoken and always minding her own, usually with a pencil in hand. I’d never admit it, but while everyone else had a thing for Paris, I always thought Sarah was just something...better. We met at the beginning of fourth grade, she was “the new girl”, from Maryland. I complimented one of her drawings, which was rightfully deserved, it was a green dragon wrapped around a victorian castle, with each detail of the brick and every scale of the dragon carefully inked onto the page, definitely a talent only learned through practice, you could see the callus on her finger from holding the pen, and i’ve liked her ever since.

The school lot was finally emptying, clear enough to at least have some form of law and order, “Hey, let’s take this picture guys,” I said over my shoulder as I set my tripod in front of the school’s sign, which was newly decorated with some kind of new, blue flowers. They all clustered in front of the sign, shuffling in and out of each other’s way so they could all be seen. Just like the flowers, everyone began to fill in for the photo, Taylor sported and flashed the team’s maroon and yellow jersey like he was representing a gang or trying to make a hit album cover, Sarah quietly held her sketchbook to her chest, while Paris was striking some dramatic pose on top of the ledge. Clancy, with perfect comedic timing, took his place smack in the middle of the sign, laying under the lettering like he’s in front of a romantic fireplace, it was the perfect centerpiece to bring us all together. We all chuckled a little, and I took a peek at them through the camera lens. I only thought about how so much time had passed by already and it felt bittersweet. It felt like it was just yesterday that everyone was at the park with each other, doing what little kids do. Now yet another year has passed, everybody is finding something to do, and everyone is growing up. I couldn’t help but wonder where that left me.

I set the timer and scuffled to an open spot next to Taylor, perfectly completing our quintet with Clancy being the majestic, cheeto-haired centerpiece. After the camera flash, I stumbled to grab it in my half blindness. Once adjusting to the world again, I looked at our masterpiece and thought, this one’s a keeper. A lovely photo complemented with lovely blue flowers, “the picture looks good guys, now what?” I inquired, lifting my head up to see everyone’s expression, as if it would tell me the answers. We all looked at each other, thinking that somehow it would sprout an idea, and like a switched bulb, Clancy perked up and chimed, “Hey, do you guys want to go see the new ‘Galactic Bounty Hunter’ movie? I mean it’s the third one, and I don’t know if you guys even like it, but I’m sure you would and I can fill you in on what happened in the other two on the way there or something. I know the movies inside and out, I’m sure you’ll love it!” I had no problem with seeing the movie, I never really got into the series myself, but I did want to spend some time together as a group. “It seems like a pretty good idea, it comes out in like what, two days?” I asked. Eager with excitement, Clancy piped, “Yeah, it comes out this Friday, if we ask tonight if we can see it, and plan it out tomorrow, we’ll be all set to go on Saturday.” With everyone nodding in half agreement, we all pondered his ‘masterful’ plan. “I’m down to see it, there might be cute girls working concessions or something.” Of course, convince Taylor there would be a cute girl and he’ll do anything. “Like they’d even want your baby face, those girls could probably be your babysitters. I kinda wanna see the movie, but not really, I mainly want to go so I can watch casanova over here get turned down in cold blood. I’m in.” Paris teased Taylor some more, and with the majority of people on board, there was only one left. “Sarah? You wanna go?” Still lost in her little world of art, she let out a soft “yeah, sure”, and kept on drawing, as if it was all she could do.

“Awesome! Let’s meet at the fortress tomorrow around noon and we can plan, this was like, the fastest we’ve ever made plans!” Clancy was more energetic than ever about this plan, which makes sense I guess, we’re probably the closest people to him, so doing something with all of us must mean a lot. “Stop calling it ‘the fortress’ dude, it’s getting kinda lame,” remarked Taylor, though his comment went ignored amongst everyone’s excitement. With big plans underway, we all couldn’t wait to get home, the bike racks were practically calling our name. I couldn’t get the thought of those flowers by the school sign out of my head though, “Hey you guys go on ahead, I’m gonna take a picture real fast,” I told them while I was already headed towards the front sign, almost as if I was being controlled. Everyone else started making their way towards the bike rack, but I couldn’t help but just be infatuated with the color and the presence of those flowers. Their petals looked smoother and softer than any fine silk i’d ever seen, and the shade of blue popped like it had its own spotlight. I creeped in closely, raising my camera ever so gently as to not disturb its photogenic quality... and took the most mediocre photo I had ever seen, can’t win them all.

Hustling my way back to the group before I was left behind, I noticed the sky had become a beautiful purple and pink sunset, perfect for a photo. “Hey Connor, you should totally take a picture of the sky right now, it’s so pretty! It’s probably competition worthy or something!” Clancy kept pointing out the colors of the sky, then pretending to be an overzealous photographer, making frames with his hands and spouting nonsense phrases like ‘ok show me angry’ and ‘oh yes, work it’. I chuckled, but as beautiful as the view was, there was no way a plain old sky photo would make it into a grand gallery, it wouldn’t even make it into a gallery of mediocre photos. Eventually arriving, there sat a neat array of colored bikes neatly lined, many of their colors now a cloudy haze of what they used to be. We said our goodbyes into the night, and donned our “steel horses”, as Clancy jokingly referred to them as, and rode off, into a dimming street; by myself yet again.

[ordinaryschmuck]

Top 20 BEST Animated Series of the 2010s-16th Place

All aboard the hate train! Because I’m about to say a show people would put in their top tens where it hasn't even made my top fifteen!

CHOO-CHOO!

#16-Regular Show (2010-2017)

The Plot: Two twenty-something slackers named Mordecai and Rigby are working in a local park named...The Park (Yeah, it’s a pretty lazy title when you think about it). When they’re not doing work, they’re usually slacking off by playing video games and hanging out as best bros should. However, amongst their sacred duty to avoid work at all costs, these two friends learn the ordinary isn’t as regular as one would think. Can they survive whatever life throws at them without getting fired? Judging by the number of seasons this show got...probably.

One thing I should mention right away is that this series was the perfect show for teenagers...and the occasional stoned college student. But teenagers, most of all! Or at the very least, teenagers in late middle school and early high school. And when I say that, I don’t mean that Regular Show panders to teens by using slang or sexy women (most of the time), but it at least knows how to talk to them. And it all has to do with the situations Mordecai and Rigby find themselves in.

Aside from when Mordecai and Rigby are forced to fight demons and monsters, any teen can relate to what Mordecai and Rigby go through in Regular Show. Most teens wish to escape responsibilities to play video games or to just goof off. And the lengths that Mordecai and Rigby go through to make that happen helps the target audience root for them. Teens can also relate to the personal issues Mordo and Rigs face. Rigby often struggles with growing up and trying to become a better person. He often comes across as annoying at times, but his attempts to change are both admirable and even relatable. Then there’s Mordecai, who faces something more dangerous than any monster these guys have met: Relationship issues (and also self-doubt, but it’s the relationship issues that the show focuses more on).

Now I know that I’ve complained about romantic subplots in the past and that for some fans, the romance was what dragged this series down as well, but I personally think the romantic subplots are one of the best things about the show. Mordecai’s struggles to have/keep a girlfriend is something that most guys (and maybe even some girls) can relate to. And while I would rather have the show focus more on his self-doubt rather than relationship drama, there is still the essence of self-doubt as seen through how he struggles with making the first move with a girl. The best example of this is in the episode “It’s Time," where Mordecai keeps chickening out to ask out Margret and ends up paying the consequences for it. The self-doubt is still there, but it’s just hidden under romantic drama. However, there is a love triangle, but it lasts no more than just a season-long and is completely tame compared to Star V.S. the Forces of Evil.

And while Regular Show primarily focuses on Mordecai’s love life, there are still other relationships in the show that manage to also be pretty entertaining. I legitimately love the fact that Muscle Man and Starla is the perfect couple, even though it’s revolting to see them be romantic with each other. Not only is it hilarious, but it even comes across as sweet at times. Speaking of sweet (kinda spoilers ahead), both Rigby and Eileen are adorable in later seasons. Rigby is far from perfect, but he honestly tries to be better and more understanding of Eileen. The best part is that Eileen doesn’t encourage him to do this. She likes Rigby for Rigby. Faults and all. Not only is that something most romantic partners should try to aim for, but it’s really adorable to see. (kinda spoilers over). And while not romantic in the slightest, the friendship between Mordecai and Rigby is honestly the best. They both have a great dynamic, and the interactions they have with each other legitimately feel like I’m watching real best friends having fun. I’m not kidding when I say there are actual moments where I forget that these are just characters voiced by people in a booth. Because they come across as THAT authentic.

Speaking of characters, I'm amazed by how there isn’t one in this series that I hate. Or at the very least, not a single character that I’ve learned to deal with. As for characters I love, Benson is on the top of that list. Not only are his frustrations with Mordecai and Rigby hilarious at times, but his struggles to have a life with meaning is something all of us can relate to. Then there's Skips, who is this stoic badass who actually has more layers to him than one might realize. Both Pops and Muscle Man also have great depth to them, one more than the other, while also managing to be the funniest characters. The only characters I really have slight problems with are Margaret, Thomas, and High Five Ghost (Yes, that’s actually his name). Margaret has little to no development until season seven, and even then, there’s really not much done with her. As for Thomas, he was forced into the story, and I felt nothing when he eventually got written out. Then there’s Fives, who doesn’t really have any personality other than being Muscle Man’s bro. While I’ve grown to live with these characters being in the show, they still have problems that I can’t really ignore.

And while we’re on the topic of problems, there is one main issue that I should mention first, and that’s the fact that this show is so weird. That stoned college student jab wasn’t just a joke because it honestly feels like you have to be high to understand the logic of this show's production. Just from looking at the main cast alone, I struggle to wonder how J.G. Quintel came up with these ideas. Not only that but the situations these characters find themselves in can range from bizarre to holy-crap-someone-had-to-be-high-while-making-this. And somehow-SOMEHOW-it gets weirder with each passing season. Sometimes I’m okay with shows embracing the weirdness, but even I have a limit for this series.

Another problem I should mention is Regular Show’s animation. The animation in this series is not all that great. Usually, that isn’t a problem because it relies on dialogue and bizarre imagery to entertain viewers. However, there are occasions when Regular Show utilizes action scenes, and that is when the poor animation really drags the series down. There’s neither weight nor choreography for any of the fights. And rarely can you feel the punches that the characters exchange with each other. Because of this, the action feels both slow and kind of boring at times. A problem that wouldn’t exist if the series had just slightly better animation.

However, what really drags this series down is its seasonal rot. By season five (six if I’m feeling generous), the show starts to lose its magic. The first thing to leave is its maturity. I don’t know if it’s child censors catching up with the writers or if the target audience just got younger, but it is painful to see this show become more kid-friendly. It used to not be afraid of having the characters be in the middle of a shootout (with real guns and rocket launchers, by the way), but by season seven, the series resulted in using lasers and bean bag guns. What also eaves is the show’s sense of humor. At first, the jokes were pretty funny. But after a while, they start to lose their mojo and can be awkward at times. But none of this compares to what happens in Regular Show’s final season. Without giving too much away, the eighth season puts the characters in an environment that doesn’t really fit the show. There are times where even the characters don’t feel like themselves, and it gets to the point where it seems like I’m no longer watching Regular Show anymore. I don’t know how other fans felt about that season, but that’s how I felt throughout most of it (It’s also been four years since the finale, and I still don’t understand how the last two minutes are even possible).

Regular Show is not meant for everyone. Hell, at a point, it no longer became the perfect show for its original target audience. However, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to enjoy. It’s funny, has great characters, and while it gets pretty weird at times, most fans loved that weirdness for six years. It’s nowhere near the best show in the 2010s, but it was still a good show. A jolly good show indeed.

(That last line makes more sense if you seen the series)

[rock-n-roll-refugee]

Ultraviolence~Chapter 1

I had to rewrite this because I forgot to save it... shoot me

PART 2 OUT NOW ON MY PAGE (I’m too lazy and dumb to link)

Peter Parker x Villain!Reader

A/N: This is something I wanna try, and I know I suck at writing and sticking to one project so let’s see how well this goes. And if y’all like this please let me know I feed off your complements :( also idk what The Hand is, i know its from Daredevil, but I'm just using it randomly. sorry

warnings: a lot of swearing lol, violence, blood

If you watched A Clockwork Orange you would know that the storyline follows a madman’s twisted descent into normality. Substitute Def Leppard for the old Ludwig Van and you have the tragic story of (Y/N) (Y/L/N). 

She had many similarities to the infamous Alex Delarge in which they both are mentally deranged and crave that sweet taste of violence. (Y/N) also took part in somewhat of a gang, but it wasn’t like Alex’s droogs. It was more of an ancient organization of assassins than a gang, but nonetheless, she was on the wrong side of the law. The organization was called The Hand and she was taken in by Bakuto, the leader, when she was only four after her father killed her mother and abandoned a very young (Y/N) on the streets. Her father was a rouge member and destroyed his family so he could escape for himself. Or at least that was the story she was told. Bakuto took her in because he saw potential, or maybe it was just her superhuman powers, for she had the ability to manipulate the elements into any weapon of choice making her an excellent weapon for The Hand. 

~

It was a typical mission, take out a corrupt entrepreneur who had got caught in a bad situation with some bad people. It was a task that she had preformed many times over many years, but today was different. It was her first solo mission. 

“Its in and out. Simple as that.” she whispered to herself.

She scaled the building, it was a large villa on the edge Lake George in New York. It was magnificent and it all came from dirty money. The atmosphere gave her a boost of confidence and she decided, why not have a little fun? Unlike the rest of The Hand, she always liked to spice up her assassinations with a little flare. Just like her idol Mr. Delarge, she was always one for the dramatics. A lot of her inspiration came from her favorite movie, as you know, is A Clockwork Orange. However, this was the only film (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has ever sense there wasn't anything to compare to. She smuggled the film into base, knowing she was forbidden to view films from the outside, and that it would disrupt her training, but it was her only memory with her previous family. Her father would watch this movie and to her mother’s dismay, she watched it along with him even though it was a movie very unsuitable for young eyes. What should be considered an awful memory according to Bakuto was something of comfort for (Y/N). Unlike most, she sympathized for Alex Delarge, and even though he was meant to be an evil “anti-hero”, she was able to relate to his strife.

She was lost in her thoughts when she heard the front doors open and close. She snuck to a new hiding spot and watch guests flow into the mansion. There was a corporate celebration being held tonight, and what better way of sending a message than in front of maybe hundreds. The hours passed and it became gradually hard to stay hidden due to the vast amount of party goers. She was ahead of the game however and was prepared for this situation. She changed into appropriate attire for the event, which was a black camisole dress layered with a mesh long sleeve dress with gold embroidery, which was provided to her. She slipped on the obligatory heels and joined the party, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

~

“I don’t understand Mr. Stark, why did you have to bring me here again?” Peter whined at Tony as the exited the car. 

“Kid, if you want to be involved with Stark Industries you need to know how to go to things like this.” Tony said waving off Happy. 

“Who is this guy anyways?” Peter said trying to keep up with Tony

“This guy is a pretty big investor in my company, and it would be rude of us not to go. He’s kind of a jackass though.”

They maneuvered their way through the crowd, shaking hands and greeting unfamiliar people. They finally found a place to stand, to be greeted by yet more money sniffing mongrels wanting to stuff their greedy hands into Tony’s pockets. Peter slouched over getting bored after only 15 minutes and waiting for this event to be over. He groaned and Tony rolled his eyes and sighed. Peter’s eyes began to scan the room for something slightly interesting, when he caught a good look at her. His posture suddenly improved grabbing Tony’s attention. He watched Peter drool over the (Y/H/C) haired girl in the black and gold dress, watching every move she made.

“Quit drooling kid and go talk to her.” Tony demanded. Peter’s eyes went large.

“Wha-what do you mean Mr. Stark?” Peter stuttered looking back from her and Tony.

“You really aren’t subtle.” Tony said face palming, “quit groaning and go over there. Gives you something to do rather than bugging me all night.”

Tony nudged Peter in her direction and he slowly and awkwardly waddled over to her. She stood in a pretty empty part of the party with her arms crossed, just staring blankly into the crowd.

“he-hey” he said softly

She looked at the nervous boy with her eyebrow raised, 

“hi” she said easily dismissing him

“um... so... cool party right?”

“right.” she said giving only a sliver of attention the the boy. Her attitude gave him a weird boost in confidence.

“So, what’s your name?” He asked throwing her off guard.

“Uhhh...” she was preparing to go unnoticed and not talk to anyone, so she didn’t even bother coming up with a fake name. She frantically scanned the room for ideas. She looked over to the bar and saw the bartender pouring a drink for a partygoer,

“Scotch...” she muttered, “Scotch uhhhh...” 

She then saw a man walk by wearing a brown leather jacket,

“Leather?” She said unsure.

“Scotch Leather?” Peter asked

“Yeah...” she said mentally face palming.

He began to burst out laughing as she joined him laughing nervously.

“I’m so sorry, I know that’s your name and its very rude of me to laugh, but no offense, that sounds like a stripper’s name.” He said as she scoffed. She realized the humor in it and began to laugh hysterically with him. 

Hours went by, and the two just talked and laughed about everything. As night fell, they heard a glass being chimed, attracting everyone’s attention. The host, and (Y/N)’s target stood up in the front of the room. 

“That’s my cue” she said to herself.

“Sorry what?” Peter said no catching what she was saying.

“Oh, I said I need to use the restroom.” she said putting down her glass of water, “It was nice meeting you Parker.” 

Peter smiled victoriously and marched back to Tony.

“You were over there for a while. How’d it go?” Tony whispered as the host began his speech.

“Amazing! She's smart, and pretty, and my age too!” Peter told him ecstatically.

“Did you get her number?”

“Crap.”

~

She had changed back into her previous attire and snuck onto the roof where she had a good view of her target. She tied her hair up into a tight bun and slipped on her mask. She had to use her full face mask due to the fact that she walked around the party for a while and enough people saw her face to be able to show it. She groaned at the suffocation and begrudgingly stuffed her head in. It was musty and smelled like sweat, and the connected goggles were scratched up and foggy. The one advantage was that her identity was completely hidden and she looked pretty freaky. She adjusted her suit, which was an all black bulletproof suit that went up to her neck, and cargo pants and boots over the suit. 

She reached out her hand and a chunk of metal melted from a bare pipe and flew into her hand, shaping into a katana once it touched her palm. she peaked through the skylight at the target, still rambling on.

“...and to all those who have been a part of my project, I’d like to thank and for the profits, we are making more than we anticipated, so I am making a proposal for the next...” 

He droned on for a long time, but she had to wait for the perfect moment. She wanted to make her first solo mission something to remember. 

She cut a hole through the skylight and swiftly hopped down right behind him, barely making a noise when her feet touched the floor. She went unnoticed until she stood up behind him. She was merely a shadow, and barely visible, but what caught everyone’s eye was the gleam of her sword. The crowd audibly gasps at the intruder and a frightened murmur is heard throughout the room.

“I know, I know. These new plans are ambitious, but trust me I have a plan to initiate a...” he says, as a reply to the gasps and murmurs.

The assassin smirks under her mask as the host turns around confused as to why the crowd looked frightened, and the moment he is face to face with her she sheaths her katana deep into his heart. The people in the crown scream and run frantically out of the building. She chuckles knowing the scene looks almost like renaissance painting, her and the target dead center, his eyes rolled back into his head, and the frenzy of the guests scattering the ironically serene and exquisite room. It was almost poetic and how she wished she could get a snapshot of the moment. She twisted the sword making the man scream out in pain and retracted her sword, taking one last look at the magnificent scene and scurrying off.

“Hey Peter?” Tony asked, not looking directly at him

“Y-yeah?”

“Do you have your suit on you?”

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Settle our bones (like wood) over time, over time

Tony is down with the flu, so Rhodey helps out by looking after Morgan (and her dad).

Seems like Endgame has turned me into a fluff writer. This is probably one of the softest things I’ve ever written. Contains fever dreams, vomiting, some angst and light spoilers, but nothing too grave.

A million thanks to @whumphoarder for putting so much work into beta-reading.

Rhodey has just finished showering and is fixing himself a sandwich when his custom-made StarkPhone starts blaring the unmistakable melody of Black Sabbath’s Iron Man (The phone was a belated gift from Tony for his last birthday -  subtlety has never been his best friend’s strength).

“Hey man,” he greets.

“Rhodes?” Tony asks, sounding slightly off.

“Yes, it’s me. You should know this, seeing as you called.” A bit of worry starts gnawing in Rhodey’s gut.

“Listen...I might need your help here.”

Rhodey sighs internally. This is the same sentence he heard a year ago, when Tony’s bots managed to blow up a pyramid of paint buckets in the nursery and both of them spent the next seven consecutive hours hurrying to clean up the mess before Pepper came home. Rhodey’s just returned from a rather arduous week with Nat in Morocco and was looking forward to an afternoon spent entirely with himself, his food, and his TV remote.

“Sure,” he replies, trying his best not to sound entirely unmotivated. “What’s the mission?”

“Just, Morgan,” Tony says. “I, I guess I caught a flu bug, and I can’t - Pepper’s in L.A., and I can’t even open these stupid baby food jars without puking. Pep will kill me if I have Dum-E feed the kid.”

He breaks off and Rhodey hears a muffled cough from the other side.

“I know you just got back, but-” There’s a clatter, a muttered curse, and then the sound of a baby crying in the background. “I’m sorry, dude,” Tony continues in a hoarse voice.

Rhodey frowns. If Tony is calling him for help - hell, if he is actually apologising - things must be pretty desperate.

“On my way,” he confirms, getting up with a groan but already feeling his own fatigue fading into the background. “Be there in ten.”

*

The cabin sits at the lake, calm as ever. Rhodey smiles a little to himself when he thinks that his Tony, the former party king of New York, has chosen a lonely place in the woods as the site for his retirement. The front door opens automatically as soon as the hidden scanner has examined his face, and Rhodey steps into the warm interior.

“Welcome, Colonel Rhodes”, Friday’s voice greets him.

“Hey, Fri. Where’s Tony?”

“Boss is upstairs in the nursery.”

“Thanks.”

Giving Morgan the bedroom under the roof was probably one of Tony’s more selfless deeds (well, apart from saving the universe multiple times), considering the breathtaking amount of stars that are visible through the window directly from her bed.

On the other hand, Tony is understandably not very fond of stars anymore.

Rhodey makes his way upstairs, avoiding the building bricks littering the steps as well as the heap of washing on the first floor landing that needs to be ironed.

Tony is sitting on the floor in Morgan’s room, leaning heavily against the bed frame, the eight-month-old baby on a blanket next to him. She’s not exactly crying, but the noises she’s making definitely express discontent. Tony is trying to capture her attention with a screwdriver that he circles above her face, but he seems barely able to keep his own head up. There’s an unopened baby food jar and a spoon on the bedside table next to him.

“You look like crap,” Rhodey assesses. “What’s your temperature at?”

“I called you to babysit Morgan, not me,” Tony rebuts hoarsely. “If you’re fussing, I’ll ship your ass straight back home.”

“Sure you will.” Rhodey bends down to stroke the girl’s hair, noticing that she is swaddled up in multiple blankets like a baby-burrito.

“Is the little hobbit sick, too?”

“What?” Tony’s head shoots up. “No, I hope not.”

“Then why’s she wrapped up like this?”

“‘t was freezing this morning...Her skin felt cold…”

Rhodey frowns and checks the kid’s temperature. If anything, she’s a little overheated and clearly uncomfortable in too many layers. “That was probably the fever messing with you.”

“Oh.” Tony shifts uncomfortably. He is entirely too pale, with a hint of green on his face.

“When is Pepper coming back?” Rhodey inquires as he unwraps the blankets around the unhappy baby.

“’s Wednesday today, right?”

“Thursday,” Rhodey corrects.

“Ah,” Tony rubs his hand over his eyebrows in an exhausted gesture. He looks about ready to keel over. “Tonight, then. Probably late. You can, you can stay over in the guest room if you want to…”

“I know, Tony, don’t worry about it,” Rhodey reassures. “I’m gonna feed her now. You should move to your own bedroom, try and get some rest.”

“Yeah,” Tony nods, glancing at his feet for a moment as if not sure whether they will carry his weight. “There’s an idea.”

He hoists himself up and strokes Morgan’s hair out of her face with slightly trembling fingers before shuffling towards the staircase.

When the baby is fed and asleep, Rhodey makes his way to Tony’s room, hoping against better knowledge that his friend would be following the baby’s example. But of course that’s not the case. The sounds of dry heaving are carrying clearly over to the staircase from the first floor bathroom.

“Tones?” Rhodey knocks on the door.

“’m good, don’t come in.”

“Sure…”

Rhodey pushes the door open and takes in the scene. Tony is slumped over the open toilet bowl, his cheek resting on the seat. His face is showing an unhealthy pallor. Towels and discarded bottles of Gatorade are strewn around him, and the smell of sickness hangs thickly in the air. It’s obvious that Tony has been ill for a while already.

“Dude,” Rhodey starts.

“I said don’t come in. Not pretty,” Tony rasps.

“Well, I’ve seen you worse.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me…” Tony coughs again and retches drily, not even bothering to lift his head anymore. Rhodey can see the muscles in his back contracting when he throws up again, the ribs visible under his shirt. Hs still hasn’t gained back his full weight after the three weeks in space.

“Oh, fuck this.” Tony reaches up weakly to flush, then crashes back against the giant bathtub. Tiredly, he looks up at Rhodey, his dark eyes glazed over from fever.

“Okay. Back to bed,” Rhodey orders.

“Not sure if I’m done,” Tony admits.

“I’ll get you a bucket.” Rhodey grabs Tony under the armpits to pull him up and steadies him until he is sure that Tony’s own feet can take his weight. Then he hands him a glass of water to rinse his mouth.

“Do you want some Tylenol?” he asks, scanning the medicine cabinet.

“Nah,” Tony shakes his head. “Tried. Didn’t stay down.”

“At least drink a bit of water. You must be getting dehydrated.”

Tony obeys, sipping at the glass while supporting himself on the wash basin. His hand is shaking so hard that water is spilling over the edge, even though the glass is barely filled two-thirds.

All at once, Rhodey vividly remembers the week after Tony had returned from Titan. True to his word, the first thing he did when he was able to stand again on his own was try to shave. His hands were shaking so much that Rhodey had to help him, steadily clearing the stubble that was more gray than black, deliberately not talking about Steve and space and the child whose absence was so present in each of Tony’s words and actions.

It still is.

Rhodey gets Tony settled into bed. The engineer lies down on the mattress gingerly, as if his whole body hurts. Within minutes, he falls into an exhausted slumber, looking entirely spent.

He is undeniably older now - a fight in space, a lost child, and another one born having taken their toll - but something about the way he keeps his forearm curled protectively around his face reminds Rhodey of college, of watching over him while he slept off his highs, an arrogant, vulnerable, entirely too-young kid in a world that didn’t care enough.  

Rhodey carefully pulls a blanket over his friend. He goes to the kitchen to fetch some crackers for himself and a basin in case Tony gets sick again and checks once more on Morgan, who is sleeping peacefully, hugging an Iron Man plush toy, then settles down in an armchair in the corner of the master bedroom. He picks up Tony’s tablet, scrolling lazily through the news, before setting out to ruin his friend’s Netflix viewing history.

Twenty minutes later, Tony starts moaning quietly, his face scrunched up and slick with sweat. He rolls to and fro, hands balled into fists, his eyeballs moving rapidly below his eyelids as he mumbles something unintelligible.

Rhodey sighs and stands up to wake him. Before he can do so, Tony snaps upright. “Peter,” he croaks breathlessly. His eyes dart around the room, taking it in with a mixture of confusion and fear.

Rhodey just shakes his head. “No, Tony. I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Oh.” Understanding settles in Tony’s features, disappointment, sadness. He slumps back against the pillows, brushing an arm over his face to wipe away sweat and maybe more. So much pain. So much guilt. “Is Morgan—?”

“She’s fine. Go back to sleep,” Rhodey advises.

Tony grunts in response. He closes his eyes, but opens them again a few seconds later, looking paler than before. “I need- ” he clasps a hand over his lips, sitting up, and tries to get his feet under him.

Rhodey takes the basin from the nightstand and pushes it into his hands, silently ordering him to stay in bed. “Here. It’s okay.”

Tony eyes the bowl and takes a few shallow breaths, closing his eyes. Rhodey can see his throat working as he tries not to be sick.

Upstairs, Morgan starts to cry.

Tony reflexively makes to stand up. “I got her,” Rhodey reassures, already half out the door. He feels his heart go a little warm. The one man whom nobody ever would have thought would be a father has turned out to be a pretty good one.

He hears Tony retch behind him and the sound of liquid splashing into the bowl when he climbs the stairs. Rhodey makes a mental note to keep an eye out for signs of dehydration since the only thing Tony could possibly be bringing up at this point is the few sips of water he had earlier.

Morgan is crying at a volume louder than should reasonably be possible for someone of her size. Rhodey changes her diaper and carries her around the room, talking nonsense to soothe her. It takes a while to settle her back down. She knows Rhodey well, but it’s clear that she wants her parents.

When he returns, Tony is still in the same position as he left him, but now slumped over, holding his head in his hands. The half-filled basin is sitting in between his knees.

“Hey.” Rhodey takes the bowl out of his lap gently and sets it on the floor. Tony barely reacts. He’s malleable, radiating heat, the fever evidently much higher than earlier. He barely opens his eyes when Rhodey helps him to lean back against a heap of pillows in front of the headboard. Rhodey goes to clean the evidence and returns with a wet washcloth that he uses to wipe down Tony’s face and then cool his forehead.

Tony is too feverish and uncomfortable to actually fall back asleep, so Rhodey starts the TV for some white noise and settles into the bed next to him. Tony watches with half-lidded eyes and heavy breaths, his hands clenching the blanket. He keeps shifting his weight against the pillows until his head lands on Rhodey’s shoulder, the sweaty hair hot and damp through his shirt. Rhodey adjust his position a little to make him more comfortable.

“So that’s what it takes to get you into bed with me,” Tony slurs.

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “You wish.”

There’s a pause as the weak smirk fades from Tony’s features and he lets out a tired sigh. “I…” He struggles to form words. “Just…thanks, dude.”

“It’s okay, Tony. I know.”

And he does, he’s always known. During the nights at MIT, he understood the way Tony sought distraction in parties and wine to quiet his thoughts and how he brought people home to bed to keep the loneliness at bay. He was there when Tony OD-ed on his graduation day, after Howard hadn’t shown up and Tony had worn an AC/DC shirt instead of a suit, insisting he didn’t give a damn about his summa cum laude. And that other, horrible night, after Tony’s parents died and he stood on Rhodey’s doorstep, high and silent, with red-rimmed eyes and traces of tears on his face.

After he’d returned from space, starved and broken, when he was too weak to cry and water just seemed to flow out of his eyes like from an overfilled pond, Rhodey understood that those tears were for Peter Parker. And the day Morgan was born and Tony was more afraid than ever before, Rhodey had quietly waited at the hospital all the way until the door opened and Tony stepped out with his daughter in his arms, smiling like the proudest man on earth.

Now he just sits there, feeling Tony shiver when the chills run through him, doing what he always does - being there.

He stays until Morgan starts up again and he has to extricate himself from the bed. She’s clearly awake this time, and it seems she’s had enough time without her parents, so Rhodey takes her to the master bedroom.

Tony is too out of it to even move much, so he just lets the baby crawl around him and numbly plays with her hair while she tries to grab his fingers.

“Yeah, kiddo. Daddy’s not much fun today,” Rhodey comments. Tony just shoots him a tired glare.

“You up for some toast?” Rhodey asks.

“Please don’t.” Tony’s face scrunches up with nausea.

Rhodey gets him to very slowly drink half a glass of water during the next fifteen minutes before Tony lies back down fully while Morgan is on her stomach, playing with a War Machine doll that has inexplicably found its way into the bed. After a while, Rhodey wets the washcloth again and drapes it over Tony’s burning forehead, receiving a grateful sigh.

Tony’s breaths eventually even out again and Rhodey gently picks up Morgan. He takes her outside and feeds her dinner, and she stares at him intently with the dark, warm eyes Rhodey knows all too well.

*

When Pepper comes home late that night, Rhodey is on the porch, carrying a crying Morgan in his arms who has decided a few hours ago that she was definitely done sleeping for the day.

“What happened?” Pepper asks, a crease appearing between her brows and worry set in her eyes. It’s been almost two years and the fear is still there, always lingering below the surface, ready to materialise upon the smallest provocation.

“Hey, everything’s okay. Tony’s got the flu, but it’s under control. He was very well-behaved - called me earlier today to help out.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “He told me he had a cold when I called him up last night.”

Rhodey sighs. He’s never seen Tony ask for someone to be around when he was sick, thanks to Howard Stark, and he’s sure that he wouldn’t have done it this time if it hadn’t been for Morgan.

Pepper takes the child from his arms and greets her with a kiss before entering the house and making straight for the master bedroom, not bothering to remove her shoes or jacket. Rhodey follows her upstairs, but stops just outside the bedroom door. He watches Pepper step in softly, Tony warily blinking his eyes open and then struggling to sit up when Pepper settles down on the side of the mattress.

Rhodey can’t hear what they are saying, but he sees Tony mumble something and warmth filling his tired eyes. The tension bleeds out of Pepper’s body when she ghosts a kiss on his cheek. Morgan giggles upon seeing her father, not understanding the words, but fully able to feel the completeness, the love, the rightness of it all.

It’s an impossible life they lead, Rhodey thinks, but something right has come out of it after all.

@badthingshappenbingo  - This is the fill for the square “Big Brother Instinct” on my Bingo card.

Link to all my fics

[vegetacide]

Cloak and Dagger

Veg●notable: Okay, I had a little fun with this and took a few liberties with one of the boys… It worked for I wanted but I am not sure how it will be received... ::ducks behind a Tracy so she doesn’t get hit with anything...::

Also I am kinda being a pantser with this chapter.. I have a general idea of where I want it to go but I didn’t suss it out like I have in other chapters so please excuse if the pacing if off. I kinda let the Boys tell me where they wanted to go and what sort of interactions they wanted to have….and they may have gone a bit off course..

As per the norm.. All errors and such are my own.

Read, review, like, reblog.. Whatever the platform, it is very, very much appreciated and it all acts as my motivational fuel.

Previous Chapters

Intro  | One  |  Two 

Chapter 3: Games 

Enjoy!

o0o

Scott drummed his fingers along the careworn surface of his father’s desk, his gaze lost to the middle distance as he thought over the information that had just been brought to him. Not that there was much, which was the problem in and of itself.

Kayo and Lady Penelope had had very little to tell him. After Fuse’s botched attempt at the old, disused power plant to obtain nuclear material he’d just up and disappeared. Their security expert and London agent had been traipsing around the globe trying to track down leads for weeks now but there was no sign of the Chaos member, his sister or for that matter the Hood… anywhere..at all.

For the Hood on his own, it wasn’t that unusual. The criminal would go quiet for a spell and not resurface for months. Now that he was with the Crew, that was an entirely different story.

Normal some tidbit of information would crop up of a sighting in some far corner of the world, or a rumour of some heist or another would drift about on the dark web. Either Lady P would poke at it to figure out if it was worth further effort or Kayo would get a call from the GDF to check with some contacts but everything had gone silent. There was nothing, no where.

Scott looked up at the muted holo-cast. A variation of the same headline scrolled along under the chrome anchors’ desk and something in the pit of his stomach tightened. This eerie feeling of foreboding had been dogging him since the plant and he just knew this wasn’t going to end well.

Picking up an old school stylus that for some reason his father had kept even with the advent of modern computer interfaces, Scott examined its length. His father had owned it for as long as he could remember. He’d once asked Jeff why he insisted on keeping it and his father had smiled in that way he did and had said that ‘somethings were just worth keeping.’ He hadn’t elaborated in any other way or given any other hint to his reasoning after that. It left Scott scratching his head in confusion.

Even now all these years later he still didn’t understand though as he looked at the smooth finish and felt the weight of it between his fingers, he could understand its appeal. It provided something tangible to hold on to, tactile.

In his case not only physically but it also provided him with a psychologically connection to the man they all missed so much. A man he truly wished was with them right now.

Maybe the great Jeff Tracy would be able to wrap his head around all this, come out with a master plan so at the end of the day the world was a better, safer place. Scott certainly didn’t think he had the chops to do it himself. Self doubt was a bitch especially when there was no supporting hand to guide you.

His father was going to come home, Scott knew that for sure. WIth Brains basically locked away working on the zero-x engine it was only a matter of time. Scott just hoped that when they got their father back…. Why was he even thinking about this? Setting the stylus back down, he rubbed at the back of his head in hopes of dispelling the direction of his thoughts. This was not helping.

Snagging his forgotten cup of coffee, he took a swig and grimaced. Cold and it was the good stuff from Virgil’s hidden stash behind the lima bean in the pantry. Eyeballing the drink with its thin layer of cream film on top, he sighed and tossed the rest back. It was too much effort to haul his ass downstairs for a fresh cup, besides his brother would kick his butt if he were to find out he knew of the existence of the rich, smoky ground beans and had wasted it. Better to just suck it up and deal with the cold brew then risk the engineer’s wrath.

“Thunderbird 5 to base.”

“Hey John,” Scott greeted with the raise of his now empty coffee mug. “What’s up?”

“Just letting you know Grandma is on approach. Will be there in t-minus 5”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

John nodded in return and they sat in silence for a moment. By the controlled look on John’s face Scott could tell that the monitor was working up to say something more. Leaning back in his chair, he cocked a foot over one knee and steepled his fingers as his brother processed whatever it was that was on his mind.

Scott didn’t want to push but time was ticking. “Johnny….?” He knew the use of his brother’s childhood nickname would get the ball rolling.

John’s eyes narrowed in annoyance at the moniker but the redhead let it slide. “How’s it going down there?”

Scott dropped his hands, pushed up to his feet and walked the short distance to the sunken seating area. “As well as can be expected.” Taking the steps down he parked on his usually couch with a heavy sigh. Sinking into the cushions with a slouch and tossing an arm up and over the back.

“That sounds...” John paused as he searched for the appropriate word, “to steal a phrase from Alan.. craptastic.”

One shoulder went up in a shrug and Scott dragged in a deep breathe. “Ya, well. Shitty situation but you know how these things go. Time and space and all that.”

“Time and space?” A smirk settled on John’s face. “This coming from you. Eos mark down the time and date. Scott is being reasonable”

“Time and date noted, John.” Came the young voice of the A.I. “I have also taken the liberty of recording this interaction for posterity in the likelihood that you want to revisit the momentous occasion.”

John chuckled as the light ring came into the view field of the camera. The array of little lights flashing in what Scott could only conclude as amusement at his cost. The A.I was learning and learning fast and Scott didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Hardy har.” A dry sound, accompanied by an eye roll. “Am I really that bad?”

The stare and awestruck look he received by way of answer should have been enough.”Aw, come on…”

“If smother hen was in the dictionary, Scott. You would be the picture beside it.” It was said rather frankly and that irked Scott into yet another eyeroll. “Matter of fact, it might actually already be in Urban Dictionary..”

“Okay. Okay..I get it. Enough already.” Scott’s boredom and disdain at the direction of the conversation wasn’t hard to miss. “I can’t help it. I worry about all of you.”

John took pity on his elder brother, the smile leaving his face. “I know you do, Scott. Especially when it’s Virgil.”

Scott sagged further into the couch.

“We all need to fall apart every now and again. The same applies to Virgil.” John spoke, his voice carrying across the distance. “As much as we rely on him to be the family rock, even a rock wears down over time when enough stress is applied.”

“Ya, I know. You’re right.” Scott leaned forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he looked at the floor. “I just wish…” He didn’t finish his train of thought.

“Scott, he’ll be fine. Just give him the room to breath and in a day or two he will be right as rain again. He needs to stew this over a bit.” John shifted his gaze away from the cam, his projected hand skimming over something off screen.

“Well from what Brain’s has told me, Virgil has him doing system checks on all the wash-bays. Maybe an answer will be there for him.”

“You talked to Brain?”

“Yes, just before calling you. He wanted me to look at some computations. Double check his math and he didn’t want to bother Virgil with it” Floating about the space station some 22,000 kilomitres above them, John glaced backup a moment. “Why? Haven’t you talked to him?”

Scott sat up a bit straighter, sheepishly ashamed that the yelling the night before had sent the mousy genus into hiding in the bowels of the island. “Not since we got back..”

“Oh,” John failed to hide the nonplussed expression that flashed across the screen. “Glad I was off world last night than..:”

“Jay, you’re always off world”

John couldn’t say anything to counter that and Scott knew it. The star obsessed Tracy rarely made landfall and Scott tried to think back on how long it had been since the astronaut had been forced to submit to some down time.

“Scott, you’re getting that look in your eyes again.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I need to smother’ look that comes with the forehead wrinkles of the elderly.. Don’t you dare set your sights on me. I am needed up here with full access to all of 5’s systems and you know it.”

Scott put his hands up in surrender, not wanting to have another sibling forcibly shutting him out. “Message received and watched the old person jokes. They are laugh lines not stress.. The hair though, that’s all from you guys.”

John looked off camera again and his expression changed from brotherly bemusement to curious. “Aunt Val is reaching out. I’ll patch her though.”

Scott cursed under his breath and ignored the admonishing glare from space. Seemed he hadn’t sworn as quietly as he thought, good thing Gran….

“Scott Bartholomew Carpenter Tracy!”

Scott flinched at the sudden loud bark of reproach directed his way as his Grandmother marched into the room, fire and brimstone in her wake. “You were not raised in a barn, young man.” Crap, his diminutive elder was not impressed, especially if she broke out the little known and seldom used ‘Bartholomew.’

He was the only brother out of the five to be graced with the additionally middle name, gifted to him as the first born from his great, great Grandfather. A Tribute to a war vet that his father had been blessed with as well and one that made Scott shudder every time he heard it.

“Well technically… “John piped up earning him a warning glare from Scott.

“Gee John, thanks for the warning.. “ Scott grumbled with little enthusiasm and dripping with sarcastic annoyance.

“I did,” John blinked.

Scott contemplated several ways to seek revenge over the tirade of the fierce and feisty Sally Tracy and most of them involved airlocks and a module full of moldy bagels.

John did his level best to hide his smile at the misfortune of the eldest. “I told you she was on approach and you know she has the ears of a bat, Scooter.”

Scott glared at the space nut but all he got in return was a very large grin before the monitor disappeared and the 3D rendition of his Godmother materialized.

“Colonel Casey” Scott acknowledges, his Grandmother patted his knee in greeting and settled down on the couch beside him, the vexed look still sparking in her cerulean gaze.

“Valerie,” His Grandma piped up. “You’re a sight for sore eyes”

“Scott. Sally.” A crisp, formal acknowledgement. Definitely a business call.

The tone made Scott straighten his spine, posture ramrodding as his years of military training kicked in. Pushing to his feet, the Commander of International Rescue took up the forefront of his mind. The dilemma of the current Tracy drama brushed aside as the call to arms; so to speak, was issued by his honorary Aunt’s projected persona.

“What can I do for you, Colonel Casey?”

“Orders come down the pipe, Scott. General Abner informed me this afternoon that World Council has declared Kazakhstan a no fly zone. All personnel, both combative and civilian are on evac orders effective immediately. As of 23:00, anything in or outbound found crossing restrictive airspace will be termed hostile and dealt with accordingly.”

“And as our liaison..?” Scott asked, bracing for the answer that he feared.

“I’ve been advised to inform you that the restriction extends to International Rescue as well. Under no circumstance is International; Rescue to enter that airspace. Any action will be seen as an act of aggression against the WC and those perpetrating said act are to be shot down.”

“Noted.”

“Scott, you need to abide by this ruling. This is from way up the food chain. There will be nothing I can do to help you if these orders are disregarded. “ Casey stressed. “You will be on your own.I’ve also been instructed that anyone aiding and abetting is to be brought in and prosecuted under the full force of the law.”

Meaning, the whole family would be under threat and the whole might of the GDF would be pointed in their direction. Even though they claimed no allegiance to any known entity, International Rescue and by turn the Tracy’s would be marked as traitors “I understand Colonel.”

Essentially the country has been walled off and Scott wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He just hoped that there would be no call out for iR in the vicinity of the damned country but he knew from experience hopes and wishes were very seldom taken into consideration.

-o-o-

Some 6,500km away, tucked under a remote mountain village on the furthest edge of Kazakhstan a display monitor beeped to life with the flow of garish, green text. Servos hummed, fans ticked on and a smile crept across the harshly angled face with amber eyes.

Piece by piece plans that had taken months to arrange were finally starting to come together. Money had passed hands, people had been bought, information exchanged and like pawns on a chessboard, the players were shifting into their places.

Looking at the board, the queen slipped into place and unbeknownst to all but one, the king now sat vulnerable. The end was in sight.

Let the games begin.

TBC

[artificialqueens]

She's probably a lesbian (Branjie) - OnPointe

A/N- Here I am again, a songfic for you guys. As I promised, no angst. I forgot to mention last time that I am extremely grateful for one of my best friends for beta-ing everything I write. And always confirming 100 times that what I write is not crap. Anyway, this is based off the song “How to know if a girl is a lesbian” by Ally Hills. I hope you enjoy. 

Vanessa looked fierce, and she damn well knew it. You couldn’t convince her otherwise. Her hair was curled down her back, falling naturally over her shoulders, a slight bounce to her hair as she practically stomped down the hallway of the high school. She had a bright red lip on, matching the shirt that stayed partly hidden under a leather jacket that she wore proudly on her shoulders. A black skirt that was tight, teasing with the school dress code about length of skirts and shorts. 

She laughed loudly, throwing her head back in joy as she winked quickly at someone before marching over to join her friends by the lockers. This was definitely one of the perks of senior year, having most of the school population absolutely infatuated with what you did, how you spent your weekend and what you were wearing. Girls and boys flirted with her aimlessly all the time, during class, in the hall or in lunch. Vanessa felt it was mostly because of her status in the school, but she liked to tease and flirt back anyway. It filled up the time and made it more enjoyable. 

“Lookin’ good girl.” A'keria mentions with a small hum, scrolling though whatever issue of whatever fashion magazine she had at the moment. 

“Always, bitch.” Vanessa laughed, opening her locker and checking her face in the mirror that hung on the door. 

“There’s a new girl” Silky says, after shoving some sort of buttery pastry into her mouth, causing both of the other girls eyebrows to rise slightly in response. 

“Over there, by the lockers. Blondie.” Silky gestures with her head, hair flipping in the progress. She turns her attention back to phone in her hands, no doubt talking on Tinder or something like that. 

Vanessa looked up, glancing around for the girl in question. She sighed, thinking in the moment that the girl might have left, returning to gazing in the mirror. 

In the corner of her eye, she watches as a locker door closes shut with a slam. In the corner of her eye, she sees the blonde in question turning around and talking to somebody, about to walk somewhere. Vanessa looks over and watches the girl, taking in as much as she could. 

Vanessa noted that she did have blonde hair, almost platinum hair, that fell straight and ended right about the center of her back. A grey beanie sat on the top of her hair, keeping it all together. She was wearing a pink baseball tee, right in between tight and loose. Black yoga pants stretched down her long legs as she watched the blonde walk past her down the hall. 

The blonde flashed a quick smile towards the smaller girl before leaving the hall, following closely behind the student body president, Nina West. 

She needed to know who this girl was, and now.

You don’t wear a beanie in the summer for no reason

Or a baseball tee when it’s not baseball season

If you check her nails and they’re always trimmed

Or Kstew is her style twin

Vanessa learned alot about the mystery new girl in the course of the next week. Sure, she might not have actually talked to her yet, but she knows enough to know that she really wanted to talk too her. Once she gets over the fear that the blonde might be straight, she was sure that the conversation would be great. Fantastic, even. 

It turns out, that she had a name. Her name was Brooke Lynn. That was beautiful, she thought. It fit her. 

Brooke came down to LA, from Canada. For dance, there seemed to be a lot more opportunities for advancement here. She learned that as well. Vanessa would love to see her dance one day, unless that was weird, she didn’t really know. 

Vanessa never had any issues with talking, or flirting with girls she found attractive. Brooke acted differently from the other girls, she learned. She would just flash an award winning smile, and continue on her. She didn’t care about who she was, and didn’t try and talk to her. Vanessa just couldn’t figure this girl out. 

They had one class together, even though they sat on the complete opposite sides of the room. Vanessa didn’t want to admit that she was completely infatuated with the (tall, blonde bombshell wi)  new girl. 

It was science class, a class that Vanessa usually hated, because it just seemed so boring and she didn’t understand why she needed to know this information for a future career. She didn’t need to know how to dissect a frog for a future in fashion, at least she was 95% sure. Math also wasn’t her strong suit. 

Vanessa was paying more attention to Brooke then she was the experiment demonstration, not like she was going to do it anyway, she would just share answers with A'keria or google the answers. She watched as she carefully picked up the scalpel, her short, light pink, nails wrapped around the handle, guiding it down the frog. 

That was a sign, she thought. She could have been looking too deep into things, but it was still important to note in her mind. 

Vanessa didn’t stare, or at least she thought she wasn’t. It was just looks that would linger for a few seconds before she would look back at A'keria, who looked absolutely disgusted that she would have to cut this dead frog open, and possibly get her nice outfit all gunked up. She rolled her eyes, scribbling down her name on the paper. 

Brooke looked really nice today, Vanessa thought as she let her mind wander. She wasn’t going to admit that she knew the outfit inspiration from flipping though trashy tabloids that actually entertained her. She looked good regardless, though. 

She was broke out of her thoughts, feeling a cold slimy liquid squirt onto her face. She quickly looked back over back over at A'keria, her hands in the air like she knew that she was guilty of something. 

“Sorry, sis…” She said, hiding a light laugh that would seem in bad nature if she let slip. 

“You Hoe! Oh- My- God!” Vanessa screeched, immediately heading towards the bathroom, barely looking as Brooke flashed her a quick, sympathetic smile. 

She knows a little bit too much about The L Word

She rolls her sleeves up when she’s wearing pocket t-shirts

And when she compliments, You just feel confident

You know how she rolls but you’re still not sure

Vanessa had stayed in the bathroom for almost the rest of class, focusing on wiping down her entire face and reapplying her makeup. Although she wouldn’t feel like she was clean until she took a shower tonight, not when cold, sticky, frog juices squirt on you. Not only was it disgusting, but it definitely was plenty embarrassing, especially when the girl you happened to have the smallest crush on, was in the room. 

Vanessa rolled her eyes and reapplied her light layer of mascara, her mouth agape slightly, focusing in on the mirror and the movements of her hand. She closed up the mascara, dropping it on the counter and looking herself up and over in the mirror again. Damn, she looked great again. The power of makeup, she supposed. 

“That was disgusting, but it looks like you’re doing well.“ 

Vanessa looked towards the door as the voice entered the room, it was brooke, she opened her mouth lightly watching as the other, placed her bag on the counter after wiping it dry. She watched as she began to thoroughly washing her hands. Vanessa shook her head, shoving her makeup in her bag. 

"It was sick, nothing a little soap and makeup can’t fix though!” She grinned, looking over briefly before attempting to look like she was fixing her hair to distract her from wanting to watch the other fix her minimal amount of makeup. 

“It was like, number two on the list of most disgusting and disheartening things I’ve ever seen.” Brooke laughed, running her fingers through her hair, stealing quick glances at the other as she did. 

“What was number one then?” Vanessa asked, raising an eyebrow letting herself look back over at the taller girl for a few seconds before spraying on a little bit more hairspray. 

“The entirety of season 6 of the L-Word.” Brooke smirked lightly, shaking her head and looking over at Vanessa, like she knew that Vanessa knew exactly what she was talking about. 

She wasn’t wrong. Vanessa knew all too well, practically checking it off in her in-head checklist. 

“That shit was a disaster.” She nodded in agreement, laughing lightly and shaking her head. “I didn’t sign up for no weird-ass murder mystery shit." 

"It made no sense to even go that route, no one liked Jenny anyway.” Brooke smiled, a smile made a Vanessa take a mental picture, so she could always remember it. “I swear, if she made quoted her insipid short story about manatees one more time…" 

Vanessa raised her brows once more. So she was smart, she thought to herself. If you asked her, she wouldn’t be able be to tell you what that word meant, she wasn’t even sure if she would pronounce it. Just another reason to like the blonde.

"Well, I should head to my next class, but…” Brooke walked closer to Vanessa, laying her hand over the over the Latina’s smaller hand, looking up at her face. “Let’s talk again soon. See ya.” Brooke smiled widely, retracting her hand and leaving the bathroom after quickly swiping her bag off the counter.

Oh Oh maybe she’s just being nice

Oh or you can take my adviceIf she looks like she’d want a few cats

If her closet is full of snapbacks

You lock eyes that implies, that you’re in luck my friend

‘Cause she’s probably a lesbian

Vanessa wanted to go over to table in science, or maybe even approach her in the hallway, or if she was feeling really frisky, she would stand behind her in the lunch line. It wasn’t that easy, but it really should have been. Vanessa never had an issue with self-confidence or social anxiety. This was a whole new problem for her, and she honestly had no idea what to do about it. 

She had so many opportunities to go ahead and talk to her, during the last 3 days. By the time Vanessa had hyped herself up enough, and outweighed the pros and cons of possibly making a fool of herself, the opportunity had passed and the blonde beauty had walked away. 

She remembered the way she felt a tingle shoot up her spine as Brooke laid her hand on hers, the way that the world could have stopped around them and she probably wouldn’t have noticed anything. It was possible that she was just being dramatic, she often was. Her fantasies about romance and love were out of this world high, so it seemed likely that Vanessa could have been reading the moment wrong. 

Girls were often really touchy, right? They held hands, fixed each other’s hair, hugged and even cuddled. That was all just normal activities for straight girls. 

Vanessa stayed up at night, her mind reeling over just a light touch. It was pathetic, she thought. She shouldn’t be this held up, she has had other crushes after all. Brooke was something different, in a whole league of her own. 

It was 2 a.m. and once again, Vanessa laid in the bed staring up at the ceiling and trying to imagine different scenarios that could erupt from striking up a conversation with the blonde. She rolled over, grabbing her phone off the bedside table and proceeded to see if anyone was awake. 

V: A, you up?

A: Yeah girl, you know netflix and shit. 

V: oh yeah, of course

A: you wanna tell me what’s up?

V: there’s nothing up, I just couldn’t sleep

A: that’s an ass excuse and you know it, is it about Brooke?

Vanessa dropped her phone on her chest and sighed. She should have guessed that she would have known, she knows everything. Vanessa picked her phone back up, deciding that getting her advice might actually be beneficial

V: yeah, I hate how you know this shit 

A: you say that but I know you love it, bitch

A: anyway, just talk to her. She’s human and from what I’ve heard, she’s really nice. 

V: yeah and what happens when I make a fool of myself and she ends up straight and having a boyfriend?

A: girl, you really think she’s straight? Lmao!

V: well… yes. how would you even know otherwise. 

A: just look for the damn clues Vanessa, plus I’ve never seen her with any boys 

A: AND she rlly likes cats 

V: now that’s just ster- stereo- nvm. You know what I mean

A: Well, girl. Trust me, and talk to her. In class tomorrow, it’ll be worth it. 

V: I’ll keep that in mind, thanks A'keria

Vanessa dropped her phone again, letting out a deep sigh and rolling over in her bed, creating a plan for tomorrow.

Blue isn’t just her favorite color it’s the warmest

And her low cut tank top collection is enormous

If plaid and flannels are her go to thing

Sit back and listen to your gaydar ping

She walks around just like she owns the place

You mention pride and she can’t keep a straight face

Today was the big day. Vanessa was going to talk to her today, she had a whole plan and she was more or less ready. It was nerve racking though, if one thing went wrong it would ruin the plan and she would have to start all the back at point A again. She even had people involved to try and help her execute this, but it still had a big risk of going under. 

Vanessa got ready like she usually did every morning, yet this morning, she seemed to take some extra time to pay attention to some small details. Brooke deserved the extra time, Brooke deserves way more than that, but this was all that she could give at the moment. 

Vanessa was quick to form crushes, to love the beauty and the idea of being with somebody. This crush was different. She loved the way that she bowed her head while laugh, always moving her hand to cover her mouth. She loved the way she preferred colored pens over pencils, the way she added a loop to her ‘y’s. She was sure she would love every quirk that she was destined to learn. 

She skipped meeting with her friends in the morning, just so she couldn’t get distracted by the time she got to class. She got distracted pretty easily and didn’t want to risk the chance of missing her chance. 

She sat down in science class, quietly tapping her pencil on the side of the table running over the plan in her head. In theory, it was quite simple. When asked to choose partners, sit next to Brooke. A'keria will sit next to Nina. They will then proceed with whatever work they had to do. It seemed full proof! Or it should be. Possibly. 

She ignored any quips of conversation from anyone, and for the first time in she didn’t know how long, she actually listened to the teacher. Crazy, right?

As soon as the teacher finished muttering the words of partners and as soon the class began to buzz around, she made her move. Dodging other classmates, and she think she might have accidently pushed someone, but she wasn’t actually positive if she did. She had a goal in mind, and no one would get in her way. 

Vanessa nodded over at A'keria as they both slid into the correct seats, a confused Brooke and Nina beside them. A'keria gave her a look as to say 'Go get em tiger’ before turning and promptly starting her work with the class president, to leave both of the love interests to their own devices. 

“So… you come here often?" 

Vanessa closed her eyes, hoping to wake up from whatever nightmare where her first line to the girl she liked was "so you come here often”. Every inch of her being was stopping herself from slamming her head into the desk. 

“Well, for the last two weeks, yes. Every day.” Brooke let out a small laugh, along with a shake of her head.

“That was really stupid, I know.” Vanessa joined in on the laughing, deciding it was better to laugh at herself then the other way around. “I’m usually better than that.”

“I sure hope you’re better at science then.” Brooke cracked a smile, entitling her paper as soon as they were handed out.

Vanessa follows suit and does the same. 

Things got easier for the next 40 minutes. The conversation became natural, and flowed easily. They did more talking than they got work done, but they both didn’t seem too bothered with that. They talked about favorite movies, and favorite colors. They discussed hopes and dreams and things in that nature.

It seemed so easy to talk to the other now, and Vanessa just felt silly for having so much anxiety over talking her now that it was actually happening. 

“We didn’t get much done did we?” Brooke asked, looking down at her paper and up at the clock, seeing as class was almost finished. “You’ll just have to come over tonight, if you want too." 

"Oh, yeah. I guess I’ll have too then.” Vanessa smiled, pulling out her phone and handing it to the other to input her number. “Just text me." 

Brooke grabbed the phone, her smile seemingly got a bit wider as she looked at her background, it was Vanessa and her friends at the last pride event she attended. She put in her number, sliding her phone back over to her. "Nice photo." 

Vanessa didn’t even get to say anything back before she looked back up and the blonde was gone, seemingly vanishing into thin air. 

Sometimes the hottie-ness

Just makes it obvious

But it doesn’t happen every single case

They had made a plan to meet up at Brooke’s house at about 4:30 to finish their science work up, although they both knew that they weren’t getting together for the work. They had such a good time talking, and It felt like they had been long time friends and it just came so naturally. They just wanted to get to know each other better. 

Vanessa changed her clothing, not two, not three, but four times. It had to be perfect, but it had to also look casual and not like she was trying too hard. It had to look like she wasn’t contemplating her choices for an hour. 

She wasn’t as nervous as she was to talk to her yesterday, she was mostly just filled with excitement. A certain buzz filled her body, a buzz that gave her even more excitement then she was already was filled with. 

Vanessa stood in front of her mirror, deciding on what to do with her hair. She could just lightly curl it and let it lay across her back. She could just pin it up and keep it out of her face. So many choices, but she decided to just lightly curl her hair instead of pining it up. She decided it looked best like that, and well, she needed to do what she could. 

Brooke was so effortlessly beautiful, it seemed so simple for her. She could go without makeup, and it probably wouldn’t make much of impact, but Vanessa just wanted to look her best for her. 

At this point, she was pretty confident that Brooke did indeed swing that way, but she still needed to pick up on a few things before she was going to make a move, besides, what if she didn’t even like her, like that? Vanessa sighed quickly, shaking her head and grabbing her things, before heading out.

Oh Oh maybe she’s just being nice

Oh or you can take my advice

If she looks like she’d want a few cats

If her closet is full of snapbacks

You lock eyes that implies

That you’re in luck my friend

'Cause she’s probably a lesbian

Vanessa was a loud person, and she didn’t like the quiet. She slept with the TV on, and she always had music playing whenever she went or did anything. The quiet was awkward, and well, the silence was deafening. It held all the tension in the room, and it could take a knife to cut though. The quiet offered time to think, and Vanessa didn’t like that. So she preferred noise. 

Well, most of the time. 

Today, the car ride was quiet. No music on to sing too, no stupid radio podcast making corny jokes over the broadcast. It was just quiet. Right now, for once, Vanessa appreciated the quietness. She appreciated the time to think, the time to run everything in her head before she would end standing up, and knocking on the door. 

Which, she was just about to do. The ride was a lot shorter then she first thought it would. She was early, only by 10 minutes, but she was still early. Vanessa usually showed up late, but she tried so hard, to make sure that she left early enough not to be late. Would it be weird, if she knocked right now? What if she was busy, and she just interrupted that because she decided that she was early. Vanessa took 2 minutes to fix her light makeup, another 3 minutes to make sure that she had her science books. Another minute to take a swig of water, and yet another minute to apply another layer of lipstick after the previous coat got smudged on the bottle. 

It was time. 

Maybe it was flowers that dotted the pathway to the door, or maybe it was the birds that sang in the trees, or maybe it was just the way the curtains of the second story windows blew along with the breeze that made her loosen her grip on her bag as she headed towards the door. The house looks homey, it looked like the family had been at home here for years, when it had only been a few weeks. It was a refreshing sight and somehow made her heart beat slightly less quickly. 

Vanessa took one final deep breath, as she poised her hand at the door and knocked once, loudly, but just loudly enough to know that someone would hear. She heard shuffling and the sound of shoes clapping against wood, along with a voice that she would recognize anywhere. 

"It’s for me!” Brooke opened the door, a light smile on her face, as she pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Thanks for coming." 

Vanessa took a few seconds to look over Brooke’s outfit change before doing anything else. She looked amazing, as always. But the look of comfort and ease looked even better than the look that consisted of hours in front of a mirror.  She looked at home and easy, like she didn’t have to try for anyone else. She felt like she got to see a special side, the side that let down a wall, the side where it was truly herself, not hidden behind any layers of makeup and nice clothing. 

"Yeah, of course. We had to get this shit done, huh?” Vanessa laughed, stepping into the nice home once she got the hand gesture that allowed her in. “You have a very nice house, by the way.”

“Thanks, let’s get upstairs before we get bombarded with 50 questions from my mom..” Brooke laughed lightly, leading the other upstairs before they could start the game of 20 questions that happened any time Brooke had anyone over. 

Pictures lined the walls and she glanced at them, as she was basically being pulled up the stairs, Brooke’s hand firmly placed in hers. It was warm and safe, and Vanessa felt everything that you would imagine one would feel in this moment, but she didn’t have much time to think about it. Brooke pushed open a white door, leading her into her room. 

If she does all these things but she’s not out of the closet

Then we don’t know for sure

But I’m sure gonna call it

Win some or lose some you roll the dice

When you’re taking my advice, but

Her room was decorated in hues of whites and pinks. Instead of band pictures hanging on the wall with sloppy uneven pieces of tape; pictures of dancers lined the walls with double sided tape on the inside of the corners, making it look like the pictures were merely floating against the wall; not pinned to the walls. 

Her room was clean, not the type of the clean that you achieve within 20 minutes before your guest of honor arrives, but the type of clean that you spend every day tending too, the type of clean where every single item has it own home, a place where it belongs. 

Two cats laid perched on her bed like it was a throne, and they were the mighty kings of the castle. Vanessa watched as Brooke sat on her bed, tucking her feet under her as she sat, the cats moving to sit closer to her. 

“This is why you asked me if I was allergic? I should have guessed it, it’s not exactly a conversation starter, otherwise.” Vanessa out a small laugh, that was trying to hide and shove back all of her fears. 

“This is Henry, and” Brooke smiles, gesturing to the cat on her lap. “This one is apollo.” She leans over to pet the one on the edge of the bed. “They aren’t exactly people type of cats, so I’m sorry if they don’t like you.”

Vanessa took that opportunity to sit down on the edge of the bed, immediately being greeted by apollo, who rubbed his body against the side of her body happily. 

Vanessa raised her eyebrows, looking over at Brooke momentarily, before looking back at the cat. 

“You Liar! I must be a cat magnet, don’t doubt the powers of a cat magnet." 

She laughed, started to feel more at ease they laughed and joked effortlessly, forgetting about the work that they came here to do originally.

"I’m going to grab some water for us, then we should probably finish the homework.” Brooke mentions after about 20 minutes of joking around. 

Vanessa watches as she climbs out of the bed, making her way out of the room, leaving her alone on the bed, with the cats. 

Vanessa sighed herself, boosting herself on her elbows as she glanced around the room once more. She took note of all the photos on the dresser, none of them with anyone her own age- besides her dance group photos. She did look absolutely adorable in a Tutu at the tender age of 6 though, holding a trophy that already half her size. 

She closed her eyes momentarily, running over everything she had noted in the last few days, or as A'keria would say, gathering the clues.

There was just no way she could tell for sure, she wasn’t out of the closet and it wasn’t like she would ask her- she could never muster enough courage to be that direct. It was getting harder to be so friendly when all she wanted to do was (kiss her deeply and pul-)  be with her. 

If she looks like she’d want a few cats

If her closet is full of snapbacks

You lock eyes that implies

That you’re in luck my friend

'Cause she’s probably a lesbian

Vanessa sat up, setting her homework on her lap as Brooke came back into the room, handing her a water for she crawled into the bed, setting up her own homework as well. 

Vanessa cracked open the bottle, taking a much needed sip, as she felt her mouth started to dry up, probably because of all the nerves. She read over the paper again, trying to remember what they were doing, as she honestly didn’t even remember. 

They didn’t talk much, only sharing ideas on what the answers could be. This was one of the quiets that Vanessa couldn’t stand, but she would do it if it meant that she could admire the way that the blonde chewed on the edge of her pen when she was struggling with an answer, or when her eyes would light up when she finally figured out a tough answer. 

Maybe in the future, they should stick with their usual partners. Not that they were both bad at science, but because whenever they would look up at each other, sharing small smiles and laughs and that often ends up with one of the throw pillows being thrown, it was actually pretty distracting. 

The small smiles were more endearing than any other smile, and the laugh was sweet but it filled the entire room with the sound that Vanessa could really get used to hearing on the daily.

They finished after an hour filled with stealing glances, thrown pillows and the occasional meow, if a pillow happened to hit Henry. 

“You can stay if you want- I mean if you don’t have any other plans or anything." 

Brooke piped up quickly, watching as Vanessa was starting to pack up her work in her bag. This was the first time Vanessa had seen an air of nervousness from the other one, but if anything, it only strengthened how much she liked her. 

"I would love too" 

If her purse is also a backpack

She’s always watching Orange Is The New Black

You lock lips i insist

That you’re in luck my friend

'Cause she’s probably a lesbian 

They decided to watch Netflix, after they had managed to get some food, and only get approximately 9 questions from her mother. Brooke was mortified, a bright red color present on her cheeks the entire time. Vanessa thought it was sweet that she cared so much, and she thought it was adorable how embarrassed Brooke got. 

They got back on her bed, this time sitting next to each other, rather than across like earlier. Brooke had pulled out her laptop, efficiently signing on as she looked over at Vanessa, to see what she would want to watch.

Vanessa shrugged, a content smile on her face as she looked at the home screen. "Whatever you want, I’m not really picky boo." 

She wasn’t sure why she added the name at the end, but it did bring some color to her cheeks. Brooke didn’t seem to mind the name, either that or she didn’t notice. She put on an episode of Orange is the New Black and settled against her headboard, Vanessa following suit. 

As the episode played, they began to gently shift towards one another, small enough at first so it was barely noticeable. Eventually, they made it so Vanessa could lay her head on her shoulder and brooke could easily wrap an arm around her. Vanessa wondered if she could hear how fast her heart was beating, if it would just jump out of her chest right now. 

Vanessa wasn’t even thinking as they glanced at each other, then the next thing they both knew, her lips were softly pressed against Brooke’s. She closed her eyes, leaning into the kiss, waiting for a sign. When she felt the other kiss back, all fear and worry melted. She felt at peace as they continued the soft kiss, until they broke apart for air. 

"Finally.” Brooke hummed once they broke apart, before going into another kiss that lead to small kisses and giggles all night long. 

Yeah, she’s probably a lesbian. 

[i4z-0892-il]

Monster House 2

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 4000

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, some smut mentioned, language

A/N:  This story is going to be Trope central so buckle in babes.

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Unpacking was quick, and quiet. Though with Sam silences weren’t particularly unsettling. There were hundreds of occasions where it was just the two of you left alone with a bottle of whiskey and a mountain of lore to sift through. You never felt like you had to make small talk to fill in the gaps, you never really felt like there were any gaps and when the chats did come up they flowed naturally and without expectation. Being with Sam was just comfortable, he was easy to exist beside. Which made him easy to fall for, easy to love.

Dean was always open about his designs toward you. More often than not you figured he was being facetious, but he hit on you frequently enough that it was obvious he’d go for it if only you’d ask.  Sam on the other hand was always respectful, even when he had full opportunity not to be. Last year he’d found a particularly exciting tidbit of information that apparently couldn’t wait to be shared. So he walked into your room without knocking, when you’d just stepped out of the shower- hair wrapped in a towel and nothing else. You screamed at him in surprise, hitting the floor behind the bed to hide your bare ass. It took only a split second to register and he turned away just as quickly, face red as a tomato as he covered his eyes, calling: “Sorry! I should have knocked! Sorry!” He left and never brought it up again. But for the rest of the day he couldn’t look you in the eye without red creeping into his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but grin a little. From then on out he made doubly sure that he knocked before entering whatever room you were lodged in. If he didn’t hear a response he’d just wait, patiently, and knock again.

Though you’d never barged in on him, you were guilty of sneaking peeks at him where you could. You liked watching him, he was strong, and tall, and elegant. It wasn’t as if watching him hang his giant shirts was anything particularly invigorating. Still you enjoyed the view. His shoulder to waist ratio alone was enough to drive you crazy. And you’d seen him without a shirt on, you knew what was hidden under layers of canvas, plaid and cotton. A golden expanse of taut rolling muscle, all firm and warm and inviting. You were practically dripping at the thought of running your fingers through the soft hair on his chest.

Sam turned his head in your direction and you snapped your eyes back to your bag as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire world. Oh shoes, fucking fascinating. Socks, amazing. Underwear, such nice material! You’d deny it if you were asked, but you packed your nicest panties. Not that you had much in the way of lingerie, but like everyone you had the ones you wore on your period, the ones you wore any random day, and then you had the nice ones. The ones you wore when you wanted to feel sexier, the ones you wore when you were trying to get lucky or show off a little.

He could have sworn he’d caught you looking at him, but brushed it off as wishful thinking. Taking your preoccupation as a moment for himself to gaze at you and appreciate the curve of your ass when you bent at the hips to carelessly shove your bag under the bed. Strong thighs and shapely legs, the kind he’d like more if they were draped over his shoulders.

Dropping into the bed with a sigh you rolled to your back allowing yourself to sink into the bed that was almost too soft, too fluffy, too comfortable. It was a complete change from the norm, where you weren’t sure if the sheets were actually washed, and the bed was so hard the floor was a more comfortable option. But you were not one to complain about the tiny offerings of luxury your life occasionally offered. Wiggling your hips you settled in with a pleasured groan and let your eyes fall shut, only for a moment, to appreciate the most comfortable bed you’d ever get the chance to sleep in.

Sam watched you enjoy yourself with a grin. When the soft moan escaped your throat he found himself trying not to think about the sounds you make as your fingers gripped the blankets or nails raked red welts down his back. Or your teeth sinking into a pillow to stifle the pornographic cries that would fall from your lips. The way your hips would move and roll in tandem with his until all you could do was hold on as he fucked you into that bed and fell apart beneath him. He would make you forget how to speak, the only thing you’d be able to scream would be his name and a flurry of barely intelligible curse words in desperation. “Sam..! Uuuhhn-fuck, Sam!”

“Sam!” You shouted as you smacked him in the arm jerking his attention back to Earth as he turned to look at you, upright on your knees still in the bed. Surprise and embarrassment written on his face, cheeks flushed pink. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“Hmm? What? Uh-yeah.. Of course.” He scoffed and stumbled through his words as he sank into the edge of the bed beside you, crumpling the large plaid shirt in his hands into a ball in his lap to hide his frustration. Cocking your brow in amused confusion at his uncharacteristic fluster you handed him a nicely laminated printed card.

“What were you thinking about?” You quizzed. There was no price too high that you would pay to sneak a peek into his head. It wasn’t terribly often that you’d catch Sam spacing out, he was always pointed and focused. Even if you couldn’t tell exactly what was rolling around in his mind you could guess, and 90% of the time it had something to do with whatever crisis was being dealt with at the time. On occasion though you’d see him like he just was, obviously off in la-la-land somewhere, and those were the times you wanted desperately to know what he was thinking.

“Nothing.” He defended a little too quickly as he snatched the card from your hand ready to change the subject to literally anything else. There was no force on this Earth that would get him to admit the perverse things he thought about you- let alone to your face. The idea of how your expression would change to uncomfortable disgust at the notion made him cringe. He was looking at the card but couldn’t tell you what a single word said. “What did you say?”

“I knew you weren’t paying attention!” You affirmed your accusation poking your index finger into his rib. Tapping the card in his hand you continued. “Firstly, I don’t know how to tell you this, because I don’t want to break your heart or anything but- no wi-fi. Secondly, look at this itinerary! You don’t actually expect me to do this tonight do you?”

No wi-fi would be a problem, that meant limited research. It was to be expected though, the place was set so remotely he didn’t think there would be much signal of any kind, so he didn’t show up naked entirely. He brought his Dad’s journal, and a few other books, and he’d had quite the collection scanned and loaded on his computer. Hopefully whatever it was they ran into would be somewhere in the materials he brought. If not, you’d be taking a trip to the city for internet access. Skimming over the card to follow what you meant he let out a snicker.

“This is what you’re worried about?” Sam asked flatly as he held the card up. You gave an exaggerated shrug, not sure what was so unclear about what you were saying. “A cooking class? Really Y/n?”

“What, Sam? I don’t cook! I can burn water.” You stated matter-of-factly. It wasn’t true necessarily, you’d never burnt water, but you’d also never successfully cooked anything in the way it was actually supposed to be cooked. It wasn’t like it was your fault! Everything you ate was microwavable. Besides the fact that you hadn’t grown up around a functioning kitchen. Frankly cooking was the least of your worries. You were basically a human garbage disposal anyway. As long as it was cooked all the way through, and at least mildly edible you were good. Carbs were carbs. Calories were calories. No one was expecting you to be a gourmet chef when you were regularly covered in monster viscera.

Sam gave a soft laugh shaking his head and turning to look at you as he nudged you with his shoulder giving you a sweet smile. Those dimples. God, you could have drowned in them.

“Y/n, I have the utmost faith in you. You can attend this stupid cooking class and you’ll kick it in the ass.”

“You’re sweet. But you’ve never tasted my cooking.”

“Hey, no matter how terrible it turns out, I promise I will lie and say it is delicious.” Sam reassured you with a grin. You smiled back in mock offense and shoved his shoulder as you plucked the card from his hands, and stood.

“Wow, Sam. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime.” He snarked watching you start to pace, your eyes glued to the text.

“I mean look at this crap- is this really what normal couples do for fun?” You paused dropping your hands to your sides. He only answered with a shrug, neither of you exactly had much to compare with. You turned your attention back to the card and continued. “Wine tasting.”

“What’s wrong with Wine tasting?”

“Who drinks wine? Rich people, Depressed Mom’s and Lonely Single Women- that’s who.”

“I like wine.” He defended. Your face twisted in skepticism.

“I have never seen you with a glass of wine before. Whiskey, Bourbon and Scotch- sure. But Wine? C’mon Sam.” You didn’t wait for him to answer as you continued to the next item.  “Dancing on Thursday. Do you dance, Sam? Because I don’t dance.”

“Now- that’s not entirely true.” He interjected with a suggestive grin. He’d seen you dance before, a few times. Usually after a few shots, and with some lucky local you’d pick up for the night. Sober you may not dance, but drunk you certainly knew how to move those hips. Heat crept into your cheeks and you moved on, not even wanting to dignify his comment with a response.

“Friday night Movie night. They have a movie night.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly excited either, but it can’t be all that bad.” Sam offered. Half trying to convince himself. From the flat side-eye he earned it was apparent there was no thrill to be had on your part.

“I mean you’d think there’d be stuff on here like hiking, or yoga, or a couples spa.” You huffed and dropped the card on the table beside the bed. “Can we just… go wander around and scope the place out instead?” You asked, you could think of a thousand things you’d rather be doing than attending some stupid cooking class. Just about anything sounded like a less painful option. You’d rather be bound and gagged by something trying to eat you than have to figure out what the fuck a Souffle is.

“I’m sure we’ll be back from checking out the property in plenty of time. If there’s anyone else staying here they’ll probably be there, it’ll be a good chance to talk to some of the others here. See if they’ve heard anything.” Sam reasoned, always logical, and usually right to your displeasure. With a groan you let your chin tilt back and your shoulders slump, a little light bulb going off in your head. Rolling your head up to a tilt you gave him a flirtatious smile. He opened his mouth to speak and you placed your index finger over his lips. They were soft, and warm, and you wondered if he tasted as sweet as his cotton-candy pink mouth looked.

The glimmer in your eyes shifted changing in an instant from your usual sweet and sour demeanor to looking at him through curling lashes sultry and tempting. You hand fell from his lips to curl a long chestnut brown strand of his hair around your finger.

“What if, instead, we skipped it.” Your tone painting a vivid picture. With your cocked brow and devious smile there was no mistaking what you were suggesting. “Said we just couldn’t make it down, because we were... Busy.”

You were supposed to be newlyweds after all, and what was more convincing of a happy, healthy, lovey-dovey relationship than blowing off some bullshit class because you were too busy fucking all night?

Sam swallowed the tension in his throat, if that were an actual option on the table there would have been no need to convince him. Nevertheless he was more than willing to go along with your game, if that’s where you were taking it, two could play. His large hands settled on your hips, warm and heavy, creating gooseflesh through the thin cotton layer of t-shirt. You wanted his hands on you forever. Wanted to burn his fingerprints into your skin like a tattoo. He pulled you in, between his thighs and close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, his cologne filling your senses. The corner of his lips curling into a smile as he peered at you with those kaleidoscope eyes making you weak in the knees.

“You make a very compelling argument.” His voice smooth like scotch and just as intoxicating. Taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger made your heart skip a beat, or just dead stop. You couldn’t tell, your eyes falling to his lips, nervous anticipation shooting like an electric current through your veins. The slow drag of his thumb over your lower lip made heat pool low in your belly and your breath catch in your throat. He edged closer to you close enough to feel the heat of his breath caress your face. “But we’re still going.”

Then he smiled at you, a shit-eating grin and stood up to finish doing whatever the hell he was doing. His hands dropped away from you leaving you standing there breathless and trying to recollect your wits. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head in frustration. Folding your arms over your chest you plopped on the bed with a pout, and crossed your legs tightly trying to ease the pressure that had built.

“That was a nice moment Sam. That was a nice moment, and you ruined it. I hope you’re proud of yourself.” You snarked, and by the grin still plastered on his face- he was.

Standing at the top of the long gravel drive you held a map open in front of you, Sam right behind you and able to see clear over your head without issue. Little red dots stippled the map and at the very center of them sat the Inn. Reaching a long arm around you he pointed at one of the markers.

“Alright, so that’s where the last vic was found.”

“Correction- that’s where parts of the last vic were found.” You interjected, his lips pressed into an unamused line as he looked around the property, extending an arm to the left of the driveway and into the thick of the woods.

“Right, parts. Whatever, that’s about a mile that way…”

“Every bit of remains they’ve found have been at least a mile from here. They’re not exactly grouped in one area either. Look at this, they’ve been found just about everywhere. This is a really wide net we’re trying to cast here Sam.” You expressed at the spattering of red dots all over the place. Some further out, some closer in, and everywhere.

“Right, so we go to the freshest spot and hope we get lucky.”

“Great plan and all, except the remains at that location were two months old when they were found. I sincerely doubt that whatever’s out there is going to be there still. Especially with Police in and out of there for the last couple weeks.” You said. Sam paused hazel eyes scanning the treeline as he absorbed the information you were giving him with a nod.

“Guess we’re just gonna have to pick a direction.”

“Okay.” You agreed, folding up the map and stuffing it into the pocket on the inside of your coat, cinching the button at your waist. “Which way you wanna gamble on?”

“Hold on- let me see that map again.” He asked, absentmindedly. You sucked your teeth digging back into your coat to retrieve it. “Isn’t there a lake around here?”

“Yeah, not just one though, there’s several in the surrounding three miles.” You answered unfolding the paper again, and handing it to him to study.

Looking down the winding gravel road and into the mist that seemed to breathe between a trees a chill slid up your spine. You always got antsy before hunts. Couldn’t help it. Didn’t matter what you faced or how many times, it always gave you the jitters. Even after all these years you still got scared. You would never admit it of course, and you’d mastered the poker face to keep it under wraps. But there was honestly no way for you to truly prepare yourself for whatever was out there, not when a single slip up could mean the end. Each new hunt, even with a foe you were familiar with was still jarring and nerve-wracking. It would always be until you either died or didn’t hunt anymore.

“Going for a hike?” The woman’s voice from behind you made you jump nearly out of your skin with a gasp. Hand on your chest you turned around wide eyed to see Esmeralda standing there with perfect black curls surrounding her perfectly cut face, cascading down her perfectly petite shoulders. She wasn’t asking you of course, her eyes fixed on Sam who folded up the map and tucked it in his back pocket as he turned his head to face her.

“Uh, yeah. Thinking about it.” He answered, she gave him a smile, a perfect smile, with straight white teeth and full pouty lips. She was so pretty you kind of hated her for it. Like, damn lady, we get it, you won the genetic jackpot, you don’t have to rub it in by existing and breathing air.

“Well there are a few trails if you follow the drive down to the main road. Though some of them can be a little hard to navigate if you don’t know where you’re going.”  Esmeralda explained. God, even her voice was perfect and sexy. You could have groaned, or rolled your eyes- you didn’t because you didn’t make a habit of being rude, not that it would have mattered anyway. She wasn’t paying attention to you in the slightest, you could have been a sentient tree and it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. No, instead she was focused completely on Sam, placing a delicate little hand over his bicep as she pointed around the property. Because groping him was obviously necessary for giving directions. Her fingers were so long and elegant and slender you imagined they’d snap like toothpicks with the proper amount of pressure. “If you’re looking to sight-see, the paths to the North West behind the Inn take you further up the Mountain with plenty of breathtaking views.”

“Actually we’re thinking about checking out some of the lakes.” Sam replied. She smiled at him as if it was the most novel idea she’d ever heard while giving his arm as squeeze.

We get it! He’s jacked. Back off lady. You thought, gnawing on the inside of your lip, just waiting for the whole conversation to be over already. Would it be appropriate to bust up the party a little? You were, after all, supposed to be his wife for all she knew. But you didn’t want to come off as possessive, or jealous. Even though you were and it was absolutely killing you! You resolved to just crossing an arm over your chest and chewing on your thumbnail as if it were going to help you keep your composure in some way.

“To the West is Spider Lake, it’s further into the woods and up the mountain, Spider Creek feeds into it, it’s lovely up there. And to the South East about a mile and a half is Lake Kulla Kulla. It’s a wonderful spot for fishing I hear- if that’s something you enjoy..”

“Thanks, Esmeralda.” Sam replied.

“You’re most welcome Mr. Wesson. Do be careful not to stray too far from the paths, people get lost in these woods easily.” She cautioned. Her voice oozed over ‘Mr. Wesson’ as if she could have sex with the words. Her hand was still glued to his arm like a fucking magnet.“Oh and you will be back in time for tonight's activity won’t you? I’d hate for you to miss out on all of the fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, we plan on being there.” Sam assured with a smile as he stepped back detaching from her grasp and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Your arms fell around his waist instantly as you leaned into him.

“We are just so excited.” You lied enthusiastically as you brought your right hand to his chest resting over his heart, making sure the little rock on your finger was near impossible to miss. Her icy green eyes cut to you with a look of pure distaste. You recoiled stunned and more than a little put off- if looks could kill. It was brief, nothing more than a flicker before she gave another radiant smile, but you caught it.

“Wonderful, we’ll see you when you return. Enjoy your hike.” Esmeralda said before heading back to the Inn. Sam turned his attention back to the map but you watched her sashay until she disappeared inside.

“The fuck was her problem?” You scoffed Sam turned his eyes to you curiously with a furrowed brow.

“What?”

“You didn’t see that?” You asked jutting your thumb behind you.

“See what?”

“You didn’t see the look she gave me?”

“No?”

“Well she looked at me like I spat on her, or pushed her Grandma down the stairs for funsies…” Or like she was pissed that the hulking Adonis in front of her was spoken for. Not that it seemed to matter to her much. Sam chuckled in response, studying your body language as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, chewing on your fingernail in nervous frustration, eyes like daggers on the front door of the Inn. If he didn’t know any better he might have mistaken that look on your face for jealousy. But you were always a little on edge before a hunt- you’d never admit it, but he knew.

You were pretty good at covering, but he’d known you too long not to pick up on the buzzing nervous energy coming off of you in waves. It never ceased to amuse him though. You were fearless, if there was ever hesitation about going into a situation you wouldn’t wait for a game of rock-paper-scissors, you’d just go in. He figured you did it because you either liked embarrassing them a little that you’d go in before either of them, or out of the need to show yourself that you weren’t afraid. Either way your courage in the face of your own palpable anxiety was endearing, and something he admired about you.

“What do you think- start with Spider Lake?” He asked. You answered with an agreeable shrug.

“Monster’s gotta have a watering hole right?”

Tags:

@heyitscam99

@mogaruke

@x-waywardaf-x

@alexwinchester23

@notnaturalanahi

@lydklein1

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@dontyouhearthewhispers

@littlegreenplasticsoldier

@witchy--owl

@saxxxology

[youknowmymethods]

Content Creator Interview #2

In this week’s interview, fandom friends @lilsherlockian1975 and @mrsmcrieff talk about whether they found Sherlock hot or not at first sight, how publicly sharing their work changed their writing, and the hardest thing about writing smutfic (pun fully intended).

And for those who don’t know, today is Lillian’s Birthday, so m’dear, Many Happy Returns!!!!

Hey, so Lilsherlockian1975 and myself, MrsMCrieff, have decided to interview each other for Aine’s challenge. We’re going to try to answer each other’s questions but there is always the danger of us going massively off piste. Our conversations in the past have been eclectic and very wide-ranging not to mention M rated.

 Anyway, I thought we could start by saying how we came into the fandom and more than that writing in the fandom. Lil, do you want to start?

Lil: All right, my sister on another continent, here’s how it went: As I’ve explained about finding The Full House on Pinterest, let’s explore what came before that moment, then just after... I was working third shift at a hotel (I had to as Mr Lil and I didn’t really have any childcare options at the time, so we just worked opposite shifts). The hotel was in a very small town - we were never busy, some nights we sold maybe 2 rooms - I usually spent my time watching Netflix. After making my way through Doctor Who, Star Trek Next Gen, Voyager then (God help me) DS9, Farscape and Firefly, I’d finally run out of anything to watch. You’d be surprised how quickly you can burn through a series binge watching for 8 hours at a time (and getting paid for it!).

 Then… then I found Sherlock. Well, that changed things… a bit.

 “Good Lord, who is the Cumberstud chap and why won’t he have all the sex with me!?” was my first thought, my second was, “Maybe I have a chance with the dishy DI?” and third? “Oh… what fresh hell is this ‘Mycroft’? Yummy!” Then finally, “Ahh, did the casting director somehow read my diary? Creepy but… all right.” To my defense, it was late and I usually worked on very little sleep. Also, I’m a kinky bitch.

 I’d never been involved in a ‘fandom proper’, I suppose. That’s not to say that I wasn’t a fangirl. I am and always have been. I was hugely into the Kevin Smith movies, going as far as visiting the Quick Stop and RST Video in Lenardo, NJ, respectively, as well as The Secret Stash, in Red Bank. I was a comic book geek in my youth, Marvel mostly, but some DC as well.

 After reading The Full House, I desperately needed MORE Sherlock and luckily enough, there was more to be found.

 At first I was just reading, then I wrote and posted a couple of (horrible) fics and met this fellow writer named MrsMCrieff (I might have had a little ‘writing crush’ on you, Mrs!). We chatted on FF.net and struck up a friendship.

 So, for me, writing came before fandom. Mrs was doing some betaing for me, but I didn’t ask for help often; I hated bothering her all the time for the multitude of stories I was turning out. At some point around here, I got an elusive invite to AO3 from sherlockian87, bless her soul, because I kept trying to join and couldn��t get a blessed invitation. Also around this time, I had written a prompt and got a PM from MizJoely asking if she could fix some of my mistakes (she was very sweet about it, even though I totally flipped - half fangirling, half losing my shit because ‘Crap, I screwed up so bad, here was The MizJoely asking if she could edit out my mistakes!’) but she wasn’t being critical at all, of course, just helpful as I soon found out. Shortly after, now having formed a friendship with MIz, she suggested that I start a Tumblr blog. And that’s how it all started.

Yes, sorry… I, um, tend to be a tad loquacious. Writing out my answers doesn’t help one little bit.

 Okay, Mrs, right back atcha!

 Mrs: OK, shall I try to be more concise? I’ll probably fail as I’m terrible as writing short fics they always seem to end up spread over multiple chapters.

 I’m another one who had always been a fangirl, Doctor Who, Buffy, Twilight, vampire Diaries (yeah, I love my vampires) but I’d also been a Sherlock Holmes fan. I’d read all the books in my teens, watched the Basil Rathbone and Jeremy Brett adaptations and even stayed at the Sherlock Holmes hotel on Baker St so when a new series was advertised it was an easy sale.

 I was late to the cumberobsession though. I have to admit watching the first two series as they came out and I remember thinking I like them but it’s a shame Sherlock isn’t that hot. I know, I know, I’m embarrassed even as I write that.

 It all changed after watching season 3 and I blame the Sherlolly kiss 100%. I watched the series, DELETED the records!! And then realised I was spending a lot of time thinking about Sherlock and Benedict...that turned into looking him up online and from there it was a short step to reading Sherlolly fics on fanfic (I was already reading fics for other shipping obsessions). Anyway, it didn’t take long before Sherlolly took over all my other ships and Benedict was my number one hottie.

 As for writing, I hadn’t written anything fiction based since school and school was a long time ago...almost thirty years. But one day I was looking for a specific fic, I wanted to read about Sherlock and Molly having to share body heat and I just couldn’t find anything that satisfied me. I’m not sure why but in that moment I decided to write it myself and in half an hour I’d written Frozen...my first ever fic. It took another couple of hours to pluck up the courage to post it and I clearly remember feeling a bit sick and my hand shaking as I pressed the final button to post.

 Thankfully, I almost immediately started to receive positive reviews and feedback and it wasn’t long before I started to write more...the rest as they say is history. Lil got in touch soon after and it was fun chatting to another writer just starting out. We soon found we were not dissimilar in age and both had two sons and the friendship started there.

 We’ve been through quite a lot over the last few years Lil and written some fab stories. Wouldn’t you agree?

 (I should let on that we are now faffing about trying to find the original list of questions...we are trying to be professional).

 Ok Lil, so I’ve looked at Aine’s questions and they look really hard. Any preferences on which ones you want to answer :).

 Lil: I think a great follow up to that first one is this: How did posting your first story change your process of writing? So I’m shooting it back to you, Mrs, and you can send me that one or select a new one for me. Tag, you’re it!

 Mrs: I can tell you quite simply how it changed my process of writing...given that it was my first piece of writing in 30 years I was starting from scratch when it came to any process. One thing that I started with that’s held true for me ever since is that my stories are fully mapped out and written before I even start posting the first chapter. I will edit and make refinements but the bones of the story are there.

 I know lots of people post a chapter and then write the next chapter but that would put me under too much pressure. The downside is that if someone gives me a prompt they could be waiting months before they see it posted. The upside is if I’ve started posting a fic you will get the end of it as it’s already been written.

 There have only been two exceptions to this method: Sherlock Holmes, Vampire which I worked on over a year or so posting four chapters every so often as I wrote them...it was stressful. And the other is Never Have I Ever which was/is more of a collection of one shots woven together into a fic.

 How about you Lil? How did it change for you?

 Lil: So, I’d been writing little stories and whatnot for years and years but, having no idea that there was such a thing as ff.net or AO3, I had no place to put them. Writing was always a very, very distant dream of mine. I have loads of notebooks filled with stories, story ideas and my own personal ramblings (unfortunately, my Tumblr followers now have to read the ‘ramblings business’). I stopped for many years after my roommate/best friend since childhood found some of my writing in college that I’d carefully hidden under my bed. I came home to find her in my room, sat on the floor, on the phone with our Art History professor (whom she was sleeping with), as she read him my story and laughed hysterically at its awfulness.

 I was devastated and vowed never to write again.

 But that changed, of course. Those first maybe ten stories were just me letting my mind go and getting out what I wanted to say (aided by liberal amounts of wine). Since then, however, my ‘process’ has changed drastically. I don’t always write an outline (never for one shots, which I write often) but I generally do for long fics. If not, it’s easy for me to get lost and miss critical points. My writing has become more about ‘layering’ for lack of a better word.

 I found after those first few posted fics, that in going back and re-reading them I wanted to make changes. I didn’t re-edit them (because I’m lazy), but it made me realize that my writing required more time and proofing before posting; that first draft is just the start for me - a thin layer of primer paint on a canvas, if you will. I then read over it and add more details and more and more until I get the desired effect. Again, much like oil painting, I have to build things up, layer by layer. This works for me; I have no idea if it’s a proper method of writing. So, posting my first fic(s) helped me learn that I shouldn’t be so trigger happy about posting if the story wasn’t ready.

 Okay, Mrs, this one is geared specifically towards you. I don’t think anyone would argue with me about your supernatural ability to write ‘case fics’, so let me ask: Which do you prefer writing, case fics or fluffy smut-filled romps? And why?

 Mrs: Oh God, ask me something easy why don’t you. Both, I like writing both. I love the depth of a case fic, the idea, the research, plotting it out and working out the characters and detail but it’s so time consuming and I often write a bit, leave it, come back to it etc. etc. so a detailed case fic can take six months.

 Fluff on the other hand is less satisfying but quicker (my minds already in the gutter with an analogy).

 Woohoo I kept is fairly short for once. So, here’s one that’s good for you. I’m endlessly envious of how easily you make friends and how you know so many people in the fandom whereas I’m the introverted hermit. Which other authors are you friends with, and how have they help you become a better writer?

 Lil: Goodness! You make me sound like a social butterfly (Mr Lil calls me that all the time!). I like people, plain and simple. Other than you, I am close to MizJoely and Darnedchild, that’s no secret, so I’ll talk about them first (you included, because you’ve made me a better writer, I’m sure of it - have actual proof!)

 I cannot count the ways Miz has helped me improve my writing. She figuratively took me by the ear and said “okay, you don’t suck but do you even know what a comma is used for?” No, not those actual words, she was much kinder about it, but I got the hidden meaning and I needed it, trust me. She also challenges me and is not afraid to be honest with me when I’ve written something that isn’t good or perhaps doesn’t fit. I know I’ve improved since she started betaing for me, like a 1000%. And Child… When I volunteered to beta for the Big Bang Challenge, I had no idea what I was getting into, but man… she’d written and enormous fic. Good, amazing really, but it was longer than anything I’d ever worked on before. It scared the shit out of me but I really think it was exactly what I needed. Betaing someone else’s work can really make you see your own mistakes from a new perspective. I feel like I jumped ahead after working on the BBC with Child. As for you, MrsMCrieff, just the other day I had The Best compliment… someone actually thought I was British! Yes, that happened. I can only attribute that little feat to you, my friend. You’ve taught me when to add a ‘u’, when not to zed and about many different terms like pavement, taps, hob, loo, trousers (we really don’t say that here!). Not to mention the fact that most European men aren’t circumcised. Who knew?! It’s pretty common in the US.

 But that’s just a few. I cannot count the number of fandom friends who have helped me and all the ways that they’ve done so. That doesn’t mean I won’t try…

 There’s likingthistoomuch who always listens to my ideas and encouraged me to post my first Harry Potter fic. OhAine has been a true friend from the very beginning, always insightful and supportive. Mellovesall who is just too sweet for words and always helps with edits, no matter what’s going on in her life. Kendrapendragon who let me bounce ideas for my Mirror Has Two Faces AU off of her for like a whole day! the-sapphiresky who has helped me with this historical AU that may or may not ever see the light of day. Allthebellsinvenice who answered about a dozen questions (over two years!) for Dig Down Deep when I’d panic about some D/s situation I’d written myself into. o0katiekins0o who backs me up when I’m in the middle of a sensitive subject. I can always depend on her to help me when I’m afraid I’m crossing a line. Broomclosetkink, Lord help me! She’s pinch hit for me when I’ve written a fic for Miz or if I just need a good laugh. She’s the best. Sweets… it’s very hard to talk about sweet-sweet-escape. I still cannot even bring myself read her stories or the ones I wrote for her without breaking down, but no one was more supportive or kind to me than Sweets. I miss her so much.

 Then there’s all the love and support I received from everyone during The Fic That Shall Not Be Named debacle. That’s when I knew how much this fandom (well, this ship, really) had my back! I will never forget how much love and support I received. Bless you all!

 I’m forgetting people and I hate that. But I really do love all my fandom friends as if I see them and hang out with them every day. I mean that.

 Okay, Mrs, here’s one for you (I’m going back to the list for this one because I like it and I think it’s interesting): What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters of the opposite sex?

 Mrs: See, see I said you knew loads of people!

 As for your question that’s easy to answer...knowing what it feels like when they get aroused and orgasm. I’m more than happy being female but it would be kind of interesting just to be a guy for one day. It would improve my writing no end.

 On a wider note when it comes to writing characters I don’t think any of us made it easy on ourselves when we decided to try to write being a high functioning sociopathic genius. I think I can speak for most of us when I say he’s not the easiest person to try to write authentically. I just wish I had half his knowledge then I wouldn’t feel like such an idiot when I’m writing him.

 I gave my youngest son the option of any number between 1 and 40. He chose 7 so does writing energise or exhaust you?

 Lil: It absolutely energises me! I do get frustrated trying to find time to write, but actually writing does amazing things for my mental and physical self. I find that I’m much more productive around the house when I’m in the middle of a writing jag. I’ll sit and write for a while, then get up and pound out some chores (usually more quickly as to get back to my computer). Somehow, this works for me. Frankly, it’s probably got to do with my ADHD. I’m the kind of person who needs to do multiple things at once. I’m the same at work; I cannot just stand behind the registrar for 8 hours. I practically beg my managers for extra work, which they’re happy to give me.

 I have an original question for you, love: How does a bad review affect you?

 Mrs: I’ll be honest I don’t react well to a bad review but it does depend on whether I think it’s valid or not. You probably know each and every time I’ve had one because I will probably have sent you a screen shot and asked your opinion. Thankfully they have been few and far between, occasionally they have made me think...especially if I’m being accused of using a tired old trope and I’ve made the effort to up my game in future fics but often they are just being nasty for the sake of it.

 Writing is such a personal thing though, we give a piece of ourselves in each and every fic so it’s hard to not take criticism very personally.

 Same question to you Lil.

 Lil: Oh, I’m a giant baby about a bad review and have been known to take it very personally. At first I brood… like really hard, thinking on the entire thing much longer than necessary. I suppose it depends on the nature and tone, for the most part though. If it’s attacking and spiteful, I’ll attack right back but if it’s coming from a ‘goodish’ place, I do try to look at my writing a bit more objectively (I don’t always succeed). Anonymous bad reviews get to me the most. The fact that I cannot reply drives me up the wall!

 Okay, we’re wrapping this up (else we could go on forever!) Thanks so much and a big thanks to Aine for organizing this as well!

 Mrs & Lil

Next Week:

Posting on Friday 01 March it’s @ohaine ‘s turn (eek!) to interview @ashockinglackofsatin

[you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus]

Cyrus’ Dictionary

1 || 2 || 3 || 4

Summary: Cyrus has always been good with words; there’s a reason English is his favorite subject. But with TJ, he seems to be at a loss for words. When they get paired up for a summer assignment, Cyrus slowly starts to build a new dictionary. One that involves TJ and everything they do together. Along the way, maybe he’ll find the words to tell him how he feels.

Chapter 2: Smultronställe

Word Count: 2523

Read on AO3

Don’t be late. Don’t be late. Don’t be late.

TJ hurried towards the swings, nearly tripping over his untied shoes (which Amber reminded him of earlier). He checked his phone again, and 12:01 shone back at him. Crap.

“Cyrus!” he called, seeing a figure in the distance, his swing moving ever so slightly. As he got closer, he could see that Cyrus looked, dare he say it, forlorn? He slowed his pace, trying to regain oxygen in his lungs so he wasn’t panting.

Cyrus didn’t respond; his gaze was laser focused on the ground, at a small patch of wild strawberries growing near the swings. He didn’t really notice when TJ had sat down by him, other than noting that the swing was moving.

“I brought your journal,” TJ said after a pause, handing it to Cyrus, who took it without looking up at him. He nodded in gratitude, placing the small book beside him. And then it was silent again. TJ tried to let it go on as much as he possibly could, counting the blades of glass that poked out from underneath the wood chips.

“Thanks,” Cyrus finally spoke, his voice sounding strangely small, “for the journal, I mean,”

TJ nodded, waiting for him to say more but he didn’t. Motivated by what one could only call absurd bravery, he extended his hand out for Cyrus, if he so desired. After feeling like it was a mistake and ready to take it back, the other boy reached his hand out and linked his pinky with TJ’s, and both boys audibly sighed.

“Smultronställe,” Cyrus mumbled, his and TJ’s hands swinging lightly between them, “it’s Swedish,” he added, noting TJ’s expression, “it means, like, well it literally translates to ‘a place of wild strawberries’, but it’s, like, a place you return to for relaxation and solace,”

“Swings,” TJ replied, after he’d processed that Cyrus was one mystery after another, “they’re peaceful,”

“. . .Yeah,” Cyrus hesitated, chewing on his lower lip, “a smultronställe is supposed to be a stress free place. . .”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” TJ filled in the space, gently giving the other boy’s pinky a squeeze.

Cyrus sighed, taking both of his hands and using them to prop up his head with his hands, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Do you ever feel weird?”

TJ blinked, rubbing his hands against his knees. “Weird? Like, in what sense?”

Cyrus sighed, gripping the swings and throwing his head back. “Like, I don’t know,” he groaned, failing to find the right words, “like, it’s like, I’m on the outside. Like I’m watching myself live a life that I’m being. . .not forced, per se,” he muttered, sitting upright, “but like. . .pushed? Maybe? I don’t know,”

TJ nodded, kicking his feet a little to start swaying. “I get that,” he agreed, “it’s like. . .you recognize that you’re living a life where some things that you thought you could or should control, you can’t,”

“Exactly, and like,” Cyrus huffed, “I should be able to have control over these things in my life. Control over who knows, and when, and how they find out,” he rambled, clenching his hands into fists, which did not go unnoticed by TJ.

“Hey,” TJ whispered, straddling the swing, “whatever it is you need to get off your chest,” he gestured to himself, “I’m here for you,”

Cyrus let out a shaky sigh, his eyes glossy with a layer of tears forming, threatening to fall with a single blink. “I. . .sorry, this is just hard to say and I’m worried, even though I really shouldn’t be because I know you’re a great person and,” he took a deep breath, trying to continue. He shut his eyes tightly, a few loose tears trickling down his face.

TJ instinctively reached out and swiped them away, putting his hands on Cyrus’ shoulders. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,” TJ reminded him, feeling Cyrus relax under his touch. Cyrus’ heart was probably racing, but TJ’s felt like it was going to explode out of his chest.

“You’re gonna hate me,” he whispered, the very idea making a sob escape from his lips, “you’re never going to want to be around me again.”

TJ felt tears budding at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t let them escape, for Cyrus’ sake. “I could never hate you, Underdog,” he promised, wanting nothing more than to just press a kiss to the other boy’s temple and make him feel better, “there’s nothing you can say to make me stop being around you. I mean, unless you murdered someone,”

Cyrus snorted, a tiny smile ghosting his lips. “I haven’t murdered anyone,” he replied softly, inhaling sharply, “but, TJ. . .I’m gay,”

And there it was. He finally mustered up the courage to push those two terrifying words out, and now they hung in the open. Cyrus couldn’t even look at TJ’s face, not willing himself to meet his gaze of what he was sure would be utmost disgust and disappointment.

“So?”

Cyrus’ head snapped up, his watery gaze meeting TJ’s nonchalant one. “What do you mean ‘so’”?

TJ shrugged, putting his hand on the other boy’s knee. “I mean that I’m glad you told me, but that it doesn’t change how I think of you. You’re still you, Cyrus. I’d accept you no matter what,” he promised, opening out his arms.

Cyrus straddled the swing as well, and leaned forward, burying his head in his TJ’s chest, and letting the tears flow openly. And even though the chains of the swings were digging into him (and probably TJ too, as a result), he felt so much better. It was, as cliche as it sounded, like a weight lifted off of his shoulders. He finally felt like he didn’t have to walk on eggshells around one person.

TJ, however, felt almost the opposite. Of course he would accept Cyrus, that wasn’t even a question; it would be hypocritical if he didn’t, afterall. He wanted so badly to tack on ‘I’m gay too’ to his little acceptance speech, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to take this important moment away from Cyrus. So, he simply cut that part out. But every second that passed, he started to regret that decision. Coincidentally so, every second that passed, he thought would be a worse and worse time to come out.

Cyrus picked his head up from TJ shirt, fanning his eyes quickly. “Sorry,” he mustered, choking out a laugh, “I didn’t think I’d be crying, at least this hard,”

“Don’t apologize, Cy. It can be terrifying to put yourself out there,” TJ reminded him.

Cyrus scoffed, swiping at his loose tears. “You mean like when a certain basketball player asks girls to dances but they never say no?”

TJ laughed nervously, averting his attention from the other boy. “Something like that,” he mumbled, just quiet enough so Cyrus didn’t hear.

“Now that I feel emotionally drained,” Cyrus chuckled softly, “we should do something, like actually fun. There’s a laser tag place pretty close by. . .what do you say?”

TJ smirked, cracking his knuckles. “Hate to break it to you, Underdog, but I am a master at laser tag,”

“Is that a challenge?” Cyrus raised his brows, “You absolute overconfident buffoon, laser tag is a game of skill, not athleticism,”

“We’ll see about that,”

About an hour later, they found themselves at the laser tag arena, with Amber, Andi, Marty, and Buffy. They texted them as soon as they left the swings, and agreed to meet up and play a round or two. And TJ may or may not have slipped the employee at the table a few dollars to convince him to be on Cyrus’ team. Amber and Andi were on opposing teams, but they swore they wouldn’t go for each other. Buffy and Marty begged to be on opposing teams, but the man was either too tired or didn’t care enough to do anything.

“Let me help you with that,” TJ offered, helping Cyrus slip the jacket over his head, “wouldn’t wanna lose because of faulty use,”

“Okay, so,” the employee, a man who looked no older than 20 sighed, “two teams. No running, no profanity, and please when I say the game is over, exit through the door. It’ll be lit by the orange arrows. Have fun,”

He opened the doors, and immediately, all the kids, including ones that they had never seen before, were scampering around the arena, filling the room with squeals and the sound of feet pounding the carpet.

Cyrus did what he did best; find a small corner, crouch, and try and stay hidden. A few little kids spooked him and shot at him, effectively lowering his score. Groaning, he put his head in his hands.

“Boo,” a familiar voice interrupted.

Cyrus scrambled to grab his laser gun, shooting blindly and hoping he was hitting something.

“We’re on the same team, dumbass,” TJ snarked kneeling down beside him, “I’m here to help you,” he added, sitting down and leaning against the wall.

“Thanks,” Cyrus mumbled, pulling his knees into his chest, “I’m not really good at this. I may or may not have lied,”

TJ breathed out a laugh, opening his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by a barrage of kids screaming and coming their way. After a split second, TJ jumped behind Cyrus.

“What are you doing?” Cyrus hissed, before feeling a pair of arms wrap loosely around him ad grab his laser gun.

“Helping you win, duh,” he muttered, taking Cyrus’ hands and putting them on his laser gun. He let his hand rest gently on top, and he couldn’t help but try and bite back a smile. Bringing their hands up, he helped Cyrus aim and shoot at the other team, the lights on their vest going out. Just then, a voice over the announcer said that the game was over, and to please follow the orange arrows to the exit.

Marty and Buffy were the first ones out the door, with Buffy pumping her fist, as she’d beat Marty. Amber and Andi walked out hand in hand, which honestly, did not surprise TJ, or Cyrus for that matter, in the slightest.

“Hey look! You did it!” TJ pointed at the screen, where the number one spot was occupied by the screen name of RAINBOW. It matched the name that Cyrus had on his vest.

“We did it. I wouldn’t have gotten close without your help, you know,” he insisted, taking his vest off and hanging it on the wall, TJ doing the same.

“I’m so proud of you, I could just hug you right now,” TJ exclaimed, clasping his hand over his mouth immediately after. Did he really just say that out loud?

Cyrus chuckled, shrugging. “What’s stopping you?”

TJ opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. To hell with it, he thought, reaching forward and wrapping Cyrus in a hug. Truly, he could stay like this forever, his life encapsulated in this one moment.

“You’re a pretty good hugger,” Cyrus commented, still not detaching from the other boy, “and that’s coming from someone who really enjoys hugs,”

TJ pulled his torso back, his arms still wrapped around Cyrus’ waist. “What makes you think I don’t really enjoy hugs? I love hugs,”

Cyrus rolled his eyes playfully, a smile dancing on his lips. “Surprise after surprise, Teej,”

“Alright break it up, lovebirds,” Buffy intruded, startling both boys out of their moment, “Marty and I are going for milkshakes. And,” she added, glancing at him, “he’s paying because I won laser tag,”

Marty pretended to bow down to her, raising and lowering his arms. “As you with, my queen,”

“You guys wanna come?”

Cyrus and TJ exchanged glances, shaking their heads in unison. “We’re good thanks,” Cyrus replied, to which Buffy gave him a knowing look, before turning and leaving with Marty, hand in hand.

Amber and Andi were over by the air hockey table, playing each other and laughing to hard that TJ thought one of them might pass out at some point. Amber looked up for a moment, meeting her brother’s eyes. He raised his brows, while Amber glanced at Cyrus over and over, as if trying to push TJ to talking to him.

“So,” he started, kicking at the carpet, “what should we do for the next activity? Anything you want,”

At that, Cyrus beamed, his eyes lighting up. “There’s a Christmas in July festival close by! And I know that it’s kind of far away but, like, tickets are on sale,” he suggested.

“That sounds awesome,” he smiled, before he faltered, “I think I’m going on vacation for part of July though. When is it?”

“Um,” he hummed, pulling out his phone and searching, “. . . it’s the 13th and 14th of July,”

TJ fist pumped the air, smiling. “I’ll be there,”

“Great,” he replied, followed by a beat of silence, “I’m gonna get going home but. . .today was so fun. Thanks for winning for me,”

“Hey,” TJ gently punched his shoulder, “you could’ve done it. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Cyrus nodded, pivoting on his heel and walking out the door.

TJ smiled to himself. It’d been a pretty good day.

When he got home, Cyrus flopped down on his bed, pulling his journal out from under his bed and flipping to the back. He thought back to the events of the day, before picking a word.

cingulomania: the desire to hold someone in your arms

He lingered a moment longer, remembering him and TJ, together in the little arcade. TJ really did give the best hugs. Maybe-

“Nope,” Cyrus mumbled, flipping back to the front and pushing his emotions aside, “just gonna write down what happened. Journalism. No feelings. Just facts.”

6/4

Today me and Cyrus went to the swings and he came out to me we talked. Nothing in particular just about us. Then we went to the laser arcade with Marty, Buffy, Andi, and Amber. Cyrus and I stuck together and he ended up coming on top! I was really proud of him. Then we hugged in celebration and he told me that I gave the best hugs. We made plans to go to the Christmas in July festival, and it’s going to be so fun. I don’t know what we’re going to be doing tomorrow but I know it will be fun because it’s gonna be with him.

TJ sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He was probably going to have to rewrite this one, since there were so many things he needed to cross out. It didn’t help that all he could think about was Cyrus this and Cyrus that. Journalism was not going to be his forte if he couldn’t include emotions. Bummer.

[andi’s girlfriend: TJ]

[andi’s girlfriend: TJ]

[andi’s girlfriend: SHE ASKED ME ON A DATE]

[andi’s girlfriend: SFKSFSFSK I CANT EVEN]

[andi’s girlfriend: i’m going to her house ill be back later]

TJ smiled at his messages. Called it,  he thought to himself.

[Me: i’m gonna call her your girlfriend now and forever]

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