#and the check in agent let me keep my extra carry on as a gate check. and the lady in line to board was super nice to me nd helped me board

[lakecoded]

most harrowing airport experience survived

[bentforkent]

merry christmas, spencer reid

derek morgan x spencer reid x penelope garcia

a/n: this is a spencer-centric morceid fic. i find spencer the easiest to write, so i enjoy framing these moments through a spencer-lens...hope that's okay with y'all :)

content warnings: none! this is straight FLUFF, love, and banter baby!

word count: 2087

in which derek, penelope, and spencer are at the airport, heading to chicago for christmas

- - - - - 

Arrive at Airport - 6:47 AM

It’s cold. Spencer Reid is certifiably a genius, and all he knows at this moment in time is that it is cold. A fog has settled over the airport drop-off zone, wet and enveloping. Spencer thinks it might be melancholy if not for the sun just barely peeking over the horizon and Penelope’s bright pink coat bouncing around in front of him. She’s wearing enough layers that it’s difficult for her arms to move, leaving Derek and Spencer to pull their luggage from the trunk of the Uber. To compensate for her lack of involvement, she flits around the pair, pressing gentle kisses to their cheeks.

She’s moving a little too much for Spencer’s liking. It’s still early and he’s feeling quite overwhelmed. Late minute packing, bickering, and a sugary coffee before 6 in the morning will do that to you. But he loves Penelope--oh, he loves her so much--and he’s been working through this type of sensory overload response in therapy, so instead of snapping at her to calm down and please stop moving, he reaches for her hand with the one that isn’t white-knuckling a heavy suitcase.

Penelope, ever intuitive, ever loving, laces her fingers with his spindly ones and slows to a still next to him. “Oops. Sorry, lovebug,” she says, and Spencer, relaxing, kisses her flushed cheek.

“Are you excited?” She asks him.

Spencer nods rapidly, curls bouncing. It’s Spencer’s first Christmas spent with Derek and Penelope, his first time going to Chicago with them, and his first time meeting Derek’s family. He’s nervous, but so excited. Spencer watches as Derek lifts the luggage onto the curb, and finds himself wishing it wasn’t so damn cold so he could watch Derek’s muscles flex in the absence of a heavy jacket. Penelope follows Spencer’s gaze and squeezes his hand as if she can hear his thoughts and agrees.

As if on cue, Derek thanks the Uber driver and turns to them.

“You guys are no help,” he remarks, gesturing to the disparity between the amount of luggage each of them were carrying. Penelope pulls her empty, suitcase-free hands from Spencer’s, hiding them behind her back to playfully feign innocence. Spencer’s heart swells as he watches Derek’s smile widen and overtake his whole face.

“Spence, you want me to take that bag?” He asks. He reaches for it, brushing against Spencer’s exposed wrist tenderly.

Spencer beams at him. “No, you’ve got all of them. I can handle this one.”

As they bustle into the airport, the cold air feels a bit warmer.

Check Bags - 7:12 AM

“Babygirl, I hope you checked that bag’s weight twice, because I am not paying extra for you going over the 50 pound limit again,” Derek says, looking down at Penelope where she’s perched on the edge of her suitcase. The line they’re in to check their bags hasn’t moved in a while, and once Penelope had discovered that her suitcase was sturdy enough to hold a human body despite the wonky wheel she’d broken trekking through this very airport last Christmas, she’d been sitting on it ever since. She offered Spencer a spot next to her, of course, but he was enjoying standing with Derek. Every so often, he reaches over and pinches Spencer’s hip playfully, kissing his cheek when Spencer squirms in response. So yeah, Spencer is enjoying it.

Penelope kicks her leg out and hooks it around Derek’s. “Oh, you love me, you’ll pay for it,” she replies, with a toothy smile up at him.

“Did you know that there was once a tiny Samoan airline that actually determined ticket prices based on the weight of their passengers, instead of weighing their luggage? Each kilogram someone weighed was 93 cents onto the price of their ticket,” Spencer says.

“How did that work out for them?” Derek asks intently, enthralled by Spencer’s words. 

“They closed. A lot of people were really upset by the weight thing, but because it made children’s tickets cheaper than the average ticket, a lot of traveling families actually preferred that method.” 

Penelope hums, standing from her seat and wrapping her arms tightly around Derek’s waist. On instinct, he rests his hand on her lower back protectively, holding her close and pressing kisses to her forehead in quick succession.  

“Probably would be cheaper for us to fly that way,” Derek says. “Penelope’s earrings alone are about 49 pounds in there.” He gestures to her floral luggage. 

Penelope turns her head to make mock-serious, unwavering eye-contact with Spencer. “He’s mean to me,” she says matter-of-factly. 

Derek shakes his head with a chuckle. Spencer notes that his smile hasn’t left his face. He hadn’t thought it possible for Derek to be any happier, but apparently Penelope makes it so. Spencer knows the feeling. 

“I love you, Penelope, you know that,” Derek replies, kissing her chastely.  

(Penelope’s suitcase weighs at 27 pounds.) 

Go Through Security - 7:44 AM

“Hey, those are my socks!” Spencer says, looking pointedly at Penelope’s feet.

The socks are yellow, ankle-high, and covered in rainbows. They’re cute, and Spencer knows they’re cute because they’re his, a pair he’d picked up at a random general store in Des Plaines, Illinois, while on a case. He remembers sending Penelope a photo of them that night, just his socked feet next to Derek’s where they laid on the hotel’s puffy white comforter. She answered with a smattering of emojis, saying she was “So jealous!” Spencer had thought she was referring to the quality time with Derek, but it’s apparent now as she puts her shoes into a gray bin, sliding them onto the conveyor belt, that she’d really been jealous of the socks all along.  

“If they’re your socks, why am I wearing them, loverboy?” Penelope counters in jest, back turned to both Spencer and Derek as they follow behind her through the security checkpoint. She flashes a genuine smile to the stoic TSA agent ushering her through as if to say, “Boys, right?”  

Instead of arguing, Spencer turns to Derek. “Those are my socks.”

The TSA agent, still sporting a neutral expression and seemingly unimpressed by Penelope’s charms, calls for Spencer to move forward. He’s trying to keep up, obviously, but this morning he double-knotted his shoelaces as always and has slight trouble getting them off quickly. Once he manages to get all of his belongings--belt, shoes, coat, and hat included--into the tray, he stumbles into the security scanner.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. The TSA agent gives him a half-smile in return, and Spencer takes the emotion and holds it close to his chest.

It’s only when Spencer and Derek finally meet Penelope at the bench she’s at, lacing up her boots, that Spencer looks down at Derek’s feet.

“Der,” he says.

Distracted with putting his belt back on, Derek replies absentmindedly. “Yes, baby?”

“Those are my socks.”

Derek looks down at his feet. Two bright pink kittens smile up at him.

Arrive at Gate - 8:17 AM

Penelope passes the sweet-smelling hand sanitizer towards Spencer as they sink into the grimy, uncomfortable seats at the gate, dropping their carry-on bags.

“‘Frosted Snowball,’” Spencer reads aloud from the glittery blue bottle. He pours a generous amount into his hand, watching earnestly as the glitter spreads across his hands and in between his fingers. Something about disinfected hands and shimmer makes him feel as awake as he’s felt all morning, although he secretly hopes Penelope will propose going to get a coffee to help him maintain the feeling.

“Isn’t it cute? I got a few, there’s one in your stocking at home. I couldn’t leave it, look at the little polar bear!”

Spencer passes the sanitizer to Derek, who inspects it with a raised eyebrow.

“Why couldn’t they just call it ‘Coconut,’ if that’s the scent?” He asks, squirting a bit of the gel into his hand. “Makin’ me squint and read the fine print to find out what it actually smells like.”

Penelope presses her lips into a faux pout. “Because ‘Frosted Snowball’ is a cuter name than--” She lowers her voice to mock Derek’s--”’Coconut.’ And, it’s festive! Winter themed!”

Spencer pipes up. “Looks like someone isn’t getting ‘Frosted Snowball’ in their stocking this year.” He grins at Derek.

With a shrug and a smile, Derek slings his arm around Spencer’s shoulders and pulls him to his chest, pressing his lips to Spencer’s temple and letting them linger there. Locking eyes with Penelope, Derek smiles. “C’mere, pretty girl,” he says, patting the seat next to him.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Penelope says, patting Spencer’s thigh as she leaves his side to sit next to Derek.

The airport bustles around them, but they stop and sit, a peaceful bubble of limbs and public displays of affection and glitter and coconut scent.

Board Flight - 9:07AM

“Are you feeling okay?” Derek whispers into Spencer’s ear, letting his lips brush against it. Spencer leans into his touch. Penelope is tucked into her knitting already, and she’s pulled out an extra set of needles and yarn for Spencer.

Spencer nods.

“You’ve been quiet since we boarded,” Derek observes.

Spencer speaks quietly. “I’m just nervous, I guess. I read an article in Psychology Today about how your partner’s parent’s approval can affect how much love and affection you feel in a relationship, and I just don’t want to mess up.”

There’s a pregnant pause. Derek wants to quell Spencer’s fears and reassure him that everything is okay, but then Spencer is talking again, equally as hushed, but more panicked.

“I’m also nervous because, I know your mom and sisters love Penelope, and I’m...I’m new.”

Derek frowns. His palm finds a spot on Spencer’s chest, right over his heart. Derek knows the weight and warmth of his hand will stabilize Spencer, regulating his breathing, and preventing any anxiety attacks from blooming. Grateful for the touch, Spencer continues.

“They’re gonna think it’s weird that we’re together and that it’s weird that I’m a man and that I’m awkward and gangly and I’m not good with social situations and sometimes I say the wrong things at the wrong time and...yeah.” He stops himself from continuing, noticing how he’s working himself into a frenzy. Derek smiles a tiny half-smile, and Spencer returns it in acknowledgement.  

Penelope, having overheard bits of the conversation, pulls Spencer’s right hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles softly as a reminder of her presence, then turns back to the new scarf she’s making. It’s in a deep mauve, close to Spencer’s favorite shade of purple. (She hasn’t decided if she’s going to give it to him yet. On one hand, it is his color, and he wears scarves more than she does; but on the other hand, because it’s his color, whenever she wears it it would be a reminder of him. She’s torn. They’ll end up sharing it.)

Derek tucks a piece of Spencer’s hair back behind his ear.

“Let me ask you something,” he says. “Do you think it’s weird that we’re together?”

“No,” Spencer replies.

“Do you think it’s weird that you’re a man?”

“No.”

“So,” Derek shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “If my family feels some type of way about it, that’s their own issue to get over.”

Spencer nods, letting his eyes search Derek’s.

Derek kisses his forehead. “But, I would never intentionally put you into a situation where I know you would be uncomfortable or unwelcome. You know that, right? Tell me you know that.”

Spencer nods, again. He knows. Derek always protects him. He taps Derek’s hand where it lies on his sternum as an example.

Derek nods, then plants a firm, wet kiss on Spencer’s pouted lips. “So trust me when I tell you it’s all going to be okay, okay?”

“Okay,” Spencer says, and he means it.

Derek pats his chest lovingly and moves to put in his headphones. He’ll catch up on his sport podcasts, but in approximately 23 minutes, he’ll feel bad about having headphones in and offer one to Spencer. Spencer eagerly awaits this interaction, although he’ll decline, waiting for Penelope to get bored with her knitting. Then, the two of them will watch some campy 90’s movie together, and share the peanut M&Ms he snuck into his coat pocket to surprise her with.

But for now, Spencer takes Penelope’s extra set of knitting needles, laying them across his lap. 

Content in where he’s at, he smiles and folds up his itinerary.

[cdelphiki]

There Are Worse Ways to Spend Christmas

Honestly, holiday travel was the worst, in Tim’s opinion. The absolute worst thing on the face of the planet, and an all around terrible way to spend time right around Christmas.

Between crowded airports, snobby entitled irate passengers, and frequent weather cancellations, traveling during December was probably the worst thing ever.

And yes, that was very much exaggerating, because Tim’s mind immediately supplied several things that had happened that year that beat flying near Christmas in the ‘terrible’ category, but he just wasn’t in a good mood, so he was going to be dramatic about it.

Bruce wanted the lot of them to meet up at the cabin in Colorado to have a nice, quiet Christmas with just the family. Which, on paper, sounded nice. Christmas with all the kids plus Alfred and Bruce, far away from Gotham and the social engagements they’d be expected to attend otherwise sounded incredibly relaxing.

But that was before Tim processed that he’d have to fly with Damian, commercial, to Colorado to meet up with everyone else.

Why?

Because his family hated him, obviously.

The private plane was currently in Japan, where Bruce and Alfred were finishing up a series of meetings at the Tokyo office, and since it would be bringing them to Colorado that day, it was unavailable to bring Damian and Tim, the only two left in Gotham so close to Christmas, to Colorado. Stupid school lasting until the Friday right before Christmas Eve, which was on a Monday that year, meant they couldn’t have just left early to allow the jet to bring them all.

No.

Tim Drake and Damian Wayne had to fly commercial. On Christmas Eve eve.

First class, of course, but on small little regional jets, first class was a paltry comparison to the comfort to which they were accustomed. And the whole “unaccompanied minor” thing was really grating at Tim’s nerves. Because Damian wasn’t unaccompanied. Tim was right there. He was 16, and according to the airline’s policy, that made Damian accompanied. But that didn’t stop the stupid flight attendants from being extra attentive.

At least they were being left relatively alone during their layover in Chicago.

Which was how Tim found himself curled up into one of the kind-of comfortable waiting chairs near their gate, playing a game on his iPad, completely ignoring his little brother. It was the most peace he’d had all day. He could still see Damian over his knees. Kind of. Saw his spiky hair in the next seat over, at least, so he wasn’t being entirely neglectful.

But Damian wasn’t bothering him. Wasn’t trying to pick a fight or release his frustrations on Tim, so Tim was going to enjoy every single second of it.

Then, of course, the gate agent had to ruin the entire night.

“Attention passengers, Flight 1029 to Aspen has been delayed,” she announced over the speaker, and Tim couldn’t make out the rest of her announcement over the loud chorus of groans from everyone around them. Because the flight was supposed to begin boarding in about 10 minutes.

His phone buzzed with a notification from the American Airlines app, which informed him that it was delayed by three hours.

“This is ridiculous,” Damian pouted, hitting Tim’s legs with his coat as he slung it off himself to stand, “the third weather delay today. You would think airlines would be used to flying in the snow. It’s not like it doesn’t happen every year.”

“It’s one of those dumb named storms,” Tim said, scrolling through the weather report in Aspen to see if in three hours it would be any better, “it’s basically a blizzard.”

“That does not change my opinion,” Damian drawled, rolling his eyes as he stared out the window directly behind Tim.

“So because hurricanes happen every year, pilots should know how to fly through those? Get real, Damian.”

“Tt. It’s just snow.”

“Snow and wind and zero visibility,” Tim said, flipping to the Hilton app to reserve a room at the airport’s hotel. The weather report wasn’t looking good, and he had a feeling that the flight would be outright cancelled. If that happened, he wanted a room in the airport. He’d rather not deal with crowded shuttles to an off-site hotel once the airport finally cancelled all the flights to the areas being assaulted by Winter-storm Fisher.

Seriously, why the hell did they name snowstorms now?

Tim reserved the room under Bruce’s name, because it would be impossible otherwise to get a room for a 10 and 16 year old. The hotel really didn’t need to know that Bruce wasn’t even in the country and wouldn’t be staying with them.

“Damian?” one of the gate agents said, as she approached the two of them in the waiting area, “So the flight has been delayed by-”

“Yes, three hours. We are aware,” Damian snapped, “As I keep telling you people, I do not require your hovering. My father did not request the unaccompanied minor service, so I do not see why you are providing it anyway.”

“We are just ensuring that-”

“I don’t care,” Damian said, waving a hand at the woman as he turned to gaze out the window again.

Tim just shrugged at the slightly flustered woman and offered a simple, “Sorry. We’re tracking though, thanks.”

“Tt. I am never flying commercial again.”

“Bold declaration for 10,” Tim said, just before he sighed and sat up. It was nearing 6pm. They should probably go grab dinner while they had the time, on the off chance that the flight actually did happen.

“I am a Wayne, if I want to fly exclusively by private jet, there is literally nothing stopping me.”

“Except Bruce hogging it,” Tim said, shoving his iPad and headphones into his carry-on. For the first time, he was so glad Alfred had convinced them to pack into carry-ons instead of with checked luggage. He enjoyed the freedom and ease of traveling with just a simple messenger bag to carry around, but knowing that they had their clothes and toothbrushes with them was a relief. They wouldn’t be buying ridiculous Chicago themed clothing tonight in one of the overpriced gift shops.

“What are you doing?” Damian asked, eyeing Tim as he slipped his boots back on and tied them.

Instead of answering, Tim asked, “Chili’s or the Macaroni Grill?” as he stood to his feet, attaching his coat to the top of his luggage.

Damian straightened up a bit, to Tim’s amusement, at the prospect of food and shuffled to gather up his items as well. “The Macaroni Grill,” he finally said, making a face at the suggestion of Chili’s.

Dinner went a lot smoother than Tim was expecting. In fact, the entire day until that point had gone smoother than he expected. Even with leaving for the airport at 5am and spending nearly every moment since together, the two of them really hadn’t fought much. Every once in a while Damian would make a scathing remark, but would then be quiet for at least half an hour after he did so.

It was nice.

“Why’re you being so good,” Tim asked over their pasta. They still had a little over two hours until boarding. Perhaps he shouldn’t be looking this gift horse in the mouth, but he was genuinely curious.

“I know how to behave in public, Drake,” Damian drawled, pushing around the last bits of his dinner on his plate before taking a sip of his soda.

Aside from the fact that Damian did not know how to behave in public, that really didn’t answer anything.

“Besides,” Damian continued, “our every move is being watched here, and Father told me if we get arrested by security for any reason he’s holding me personally responsible.”

“He did not,” Tim said, grinning wide.

Damian scowled at Tim and snapped, “That was not a challenge, Drake. I will inform Father if you sabotage our travel for the express purpose of getting me grounded.”

Tim just laughed and said, “Unlike you, I’m not a demon, I wouldn’t do that,” just as his phone started buzzing in his pocket.

When he pulled it out, he saw Bruce’s face staring at him. “Speak of the devil,” Tim muttered as he slid to accept the call, “Hey Bruce.”

“I see your flight has been delayed again. How are you two holding up?”

“Let me talk to him,” Damian said, reaching out for the phone.

Tim swatted Damian’s hand away and said, “We’re fine. Annoyed, but we went ahead and got dinner. I know we were supposed to eat together there, but you know.”

“We had to land in Seattle and won’t attempt again until morning, anyway. Dick and Jason got in just before it started to snow, and Steph and Cass are still in the air, but I don’t think the flight will make it to Aspen. So most of us won’t get there until tomorrow, anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m expecting American Airlines to just cancel to try again tomorrow,” Tim said, taking one last bite of his food, “so I booked us a hotel tonight just in case.”

“Let me know if you have trouble checking in. The storm is moving across the country toward you, I would not be surprised if O’Hare cancels flights tomorrow as the storm passes over you there.”

“Great,” Tim said dramatically, leaning back in his chair. Damian was just glaring at him expectantly, “Damian wants to talk to you.”

“Okay. Stay safe and just be patient. Delays and cancellations are better than plane crashes.”

“Yeah, thanks for that thought,” Tim said just as he handed the phone off to Damian.

“Father, I refuse to fly commercial ever again, this method of travel is-” Damian started, then paused and listened with a pinched face, “Yes, but- No. No.”

Tim tried his best not to look too amused as Damian went from smug and entitled to adequately chagrined as he listened silently to Bruce for a full minute. Bruce must have lectured him pretty hard.

“Fine. But I will not fly commercial at Christmas. This holiday is ridiculous and the number of people in this airport is unacceptable. Yes, Father. I will. Goodbye.”

“Sounds like you will be flying commercial again,” Tim said in amusement as he took his phone back and pulled a $100 out of his wallet to give to the waitress to cover their meal and her tip.

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian mumbled as he dragged his suitcase behind him in the most pout-filled way Tim had ever seen.

And that’s how the rest of the evening went. Silently as Damian pouted. As their departure time came and went without so much as a boarding call, Damian began getting antsy.

“This is the fourth time they’ve delayed us by 15 minutes,” he exclaimed after yet another announcement over the PA system, “this is unacceptable.”

“You know they’re going to cancel the flight, right?” Tim said, turning the page in a book he’d picked up in the airport bookstore, “We’ll probably sit here another 30 minutes while they continue deluding themselves about not cancelling a flight on Christmas Eve eve.”

Damian let out an angry growl, which just sounded like a child throwing a tantrum, and flung himself down on the chair next to Tim. “I hate this.”

“Take a nap,” Tim said as he pulled his coat out from the chair under him to let Damian use it as a pillow, “I’ll wake you when they decide what they’re doing.”

“I will not take a nap,” Damian pouted, “I’m not tired, just frustrated.”

“You’ve been awake since 4am, you’re tired.”

“So have you.”

“Yeah,” Tim said patiently, “but I took a nap after lunch, so.”

“I will not take a nap,” Damian repeated, aggressively grabbing Tim’s coat to lay against.

“That’s fine,” Tim hummed, trying not to smile as he continued reading.

“And Christmas Eve eve is not a thing,” Damian mumbled, burrowing himself down into Tim’s coat with his own wrapped around him, “stop being ridiculous.”

“Of course it’s a thing,” Tim said, lifting his feet up onto his suitcase so he could get settled back a little more comfortably, “It’s what today is.”

“Hmph.”

It took another 45 minutes, but finally the flight was outright cancelled. By that point, everyone was too exhausted to put up too much of a fuss, and the groans heard around the gate were more out of obligation than actual anger. Tim had heard several people all around him make arrangements for the night already, so this was clearly no surprise to anyone.

Tim took his time using the hotel’s app to “check in” before he began gathering up his things. He put his boots on and shoved his book and tablet back in his bag before he finally nudged Damian.

“Okay, Demon, nap’s over.”

“I was not napping,” Damian mumbled, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up.

Tim grinned and liberated his coat out from under Damian. “No you’re right you were just resting your eyes.”

“Shut up, Drake.”

Checking in was remarkably easy. When Tim told the person at the desk that ‘his dad had checked in on the app,’ he was easily handed a couple keys to the room without a single question.

Tim took his time in the shower as Damian lay on one of the two beds in their room, watching the news report. When Tim finally emerged from the bathroom, Damian said, “Much of Colorado is without power right now, and the storm is expected to hit the midwest just as hard.”

“Well isn’t that just dandy,” Tim said as he dried off his hair, “you packed a toothbrush and stuff, right?”

“Yes, Drake, I am not incompetent.”

“Right, whatever. Take a shower if you’re going to, I’m going to sleep. The flight is scheduled for 8 so we need to get out of here absolutely no later than 7, preferably earlier. We’ll have to pass through security again.”

“I hate everything you just said.”

Sighing, Tim set his phone to wake him at 5:45 while he listened to Damian slam the bathroom door.

Being responsible for little children was just so fun.

Next thing Tim knew, his alarm was going off. He sat up to find Damian already awake and watching the Weather Channel on mute. It took blinking for a minute before he could make out the numerous notifications on his phone, but the one he had wanted to find the least was another delay notification.

Now the flight wasn’t going to attempt until 10.

“The storm hit early,” Damian said, glaring at the television as if it were responsible for everything going wrong in their travel.

“Well do you want to sleep in longer or get breakfast?” Tim asked, rubbing at his face. He’d enjoy sleeping more, but he had slept for a good 6 hours. It was certainly more than he was used to.

“Breakfast,” Damian said simply, “I was waiting for you to wake up so we could order room service.”

“We could go get something. There’s time now.”

“Look outside. I’d rather stay here where it’s warm and dry.”

“Right,” Tim said, picking up the room service menu. After he called in their order, he looked at the weather report for the day and went ahead and extended their stay one night. If this storm cancelled all flights leaving Chicago, it would be much more difficult to get a room. Bruce honestly wouldn’t care about spending the money unnecessarily if their flight really did take off at 10.

But of course, it didn’t. At just past 8, they received the notice that the flight was cancelled.

Bruce called again, within minutes of Tim getting the text, to check up on them and assure them that the family wouldn’t do Christmas until Tim and Damian made it to Aspen.

“I’ll come pick you up myself,” Bruce said over speaker, “The weather should be fine tomorrow, I’ll head to the airport and get you boys, okay?”

“Tt,” Damian pouted from where he lay on his bed, arms crossed and glaring at the ceiling, “If you ever suggest I travel alone with Drake again, I will return to Mother.”

“Ouch,” Tim said, “he’d rather live in a ninja death cult than travel with me.”

“Damian,” Bruce sighed, “I’m sorry, but we’ll extend our vacation out until after the New Year, okay? I’ll make it up to you.”

“He’s pretending to ignore you,” Tim said, grinning at the scathing look Damian shot his way for the comment, “he’ll get over it.”

“The pilot wants me to turn my phone off, so I’ll text you when we land. How about we all FaceTime tonight, okay?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, that’ll be good. Dick wanted us to watch The Polar Express tonight, we can always just do it while facetiming. I’m sure I can find a copy somewhere around here.

“Okay, Merry Christmas, boys. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve and I’m stuck in a snowstorm with you,” Damian said once Bruce had hung up, still glaring up at the ceiling.

Shrugging, Tim said, “There’s worse company.”

“Doubtful.”

“Don’t worry. Santa will still deliver your presents to the cabin tonight.”

That finally made Damian sit up, but only to throw a pillow at Tim. “Santa’s not real, Drake.”

“Now you’re ruining my Christmas,” Tim said, laughing, as he caught the pillow, “You’re probably on the naughty list, anyway.”

“Tt.”

“You’re not exactly good,” Tim continued, having fun now at Damian’s expense.

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian snapped, throwing another pillow at Tim.

“Or nice.”

“Shut up!”

“Actually, yeah,” Tim said, laying back on the bed, “there’s no way you’re not on the naughty list, now that I think about it.”

At that, Damian got up from his bed and stormed over to the bathroom, slamming the door as he went. Tim jumped at the loudness of it, then frowned.

He hadn’t meant to push the brat that far. He’d just been teasing. Having fun. Sometimes, Tim forgot for as much as Damian could dish it out, he couldn’t take teasing. At all.

It was easy to forget. Especially when they went a few days without fighting.

‘Help,’ Tim texted Dick, ‘made D mad. Probably crying in bathroom. What do?’

The response was almost instant. ‘You made Damian cry?! Tim, why??’

Tim sighed and responded with, ’I mean, maybe? I haven’t tried to listen in on him or anything. He might just be pouting.’

‘Did you try talking to him?’

‘Why would I do that?’ Tim asked, smiling at himself because he already knew what Dick’s response to that would be.

‘You want to fix it but you don’t want to talk to him.’ And Tim could just see the flat stare Dick would have while delivering that sentence. Hear the deadpan in his voice.

Tim snorted. ‘Precisely. Glad you understand.’

‘Tim.’

‘Yeah, fine. Good big brother, coming up.’

After another minute, Tim finally got up and trudged over to the bathroom door. When he knocked, he could tell something was pressed up against the door, and was willing to bet his entire salary that it was pint sized and 10-years-old.

“Hey D? I was just teasing, you know.”

“Go away, Drake,” Damian hissed from the other side of the door.

So he wasn’t crying, at least. That’s good.

“Uh yep, nope. Can’t,” Tim said, sitting down on the floor outside the door, “The room isn’t big enough.”

Tim could just barely hear Damian’s signature ’tt’ in response.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you,” Tim offered, unsure of where to start. Or how to even do this. He’d been the little brother being talked down, never the older brother doing the talking down.

“Weren’t you?” Damian drawled.

“No, I wasn’t,” Tim said, resting his head back against the door, “I was just teasing you, that’s what brothers do to each other. They tease. You should know, you tease me constantly.”

“I do not tease you.”

Tim rolled his eyes and said, “No, of course not. You just make fun of me in hopes of getting a rise out of me. That’s totally not the definition of tease.”

“Then you admit you were trying to upset me.”

“Fine. I’m sorry, Damian,” Tim said tiredly, and perhaps a little too flippantly in his tone, “I shouldn’t have said that stuff, okay? You’re probably on Santa’s nice list. He’ll bring you presents tonight.”

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian snapped, banging something against the door. His elbow, perhaps. “I do not care about that ridiculous tradition.”

“If you aren’t upset about me saying you’re on the naughty list, then why are you upset?”

“I have been very good the past couple days,” Damian nearly shouted, “and the past year. I have worked so hard to behave myself and be what you and everyone in Father’s family would consider good. But at every turn, everyone, especially you, completely ignores all my actions and efforts and writes me off as a ‘bad person.’ I am sick of it.”

Tim blinked and ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t… writing you off,” he said lamely, “I was just teasing you about Santa. I know you’ve been good.”

“Then why would you say I’m not?” Damian demanded.

“It was just a joke,” Tim said, a bit more forcefully this time, “it’s just what you do at Christmas with kids. You tease them about Santa and being on the naughty list. Did the league not do Santa?”

Damian huffed out an annoyed breath and said, “The league didn’t do Christmas. So no, we didn’t ‘do Santa.’”

“You… didn’t do Christmas?” Tim said, in almost a whisper. He really wasn’t sure if Damian could even hear him. “So wait,” he added, much louder, “is this your first Christmas then?”

“Yes,” Damian bit out before slamming his head back against the door. At least, Tim as pretty sure that’s what Damian hit the door with.

“Does Bruce know this?”

After a long moment, Damian sighed and said, in a much calmer tone, “Maybe. I do not know what Father knows.”

“You should have told him,” Tim said softly, like he was talking to a victim as Robin, “He would have cancelled his meetings in Japan, I bet.”

“I don’t see how it would have mattered. It was my first Christmas here, regardless of everything, and he still left me with you.”

“Well,” Tim said, “In his defense, we were supposed to see him yesterday, so this isn’t entirely his fault.”

“I guess,” Damian said, softer than Tim had ever heard the child’s voice be.

The two of them sat there for another few minutes while Tim just frowned at the closet door in front of him. The annoying closet door that was actually a full sized mirror. So basically, Tim was staring back at himself, looking right at the terrible person he was. That he’d been over the past couple days.

Thinking back over their travel time, Damian really had been good. He’d been trying really hard to keep it that way, even when Tim teased and poked at him, or just flat out ignored him. And all because he didn’t want Bruce angry with him over his behavior. Which, usually wasn’t an issue for Damian. He never seemed to care when Bruce threatened him with grounding.

And Tim had barely acknowledged the effort.

Was Damian just trying to stay on Bruce’s good side because it was Christmas? Because he wanted a happy Christmas, just like how the holiday was always depicted in media?

Damian was only 10, after all, and all he had to go on was television.

Tim felt the bathroom door open behind him and leaned forward a bit to prevent from falling back. Damian stood in the doorway and glared at Tim using the mirror before saying, half-heartedly, “Move, Drake.”

“So if you’ve never celebrated Christmas before,” Tim said slowly as he got to his feet, “that means you’ve never done a Christmas movie marathon.”

“Thankfully,” the little brat drawled as he pushed past Tim into the bedroom.

“What Christmas movies have you already seen?” Tim asked, completely ignoring Damian’s likely feigned disinterest.

Flopping down dramatically onto his bed, Damian said, “What part of ‘first Christmas’ don’t you understand?”

“So you’ve never seen any Christmas movies?” Tim asked in exaggerated horror.

Damian just shrugged.

“Frosty the Snowman?” Tim asked, and when Damian shook his head, he said, “Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer? How the Grinch Stole Christmas?”

“No, Tim,” Damian exasperated, “none of them.”

“Oh my god,” Tim said, “Okay. That’s what we’re doing today. Starting with The Year Without a Santa.”

“Whatever.”

After a quick trip to one of the shops in the airport to purchase candy canes and a ridiculous amount of candy and cookies, because no Christmas movie marathon would be complete without a coma-inducing amount of sugar, Tim started up a playlist of all his favorite Christmas movies on his laptop.

Four movies into the marathon, Damian said from where he lay beside Tim on the bed, “These are ridiculous, you know?”

“I know, isn’t it great?” Tim said, opening another bag of Oreos for them to devour. Alfred would have a heart-attack if he knew they skipped lunch and were going to skip dinner in favor of cookies. Store bought cookies.

“I suppose,” Damian said as he took a couple cookies from the bag between them, “there are worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.”

Tim didn’t even have to look to know Damian was smiling as the opening scene to Elf began to play.

Yes. There were much worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.

-

Cross posted from AO3. 

[inkedsoldier]

Chew the Bullet - Chapter Two

A Modern Warfare series

Casey Vos is a liaison officer for the Dutch Special Forces. She has been stationed in Afghanistan and Syria, but now works everywhere they need her assistance. Specialized in counterterrorism and intelligence, she is unmistakably a great asset for the upcoming Taskforce 1-4-1, under the command of Captain John Price.

A/N: Here it is – the official chapter two of Chew the Bullet. I’m going to slowly introduce all the characters while following the storyline of the gaming series, starting with the most recent campaign of Modern Warfare (2019). English is not my first language, but I’m getting better at it. Please, if you see any errors, let me know so I can fix it. It’s much appreciated. Well, I hope you enjoy! And please leave a note, vote or message with your thoughts! Bravo team out.

Warnings: action.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

______

When Kate stops talking Casey knows there is a problem. She’d known her since she started working as a liaison officer for the Dutch Special Forces, and Kate Laswell isn’t capable of silence unless her brain is in complete overload. The American station chief was like a female mentor to Casey. A retired CIA agent once told her that “when it comes to unconventional information warfare, Kate Laswell rewrote the book.” She had saved tens of thousands of lives, and was a respected contact for multiple actors in the world of military and intelligence. “Kate?” Casey said softly in the hope to get any answer from the officer.

 Hearing her name, she checked the time on her watch. “Echo 3-1 and a team of marines just took off to check out one of Barkov’s depots on the edge of Verdansk, Casey. I need to inform the colonel about this intel. We don’t want an international incident with our prints all over it.” Casey gasped, “Alex?” Her pulse skipped the moment she heard his name. Alex and his team had played a key role in one of the special operations Casey was working on two  and a half years ago. Working together with the Special Activities Division of the CIA gave her a lot of happy, but also sad memories. The tall American operative had stolen a place in her heart – they were like brother and sister. An attempt to assassinate the Wolf back in the summer of 2017 took a wrong turn, and he probably still believed she was killed in action. Nobody would have survived a drop off that cliff in Georgia, but she was lucky. They deliberately chose to keep her survival under the radar for safety reasons.  “Yes… Alex. I’m going to inform Norris. I’ll call you back as soon as I have more information about this,” Kate informed the liaison officer before ending the call.

 11:53 PM U.S. Military Base, Kastovia

Her feet pounded the tarmac as fast as her legs could carry. Luckily, her office wasn’t that far from Colonel Norris’ location. Out of breath she entered the tent, “Colonel, we may have a problem…” Looking over his shoulder he saw the blonde coming up from behind him, “Too late, Laswell. We’re live.” This wasn’t the response Kate was expecting so she decided to take action, no matter what the tall marine was going to do afterwards. “Not until I say so. Watcher to 3-1, how copy?” she spoke into the microphone.

 11:57 PM Verdansk, Kastovia

Alex and the Marine Raiders were only a couple of clicks away from the depot when he heard the station chiefs voice in his earpiece. “Station chief Laswell, send traffic,” he replied looking at the men around him. “General Barkov has sent a new shipment of chlorine gas to his depot, but his mercs are prepping to move the chems into Urzikstan via convoy, tonight.” He knew the mission was to retrieve and secure chemicals, but he wasn’t expecting they were on a clock. Not even to mention the extra mercenaries they could expect on site. “You’re still clear to engage, but live fire on Russian military is prohibited. We cannot have an international incident.” The risks of the job were clear, but the rules of engagement were something he could not always follow. “No guarantees Russian army won’t respond on this, Kate,” he clarified while prepping the drop. “Understood, Alex. Just locate the gas, commandeer Barkov’s trucks, and get off the X before the tide turns.” The two men in front of him roped down. “Copy, Watcher. We’ll handle it,” he confirmed before joining the marines on the ground. “We need to keep this on a tight loop. Barkov’s men are moving the gas tonight,” he announced.

 The trees surrounding them in the darkness were thick and old with twisted roots. The path wasn’t visible at first, but it didn’t take them long before they spotted the first two guards at the ridge. “Psst. Heads up,” the marine on the front spoke through the comms. “Two mercs, no uniforms.” The team slowly approached the men, staying out of sight. “They’re game, drop ‘em.” The two Russians went down and they moved up the path to have a clear view of the base. “Echo 3-1 to Blue Viking 5, call for fire. Stand by for target conformation,” Alex called in. With one of the binoculars he scanned for any activity at the depot. There was a vehicle coming up to the main gate, probably contractors. And someone was guarding the surrounded area from the tower on the left of the entrance. No sign of the presence of Russian military cleared them to take the next step in the mission. “Blue Viking 5, this is Echo 3-1. Troops in the open, south gate. You are cleared hot.” Within five seconds the base lit up like a Christmas tree. “Echo 3-1, good effect on target. Viking is RTB, good hunting,” the operator confirmed through the comms.

 Upon arriving on the base they had a run in with some of the survivors of the blast, but nothing they couldn’t handle. The team cleared the outside area of the base and moved up towards the warehouse where the gas was stored according to the intel. When they opened the entrance door and put on the gas masks for safety, someone killed the power. “Go white-light,” one of the marines advised.  “It’s pitch black in here.” Alex took point and guided the marines through the storage space, killing the last of the men on base. All he needed was one flashbang and some bullets. They managed to get the power back on, but a surprise was waiting - the guys they just killed were Spetsnaz, Russian army. “3-1 to Watcher… Barkov’s hired guns are Spetsnaz. We got Russian army KIA – we need to bug out now.” Kate reacted immediately, “Negative. Command wants mission accomplished on this. Not our choice.” It was never their choice, so the comment didn’t surprise him. When he climbed on the back of one of the trucks, he took out a small stick to verify if the barrels contained the chemicals. With a swap and a click, the stick turned green. “Jackpot. PID on the gas.”

 Quickly they moved to the jeeps waiting for them at the back. It was time to load up and get out of this shithole. He entered the vehicle and took shotgun. “All stations, we are Oscar Mike to the RV, watch your sectors.” Kate responded, “Good work, Alex. Rally at the hook point for egress.” Out of nowhere a burning truck came bolting down the hill and bullets sprayed all around them. “Back up, back up!” Alex yelled, but they were too late. “All stations, we are under attack, hitman is taking heavy contact from unknown forces,” the marine next to him said before they got hit by a RPG. The car rolled over and everything went black.

 Everything hurts and time slowed down. “Watcher to 3-1. How copy?! Alex, do you read- Over!” The world was spinning as he saw one of the marines come up to him with his weapon in hand. “I got you, I got you 3-1.” He pulled him out of the burning car and searched for cover, but he got shot and killed instantly. Two masked insurgents approached as the badly wounded marine in front of Alex struggled to get up. “Who the fuck is this!” he yelled before he got hit by another bullet. As the only survivor, Alex tried to focus on what they were saying - these guys are definitely no Russians. And when they found out the team they just ended were American the panic started. Just as fast as they appeared they drove off with the trucks filled with the chlorine gas. Alex lifted his gas mask and struggled to sit up. “Echo 3-1 to Watcher,” he coughed. “Alex, what happened?” the station chief asked. “Terrorist attack- Multiple marines KIA. Gas stolen. We need EVAC, now!”

  11:55 PM Scotland Yard, London

Casey and Kyle returned to the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police Service after the raid in South London. They managed to bag up most of the evidence they found in the townhouse, and a few officers stayed back to clean out the place and check if they missed anything. She couldn’t stop thinking about Alex on her way back to the Yard. Suddenly the phone in her pocket started to vibrate. She tapped the green icon on the screen, “Hello?” 

It was the familiar voice of Kate on the other end of the line. “Casey, the operation is compartmentalized. Alex found the gas, but securing it went wrong. The team got ambushed and multiple marines are KIA.” Casey’s eyes widened, “What about Alex? Is he alive?” was the first thing that she asked. “Multiple Russian forces were heading his way, but we got to the exfil in time.” She crumpled down on the ground against the wall. “What do you need me to do?” She tried to get her thoughts together. “I just spoke to General Lyons. The Kremlin has suspended all deconfliction channels, the Sixth Fleet is pushing into the Black Sea… and the chemical weapons are now in the wild,” the American sighed. “I told her that intelligence is our best weapon, but she didn’t want to hear anything about it,” she continued. “Okay, so what are you saying?” the Dutch lieutenant replied. “I called Price, Case. We need his help.” 

This day got even more complicated by the minute now. First Alex, and now John Price. Two people who thought she died on their last op together. “I know what you are thinking, Casey, but I can’t think of a better team to handle this situation. We need to fix this! The weapons could be heading to Paris, New York…” Kate didn’t need to finish her sentence, because the twenty-seven year old knew what was coming next, “London… I understand, Laswell. But don’t inform them about my involvement yet. You know I will help you, but I want to be the one to tell them about the fact that I’m not somewhere rotting in a ditch at the crossroad of Western Asia and Eastern Europe.” Kate exhaled slowly, “We knew this day was coming the moment the Wolf would get back on the grit. I know it’s not going to be easy, but we will do this your way, Case. What about the intel you recovered tonight? Did you find anything that can help us right now?” Casey glanced at the file on her lap, “No, not yet. But I’ll contact you as soon as I find something we can use.”

Masterlist

Want to get tagged in upcoming chapters? Let me know!

Taglist: @imahardcase​ @yvessaintrogers​

[bechloeislegit]

25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2019

DAY 9 - ANGEL AT THE AIRPORT

Prompt from FanFiction User RJRMovieFan: Chloe is excited to head home for Christmas but is bummed she won't have her favorite grumpy brunette. While waiting for her flight, she notes that Beca's flight has been canceled. [Full prompt at the end.]

Chloe entered the Beca's room in the Bellas House and smiled when she saw her best friend sitting on the bed with her laptop on her lap. She set her laptop bag on the floor and rushed over to the bed.

"Beca!" Chloe said excitedly. "I'm glad you're home."

"Hey, Beale," Beca said, laughing as Chloe threw herself on the bed next to Beca.

"Have you made your reservations for Christmas yet?" Chloe asked.

"I was just checking flights," Beca said.

Chloe sat up and positioned herself on the bed, so she was sitting next to Beca. She looked at Beca's computer screen.

"You're leaving on the twenty-third?"

"That's the plan," Beca responded.

"Wait," Chloe said, scrambling off the bed. "I'll check flights for me. Maybe we can get flights close together so we can travel to the airport together."

Beca chuckled. "And why do we need to do that?"

Chloe stopped to look at Beca, her eyes blinking as she stared at Beca.

After a moment, Beca started squirming under Chloe's stare. "What?"

"I want to spend as much time as I can with you, Beca," Chloe said as she finally grabbed her laptop and sat back on the bed. "I'm sad that you won't be going home with me."

"I'm coming back, Chlo," Beca said, shaking her head. "And I know you; you'll be texting and calling and probably Skyping me every day. It will be like I was there."

"It's not the same, and you know it," Chloe said. "Now, hush, and let me pull up the travel website."

Beca bit her cheek to keep from laughing at Chloe.

"Okay," Chloe said. "What time are the flights you're looking for?"

"I'm hoping to leave in the early afternoon," Beca said. "Maybe one or two. That way, I can be at my mom's in time for dinner."

"When are you coming back?" Chloe asked.

"I only have a few days off from the station, so I'll be coming back on December 28th."

Chloe typed on her computer and clicked on a few flights. "Oh, I can get a flight out at two on the twenty-third. What about you?"

"Um," Beca said, and she checked her computer. "The closet I can get is one-thirty."

"How about the return flight?" Chloe asked.

"I'd like to spend some time with my mom, so I think I'm going to check flights that get me back to New York around dinner time," Beca said. "Let's see...I can get a flight that arrives at six-fifteen."

Chloe checked return flights from Tampa. "Here's one that arrives at six-thirty! We should book them. That way, we can ride home together too."

"Okay, let's do it," Beca said.

Beca and Chloe both concentrated on their computers as they made their reservations.

"Done," they said in unison.

"I'm going to miss you, Beca," Chloe said.

"Take it easy, Chlo," Beca said. "We don't leave for three weeks. And we already have plans to celebrate with all the Bellas before everyone leaves."

"Oh, right," Chloe said sheepishly. "I almost forgot about everyone else."

Beca looked at Chloe, confusion written all over her face. Chloe Beale was not one to forget about anyone, especially during the holidays.

~ Day 9 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

Three weeks later, Chloe was looking out the window, smiling as she watched the snow falling. She noticed Dr. Mitchell pull up in front of the house and walked over to the stairs.

"Beca, your dad's here," Chloe yelled up the steps.

"Coming," she heard Beca yell back.

Chloe opened the door as Dr. Mitchell reached the porch.

"Hi, Dr. Mitchell," Chloe said. "Beca will be right down. I can't believe it's snowing."

"Hello, Chloe," Dr. Mitchell said. "It's not supposed to amount to much. Although, it was a little slick driving over here."

"Will we be okay driving to the airport?" Chloe asked, looking out at the snow again.

"Oh, yes," Dr. Mitchell said. "The streets are clear for the most part. It's only the smaller side roads that are slick."

"Hey, dad," Beca said, coming down the stairs. "Thanks again for agreeing to drive us to the airport."

"My pleasure," Dr. Mitchell said. "We should probably get going. This snow will be freaking people out, and the airport is sure to be a madhouse."

Dr. Mitchell grabbed the two carryon suitcases, and Beca and Chloe carried their smaller bags. Once everything was loaded, Dr. Mitchell drove off.

It was a relatively quiet ride. Beca and her dad quietly conversing in the front while in the back, Chloe looked out the window watching the snow falling.

It took a little longer than usual, but they made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. The snow had continued falling faster and heavier the closer they got.

"Are you going to be okay driving back in this?" Beca asked her dad as they retrieved their luggage.

"I'll be fine," Dr. Mitchell said. "Once I get out of Atlanta, it's not snowing as bad."

"Okay," Beca said. "Drive safe and text me when you make it home."

"I will," Dr. Mitchell said. He pulled Beca into a hug. "Have a good Christmas, Beca."

"Thanks, Dad," Beca said. "You, too."

"Chloe, may I give you a Christmas hug as well?" Dr. Mitchell asked.

"Absolutely," Chloe said and hugged the Professor.

"You two should get inside," Dr. Mitchell said.

"Thanks again, Dad," Beca said as she and Chloe made their way into the terminal.

~ Day 9 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

Ninety minutes later, Beca and Chloe finally made it through security and were in line to grab a coffee before they found their gates. Beca's phone pinged, and she checked.

"My dad made it home okay," Beca said.

"That's good," Chloe said. "We should check the monitors to see if there is any information on delays and stuff."

"Good idea," Beca said.

They made it to the front of the coffee line and ordered their drinks. When they were ready, they took them in hand and made their way to check on their flights.

"Looks like we're still on schedule," Beca said, checking the departures board.

"Let's find a place to sit and drink our coffee," Chloe suggested. "We still have time before we need to get to our gates."

After finishing their coffee, Chloe hugged Beca and wished her a Merry Christmas. Beca hugged Chloe back and held on for an extra minute; she wasn't sure why.

The two parted and went to their gates. Chloe was able to find a seat and set her bag down. She pulled out the book she had been reading and settled back to read.

Someone bumped into Chloe's leg, causing her to look up. The seating area was crowded, and people were grumbling. She looked around and saw that the snow was still falling heavily, and everything was covered.

Chloe furrowed her brow and noticed a departure board with flights being canceled. She found Beca's and gasped; Beca's flight was canceled. Just then, her phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket.

"Hey, Becs," Chloe said, answering the call.

"My flight has been canceled," Beca said. "And the weather is too bad for my dad to come back to get me."

Chloe chewed her lip and noticed a commotion over at the counter of her gate. "Becs, stay where you are. I'll call you right back."

"Okay," Beca said and ended the call.

Chloe walked over to the counter to see what was happening.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please," the agent said, trying to calm people down. "This is the last flight that will be allowed to take off. It is full, and there are no available seats."

The crowd started yelling and pushing forward. Chloe stood to the side and debated on what to do. She noticed a soldier talking to one of the agents when he slumped his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. A smile grew on Chloe's face as she walked over to the soldier.

"Excuse me," Chloe said. "Are you on this flight?"

"No," the soldier sighed. "I was hoping to get a seat since it's the last flight out, but I can't. I just wanted to be with my family at Christmas." The soldier was near tears as he added, "I haven't been home in over a year."

"Come with me," Chloe said as she walked toward the counter.

The soldier looked a little uncertain but followed after Chloe and stood slightly behind her as she got an agent's attention.

"Excuse me," Chloe said, waving at one of the agents.

The agent saw her and walked over to Chloe. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we do not have any seats available on this flight."

"I know," Chloe said and pulled out her ticket. "I want to give up my seat for this soldier."

Tears came to the ticket agent's eyes. "Bless you!"

The soldier was shocked and speechless. Chloe turned to him and said, "Merry Christmas!"

"Thank you," the soldier said. He pulled Chloe into a hug.

"What's your name, soldier," the agent asked. "We're boarding, and I need to get your information into the system."

The soldier started speaking, and Chloe walked away with a big smile on her face. Chloe was going to call Beca but instead decided to walk to her gate and surprise her.

~ Day 9 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

"Canceled flights suck, huh?"

Beca jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to be speaking to her.

"Chloe!" Beca squealed when she saw Chloe sitting next to her. "What are you doing here? Your flight is leaving, like right now."

"Meh," Chloe said, shrugging her shoulders. "I couldn't let my best friend spend the night in the airport alone, could I?"

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Chloe said. "Besides, I gave up my ticket for a soldier so he could get home for Christmas."

Beca chuckled. "That is such a Chloe thing to do."

"Maybe," Chloe said. "Are you hungry? We haven't eaten since breakfast, so I'm kind of hungry."

"I could eat," Beca said. "I also have to call my mom and tell her my flight's been canceled."

"I have to call my folks, too," Chloe said. "Let's find a place to eat, and then we can call them."

"Lead the way," Beca said as she grabbed her suitcase.

Chloe and Beca started walking when an announcement was made over the intercom.

"Would passenger Chloe Beale please report to Gate 27," the voice said. "Chloe Beale, please report to Gate 27."

"What's that about?" Beca asked.

"I don't know," Chloe said. "But that's the gate I was supposed to leave from."

"Maybe they had a seat open up," Beca said. "And since you gave yours to the soldier, they want to give it to you."

"Let's find out," Chloe said.

The two made their way to Gate 27 and heard someone shout, "There she is. That's her."

Chloe's eyes widened. "Did I do something wrong?" she thought.

Beca and Chloe walked over to the ticket counter. "Hi, I'm Chloe Beale, and I was paged to this gate."

"Thank you for coming back, Ms. Beale," the agent said.

Chloe realized it was the same agent who took care of the soldier when she gave up her seat.

"Is everything okay?" Chloe asked.

"I told my manager what you did for that soldier, and we'd like to offer you a new ticket on the first available flight to Tampa if that's what you want. I've also been authorized to upgrade you to First Class at no charge."

"That's very generous of you," Chloe said.

"Take it, Chlo," Beca whispered. "It's First Class. When will you get the opportunity to fly First Class?"

"What about my friend?" Chloe asked the agent. "Can she get on a plane tomorrow as well? She's going to Portland, Maine."

"Don't worry about me, Chloe," Beca said. "If I can't get on a flight, I'll go to my dad's. If the weather is clear enough for planes to take off, it will be clear enough for him to come and get me."

"Are you sure, Becs?" Chloe asked. "I know your mom was looking forward to seeing you."

"It's fine, Chlo," Beca said. "Take the ticket upgrade and go home to see your family."

Chloe looked at Beca; Beca looked back at Chloe. "Okay," Chloe said. She turned to the ticket agent. "Thank you. I'll take the ticket."

"Great! We'd also like to invite you and your friend to enjoy the ATL Club, our treat," the agent said. "You can get something to eat or have a drink. All on us for the duration of your wait for a flight."

"Wow," Chloe said. "Thank you. We were just talking about finding something to eat."

"Here you go," the agent said, handing Chloe two cards. "Show these to the person at the door; they'll take good care of you. Now, may I have your number so we can text or call you as soon as a flight to Tampa is available? The weather is supposed to let up by morning, and you should get out as soon as tomorrow afternoon. If we call or text you, just come to the counter and show your ID. You'll receive your ticket then."

"Certainly," Chloe said and gave the agent her number. "Can you direct us to the ATL Club?"

"Yes, of course," the agent said. She then proceeded to tell Chloe how to get to the Club.

As they were walking, Beca was shaking her head. "Leave it to you to turn being snowed in at the airport to free meals and drinks, and a First Class ticket home."

"I keep telling you, Beca," Chloe said. "It doesn't hurt to be kind to others."

"You truly are an angel, Chlo," Beca said, causing Chloe to blush. Bea smirked and added, "A Christmas angel."

Chloe rolled her eyes, and Beca laughed.

~ Day 9 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

Beca and Chloe ordered their food and decided to call their mothers while they waited. They both explained about the flight cancellations when their conversations made a sudden turn into territory neither of them wanted to go.

"I'm sorry, mom," Beca said into the phone. "We checked the weather reports, and everything north of us is pretty much snowed in. Even if Atlanta opened up, I wouldn't be able to get to you. I'll call dad and have him pick me up when the roads are clear enough to drive on."

"I understand, Beca," Sarah Mitchell said. "Will Chloe be able to get home?"

"Probably," Beca said. "Everything south of us is clear, and no snow expected."

"That's good," Sarah said. "You know, Beca, you should ask Chloe if you can go home with her. If the airline was so accommodating to Chloe, maybe they can find a flight the two of you can take to Tampa. And you could use the time to tell Chloe how you feel."

"Mom!" Beca whisper-yelled. "She's sitting across the table from me, and she's got that supersonic bat-like hearing."

"Tell her," Sarah said. "You'll regret it if you don't."

"I can't tell her," Beca said, giving Chloe a side-glance.

"Why not?"

"Because she's Chloe."

Chloe saw Beca looking at her and heard her name. She furrowed her brow and noticed Beca had turned her back to her as she whispered to her mother on the phone. She tried to hear what she was saying when her mother yelled in her ear.

"Chloe! Are you listening to me?" Charlotte Beale's voice brought Chloe's attention back to her phone.

"What? I'm sorry, mom," Chloe said. "What did you say?"

"I said, you should see if you can get Beca on your flight and bring her home with you," Charlotte said.

"She's going to call her dad and have him pick her up," Chloe said.

"Has she called him yet?"

"No."

"Then ask her if she wants to come here," Charlotte said. "We'd love to have her. And I know you'd love to have her, too."

"Mom, don't start," Chloe said.

"What?" Charlotte asked innocently. "I think since you guys will be spending all that time in the airport, you should tell her how you feel."

"I don't want to scare her off," Chloe whispered, turning her back to Beca.

"I don't think you will," Charlotte said.

"I can't tell her, mom."

"Why not?"

"Because she's Beca."

~ Day 9 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

Beca and Chloe were quiet as they ate dinner.

"Um, my mom said hi," Beca said, breaking the silence.

"That's nice," Chloe said, obviously distracted.

"Are you okay?" Beca asked.

"What? Oh, sorry," Chloe said. "My mom was giving me a hard item about-. Um, giving me a hard time."

"Same with mine," Beca said.

"My mom thinks I should ask you to come to Tampa with me."

"My mom thinks I should go to Tampa with you."

Beca and Chloe spoke over top each other.

"What?" they said simultaneously.

Beca chuckled and held up her hand to stop Chloe from saying anything.

"My mom thinks I should go to Tampa with you," Beca repeated.

"Really?" Chloe asked. "My mom thinks you should come to Tampa with me."

The two girls laughed.

"My mom said they'd love to have you join us for Christmas," Chloe said.

"Are you done eating?" Beca asked, surprising Chloe.

"Um, yeah, I guess," Chloe said.

"Great," Beca said. "Let's go see if I can get on the same plane you're on."

"You really want to go to Tampa with me?"

"Yeah," Beca said.

"Then let's go see if we can get you on a plane to Tampa," Chloe said, standing and holding out her hand to Beca.

Beca smiled as she took Chloe's hand, and they hurried off to the ticket counter.

~ Day 9 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

After some lengthy discussion, the ticket agent was able to get Beca and Chloe on the same flight to Tampa. It was late, and they were both tired. There was no place to go, so the two found a corner and sat down to wait.

Chloe put her head on Beca's shoulder. Beca smiled down at her and leaned her head against Chloe's.

"Thanks for staying behind to be with me," Beca said quietly.

"I couldn't not stay," Chloe said.

"Um, do you think when we get back to Barden, you might want to go out with me?"

Chloe sat up and looked at Beca. "You mean, on a date?"

"Um, yeah?" Beca said her cheeks reddening.

Chloe smiled and threw herself into Beca's arms. "I'd love to."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

Beca pulled Chloe into another hug, holding her tight to her before pulling back. She smiled as she looked into Chloe's eyes, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Chloe's ear.

"Just kiss her already," an older lady said, causing Beca and Chloe to jump apart. "I swear love is wasted on the young."

Beca and Chloe both watched wide-eyed as the older woman walked away, shaking her head. They looked at each other and burst into laughter. They settled down, and Beca looked at Chloe again.

"I was raised to respect my elders," Beca said.

"Oh," Chloe said and then smiled. "Totes. Me, too."

"Well then," Beca said, leaning in as she looked down at Chloe's lips.

Chloe closed the distance and startled Beca when their lips crashed together. Beca put her hand behind Chloe's head and pulled her deeper into the kiss.

"Wow," Beca breathed out.

"Yeah," Chloe said, laughing as she laid her forehead against Beca's.

"This is going to be the best Christmas ever," Beca whispered.

"Yeah," Chloe whispered back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Full prompt from RJRMovieFan: Chloe is excited to head home for Christmas but is bummed she won't have her favorite grumpy brunette. While waiting for her flight, she notes that Beca's flight has been canceled. A weather front is shutting down the airport and Chloe's flight is the last scheduled to leave and is overbooked. She gives up her seat so a young soldier can have it, and goes and finds Beca, who is stuck in the airport. They can't get back to the Bellas house so they spend the night together in the airport.

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Oh my god they were roommates part 4

You are forced to take over the monitoring of Loki. Snapshots from the life of being a god handler.

It’s weird how a phrase or sentence can inspire a whole story. In this case it was “A polished turd is a turd nonetheless.” This is what grew from it. The whole story is almost 13.000 words long, so I felt I had to split it into parts.

This is the last part. Hope you like it, though I have to put a warning on this one: blood, insects, death, maggots are the ones that come to mind first. And angst. But it’s me, so :P

If you like it, let me know. Knowing that people enjoy my writing is what keeps me posting my stories.

Word count: 5010

Part one  Part two  Part three

_______________________________________________________________________

You beckoned to Loki. “Come on. They’ve called me in.”

He sighed heavily, but followed you through the shop, still carrying the shopping basket. “Oh joy! I guess there’s no time to drop me off before you go?”

Looking down on the phone in your hand, you shook your head. They wouldn’t send a text like that if it weren’t urgent. “Sorry. Guess you’ll have to wait in the car or something. I’ll drop you off once I get my assignment.”

Loki shrugged. “I should’ve brought my book.” He put down the shopping basket next to the cashier and nodded politely as you left. Better he put the items back on the shelves than leaving the basket in an aisle somewhere. Besides, you doubted he would mind much.

He had developed a little crush on you both, and you had yet to come up with a good way to let him down gently. Loki had jokingly suggested gauging the poor guy’s eyes out. After laughing it off, you still weren’t a hundred percent sure he was joking.

Another solution had popped into your mind too, but you had dismissed it just as quickly: pretending to date each other would probably get him off your back, but that would place you in an uncomfortable position. For your part, the pretend part would hurt a little too much for your liking.

Loki’s book remark made you wonder. “What do you mean you should’ve brought a book?” The car roared to life.

“Waiting out missions tend to get tedious,” he explained patiently, leaning his temple on the window. “Especially after they got their hands on those cursed manacles. I blame Thor for that.” His eyes darkened. Frost swirled over the glass.

“It’s happened before?” You almost stopped the car on the side of the road, but a fleeting image of Maria Hill’s disapproving face popped into your head. “More than once?”

Loki nodded. “Oh yes. Before Agent Powell they would not let me out of their sight at all. Made for some interesting days, I’ll tell you. Even when Agent Reed took over my… care, I was confined to a cell or the back of a vehicle when he was needed somewhere else. Granted, their missions were less frequent than other’s, but yes, I’ve seen my fair share. I imagine – hey! Watch out!”

The road in front of you exploded in purple, and you swerved, barely avoiding hitting the lump of unidentifiable mass in front of the car. You sped up, muttering under your breath. “What the hell?”

“I made a habit of always carrying something to read,” Loki continued, unperturbed.

As you got closer to HQ, you got closer to the fighting as well, but for a tiny second all you could see was Loki’s dejected expression. Patting his knee, you tried an encouraging smile. “Listen, I’ll try to… I can’t promise anything, but…” You fell silent for a while before muttering: “At least I’ll make sure you’ve got a book.”

The large, dark grey gate loomed over you, and you flashed your ID to the guard in the booth. He nodded to you and took an extra good look at Loki before waving you through.

Parking in the lot behind the lab, you marched quickly to the office building. “You better wait outside,” you said, gesturing to the long line of personnel vehicles.

“I know the drill,” Loki replied and turned right by the door.

Inside, Director Fury himself was involved in handing out the assignments, together with Agent Hill. An uncomfortable pressure settled in your chest. The situation must be really bad, but you took a seat next to Agent Torres and a new recruit you hadn’t seen before. Shaking your head slightly, you thought about how the recruits seemed younger every year.

Agent Hill quickly briefed the room on the situation while Fury stood in the background looking grim, but collected. Nothing threw that man out of balance.

“We have yet to determine the origin of the attackers,” Hill said, confirming your suspicions, and allowing for a collective gasp to go through the crowd.

Uncertain origin always meant aliens, extra-terrestrials. You swore silently. There would be a lot of casualties.

Hill continued: “The Avengers have been notified and will focus on the main threat, aided by the armed forces. Your mission will be damage control and civilian evacuation.” They had put together a pretty decent plan in such a short time, and you wondered if they had one ready, and just changed the dates and locations according to need. Soon you were queuing up to get your assigned tasks.

The recruit in front of you let out a curse on a trembling breath.

“Hey, don’t be scared,” you whispered. “We’ve been through worse. Just stick to your mentor and everything will be okay.”

He nodded and squared his shoulder, before hurrying after a more experienced agent. Rubbing you eyes, you tried not to think too hard: he wouldn’t last through the day if he didn’t manage to get his nerves in check.

When it was your turn, Maria handed you a big, yellow folder. “You’ve been assigned to Sector 3; yellow. Some families, mostly senior citizens and immigrants. How’s your Spanish?”

“Non-existing,” you replied with a grimace, taking the folder and headed for the exit. Just as you reached the door, you turned back.

“Yes?” she said. The question must have been obvious in your face.

“Ma’am, as I have custody of Loki –“

“He knows the routine,” Fury interrupted.

“Yes, sir. About that… I would like to request him coming with me on this assignment.”

Hill raised and eyebrow, but Fury nodded once. “And he will. The handcuffs are being brought down as we speak.

Inhaling deeply, you decided to just jump in. “I meant with us, as an agent. He –“

“Agent Y/N, that would be unwise. Loki is hard to control.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I believe he has proved himself trustworthy. Since I took over the charge, he has had several chances to do ill, but he has refrained from doing so. He is on good terms with the neighbours, and the community knows him as a helpful person. Hell, Lydia, uh, Mrs Martin all but worships the ground he walks on – though I’m not sure that counts in his favour,” you added silently. Looking up at both Fury and Hill, you tightened your jaw, pulling out your last argument. “God knows we need an extra pair of hands, and he is experienced in combat, should it come to that.”

“Fury, she has a point,” Hill said, surprising you with her support.

“Fine.” Fury rolled his eye. “But that’s your ass on the line. If anything happens – if he tries anything, that’s your responsibility.”

“Understood. And thank you,” you added. You could’ve sworn you saw a smile cross Fury’s face, but it was gone before you really registered it. It might as well have been a figment of your imagination.

“Run along before I change my mind.”

Outside you ran into Agent Reed. He looked like Christmas had been cancelled. “You’re gonna get us all killed. That blood’s on your hands. Loki can’t be trusted.”

Glaring, you didn’t really want to deign him with an answer, but he blocked your way, and you were getting angry. “We need all hands on deck, Benjamin.” When he didn’t move right away, you raised an eyebrow, staring at him with contempt in your eyes. “And to be honest I trust him more than I trust you. Get lost, Reed.” You pushed your way past him, leaving him looking like a goldfish.

Loki was waiting by the car, eyeing the crate with the magical manacles and the guards standing on each side of the crate. His face was neutral, but you knew he hated those manacles more than anything in the nine realms.

“Looks like you don’t get to sit this one out after all,” you told him with a mischievous grin, clipping in place the clasps on your vest. “Of course I tried to dissuade them, but Fury was adamant it was all hands on deck.”

When he registered what you said, his stance visibly shifted. You hadn’t noticed before, but it was clear he had been slumping. Now he was standing tall, a new spark in his eyes. “Oh no,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “No quiet evening in the back of the truck for me. Whatever shall I do?” As he spoke, his armour grew, and you sucked in an extra breath.

It shouldn’t have affected you the way it did, but the confidence in him at that moment was almost too much to keep you on your feet. Adjusting your earpiece, more to distract yourself than anything else, you manage to shake it off, and opened the car door. “Let’s go.” You held up your hand, and he looked at it, then at you.

With a contemptuous sneer he slapped it, then shook as if he had just touched something slimy. “Never again, Y/N,” he said and slid into the vehicle, pushing the other agent further in.

“Yeah yeah.” You grinned and got in after him. Closing the door with a slam, you knocked on the window to let the driver know the car was ready, and sat down. Seconds later you were en route to the second alien invasion in three years.

The car stopped and the doors opened to reveal a crumbled building. Frightened people were running in every direction. Some tried to jump in standing cars, but the chaos affected the traffic as well. It was a miracle your evacuation convoy had even gotten this far.

Within minutes you were set to work.  The team leader had directed you to a pair of buildings that were partially collapsed.

Helping shocked civilians and digging through the rubble together with Loki and the other rescue teams was hard. The concrete crumbled upon touch, releasing puffs of white dust into the air, making it harder to breathe.

Suddenly you stopped in your tracks. You heard whimpering, but it wasn’t coming from the building. Rounding the corner, you spotted a little girl.

She couldn’t have been more than four or five, and she was completely alone. It was obvious she had been crying, but when you found her she was silent like a stone. Her face was grey with dust, her skin only showing through the paths her tears had taken.

Someone had already dug her out of the rubble, but for some reason they had left her standing in the piles of concrete. You cursed and reached out to her, but Loki beat you to it.

Crouching down, he stretched out his arms, inviting her to come to him. And she did. “You’re okay now,” he said in perfect Spanish, stroking her hair and brushing dust from her face. “Such a brave little girl. What’s your name?” She didn’t answer, but he continued to talk calmly until he reached the evac bus, where a team of paramedics and agents were ready to take over.

The girl remained silent until he tried to hand her over to a kindly looking woman with curly hair. She buried her face in Loki’s neck, tangling her fingers in his hair, straight up refusing to acknowledge the woman at all. When she was lifted away from Loki she started wailing. Her tiny hands grabbed the empty air.

It was heart breaking to watch, but you knew she couldn’t stay. At the shelter she would get food and water, and maybe, just maybe, she would find her parents there.

Loki smiled gently, shushing her and brushing away her tears. “It’s okay, brave one. Don’t be afraid.” He continued to speak for a while, and finally the girl calmed down and allowed them to carry her to the waiting transport.

You got through the day with only a few scrapes on your knuckles and a small cut under your right eye. Loki, of course, looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat, even though he had lifted and carried and comforted more civilians than the rest of the team combined.

You were slightly envious, but you were also more than ready to forgive him the rudeness of his perfection if that meant you could just go home and collapse on the sofa and do nothing for the next three weeks. Getting rest was the only thing that mattered, and the sole thing standing between you and it was one last check of a nearby kiosk.

The building was far from safe, and uninjured people had begun to rifle through the scattered goods as people usually do in event of a catastrophe. Your last task as the sun was setting, was to make sure none of the looters were caught if the building collapsed, and to properly block the street after the last evac bus had left.

Suddenly a man came sprinting right at you. Before he stumbled over a pile of concrete, he stopped, panting and watching you with wild eyes. “My wife!” he shouted and started climbing over the rubble.

“Sir,” you began. “This is not a safe area. Please move.”

He didn’t react.

“Sir. Your wife is not here. We have scanned the building, it is empty, and those who were buried have been excavated. The evac –“

“Move!” he growled, still advancing, apparently intent on entering the building.

Loki stepped forward. His appearance would stop most men, but this one was clearly not aware of what he was doing, and worse: in his hand he held a big bundle that looked vaguely like a gun.

“Stop,” Loki began, and you reached for his arm.

“Are you insane? You don’t know what he’ll do.”

He grinned widely. “Jury’s still out. Probably lots of people who would argue for it. But trust me. I know what I’m doing. I can help him -”

“No, Loki! He’s got –“

The man drew the weapon and before you could reach for your own, the street exploded with purple light and a high-pitched screech. You shielded your eyes, expecting to be ripped in half any moment, but you felt no different, and when you looked again the man was sprinting down the street, the gun tossed aside like a banana peel.

The next thing you saw froze your blood. “Loki!” Dropping to your knees, not caring that the jagged edges of the concrete rubble lacerated your skin. You fumbled for his hand. It was so cold, and covered in blood, and he was gasping for air. The armour on his chest was melted away, revealing a blistering gash. He was bleeding heavily.

“No, Loki,” you whispered over and over. “You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.” If he died, you would never forgive yourself.

In a moment’s clarity, you fished out your phone, almost dropping it because your hands were so slick, and for backup. That weapon was not of human origin. Besides, you couldn’t very well call an ordinary ambulance for Loki.

A small crowd were forming by the time SHIELD arrived. Some were filming your feeble attempts to keep Loki’s blood on the inside, others were just watching, but all stepped back once the black cars showed up and agents swarmed the area, collecting evidence and mobile phones and witness statements.

You noticed nothing of that, though. The only thing you heard was Loki’s ragged breath as you focused on keeping him awake. “Listen to me,” you said with a trembling voice, failing horribly to sound stern and confident. “Don’t you dare die! Not like this!”

Loki coughed and smiled weakly. “Well, I figured this was the only way you would leave me alone.”

Laughing grimly, you shook your head. “What, am I such a bad roommate you have to die to get some peace?”

He nodded once before his eyes started to glide shut.

“This is bullshit!” you yelled just as the paramedics ploughed their way through the onlookers. Once they started working on him, you sat back on your heels and closed your eyes. Your tears were indistinguishable from the rain, but you could not ignore the burning behind your eyes. All sound drowned in the rush in your ears, and distantly you registered someone hoisting you to your feet. Supported by an agent, you let yourself be lead to an ambulance so they could take a look at your bleeding legs.

Someone strapped you in and attached beeping machinery and devices to you, but all you could see was Loki’s ashen and bloody face lying lifeless on the pavement.

_______________________________________________________________________

Loki opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. You rushed to his side and handed him one of the white plastic cups. “Don’t try to speak. Drink.”

He nodded and sat up, gulping the water down greedily. Some of it dribbled from the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. When he was finished, he put the cup down on the little side table and looked around.

Once he noticed the balloons, he burst out laughing. “What the –“ His voice was raw, and the effort made him cough.

“Better not talk to much yet,” you said, grinning now that he was awake and didn’t seem insulted by them. “Let me jump start your memories.”

He reached for the nearest balloon and examined it while gesturing for you to go on. The balloon in question read Get well soon you attention seeking twat on one side, but as it slowly revolved, the other side revealed It can’t always be champagne, cocaine, and hookers. (Get well soon.) Loki let out an amused chuckle.

You felt like crying with relief, and you hoped your voice wouldn’t crack. “Basically you had to be a hero and scare the shit out of me. You’ve been in a coma for almost two weeks! You dick!”

His eyes shone with remembrance, then widened from your sudden outburst.

Suddenly aware of what you had said, you started sputtering, ears burning with embarrassment. “And I wasn’t the only one who were upset. When Thor found out you were in a coma he let loose a storm that almost flooded the city. It wasn’t until the doctors finally confirmed you would live he let it go.

To be fair the lightning show was kinda pretty, but it made it hard to sleep. The curtains aren’t exactly lightproof,” you added, looking at the windows over your shoulder.

Loki followed your gaze, before his eyes landed on the crumpled blanket on the chair in the corner. He swallowed and grimaced. He never thought you would have resort to such uncomfortable methods to keep an eye on him.

“The hit you took caused significant injuries to your torso. The doctors contemplated a skin graft too, but they were unsure how your body would react to Midgardian technology. Luckily you’re a fast healer.”

It took another week before the doctors deemed Loki well enough to be discharged, and you were more than happy to have him home again. The apartment, though unharmed in the attack, seemed so dark and ghostly without him, and you had even snuck into his room a couple of times when the anxiety shot through the roof.

Pushing the wheelchair through the glass doors, you headed to the waiting car. “Ready to go home?”

“Yes. And ready to get out of this ridiculous chair. I can bloody walk on my own.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sorry about that. Standard procedure, I think. So that you can’t sue the hospital if you stumble over a mat or something.”

Loki snorted too. “Right. Well, this is beneath my dignity.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve made spaghetti for dinner,” you said, hardly able to contain your laughter.

Loki let out a loud groan and got into the car.

_______________________________________________________________________

His face was grey and spattered with blood. It flowed rapidly from the deep slash across his chest, and no matter what you did it would not stop bleeding. Soon you were slippery with blood, both on your hands and on your feet. It became increasingly more difficult to find foothold, and you slid over the slick surface trying to keep pressure on the wound. Blood seeped through your clothes, warm and sticky, his life force coating your skin in red.

You called his name, over and over, but got no answer; his unseeing eyes turning milky white as you watched the ground swallow him inch by inch.

Mid-scream you were yanked backwards, landing on a soft surface with a silent oof. Dreading what you would see, you opened your eyes slowly – and looked straight into Loki’s concerned eyes. He was holding your shoulders harder than what was comfortable, pressing you into the mattress, but once he got eye contact, his grip loosened.

Blinking, you tried to orientate yourself. You were in your room. The bed was where it ought to, and you were tangled in your blanket. The t-shirt you usually slept in clung to your sweaty skin, and your face felt raw and stiff.

Seeing the wildness in your eyes, Loki let go completely and stepped back. “You were screaming,” he said softly, as if he expected you to scream again. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Frowning for a second, you didn’t know what he was talking about. Then a light flicked on in your brain. He had misunderstood your terror. “No, no. You didn’t. I… I had a nightmare. You…” You hesitated. “I didn’t know where I was. Thank you for waking me.” It hurt to talk. You wondered what the neighbours thought had happened.

“What did you dream about?”

You shook your head. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

Loki nodded. “Alright. Sleep well, Y/N. I wish you pleasant dreams.” He turned to leave, but before he could close the door, you called him back. “Loki, wait.”

He poked his head around the door. “Yes?”

You drew a deep breath. “Will you stay? Just a little while?”

He came back and sat down on the edge of the mattress, looking both confused and concerned.

“I’m scared the dream will return,” you explained with an apologetic smile. His lifeless face appeared each time you closed your eyes, and it made you nauseous. “Maybe if you, if you distracted me, I’ll fall asleep again. I mean, if you… oh, but you probably want to go back to sleep. Nevermind. Sleep well, Loki.”

You curled up and tried to think about nice things. Puppies and kittens, balloons. Summer. Flowers, meadows, grass, dirt… holes in the ground, sinking, maggots, dead Loki… You shivered.

Loki shifted next to you. “I was reading when you… uh,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I could, if you want to… I could read to you? Mot– Frigga always did that whenever I could not sleep when I was young.”

“I’d like that.”

He smiled and conjured a book out of thin air. “I just procured this wonderful edition of old fairytales. Some of them remind me of my childhood stories.”

You turned over on your side, resting your forehead on the side of his thigh. The warmth and life and movements calmed your nerves even further.

Loki opened the book, leafing through it until he found the page he was searching for. “Dapplegrim. This is one of my favourites,” he said. “Once upon a time there lived a rich couple with twelve sons…”

You glanced at the page, admiring the gorgeous illustrations. “Wait, Loki… that’s not English. You… are you translating as you read?”

He nodded, a red tint appearing in his face. “Yes. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” you murmured, and soon his smooth voice wrapped around you and carried you off to dreamland.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bugs and maggots. He was green and bloated and decomposing. You were stuck. Can’t get away, can’t get away, can’t get away. Invisible hands pulled you closer and closer. Chalky eyes stared into emptiness. It’s your fault. He’s gone. Never. Never. Never.

Gentle hands shook you out of the dream. “Y/N!” Loki repeated your name until you opened your eyes. “You were screaming again.”

Your throat was so sore – it hurt to swallow, and you could taste blood. A raw sob escaped, and you hid your face under the blanket. Every time you closed your eyes, his dead face swam into view. Would you ever be able to sleep again?

He gently stroked your hair, letting you cry until you could breathe evenly again. Then he asked for the seventh time in just as many days: “Will you not tell me?”

You clutched your blanket and shook your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Please.”

When you stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, Loki handed you a cup of coffee, sat down next to you and crossed his arms. “You look like hell, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “Why thank you, Loki. How kind of you.”

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed you by your elbow and dragged you to the door, coffee abandoned on the kitchen table. “I did not mean it like that, and you know it. Come. I’m buying you a hot chocolate down at the Bean, and then you’re going to tell me what’s bothering you so much you can’t sleep at night.”

Sighing in defeat, you wound a scarf around your neck and said a silent goodbye to the flat that had been your home for so long before following Loki out the door.

The Bean was a no nonsense café just a couple of minutes walk down the street. Fortunately it was unharmed in the attack, and you found yourself visiting almost every day, and the owner always greeted you warmly when you came by.

Loki sat you down by the table in the back, making sure he had a clear view to the door and window, then ordered two large hot chocolates with extra whipped cream.

“Come on,” he said, licking cream from his lip. “This is getting out of hand. Tell me what those abhorrent nightmares of yours are. It can not continue like this. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep in… how long?”

“A week,” you answered meekly. “Sorry I’ve been keeping you up.”

Loki shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. Now. What is it that you dream about?”

You looked at him and he wiped a tear from your cheek. “I… It’s you.”

Loki’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and he straightened up. Suddenly he was cold and distant, and the change startled you, it was like he was a stranger.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply, finding comfort in the lingering sensation from his touch. “I see you,” you continued. “Dead. Decomposing. Gone. And it’s all my fault.” Now that it was out in the open it felt like a boulder had been lifted from your shoulders, and you dared to look up at him again.

He was no longer emotionless and stiff; his face had softened, and his eyes showed a new gleam that you had never noticed before. He took your hand in his and squeezed. “It was just a dream. You know that? I’m not dead.” Tilting his head, a small smile spread over his lips. “How could I sit here if I were?”

You swallowed hard. This could destroy a wonderful friendship, or if you were lucky – no, you didn’t dare to even think it, let alone hope. You gave up all pretence. Your old apartment was still there, and you could always volunteer for more fieldwork.

“Don’t you see? It hurts me so bad seeing you…” You swallowed again. Even saying it out loud was painful. “…dead, because I… I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Mouth slightly open, he slid off his seat and crouched in front of you, holding your hands in between his own. His face was serious as he looked into your eyes. “That is not a wise decision, Y/N,” he whispered, and you felt your heart plummet to the floor. “I am not an easy person to love.”

“I know,” you muttered, struggling to hold back your tears. “But I can’t change what my heart tells me.” You sniffed and twisted in your seat, trying to manoeuvre around Loki. “I’ll send someone to pick up my things.”

You tugged on your hands to free yourself, but Loki would not let go. He straightened and pulled you closer. “You misunderstand me. I am not an easy person to love, but if you are willing to try, I will do what I can to ease the effort.”

“What?”

“Y/N, I had given up hope that someone would ever love me, and to find that that someone turned out to be you? It is more than I could have asked for. You have been in my dreams since the day we met, and I tried so hard to be civil when you met that fool. Tommy? Wasn’t that his name? And now… now you tell me that… that…” His voice broke. Instead of continuing, he lifted your hand to his lips. His touch was feather light, but it still sent a chill through you. Resting your hand against his cheek, he looked up at you, and you saw nothing but love in his eyes.

Many hours later, as you walked up the stairs hand in hand, Mrs Martin quickly poked her head out the door, then withdrew and closed it again.

“Oh shoot, now the whole building’s gonna know by morning,” you said, imagining the gossip spreading like fire from neighbour to neighbour. In your head you could see them staring, and the little knowing looks her and Mr Howard in number 15 would share.

Loki chuckled and brought your hand to his face, gently brushing his lips against your skin. Goosebumps erupted over your entire body.

“Yes, she will never shut up about it,” he murmured, looking fondly at the closed door. “Guess we really do have to invite her to the wedding.”

Your brain fizzed out, and you stopped mid-step, staring at him.

_______________________________________________________________________

Tagging:

@80percentmarvel @tardis-is-mine @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte @jessiejunebug @thefuriousquake @wolfgar15

[something-tofightfor]

Trope Prompt: Here Comes the Sun

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader 

Word Count: 7100 (IM SORRY OK, I COULDN’T STOP)

Rating: M (Language, mention of sex, mentions of substance abuse/drinking, failed relationships, lil bit of zest)

Trope: #18 - Strangers getting into a shitty situation together

Author’s Note: This is fun, this is fluffy, a little angsty and kinda sorta AU ... or is it? Dont wanna spoil the pairing before the story even begins, so have fun. Finished this at almost 5 am, so dont kill me because it ends a little... abruptly. I was badgered by @the-blind-assassin-12 to post this tonight... so here you go. 

Summary: Two strangers meet at the airport while trying to fly off of an island to beat an oncoming hurricane... things happen. 

Tag List:  @banditthewriter @breanime @obscurilicious @padfootagain @madamrogersstorytelling @ooo-barff-ooo @agent-bossypants @suchatinyinfinity @chibiyanai @songtoyou @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @drinix @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @likethetailofacomet @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @shinebrightlikeafanbase @littlemermaidprobz @jovialyouthmusic @zaffrenotes @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @luminex3 @malik-payne @lexxierave @lynne1993 @elanor-of-imladris @bucky-is-my-precious @traeumerinwitzhelden @mfackenthal @weallhaveadestiny @ladyblablabla @sweetybuzz25 @dreamwritesimagines @thesumofmychoices @audreychaz @tc-elliot @dreams-with-thoughts @kind-wolf

“What do you mean the flight is overbooked?” He ran his hands along the edge of the counter, tapping a long finger on his driver’s license, which the airline agent had set back in front of him. “I have a ticket on this flight, and -” Do you know who I am?

“Sir, I understand, but with the incoming storm, we’re trying to get as many people out as possible, and your seat is one of the more recently booked, so -” Yes. That’s why I’m trying to leave. The hurricane.

“I need to be on that plane, you don’t understand.” He sighed, the sound carrying. “I’ll pay extra, I don’t care, just -” Give me my boarding pass back and let me on.

“Sir, we’re willing to offer you a substantial credit toward a future flight if you’re willing to give up your seat.” She smiled at him, a sickeningly sweet expression that just barely hid her annoyance. “You giving up your seat will allow a family to take the flight instead.” He opened his mouth to speak again when a female voice from his right interrupted.

“Come on now.” He turned toward the sound, mouth still open. “You’re really gonna be the guy that makes one parent stay behind and the other one wrangle all of the kids?” The woman speaking was young - maybe his age, skin sun-kissed and hair arranged in a messy ponytail. She had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and despite his frustration, he found himself closing his mouth and just staring. “That’s not fun.” She turned to the counter agent, a lopsided smile on her face. “How many seats were overbooked?” Look at you, Miss Do-Right.

“We need about six people to stay back and wait for another outgoing flight, ma’am.” The agent offered another smile - this one more genuine - and the woman grinned, nodding and giving her name.

“I’ll be more than willing to stay back, I can’t say no to another few hours here.” Great, now I’ll look like an asshole unless… The agent thanked the girl profusely and took her driver’s license, making a note of the information on it. When she was done, the woman turned to face him, eyes sparkling. “How about it? Let some family get off the island and stay here and wait with me?” She winked at him, and her next words came out in a tone that was just the right side of condescending for him - he was fully intrigued. “I’ll even buy you a drink while we wait?” Fine. What’s it going to take, a few hours to get another plane?

“Alright, fine.” He turned to the agent and thrust his license back at her. “Here.” Next to him, the woman laughed under her breath, shaking her head back and forth. After getting his license back and tucking it into his wallet which went into the back pocket of his shorts, he turned to face the young woman. Taking a deep breath and reminding himself to be friendly, he extended his hand as he stepped away from the counter. “Hi. My name’s Logan Delos. Nice to meet you.”

---

You’d bought Logan his first drink as promised, the two of you sitting at a high top table in the closest restaurant in the airport. He’d found out a great deal about you in a short amount of time, and had gradually relaxed as the conversation progressed. You were in Nassau for a friend’s wedding, one of those “destination” affairs that he was more than familiar with, and most of your friends had left the previous day. You lived in Indianapolis, but were in the process of moving to California for your job, were 28, and you had always wanted to experience a hurricane first-hand. “It’s a midwest thing,” you’d said with a shrug of your shoulders as you sipped your drink through a straw. “I’m kind of landlocked, and the idea of seeing something like that - powerful and unpredictable… it’s just exciting.” Your eyes flicked to the windows as you spoke, watching the sky darken.

If he was being honest with himself, there were a lot of things about you that he found exciting, but he kept quiet, answering your questions patiently  - “Bachelor party for my sister’s second husband, stayed an extra few days to enjoy the beach and the rum, California” - and enjoying the fact that you had no idea who he was - until he opened his mouth after you asked what he did for a living. “I’m CEO of Delos Inc.” He bit his tongue, trying not to frown. Shit. “We’re in technology, information.” Sex robots, mostly.  Logan shrugged, finishing his drink, his eyes going back to the bar. “Want another one while we wait?” He flashed his most winning smile - one that he knew knocked women out, but you only nodded, reaching up with a hand to swipe at a drop of liquid on your lip.

“Sure, Logan. That’d be great.” He left the table, ordered a second round at the bar while thinking about how much better the rum would taste off of your lips, and was back just as you tucked your phone into your purse, eyebrows raised and teeth digging into your lower lip.

“What’s that look for?” You cleared your throat, reaching out for your drink and letting your fingers brush against his, something Logan didn’t overlook. “What?”

“They’re closing the airport.” You raised your glass and he groaned, sliding back into his seat. “Cheer up, Logan. I’m sure they’ll offer us rooms in a moderately priced hotel for one night to make up for it.” I’m stuck here in a hurricane and will have to sleep in a shitty hotel, too? This day just keeps getting better. “Guess next time you shouldn’t listen to the stranger in the airport when she tells you to be a good man and to think of the children.” He looked up at you, surprised to see that you had a completely blank expression on your face, your glass still in the air. Is she joking? He allowed himself another look and saw that you were biting back laughter, which caused him to roll his eyes and laugh, clinking his glass against yours as you dissolved into giggles, too.

“Guess you get to see your hurricane, hmm?” Logan took a drink, raising an eyebrow. “Shit. How long do these things usually last?” You shrugged, pulling your phone back out and pulling up the weather app. It had already started raining, but the bulk of the storm - a category 3 - was still hours away, according to the map. “So… who knows.” You sighed, putting your head down onto the table and letting your phone clatter out of your hand. “What?”

“Logan.” You peeked up at him, one eye visible above your arm. “Our luggage is on the plane that took off 45 minutes ago.” Shit. His face must have given him away because you sat straight up, a smile on your lips. “Looks like I didn’t think this through.” He shook his head, and the two of you finished your drinks quickly before standing to head back to your previous gate to find out what you were going to have to do. “Hey.” You spoke softly, reaching out to touch his elbow, fingers closing around it and squeezing gently. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head, looking down at you and cocking his head to the side. “I shouldn’t have spoken up like I did, you could have been on that plane, and -”

“It’s fine.” Logan shrugged, surprised to find that he wasn’t angry; in fact, he was actually kind of excited. He was used to the predictable - used to things happening on a script, and this was… a nice change of pace after almost two years of the mundane. “You know, hurricanes are really rare on the west coast, too.” He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes moving away from you and toward the windows, which overlooked the runways. “So it looks like we’re both in for an interesting few days.”

---

The airline had sent Logan, you and about fifteen other people that were also waiting for flights to a nearby hotel via shuttle, but the property had turned you away because they were already full. The second property had only had enough room for a little more than half of the people on the shuttle and at that point, Logan had had enough. As you went to get back onto the vehicle, Logan poked his head in, asking the driver which hotel he was heading to (just in case) and then grabbed your arm. “Wait a minute.”

He pulled you back inside and unlocked his phone, quickly typing. “What are you doing, Logan?” He shook his head, dialing a number and raising the phone to his ear, waiting. When someone picked up on the other end, Logan cleared his throat.

“Hello, my name is Logan Delos. I just checked out of your resort this morning.” He listened for a moment. “Yes. That’s me. That Delos.” He nodded. “My flight was overbooked because of the storm, and the hotels that the airport is trying to send me to are all full, so I’m wondering...” He was quiet for a minute, rolling his neck out while he held the phone to his ear. “Yes, of course, I understand that you’re trying to keep people on the lower levels as much as possible.” You were watching him with a smile on your face, the nail of your thumb in your mouth, and Logan couldn’t help but look you over, eyes lingering on your cheekbones, on the way that your tanned skin seemed to glow, even in the artificial light of the lobby. Keep it together, Delos. You don’t know her. “Great. Are there two rooms?” Your eyes widened and you shook your head no, but Logan held up a hand. “Yeah. That’s fine. I’ll need both.”

When he hung up his phone, sliding it back into his pocket, you stepped forward, eyes wide. “Logan, I don’t… I can’t afford multiple nights in a resort, I just -” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Please.” He waved one hand, shaking his head. “They’re going to comp me the rooms anyway, the publicity of me staying there is more than worth it.” He grinned again. “Besides, you got me into this mess, I’m going to stick close by to annoy you until it’s over.” You were frowning, and before he could stop himself, Logan reached out, touching your shoulder. “It’s really not a big deal. I promise.” Who are you and what have you done with Logan Delos? You thought for a few seconds and then nodded, smiling gratefully at him.

“You must really be a bigshot, Logan.” You could say that. “They were that willing to accommodate you… damn.” That means she didn’t look me up… huh. “Should we get a cab or something?” He shook himself to focus and then cleared his throat, walking to the cab stand just outside the hotel doors. A car arrived quickly, and when Logan told them where he needed to go - The Cove at Atlantis - he watched you freeze in your seat. Weird. Logan tried to talk with you on the ride over, which was about 20 minutes long, but you spoke in short sentences, eyes staring out the window, even as the coral pink towers came into view.

Logan grabbed his carry on and you got your duffel out of the trunk, thrusting cash into the hands of the cabbie before he could stop you, but you only stood still, staring up at the tall towers as the rain fell. “Hey, you OK?” You didn’t acknowledge him, so he reached out again, touching your shoulder, which caused you to jump, wide eyes landing on him again. “You alright? We should get out of the rain.” You nodded, quickly walking beneath the overhang and turning to the left. She knows where the concierge desk is… You stood next to Logan as he spoke to the clerk and signed for both of the rooms. You didn’t hesitate when taking the key card that he handed to you, but he noticed that your eyes were moving around the room, lingering on the water fixture along the back wall, on the picturesque view - even in the rain - visible through the glass behind the desk.

The rooms were on the 10th floor, which surprised Logan, but he figured that the staff knew what they were doing, and so he thanked the employees and turned away, watching your back again as you led him to the elevator bank. You didn’t pass another person the entire way to the elevators, and Logan saw that through the windows of the buffet, the tables were abandoned. Everyone left, I’ve never seen this place so empty. The elevator ride up was quiet too, and Logan wanted to ask- wanted to know what was bothering you, but chose to stay quiet, simply watching you as you leaned back against the opposite wall of the elevator, arms crossed over your chest protectively.

You arrived at the assigned floor and Logan allowed you to exit the elevator first, but instead of walking toward the rooms, you turned to the right, walking over to the window overlooking the water that was meant to let natural light into the elevator lobby. That day, it was only providing a view of an angry ocean, of the low clouds and the wind whipping the palm trees around. Though it was only 5 PM, the darkness made it seem much later and the property’s lights had already come on. “Have you been here before?” Logan finally spoke, unable to keep quiet. “You know where you’re going and -”

“Yeah.” You spoke, shaking your head and resting your fingertips on the glass. “I’ve been here before. Stayed in The Cove once, too.” You turned to face him, and Logan was surprised to see that your eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Goddammit.” You laughed, shaking your head and using a thumb to swipe at one eye. “I’m sorry.” You took a breath, drawing yourself up to your full height and shaking your head. “I’m so sorry, Logan. Thank you for this. Thank you for making sure that I had a place to stay in this storm.” You walked by him toward the hallway, checking your room number and turning in the right direction. His room was across the hall from yours, and Logan stopped as you did, inserting the key into the electronic lock and turning back to face you. “Thank you, Logan. Seriously.” You smiled at him, and Logan was struck by how young it made you look, how much the expression changed your face, even though it wasn’t entirely sincere. “I promise I won’t charge anything to the room.”

You stepped into your room and Logan did the same into his, turning around at the last second and saying your name. “Hey.” You paused, looking over your shoulder at him. “I’m right across the hall, OK?” Though you looked surprised, you nodded at him after a few seconds, smiling again - and that smile was real. The door shut behind you and then Logan entered his room fully, flipping on the lightswitch and throwing his bag down onto the shelf between the bed and the sitting area before taking his shoes off. He pulled the blinds open, looking out at the water - he had a view that was similar to that from the elevators, meaning that you got the open ocean and the rest of the resort to look at. Good. He settled down onto the bed, flipping the TV on and finding coverage of the looming storm. Gotta figure out what we’ll be dealing with.

---

A few hours later, Logan was jolted awake by a knock on his door. I fell asleep. Damn. The first thing he noticed was that the TV was off. The second thing he noticed was that the light was off. Did the resort… did we lose power? He reached for his phone, pressing the button to light the screen and was relieved to see that he had a full charge, but no network connection. Before he could dwell on that, there was another knock on the door and he heard a female voice calling out his name. What? When he opened the door, he saw you standing there, your purse over your shoulder, a paper bag in one hand and a plastic bag over the other arm. “Hi.” The only lighting came from the emergency exit signs in the hallway, but Logan still saw the sadness on your face. “I’m locked out of my room.” Shit.

“What happened?” He opened the door fully, inviting you in, and you stepped past him, thanking him. “Why were you in the hallway?” You pulled the chair away from the desk near the bed, sitting down. Logan walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, flipping his phone backward and turning the flashlight on low before he handed it to you and you set it on the table in front of you.

“I went over to the main building, because the sundries place here was closed… and I wanted a bottle of rum.” You licked your lips and Logan for the first time saw that your hair was down and around your shoulders - and it was wet. “So I went there, and bought that and some food, and then came back… and as I was walking down the hallway, the power went out.” She could have been in the elevator, Jesus. “So… I stuck my key in the slot and it didn’t do anything, and... “ You shrugged. “So I’m here, and… yeah.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay here.” Logan  shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it down. “I’m glad you weren’t in the elevator when the power went out, that would have been…” He watched you shudder, pulling a glass bottle from the paper bag. “Want to have a drink?” You nodded and Logan stood, moving into the bathroom and grabbing two glasses. “No ice, but…” You shrugged and he heard the noise of the seal on the bottle breaking, the “click” loud in the otherwise silent room. “Want a mixer?” Logan grinned, setting the glasses down in front of you. “Best part of no power is that the mini bar is fair game.”

You laughed at that and Logan was struck by the sound, something that he wouldn’t have noticed a few short years before - and if he had, it wouldn’t have meant anything. He handed you a can of Coke, quickly shutting the refrigerator door again to preserve the temperature and you busied yourself pouring drinks by the light of his phone. That’s… a drink. Each glass contained at least two shots of the rum, and you topped them off with the Coke before using your finger to stir one of the glasses. “Shit.” You gimaced, shaking your head. “I didn’t even think… here, you can mix yours.” He leaned forward, picking up the glass that you’d had your finger in without  second thought, surprised to hear you let out a soft “oh” as he did. “Logan, it -”

“It’s fine, believe me.” You stuck your finger into the remaining glass, swirling it around and then without pause, popped it into your mouth, sucking it dry. Oh, holy hell. Logan swallowed, watching you, watching the shadows on your face, watching the way that your lips looked around your finger and wondered what they’d look like wrapped around something else, wondered what they’d feel like against his… Stop. Something’s obviously bothering her, it’s not the right time. “So.” He shifted on the bed, taking a drink from the glass. “We’re going to be here a while. I’m sure we could call the front desk, or go down there… but…”

“I really, really don’t want to walk down 10 flights of stairs, Logan.” You shook your head, taking a long drink. “I’m perfectly content to sit here and drink and then fall asleep on that couch down by the balcony.” You won’t be sleeping on that couch, I will. “If… that’s OK with you, that is.” You smiled at him hopefully, and Logan nodded his head. “Thank you.” You held your glass out to him, looking directly into his eyes. “To the storm.” He clinked glasses with you and you both drank, Logan tearing his eyes away from you as he tilted his head back. “You should turn your light off, Logan. You’ll waste the battery.”

“It’s fine, I’ve got a power brick.” Logan gestured toward his bag. “One of the good ones - multiple charges, too.” You laughed again, and Logan was struck by how relaxed you sounded, as if the minutes spent with him were taking your mind off of whatever it was that was bothering you. You were both silent for a while and Logan watched as you turned your head toward the window where the rain was falling harder, whipped against the glass by the wind. “Hey, I didn’t even think to ask before, do you need a towel? Your hair is wet and…” He looked at you again and noticed that you were now wearing a hooded sweatshirt.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking though.” You took a deep breath, turning in the chair to face Logan and hooking an elbow over the back of it, tilting your head to rest it against your shoulder. “So what should we do? We don’t know each other, and we’re stuck in this room together until the power comes back on… or until we need to leave.” Logan didn’t answer right away, deep in thought. “We could play a game?” You raised an eyebrow. “Get to know each other a little better.”

“What kind of game?” He sipped his drink, intrigued. “What do you want to know about me?” There’s so much I want to know about you, but…

“I don’t know, Logan.” He liked the way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue, the ‘n’ elongated just slightly. “Two truths and a lie? Never have I ever? A combination of them?” He nodded, passing you the glass again.

“That works. You can come sit on the bed with me, there’s enough room, and that way we can put the phone between us.” You nodded, and Logan stood, walking to the fridge and grabbing two more cans. Once he settled onto the bed, crossing his long legs beneath him and scooting backwards near the headboard, he watched you climb in, too adopting the same position as him and settling your glass against your legs. “You first or me?” You shrugged. “Alright, I’ll go.” He thought for a minute. “Ok. So. One: I only have one sibling, and she’s two years older than me. Two: I almost lost my company, but was able to get it back. Three: This is my first time in the Bahamas.” He watched as you narrowed your eyes, thinking.

“Hmm.” You tapped a finger against the rim of your glass. “I’m going to guess that the lie is that you’ve never been to the Bahamas before.” He grinned, lifting his glass and sipping from it. “Gotcha!” You thought for a minute, eyes widening. “Alright, Logan. I lived in Europe for two years. I’m allergic to shellfish. I have two dogs.” Logan watched your face as you spoke, looking for the signs that you were lying, and decided to go with his gut.

“You’re not allergic to shellfish.” You paused for a minute, eyes locked on his and then raised the glass, a gleam in your eye. “Ha! I knew it!” The game continued for almost an hour, and though both of you had some luck, you were more often wrong than right… but you were having a good time. You’d reached out a few times, placing a hand on Logan’s knee, leaning in and again locking eyes with him as you spoke, trying to throw him off...and though Logan had plenty of experience charming women, getting them to look at him in a certain way, to desire him, he held back with you. It would feel wrong. I can’t do that. You’d taken a short break in the middle of the game, sharing the food you’d brought from the main restaurant - a sandwich and chips - along with a chocolate bar from the mini fridge.

As you played, Logan had noticed that when you refilled your glass, you were putting less rum in it each time. He followed suit, understanding that while you were having a good time, you were being cautious. “Hold on, Logan. I have to use the bathroom.” You smiled at him, handing him your glass and uncrossing your legs and turning around, reaching for your purse. “Be right back.” As you pressed the flashlight on your phone and pointed it ahead of you, Logan noticed that you were walking perfectly straight, your words not slurred at all. She’s still sober. I appreciate that. When you emerged from the room, Logan noticed that you’d taken the hoodie off, and he watched as you laid it out over the back of the chair before climbing back into the bed. “Wanna continue?” I want to kiss you, is what I want to do. But he simply nodded, lips twisting into a smile as you took the glass from his hand when he offered it. “OK. Never have I ever… owned a business.”

“That’s how we’re going to play?” He laughed, shaking his head and taking a drink. “Fine. Never have I ever convinced a stranger to wait out a hurricane in a foreign country by shaming them.” You snorted, drinking.

“Never have I ever hooked up with someone of the same sex.” Oh. This could get interesting. Logan took a breath and lifted the glass to his lips, watching as your eyes widened in surprise, but you nodded your head at him. “Wasn’t expecting that, but I’m … not surprised.” What does that mean?

He grinned. “Never have I ever moved across the country for a job.” You laughed again, taking another drink. This game is going to end really quickly.

“Never have I ever lived in a foreign country.” Logan shook his head, and you swore under your breath, taking another small sip of your drink. You traded queries back and forth for a while, finding even more common ground, and Logan finally decided to dig a little deeper, wanting to know more about your personal life.

“Never have I ever…” He glanced down at your lap where your hands were. “... Been engaged.” you froze on the bed, lips pressing together before you raised the glass to your lips again, draining what was left of it. Shit, is she engaged now?

“I think I’m done playing, Logan.” Your voice was quiet and you shook your head. “I’m sorry, but-”

“No, I’m sorry. I should have just asked.” His speech was rushed and Logan set his glass down on the bedside table, shaking his head. “Of course you’re with someone, it’s stupid to think that you’re single, I’m sorry that I …” He stopped as he heard you laugh, a harsh sound, and his eyes snapped back to your face. Shit, she’s crying again.

“I’m not engaged, Logan.” You shook your head, reaching up and pulling your hair back and off of your shoulders, securing it with a clip after twisting it into a loose bun. “I… I was.” You swallowed. “It didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were the first thing he thought of and they tumbled from his lips without pause. “I didn’t know, I shouldn’t have-”

“Can I get a water?” You motioned to the fridge and Logan nodded. “Do you want one?” He nodded again and you leaned over, opening the door and grabbing two bottles before handing him one. “Do you really want to hear this story?” You’d scooted closer to him so that your knees were almost touching his and Logan nodded eagerly, waiting. I want to know. I want to know you. “Alright.” You took a long swallow of water, turning your head toward the balcony for a moment, watching a bolt of lightning out over the ocean. Storm’s not even fully here yet… damn. “I was engaged. I dated a guy for a while after college, and we lived together - bought a house, got a dog… all that.” He nodded, silent. “We were… happy. Content - at least I thought we were.” You shrugged. “He brought me here, to Atlantis, to The Cove, and proposed to me - right out there on the beach.” You pointed toward the window. “It was perfect, my dream vacation. The ocean and the sand and someone that loved me.”

“What happened?” Logan didn’t want to interrupt, but wanted to let you know that he was listening, that he wasn’t zoning out. “You’re not wearing a ring, so I’m guessing it didn’t work out, and the reaction to me making the comment wasn’t…”

“He left me.” Oof. “We were planning the wedding and I went to try on dresses and when I got home, he was gone... “ You stopped, shaking your head and he watched your lip curl before you spoke again. “Turns out that he was sleeping with the neighbor the whole time and he only proposed to me to throw me off. He never had any intention of marrying me, and just decided to leave.” You rolled your eyes, looking at Logan. “Didn’t go very far though, they lived next door to me for six months before I was able to sell the house and get the fuck out of there.” What a prick. “So, yes, Logan. I’ve been engaged, but no, Logan, I’m not engaged anymore.”

“He did you a favor.” Logan shook his head, reaching out before he could stop himself and taking your hand in his, fingers wrapping around yours. “He was a coward, but he did you a favor.” You took a deep breath, eyes going down to where your hand was encased in his. “I’ve done some shitty things in my past, but I’ve never been unfaithful.” Hard to be unfaithful when you don’t have anything more than hookups.

“You’ve got quite the reputation, Logan Delos.” Though he liked hearing you say his name, your words caused him to pull his hand away, sitting up straight. “After we got here, I looked you up.” You shrugged. “Sorry.”

“What did you find?” You laughed, shaking your head and putting a hand up to the back of your neck. “What?” His tone was sharp, and he couldn’t help it. “You look me up for a reason, or?”

“I just wanted to know more about the guy that offered to pay for a room like this for me after knowing me for two hours, Logan.” You snapped right back at him, eyes on his face. “I wanted to know if you did it because you were being nice, or because you expected something from me.” You paused and Logan heard the wind whipping against the building. “And you know what? The Logan from a few years ago might have. You’ve had a lot of bad things happen in you life, Logan.” You were speaking softly and he looked back at you, turning his head slowly. “I read about the womanizing. I read about the issues with substances.” You shook your head. “I read about what happened between you and William in Westworld, the trial… I read about how your sister divorced him and took your side.” Shit, how long were you looking? “I read about how hard you worked, Logan, to get your company back before your dad died, since he’s just getting sicker.” You smiled at him again, reaching out to touch his knee, the contact sending a jolt up his leg and straight to his groin. No. Not now. “You turned your life around, Logan. You’ve… reinvented yourself,and you’re not the same person you were a few years ago, unless you’re just an incredible liar.”

“I haven’t touched anything harder than liquor in two and a half years.” Logan paused. “No, that’s not true. I relapsed once, but it’s been a long time, at least two years. And you don’t know me at all, but I never lie. Ever.” You nodded, still touching his leg, and Logan allowed himself to reach out, his hand going over yours. “Sometimes you just realize that you can’t let the bullshit in your life control you, you know?” You agreed. “I wanted to make my dad proud, and even if I couldn’t make up for all of the shit that I did before, I realized that I had to stop making excuses. No one else was gonna do it for me, and… the Delos name means something to me.” He shrugged, surprised to feel you turn your hand over beneath his, fingers curling around his palm. “I wanted it to mean something in the future, too. It was time to grow up.”

“I get it, Logan.” He looked back at you, watching as you lowered your head, eyes on the blankets beneath your body. “I wanted to tell you earlier that I looked, but we were having fun and it didn’t come up, and…” You suddenly sat up, and he watched as you reached out, turning your own flashlight on as bright as it went. “Logan, look at me.” He did, unsure of what you were about to say. “I don’t want anything from you.” You shook your head. “I’m not… I wasn’t trying to find out things about you for... “

“You’re trying to tell me that you’re not using me.” You nodded, blowing a breath out. “Did you really not know who I was in the airport?”

“No. I had no idea. I’d never even heard of Delos before today - I mean, I knew Westworld, but I’ve never been and never will go, it’s crazy expensive… but I honestly had no idea who you were, I just spoke up without even thinking.” You sighed. “This is a shitty situation, right? But I thought that maybe instead of going back home on the flight, I’d get to spend some extra time here… maybe with someone interesting.” You laughed, but it was a different sound than before and it made Logan sad to hear it. “I never thought the airport would close, Logan. I just thought if I made a comment like I did to you, I’d have someone to hang out with in the airport while I waited.” With a shake of your head, you continued. “It was stupid, I’m sorry.”

He was silent, staring at you for a while, thinking. “Hey.” He reached out, putting his hand on your arm as he leaned forward. “I’m not mad, don’t be sorry.” You looked back at him, a shocked expression on your face. “I’m serious. I’m glad you convinced me to stay, this is a nice change of pace for me.” He winked, which caught you off guard and Logan watched as your breath caught. “And it means I don’t have to go to board meetings for at least a few more days, so that’s always a plus, even if I’m stuck in the same pair of shorts until God knows when.” There was silence for long moments, and then Logan watched as you threw your head back, laughing. There it is.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve said this, but thank you, Logan. I probably would have ended up on the bottom floor of some crappy motel without you.”

“And now you’re here, locked out of your room and stuck in the dark with a stranger in the place where you’ve got only a bad memory of what should be the second happiest day of your life.” You didn’t speak but he saw you wince before you reached out, picking up your phone and turning your flashlight off. You then brought your eyes back to his and pointed at his phone, too. He nodded, and you picked it up, turning his flashlight off. What?

“Now, Logan… now we’re in the dark.” He felt the bed shift and watched as your outline moved down the steps and toward the glass, your back toward him. “The ocean’s so wild, Logan.” You turned to look over your shoulder at him, a curious expression on your face. “Do you think it’s too windy to go onto the balcony?” We’re ten stories up, yes. Yes, it’s too windy. “I want to go outside, Logan.” He was up and out of the bed before you’d stopped speaking, standing next to you and stopping you from opening the door. She’s going to get blown around by the wind. “Logan, let me…”

“Hey.” Your hand was stretched out and he could feel your arm against his body, feel your fingers flexing beneath his. “Come on, think about this.” You looked up at him, and he could barely make out the pout on your face, your lips full. “You’ve been drinking. You might not be drunk, but you’re gonna be unsteady, especially in that wind.” You opened your mouth to protest, and Logan swore under his breath. “Open the door - as wide as you want - but don’t step outside. Please.” You sighed. “We can switch places, but I just... “

“Fine.” You spoke quietly. “Fine.” He reluctantly let go of your hand, stepping back and he watched as you unlocked the door, pulling it open. The wind hit the two of your right away, and he wasn’t surprised when you stepped backward, swaying slightly on your feet. See? He felt the rain - cold, the droplets large - and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the ocean, the freshness of it. His eyes passed over you, looking out at where he knew the horizon to be, and almost missed you taking a step forward, your foot coming down on the slick concrete surface of the balcony.

“Hey, stop!” He reached out automatically, stepping forward after you. One arm wound its way around your abdomen, the other hand settling on your shoulder. “You said you wouldn’t go outside.” You didn’t pull away from him, and Logan tightened his hold on you, pressing his chest against your back. After a few seconds, you leaned back into him, bringing your hand up to your own stomach, just beneath his. The two of you stood in silence for what could have been minutes, and Logan felt his heartbeat speeding up. I like this. You moved your hand, your fingers prodding at his and he lifted them slightly, letting you slip your hand beneath his larger one.

Logan wasted no time lacing his fingers with yours, closing them and squeezing. The rain and wind didn’t matter as he moved the hand from your shoulder, sliding it around your front and across your chest, fingers catching on the strap of your tank top as he stopped on your other shoulder, applying just enough pressure to let you know he was aware of what he was doing. You stood there - half inside, half outside, his arms around you - and Logan felt you sigh, felt your head hit his shoulder, face turning inward slightly. He lowered his chin, resting it on the top of your head and tightened his hold on you, feeling your right hand coming up to squeeze his forearm. “Logan?” He could barely hear you over the sound of the wind, but hummed quietly, knowing you could feel it. “This is nice.”

He had to laugh - it was absurd. He’d met you not even ten hours before and there you were, standing in the balcony doorway of a suite in a hotel resort - the only light coming from the bolts of lightning over the ocean and the emergency property lights - arms around each other, slowly getting drenched. You turned in his arms without warning and Logan reluctantly let go of your hand but didn’t drop the arm from your shoulders, waiting. What are you doing? You took a breath, raising a hand and touching the side of his face, your fingers tracing the path of the raindrops as they ran down his cheeks and disappeared into his beard. He took a step backward, bringing you fully into the hotel room but didn’t reach out to shut the door, instead putting his free hand on the small of your back, holding you close. “Hey.”

Logan didn’t recognize his own voice - it was strained, his heart thumping behind his ribs, but you smiled, the expression genuine, and he watched in the dim light as your gaze moved from his eyes down to his lips and then back up, the look in them almost unreadable. “Logan I want to k-” He didn’t let you finish, ducking his head and pressing his lips to yours, pulling away before too long, before he let himself get carried away. Holy shit, holy shit. What are you doing, Logan? You stared up at him, lips parted slightly and then moved your hand back and away from his cheek, fingers tangling in his damp hair and somehow finding the spot that drove him wild, the one right behind his ear. “That wasn’t a kiss, Logan. I know you can do better.”

A challenge? I like it. Logan chuckled, allowing you to pull his face back to yours, and even as his tongue slipped past your lips and into your mouth for the first time, he was groping behind you, pulling the door all the way shut. When it clicked closed, Logan returned his hand to your waist, placing it on your hip and pushing you backwards so that he had you pinned between the smooth surface of the glass and his body.  As you bit down on his lip, your hand sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt and against the skin of his back, Logan groaned, rocking his hips against you. Your fingers flexed at the movement and he felt your nails digging into his skin, which caused him to pant out your name, one palm flat against the glass above your head. I hope we’re stuck here for days.

---

[ojamies]

European Itinerary Tips by Rick Steves

Transportation inside Europe (i.e. traveling from city to metropolis) can make up a large percentage of your journey price range, but additionally it is very exhausting to predict how much you’ll spend. There are so many elements that go into how a lot every type of transportation (practice, aircraft, bus, car, and so on.) will price that I can’t actually give a super correct estimate. However, I may give you some general tips and point you to more in-depth articles. There are loads of cheap (and crappy) hotels all throughout Europe — just don’t anticipate much at the finances traveler’s worth range.

But typically price shouldn’t be the only figuring out factor in your trip. If you wish to expertise the sights and sounds of the area people and eat and drink because the locals do, going with a non-all-inclusive possibility is a greater bet.

Two a long time ago, you’d piece collectively a visit based mostly on which cities could be related by helpful train journeys (or, at most, in a single day trains). But today, it’s comparatively low cost and simple to mix, say, Portugal, Poland, and Palermo on a single itinerary. Turning a want list right into a day-by-day itinerary in your European trip isn’t simply smart, it’s enjoyable. Filling in the blanks between the flight out and the flight home is among the extra pleasurable elements of trip planning. It’s armchair travel that turns into actual journey.

To be trustworthy, outside of the capital, there are fairly a number of of the most cost effective cities in Europe which might be based mostly in the Czech Republic. Just make sure to do your homework and go to extra regional cities. Airfare, after all, is dependent upon your origin, destination, and season of journey.

Sounds like your a seasoned travelled who has put lots of thought into planning the proper trip. You realise how a lot effort it takes to assemble the proper journey and how many steps are involved whenever you put all of it collectively like this. Great tip to plan in your nightlife and e-book tickets upfront based on how in style the activity is more likely to be.

How can I visit Europe in 10 days?

For many of us the answer is money. From high prices to strong currencies, Western Europe is one of the most expensive destinations on a U.S. traveler's roster. In fact, with just a little bit of knowhow you can see the continent for less than $100 per day.

All you have to do is ahead your journey affirmation emails to the service, and the app instantly creates a journey schedule for you. No extra having to piece issues together yourself. It’ll inform you exactly when you should be at your flight gate, when the automobile is ready to pick up from the rental place, and when you’re good to check in at your resort. It even retains on prime of your restaurant reservations. ,” Ed Perkins writes, “An agent is a giant help if you value your time.

For me, the enjoyment of an upcoming trip starts the moment I begin researching and planning for the trip. Planning our trips nicely does assist make the most of the money and time during the vacation. I hadn’t recognized about Get Your Guide until I read your post – will examine their website when we plan our subsequent getaway. Because I journey so much and I am used to the flow of placing collectively an itinerary, when somebody writes a publish like this, you then realise just how a lot goes into planning a visit. Great that you're also providing a planning guide for download.

As a special note, you don’t need to add any lettering or doodles! Just thought these had been fun to share for the holidays.

This doesn't essentially cost you more – commissions are usually taken from the whole value to you not as well as. Accordingly, if you use a travel agent, you are always in danger for there being one thing that might have been higher for you had you spent the time trying yourself. Sometimes the difference between a good vacation and a GREAT vacation is found within the little particulars. A travel agent does not really “know” you when creating a vacation itinerary. You shall be proud of a holiday itinerary and resorts that may not be excellent for you but hopefully, shut enough.

For those of you excited to start planning your next holiday immediately, please obtain your individual free pdf copy of my Planning Guide with an important steps highlighted. I always define a tough plan before I finalize something. This is essential for a few reasons.

Ibiza has now discovered a stunning steadiness for those looking to dance til daybreak and households on the lookout for a calming out summer season break. The big superclubs in Ibiza Old Town and San Antonio like Amnesia and Pacha are huge attracts for the youthful crowd. Or search for packages to Playa d’En Bossa for some nice beaches and bars. For households, attempt the waterpark Aguamar or hire some bikes from San Antonio if you want a break from the beach. If you wish to get away from it all, take a day journey by Ferry from Ibiza Town to tiny Formentera.

There might be resort charges, local taxes, or administrative prices, as well as costs for using a secure in your room or choosing premium liquor. Some resorts even carry an added insurance value for unescorted visitors younger than a sure age. You’ll want all those particulars hammered out earlier than booking.

Turning a wish listing into a day-by-day itinerary for your European vacation isn’t just sensible, it’s fun.

State Department travel advisories, and at present has none (that means a trip here is technically safer than visiting France as of 2019).

If you want parties, hit as many festivals, national holidays, and arts seasons as you can (or, when you hate crowds, learn the dates to keep away from).

The good news is that there are times of the yr—and even days of the week—when flying costs much less. Take advantage of online tools and apps which let you browse locations, map itineraries, and even get recommendation from friends or fellow travelers. Be certain crucial sights are open the day you’ll be in town. Remember that most cities shut a lot of their main vacationer points of interest for one day in the course of the week (normally Monday). It could be a shame to be in Paris only on a Tuesday, when the Louvre is fermé.

Days in Europe: 10 Amazing Itineraries

They can be extremely reasonably priced in many cities. My go-to web site for locating rental flats is Airbnb. Rental flats are an particularly good worth if you’re traveling with a number of individuals. There is a wide range of lodging options in Europe — from tremendous low-cost to tremendous expensive.

Hotel Riu Palace Mexico, Playa del Carmen, Mexico

Circle your destinations on a map, then work out a logical geographical order and size for your trip. Pin down any places that you have to be on a sure date (and ask yourself if it’s actually value stifling your flexibility). Once you’ve settled on a list, be happy along with your environment friendly plan, and focus any more research and preparation solely on locations that fall along your proposed route.

We do have a guide to finding cheap flights to Europethat will help you get the most effective deal attainable. Most folks select to convey a backpack to Europe. We’ve compiled a listing of our favourite travel backpacksand created a guide on how to choose the right backpack. If you’re on a budget, ask your folks if they've an old backpack or consider buying used.

How do I plan a cheap vacation?

The Holiday Plan are a rock band from Hackney and Islington, London that split up in May 2005, but reformed in June 2006 (performing under a host of different names) Consisting of a bassist/vocalist Matt Rider, as well as two guitarists (Gary Jenkins and Blue Quinn) and drummer (Daniel Bodie), The Holiday Plan play

As you’ve probably realized, hurricanes are a menace here, so think about the time of yr that you simply’re planning on visiting for climate-related considerations. Don’t schedule your self too tightly (a typical tendency). Everyday chores, small business matters, transportation problems, constipation, and planning errors deserve about at some point of slack per week in your itinerary. If your journey is a protracted one, schedule a “trip from your vacation” in the middle of it.

Most journey agents are paid a commission from resorts, airlines or tour operators after they guide a client with them. Some resorts or tour operators pay more fee than others.

The north east is peaceful, with classic sleepy locations like Agni and Agios Stefanos. If you’re eager to get together in your summer season trip then in fact there’s the southern get together city of Kavos.

Of course, train the conventional precautions you'd when touring anywhere, though you’ll probably have no issues here. If you’re in search of a trip that’s free of the devastating potential of hurricanes, is extremely person friendly, and safe, look no additional than Aruba. It additionally has broad enchantment, drawing solo traveler, couples, households, and retirees.

[starspangledbanner27]

**CHAPTER UPDATE - Chapter 2 posted**

Fandom: Saving Mr. Banks (AU)

Description: AU take on the movie, exploring what might have happened if the author of the Mary Poppins books had been someone very different from P. L. Travers.  For Carrie Schultz, the chance to collaborate with Walt Disney Studios to bring Mary Poppins from the page to the screen is a dream come true.  However, matters grow complicated when animated penguins prove to be a point of contention, a friendly working relationship turns into more than she bargained for, and Carrie struggles to prevent Walt’s team from discovering her own hidden afflictions.

Characters: Carolina “Carrie” Schultz (OC), Don DaGradi, Walt Disney, Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman, Ralph

Rating: T

Genre: Drama/Romance

Language: English

Read on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, or below.

Many thanks to my friends who read Chapter 1 and messaged me to comment on it, and a special thank-you to LexLemon on AO3 for leaving kudos!  I’m so glad you guys are enjoying the story so far. Can’t wait to hear your thoughts on Chapter 2! :)

Also, I am planning to post my other Saving Mr. Banks fanfic sometime this week, so keep an eye out for that if you’re interested.

Chapter 2

We arrived at the airport in plenty of time—with no car trouble, despite Sam’s worrying.  “Well, it never hurts to double-check!” she retorted when I teased her about it. 

During the weeks I’d been waiting for this, the time had seemed to crawl; now, everything was happening all at once.  We checked my luggage; we reached the gate; and finally, the only thing left was to say our goodbyes.

James was first, simply because he was easier.  “Good luck, Carrie,” he said, giving me a brief hug. 

“Thanks,” I replied.  “Take good care of Sam for me.”

He nodded.  “You bet.”  And with that, he strolled over to look at a newspaper stand so my sister and I could talk. 

Sam took my hands in hers and held my gaze for several moments.  “Well,” she said at last, “you ready for this?”

I drew a deep breath. “About as ready as I can be.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded.  “Okay.”  

I could tell she was fighting back tears, so I reached out and laid my hand on her shoulder.  “I’m going to be fine, Sam.  You know that, right?”  She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again and shook her head as the flood spilled over.  “Oh, Samantha,” I murmured as I wrapped my arms around her.

“I’m sorry, Carrie,” she sobbed, holding me tightly.  “I wanted to be strong for you, but I’m just so scared!”

“Of what, Sam?”

“Well, it's just . . . what if—oh, I don’t even want to say it!  What if . . . what if something happens while you’re out there?  What if you never . . .” she trailed off, sobbing uncontrollably. 

I bit my lower lip to hold back my own tears as I rubbed her back gently. “That’s not going to happen,” I declared, as much for my own sake as for hers.  I would not let her know the truth—that the fears she had just voiced were the very same ones that had been whirling through my head ever since the plans for this trip had been finalized.  

At last, having regained her composure, she pulled away and held me at arm’s length.  “If anything does happen, you let me know, and I’ll come right away.  You won’t be alone.  And I’ll call and check on you every day, just like I promised, remember?”

I nodded.  “Mm-hmm.”

Her eyes probed mine.  “You know, Carrie, if you don't feel up to this, there's still time to change your mind.  We can go back home and call your agent—tell her to let Disney know it's not going to work.”

“No,” I said firmly.  “No, I want to do this.  I know I’ll regret it if I don’t.”

“All right then,” she said.  “I’ll be thinking of you.  I know you’ll have a great time.”

I smiled.  “You’ll call me?”

“Every night.  Just remember to give us a call when you get to your hotel and let me know you arrived.”

“I will, for sure.”

Just then, the P.A. system crackled, and a man’s voice spoke through it.  “Attention, passengers.  We are now boarding Flight 327A to Los Angeles.  Please proceed to the gate and have your boarding pass ready.  Thank you.”

I turned back to Sam.  “Well, I guess it’s time to go.”

She squeezed my hands tightly.  “Have a good trip, Carrie.  I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”  I hugged her one last time.  “Thank you for everything.”

“I’m so proud of you, little sis,” she whispered in my ear.  Then she pulled away once more. “Now, go get ’em!”

Too emotional to speak, I simply nodded, smiling, and squeezed her hands one last time before hurrying off to get in line.  In no time at all, I had reached the counter, my pass was checked, and I was just about to board the plane when I heard Sam call my name.

“Carrie!”

I turned around to see her standing with James.  “I love you!” she said. 

A lump formed in my throat, and I gulped it down with difficulty before replying.  “Love you too!”

“We’ll be waving as you take off!” she called.  I nodded, and then quickly turned away and boarded the plane before she could glimpse the tears in my eyes. 

Once inside, I somehow managed to jam my carry-on bag into the overhead compartment before flopping down with a sigh into my assigned seat, allowing my eyes to drift shut as I waited for all the hustle and bustle to cease.  Finally, after what seemed like hours but was really only several minutes, the aisles cleared, the other passengers settled into their seats, and the stewardess announced that we would be taking off soon.  A moment later, I felt the plane start to move; and I sat up a little straighter in my seat, gazing out the window as we taxied away from the gate. 

When we reached the runway, there was a long, pregnant pause as we waited for our turn to depart.  Then, at last, I heard the pilot’s voice through the loudspeaker:“Ladies and gentlemen, we are cleared for takeoff”—and with that, the plane began rolling forward again.  My heart pounded as I watched the ground rush past beneath us, faster and faster by the second—until, with a mighty roar of the engines, we lifted off, leaving ground and gravity behind altogether.

“Well, this is it,” I murmured to myself.  “No turning back now.”

~~~~~~

Sunday, April 2nd, 1961

Dear Sam,

In the time-honored tradition of air travelers everywhere who suffer from lack of amusement, I am taking this opportunity to describe for you the details of my flight. 

We’ve had a smooth ride so far.  I spent the first few minutes after takeoff gazing around the interior of the plane. Blue carpet in the aisle, blue plush seats, smiling stewardess in a blue starched skirt and jacket—that’s about all there is to notice in here.  But the view from the window . . . oh, Sam, it’s positively magical!  You know how people talk of the horizon—where the land meets the sky—and of what lies beyond it.  But do you know that the sky has a horizon of its own?  I am looking at it right now—a subtle yet captivating line off in the distance, where the sky above meets the sky below.  What lies beyond this horizon must surely be a land too glorious for mere mortals to inhabit.  I call it sky; but in truth, it is no sky, not really.  Rather, it is a sea—a sea of cool, clear blue and soft, misty white, all bathed in the golden glow of the sun.  Do you think Heaven is like this?  I imagine it must be.

Up here above the clouds, where the sun is bright and the air is clear, my imagination runs free, and nothing seems quite impossible.  I confess that as I look out my window, I half expect to see Mary Poppins herself perched regally on a cloud puff with her talking umbrella and bottomless carpetbag beside her.  Do you suppose that if she saw me, she would condescend to wave hello, or would she be too busy admiring herself in her hand-mirror?  

I'm running out of room now; but before I finish, I want to say once more that I love you, dear sister, and I miss you already.  By the time this letter reaches you, I will probably have been in Los Angeles for a few days, and will be missing you even more.  I know you’ll be thinking of me; but I hope you will not waste any time worrying about me.  Instead, enjoy your time alone with James, and take this opportunity to care for yourself and look after your own needs for a change.  I know I'll be having fun in L.A., and you should be having fun, too—because nothing can keep the Schultz sisters down.

Well, that’s all for now!  I’ll see you again very soon.  Till then, I am

Your little sis forever,

Carrie

P.S.  I hope you made it back from the airport without any car trouble. 

 Sunday, April 2nd, 1961

Dear James, 

I hope that by the time this reaches you, things are going well back home. I’ve already written a letter to Sam, but I also wanted to write one specifically to you, because, as Sam’s sister, there is something I must speak to you about. 

When I left this morning, you promised me that you would take good care of Sam; and I know you would have even if I hadn’t told you to.  But there is another, more specific, thing that I wish to ask of you, which is this: don’t let her worry too much about me while I’m gone.  If she does worry, then listen to her and comfort her as you always do; but make sure she enjoys herself as well. 

The two of you now have the house all to yourselves for a while, so take this time to romance her and make her feel special.  I can’t help noticing that over the past year, Sam has too often allowed her own needs to go unmet in favor of mine.  I know she would never admit it, but she has been much more exhausted lately than I’ve ever seen her before; yet she will not let herself rest from taking care of me.  Now that I’m gone, though, she needs someone to look after her for a change—to attend to her needs, listen to her concerns, and lavish her with the attention she so deserves.  You already do all those things, but I ask that you use these three weeks to give her an extra dose of love.  And, that being said, I know you need no further encouragement; so I guess all that's left now is to say thank you.  I know my sister is safe in your hands, and that knowledge is a more precious gift than you can imagine.  Thank you so much. 

Your sister-in-law,

Carrie

 Too tired to write any more, I tucked the letters into my purse, then glanced around the plane at the other passengers.  Some, like I had been a minute ago, were writing letters to family and friends, or notes on the postcards the stewardess had handed out earlier.  Others were chatting with their seatmates; and a few, as evidenced by the raucous laughter from towards the back, were apparently taking full advantage of the free beverage services available during the flight. 

My own seatmate, a middle-aged, pot-bellied man, had fallen asleep about ten minutes after we left the ground; and the only sound I'd heard from him before that had been a curt grunt of acknowledgement as he sat down next to me.  Could be worse, I mused.  At least he’s not smoking.  Neither was anyone else, for that matter—an uncommon circumstance for which I was grateful.  In a condition like mine, I hated to think what even one whiff of secondhand smoke might do. 

At last, after I had people-watched for several minutes, my exhaustion overcame me.  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, listening to the friendly conversations taking place all around and the quiet hum of the airplane, sounding like a summer breeze.

~~~~~

I am sitting on a bench in the garden—a pencil in my hand, my notebook on my lap, my eyes closed, and my face turned upward, smiling slightly as a breeze plays through my hair—when suddenly two hands grab my shoulders, and a voice comes from right behind my ear.  “Boo!” 

“EEK!” I jump out of my chair and whirl around in one swift motion, dropping my notebook and pencil in the grass. “Sam! You scared me half to death!”  She stands there grinning, unfazed.  I place my hands on my hips.  “Don't look so satisfied with yourself, Samantha.”  She wriggles her eyebrows.  I raise my index finger and advance threateningly towards her.  “I'm warning you!”

“Oh, really?”  She waits with a mischievous smirk as I approach; then, when I’m just a few steps away, she shoots her hands out and tickles me in the ribs, rendering me helpless with laughter. 

“Sam—haha—Sam—stop!” I gasp between giggles.  She pulls away and takes off running across the yard.  Laughing, I chase after her.  “All right, now you’re in for it!” 

“Gotta catch me first!” she teases, glancing back over her shoulder. 

“Oh, you better believe I will!”

She rounds the corner of the house with me in hot pursuit.  My legs and arms are pumping wildly and my breathing has quickened to compensate, when suddenly a sharp pain springs forth in my lungs, and I am seized by a paroxysm of coughing unlike any I’ve ever experienced before.  My legs go weak, and I collapse in a heap on the grass, chest convulsing out of control.

“Carrie!”  In an instant, Sam is kneeling on the ground beside me.  “Carrie, are you okay?”

“Can’t—stop—coughing,” I choke out. 

“Okay.  Okay.  Just take deep breaths for me.  Try to relax.  You’re all right.”  She rubs my back gently. 

I strain against the coughs, trying with all my might to repress them.  Every breath I draw feels like a knife being thrust through my ribs; but if I stop breathing, then my body screams for oxygen.  All the while, I hear Sam’s voice beside me—“It’s okay, Carrie; I'm here.  Deep breaths.” But the coughing will not stop.  There is no way to end it, no way out, no escape.  I writhe helplessly in the grass, begging God to make it stop . . . and then, all of a sudden, I look up to find everything changed—I am alone in a large, dark room, and my sister has vanished.  In a panic, I attempt to cry out for her, but my voice will not come; meanwhile, I notice for the first time that the floor has detached from the wall and is rocking back and forth, back and forth.  The entire room seems to spin—or maybe it’s just my own head—and a strange whooshing sound fills my ears.  Still coughing, I struggle to maintain my grip as the floor tilts precariously beneath me.  The walls by now have dissolved into amorphous blotches of dull color that swim and blend and fade in turn.  I cough and cough . . . the blotches dilate and contract . . . the floor’s tilt grows steeper and steeper . . . until at last I can hold on no longer, and I roll off the edge into nothingness—falling . . . falling . . .

DING! I was jolted awake by a loud chime, soon followed by the captain’s voice over the intercom:“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Los Angeles.”  I blinkedgroggily as his words registered in my slumber-fogged brain.  Had I really just slept through most of the flight?  Sure enough, I looked over to see the stewardess making her way down the aisle, checking to see that all passengers had fastened their seat belts for landing. 

I yawned and stretched slightly before glancing out the window just in time to glimpse the city of Los Angeles, and the Pacific Ocean beside it, spread out beneath us as our plane banked to the left.  Something about the tilt of the plane tugged at the edge of my mind, and then I remembered—the dream.  The coughing, the floor rocking beneath me.  I shook my head with a sigh of frustration, but I could not shake the memories that insisted on resurfacing . . . so I resigned myself to staring blankly out the window as my mind replayed everything that had occurred that day in the garden. 

Laughing, I chase Sam across the yard.  “All right, now you're in for it!”

“Gotta catch me first!” 

“Oh, you better believe I will!”

But just as I round the corner of the house, a sharp chest pain and a wild fit of coughing bring me to the ground in a heap.  Sam rushes to my side.  “Carrie, are you okay?”

“Can't—stop—coughing!”

“Okay.  Okay.  Just take deep breaths for me.  Try to relax.  You're all right.”

At last, after several minutes, the coughs subside, leaving me drained of energy.  “What happened, Carrie?” Sam asks with concern. 

I shake my head.  “I don't know.  I just started coughing all of a sudden, and then it wouldn't stop.”

“Maybe you inhaled a speck of pollen or something.  Are you all right now?”

“I think so; I just feel a little weak.”

“Want to go inside and rest?”

“No, I’ll be fine.  I want to stay out here and keep working.”

“Okay.  Here, let me help you up.”  She extends her hand, and I take it, letting her pull me to my feet. 

I cast a mischievous glance at her.  “You know, if it weren't for that coughing fit, I definitely would have caught you.”

She smirks.  “Wanna bet?”

“Well, next time for sure.”  I wink. 

She laughs.  “We'll see about that.  I'm going to head back inside.”

She walks away, and I return to my seat on the bench, retrieving my notebook and pencil from the grass.  What I haven’t admitted to Sam is that the pain is still there—lodged in my chest, now more like a rock than a knife, but still unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.  I draw a slow, shaky breath. “Just a speck of pollen, Carrie,” I tell myself.  “Nothing to worry about.”

My mind landed back in the present just as our plane came to land on the concrete.  I blinked and shook my head again.  Forget all that, Carrie, I told myself.  You have three weeks here.  Enjoy it while it lasts.

And so, for the moment, I closed the window on the past and instead began to contemplate what the coming days would hold.  Heart swelling with anticipation, I took a deep breath and slowly let it out.  This was real.  This was happening.  Please, dear God, let it go well.

Tag list… let me know if you want to be added or removed!  

@iwillalwaysreturm | @writings-of-a-narwhal | @24hourshipping

[chaniters]

Hey man, I love your fics! Can I have an AU one where sidestep (any gender is fine) falls during Heartbreak, and is in the process of being taken by the Farm. Then, Ortega and Steel arrive and are horrified. The Farm casually tells them the truth of Sidestep and expect them to let them take Sidestep... but cue protective!Ortega and Steel reacting otherwise. Steel or Ortega POV or third person will be great!

Warning this one is a bit dark. Medical and physical mistreatment. Thoughts of self-harm too. What would you do to protect a friend?

Also, I used third person Ortega’s POV for the first part… then Sidestep’s POV for the second. I do kind of like how this one turned out though!

Give them what they want, and they’ll come

“SIDESTEP!” He yelled down, extending his hand.. but it was too late. He fell. And Ricardo had to watch him fall.

The sound he made as he hit the asphalt.

He is dead.

NO! He must surely mishear. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad fall…

He turned towards the figure behind him. Covered in cables and medical devices. It glared at him.

He was the cause. Ricardo walked towards him. The man extended his hands at him… and Ricardo felt a soft tingling at the base of his toes. Nothing else happened.

The villain seemed perplexed. Too bad. Ricardo slammed his fist into his face. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Ortega could have killed him. But he had to check on Sidestep. Steel was by the door.

“Keep that freak unconscious! And call an ambulance!” he uttered going down the stairs as fast as he could.

To his surprise, there was an ambulance outside the building already.

They were lifting Sidestep from the ground.

Ortega rushed to them

“Is.. he … alright?” All that running and he was now afraid to ask.

A doctor turned to him. “He’s still alive… but barely. We need to take him quickly. Set up the ambulance guys!” she ordered the nurses.

Then she turned back to Ortega and asked: “Did you catch him?”

Ortega’s eye narrowed. “You mean the crazy psychic upstairs? I thought no one knew what it was”

The doctor seemed unphased. “Pointless secrecy. I’m sick of it. So many dead because idiots don’t like playing ball. Anyways, It wasn’t my call. Did you catch him or not? If you didn’t then we’re all in trouble”

Steel came down carrying the unconscious man

“That… would be him” Ortega pointed out.

“DOC! We have a problem.”

The doctor rushed to Sidestep, Ortega following closely.

“Look!” the nurse said. he had cut off part of Sidestep’s suit. Strange orange tattoos covered his skin underneath.

“Well shit.” The doctor concluded. “Call another ambulance. And someone gives that freak a double dose of sedation.”

“But he’s extra sensitive … we could..”

“Look kid” the doctor stepped up to the nurse’s face. “I care shit if he dies ok? Heads are going to roll for this and it won’t be ours. I wish I know whose. But the one thing I know is he’s not gonna wake up and start killing us all while we’re driving and minding our own business. DO AS I SAY!” The nurse finally complied.

Then she went on to give first aid to Sidestep. They cut more of his suit, and the tattoos proved to be everywhere.

Intubation came after, and they started loading him on the first ambulance

“Doc… what’s the problem you mentioned with him? What do those tattoos ..”

“You know what they mean”

“No, I don’t!”

“He’s special directive property. We’ll be taking him back to their premises.”

“Special Directive? He worked with us! He’s a vigilante. He’s been living on the streets. I know him personally… He couldn’t be…”

“A Regene?” The doctor smiled bitterly.

“Don’t you call him that!” Ortega was furious.

“Look… I wish I could tell you this has never happened before but… ”

Steel approached them, he was overhearing everything with a shocked expression.

“… sentient re-genes escape. Happens more often than they want to admit.  It’s what they do. It’s very hard to keep a prison strong enough to stop powered people. Especially with the skills, they teach them.”

“… no way” Steel finally spoke, “You mean he… lied all this time?”

“Of course he lied. The directive has agents all across the country. If he was found out, he’d be imprisoned again”

“What’s… going to happen to him?”

“He’ll be taken back. They don’t live pleasant lives. But at least they’ll be able to fix him. No normal hospital could claim that. At best he wouldn’t walk again in a normal clinic. Back at the directive? He’ll probably be good as new.”

“Will we… ever see him again?” Steel asked hesitantly

The doctor just shook her head. “It ain’t happening. They’ll lock him up for this. Probably forever.”

“Than you’re not taking him!” Ortega stood up putting a hand on the stretcher.

The doctor put a hand over his arm.

“Think about what you’re doing. If you take him to a normal hospital, he’s probably going to die. Normal people don’t recover from falls like these. And even if he survives, he could end up wanting to be dead”

Ortega hesitated

“I … can’t… I…” he was really confused now.

“What’s so special about this one? Do you know what could happen if you mess into the Special Directive’s programs? If it wasn’t me on duty they would have just taken him and told you he was dead. There are monsters in that place.”

Ortega’s gaze fell upon Sidestep as he breathed heavily through the tube the pain of losing a loved one visible in his face.

“Oh. I see” the doctor nodded. “Fine… look… I can’t promise anything but… here’s my number.” She gave me him a card  "Call me tonight. There might… be a way.“

…………………..Lights.

It’s your awake time.

And obediently, you do wake up.

Still restrained to the medical bed. One more day of recovery.

Treatments continue. Broken bones mending. Muscles being reattached. Dermis regeneration. Nerve reconnection.  No anesthesia of course. You have to constantly tell them about your pain level. Generally around 7 on the 1-10 scale.

You liked it when the Japanese doctor used to treat you. He keeps you at a comfortable 3. And even chit-chatted with you… You liked practicing your Japanese.

But now there are only new doctors each day. They generally string you all the way to 8 or 9.

Still, they do want for you to get better.

They want you to be strong, before your punishment.

Which you know is coming.

They will not take what you did lightly. But there hasn’t been even a hint of what’s to come.

You know it will hurt horribly, but you doubt it can match what Heartbreak did to you.

The psychiatrists have been filling you with drugs to stop the self-harming obsession on top of the Hypno-therapy.

But you just want to be gone.

And on top of that, you miss your friends.

You just woke up and you’re already in tears remembering about them. Ricardo. Themmie. But of course, he’s dead now… Because you weren’t strong.. or fast enough. 

Sentinel. You liked hanging around the old man, even if he thought you were a bit of a nuisance. 

Even Chen. You’d give your right arm for having him berate or throw some negative feedback onto you right now.

THat’s all you do.

Lights go up. You wake up.

You eat. Ring the nurses when you have to use the bathroom. Get tied up and escorted there.

Re-hab. Intense rehab.

Be tased when you don’t cooperate. Some days be tased for fun.

Get back on your bed restraints.

Stay still. Receive treatment.

Watch whatever stupid show they put on your tv.

Try to mind-control the Japanese doctor to make him choke you to death through the mental dampener. That too was part of your routine.

Until it worked of course. But they stopped him. And he never came back after that. You only have the marks on your neck to remember him by.

Such a nice guy. You wish he had managed to choke you all the way tough.  

Finally, your sleeping time comes and lights go out.

And there you cry yourself to sleep.

And the nightmares come to keep you company.

Rinse. Repeat.

Maybe that’s your punishment? A few years of this?

You don’t understand the point. They say you are valuable, but everyone can see you’re broken.

Mind’s not right if it wants to go against its own body.

When will they call it quits?

Nothing you do discourages them.

It just makes you mad. And tired. So tired.

The metal gates open.

“Listen up Doll.” Jerry. Your handler. You wonder why they assigned you one when you’re not even allowed to move much.

He has handled you a lot though. Mostly his fist to your face when you talk back.

The new doctors like it when he does it. Put you in your place.  Even if it means they have to fix you again.

“Yes… s… sir” you answer in a suitably obedient tone.

You can’t help it. Your mind wants to talk back to him. To destroy him. To show him you’re in control.

But your body… is just terrified of him. It doesn’t want to anger him. And you can’t blame it. Pablov had it right. You never want to challenge him again…

“Today’s a special day,” he speaks while lighting a cigarette next to the no-smoking sign. He inhales. He knows you’d kill for a smoke.

“It’s my last time visiting you piece of filth in here. You’re getting a new handler.”

You try to hide your relief. New handler? Can’t be worse than him.

“So. I bring you a present. To remember me by”

He smiles showing his teeth.

Oh. Of course.  A memento.

And he slaps you. And again. And again. And again. He doesn’t really hold back.

HE finally rubs his hand.

You are so fucked up… you are actually grateful that he didn’t take things further. The realization brings a new layer of sadness.

“Phew… I think that’ll suffice. I’m told the new guy is modded” He chuckles “So do try not to piss him off, or he’ll probably break your bones. In fact. I hope you do piss him off”

And he leaves.

The day goes on. A nurse cleans the blood from your face.

They adjust the dampener once his left eye starts twitching. Foiled again.

Still, no distraction is good enough to stop thinking about that.

New handler. Maybe, someone, you can manipulate?

Probably not.

It’ll likely be a psycho. Things usually go for the worst at the farm.

You go through rehab. Treatments. Hypnotherapy. Drugs. Tv. Eating. The opposite of eating. And the day is finally over. Even the nightmares feel like an interruption.

Wake time. Lights on.

Your handler will come in and tell you what your day’s going to be about.

The Metal doors open. One of the assistant directors enters.

“Good morning” he speaks. Directors always pretend mornings are good. Even assistant ones.

“I’m here to introduce your new handler. We expect you will be more cooperative with this one.” He smiles. You know this is going to be bad. He walks back. The room is dimly lit, all you can see if his teeth. Sharp teeth. Or is that your imagination?

The director is gone. Another man enters.  

He wears the usual farm uniform. He looks strong. And tall. He is modded like Jerry said.

You sigh and close your eyes. He’ll probably punish you for that. But he could punish you for looking at him too. You know you’re going to have it rough either way.

A hand … on your arm.

You flinch, trying to shut your eyes as strong as you can. He’s going to punish you now. You feel it. He presses his hand on your skin giving you goosebumps. Fuck… will he get it over with already?

“Cyrus?” He calls.

What? No one has said the name you choose since you got here. Why would he…? Is this some sort of joke?

You open your eyes.

Ortega is tearing up, gently holding your hand. Wearing the handler’s uniform.

“You’re going to be alright… You hear me..? From now on… it’s all going to be… alright”

………………………………………………….

“Well done!” the assistant director congratulated the Doctor. “Recruiting Charge on the spot was genius!”

“I was just looking after our investment.” The Doctor smiled. “I had a problem and a cure right next to each other!”

“Charge will be a good addition to the staff… once we get past his scruples.” I think… the Director added looking as they embraced and cried together through the false mirror.

“He has shown some promise and passed every test so far. He finished his training in record time too… I think as long as we let him have a nice time as the new handler of his doll-friend, he’ll be willing to do whatever we need to the other dolls. And immune to mental assaults as well. That is just SO helpful in this environment. Also, the doll will comply because it knows what we can do to Charge.”

“I know right?” The director was thrilled. “This is just too perfect”

Another day at the farm went by.

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[lakecoded]

most harrowing airport experience survived

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 18

read chapter one 

read on ao3

Have a good flight! I hope you don’t get stuck next to an awful stranger :)

Magnus can’t help but smile down at his phone as he sees Alec’s send off message. He’s in line for airport security and trying to drown out the three children screaming behind him.

Magnus loves traveling but sometimes it’s hard to maintain his usual good humor when he has wailing drowning out the chatter around him.

Especially when he hasn’t had his morning coffee yet.

His flight was slated for seven in the morning, which means he’d arrived at the airport at a dastardly five o’clock.

He’d woken up in the middle of the night, disoriented and more than a little pissed off. Thank God today wasn’t anything important on the conference agenda; otherwise he’d be fucked. While Magnus had grown used to waking up early, this was just ridiculous. He doesn’t know what had persuaded him to book a flight so early-- especially on a Monday-- but he hates past him with a vengeance right now.

He has a brief moment to wonder why the hell Alec is up before the birds but there’s no time to respond as he steps up, handing over his driver’s license and boarding pass to a bored looking TSA agent. He’s waved on and takes off his shoes and belt, throwing his items into a bin and waiting his turn to go through the security screening.

A few minutes later, he’s sliding his belt back through its loopholes, stepping into his shoes and gathering his belongs, looking desperately for the nearest coffee kiosk.

Thankfully, there’s a Starbucks on the way to his gate and there are only a few people waiting in line. Rolling his carry on beside him, he gets in line and takes out his phone.

Thank you, Alexander. So far it’s smooth sailing but I’m in desperate need of caffeine. Who the hell flies this early?

He spends a few moments on Twitter, liking a tweet from Alec about progress in the studio before reaching for today’s issue of The New York Times. He glances over the headlines before it’s his turn to order.

He orders a venti americano, extra shot, and pays for the newspaper. He’s just grabbing his cup, paper tucked under his arm, when his phone vibrates.

Early birds, Magnus. Some people like to get a jump start on the day.

Magnus scoffs.

He takes a minute to tuck his phone back into his pocket and places The Times in his briefcase before heading to his gate, pleased to see that there are only a handful of people seated across the area. He sits down and takes a fortifying drink, easing into the strong bitterness of the espresso.

He debates on what to do. Checking his watch, Magnus sees that he has forty minutes before the plane starts boarding. He can fuck around on his phone, read a few depressing articles, or--

He could talk to Alec.

Even though it’s just past 5:30, Alec is obviously awake and coherent.

With a mental shrug, Magnus swipes across Alec’s contact, brings the phone up to his ear as it starts to ring. He’s just thinking that it will go to voicemail when Alec’s voice, strangely breathless, sounds in his ear.

"Magnus?”

“Good morning, Alexander. What on earth are you doing up so early? It’s not even light outside yet?”

He feels warmth trail through him as Alec chuckles. “Jace dragged me from bed at five to go work out with him at Fuel.”

Magnus hums. “Fuel? Is that why you sound like you just finished sprinting a marathon?”

“Sorry, Jace owns a gym called Fuel. He usually gets here around five and today he decided I needed to, I don’t know, release some tension or some shit. We just finished racing a few miles around the track when you called.”

“What else is on the slate this morning? I’m sure your brother didn’t bring you there just to run.”

Laughing, Alec says, “Oh, no, you’re right about that. We’ll probably spend a couple of hours sparring and end it with weights. He’s weirdly obsessed with what I can bench press right now. He says I should’ve gone soft while I was out on tour.”

Under his breath he mutters, “As if.”

Magnus can’t help but think of Alec, sweaty, hair disheveled, skin flushed. Fuck.

He really shouldn’t be so preoccupied with imagining how exertion would sharpen Alec’s already flawless features. His mind flashes to his brief, but ogling, glimpse of Alec straight out of the shower over the weekend and he shifts in the hard airport chair, suddenly far too warm in the chilly space.

“Magnus?”

Magnus clears his throat, realizing that it’s been a few seconds since Alec finished talking.

“Sorry, darling, I spaced out a little. Mornings just aren’t my thing. It sounds like you have a busy few hours ahead of you, though. I didn’t know you were so into working out.”

He can hear the smile in Alec’s voice as he says, “What did you expect, that all I did was take shots and dance? Tour is grueling and I need to keep my endurance and stamina up-- concerts are really just two hour workouts and I need to keep in shape to deliver the best performance for my audience. Plus, I think exercise is a stress reliever. I regularly run to help keep my head clear and with a brother like Jace, there’s no way that I wouldn’t spend my fair share of time in the gym.”

“I’m not much for cardio but I drag myself to the gym a few times a week and practice yoga daily.”

Alec clears his throat. “Yoga?”

Magnus responds, a little distracted as he watches a mother walk with twin toddlers down the aisle, rushing to help one as it falls right on its butt and starts gearing up to cry. “Yes, I’ve maintained my yoga instructor certification for almost a decade now and it’s the first thing I do in the mornings. I haven’t taught a class in a few years though.”

There’s a beat of silence before Alec’s offering, “Maybe we can workout together sometime. It might be fun to train with someone who isn’t such a gym rat.”

Magnus hears an indignant yell in the background and bites back a laugh. “That sounds fun, darling. Name the time and place.”

Moving on, he asks, “You played sports in high school, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Alec confirms. “I played soccer in the fall and baseball in the spring. How’d you know?”

Magnus takes a few sips of his drink, blowing over the lid to cool it down a little. “I read your article for Out Magazine earlier this month.”

“I didn’t know you read about me.” Surprise tinges Alec’s voice and Magnus can’t help but laugh.

“Alec, we already established that not only are you a celebrity but I’m a fan of your music. I think it’s to be expected that I might’ve read the occasional article about you-- especially once we met.”

There’s a beat of silence before Magnus decides to add a little extra tidbit. “I follow you on social media, you know.”

It’s muted, but Magnus is almost certain that Alec squawks.

“What? Since when? I know I’m being ridiculous, but I feel like I should’ve known about this.”

Thinking Magnus, replies, “I’ve been into your music for awhile. A few years maybe? I just liked something of yours when I was in line at Starbucks, actually.”

Alec’s voice sounds far away as he asks, “What’s your Twitter handle?”

“Luckily, there aren’t too many people in the world named Magnus Bane so it’s just my name. Am I on speaker?”

Distractedly, Alec says, “Yeah, I had to get on Twitter and follow you. Is it the same for Instagram?”

Magnus hums in affirmation and there’s a few moments of silence as Alec does whatever he’s doing and Magnus relaxes against his seat and enjoys his coffee.

This is nice. It’s not an awkward silence, like they’re trying to fill it and it’s just not working. They don’t have anything to say and they’re both content to take a minute.

It’s rare that Magnus has found someone who’s okay with not filling every second of dead air. Rarer still is for it to feel okay, good, relaxing. Easy. It’s absurd, but there are no expectations with Alec. Magnus doesn’t have to be the life of the party, always ready with a quip and amusing story. It’s enough that he’s there on the other end of the line.

He might be tired and a little annoyed at everything, but Alec makes him smile, relieves tension that even the smoothest travelling unfurls.

Magnus likes being with Alec in the quiet.

Sounding pleased, Alec’s voice is clear in his ear as he asks, “What time is takeoff?”

“I have about twenty minutes until they call my zone.”

“Are you excited for the conference?”

“I am. It’s going to be a hectic four days but I’m looking forward to catching up with a few of my peers I only see at these sorts of things.” There’s a pause before he can’t help but sneer. “I’ll have to be careful to avoid one of them, though.”

“Don’t tell me you have another professional rivalry. I didn’t think academia was so cutthroat.”

Magnus hears the teasing tone and his own lips turn up. “You have no idea, Alec. Academia is just as mercenary as any other field-- maybe even more so. But, no, this particular avoidance is for an ex-girlfriend. It’s the only time I’ve ever mixed business and pleasure and let me tell you, it is not worth it.”

“Oh?”

Alec’s voice sounds off but Magnus chalks it up to a weird connection. “It was during my Oxford days. Camille and I were both PhD candidates and we had a whirlwind fling for a few months. It burned out soon enough, though, and after the initial attraction, I realized what a nightmare she was. It petered out soon after but there’s always been, shall we say, a hint of animosity between us. We usually play it off as professional rivalry but there are a few people who know the truth.”

“That’s rough, Magnus. I hope that you can avoid her and still enjoy the trip.”

Magnus laughs. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m made of sterner stuff than that and I stopped feeling anything towards her years ago. It’s just an inconvenience at this point. I think we’re on a panel together tomorrow and she has the nasty habit of speaking over other guests. Honestly, I don’t know how she earned her tenure at Dartmouth.”

Magnus and Alec talk for a few more minutes about his schedule before he hears his zone being called out over the speaker.

“I’m sorry Alec, but I’ve got to go. We’re finally boarding.”

“Alright, have a safe flight, Magnus, and good luck this week. I know you said this was a fun trip but it’s also work and I hope your presentations go well.”

Magnus can’t help the little smile that comes over him, warmth lighting him up. It’s such a small thing, but that little gesture of encouragement and hint of familiarity means a lot.

“Thank you, Alexander. I return from the UK Thursday night but I’m afraid until then I might be a little behind on responding to messages, especially since there’s such a time difference.”

Alec laughs and Magnus can imagine him waving a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. I know how it is when you’re away and get caught up in work. Have fun and I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Goodbye, Alec.”

Magnus hangs up and tucks the phone into his back pocket. He gathers up his briefcase and carry on and makes his way to the plane.

He’s in business class and by some miracle, the seat next to him remains empty. It’s a seven hour flight to London and Magnus settles into his seat, reaching for his phone and earbuds, drowning out the safety information.

He laughs a little to himself, deciding to listen to one of Alec’s albums. He presses shuffle next to his name and leans back, eyes closing.

He doesn’t mind flying and usually has enough work so that the flights go quickly in any case but he’s not in the mood to work on any of that right now.

His head is a little crowded with other things. With Alec.

There’s just something about him that Magnus can’t put his finger on. He’s not a stuck up, vapid celebrity. He’s generous and funny and sometimes he’s just a little bit awkward. That usually happens when he lets his guard down, when he reveals information that contrasts with the suave playboy image he's built up and Magnus loves it every time.

God Dammit, he’s adorable while still being hot enough to burn. There’s a man behind the reputation and Magnus is endlessly fascinated with him. They’ve only known each other weeks but it’s no exaggeration that Alec is the best part of his day. A text from him puts a smile on his face. The phone call just now distracted him from the damned early morning and the headaches that travelling always bring.

Hanging out with Alec-- Magnus firmly shuts down the part of his brain that wants to call those meetings dates-- is fun and comfortable and easy in a way that Magnus hasn’t experienced since college.

Magnus might be the life of the party, but he prefers to keep his real circle small. He has a handful of true friends and he likes it like that. Alec has wormed his way into things with an adeptness that has Magnus reeling.

Magnus might’ve liked Alec’s music and admired his stage persona, but he harbored no delusions that they were probably nothing more than a thin veneer on a spoiled child star. Alec had been in high school when he’d started his climb to fame and Magnus has seen enough celebrities, heard about them from Catarina, to know that most of them are lazy and selfish and debauched in a way that leaves a bad taste in most mouths.

But not Alec. This past month has let Magnus see that Alec is genuine in a way he couldn’t have guessed. Alec works hard to stay on top of things, he’s not infallible, and he’s kind. He's smart, can match Magnus wit for wit, and readily admits when he doesn't know something, listening intently as Magnus tells him or they look it up together.

He’s a real person and Magnus is a little surprised at that.

Distantly, he starts to think about the next stage. The stage that will never happen. As his thoughts turn, so does his mood.

Alec is the most interesting man Magnus has met in awhile. He likes the zoo and coffee that’s more sugar than caffeine. He loves his family to distraction and has a lovely sense of humor. He’s grounded and chivalrous.

He hasn’t told anyone, especially Raphael or Ragnor, but Magnus might be plagued lately with thoughts of more.

During the movie night Friday, Alec had been so damned comfortable against his side, a long line of warmth.

His commentary had been biting but hilarious and Magnus had had more fun than he'd had in ages. He’d gotten used to his friends refusing to watch the Twilight movies with him but having Alec over had brought a new layer of enjoyment to his semi-regular viewing marathons.

He really hadn’t meant to fall asleep with him, let alone wake up on top of Alec. When he’d first been waking up, he was helpless to do anything but nuzzle into the warmth under him, the soft t-shirt smelling like Alec, an irresistible scent only faintly touched by cologne.

Then he’d come to himself and realized that it wasn't his imagination or wishful thinking. He really was tangled with Alec on his couch. He’d frozen, waiting for Alec to slide out from under him or demand to know what he was doing.

Alexander had surprised him again when he’d gone with the flow, not questioning how they came to be pressed so close together.

Magnus had said the first thing that came to mind.

Well, not the first.

The first thing would have been how captivating Alec was in the mornings. His hair was a bird’s nest, stubble heavy on his jaw, sleep clinging to his lashes. He looked rumpled and soft and good enough to eat but Magnus had refrained from voicing any of those thoughts. Instead, he’d quipped something about looking less than impressive and Alec had given as good as he took as he remarked offhandedly about Magnus’s leftover makeup.

He’d cringed inside as he imagined how disheveled he must looked but he’d forced himself to let his shoulders fall back. It was just makeup and fuck knows that Magnus had looked much worse before. If he and Alec were truly friends it shouldn’t make a difference for them to see each other at less than their best.

He’d suggested breakfast, half expecting Alec to bolt at the first chance, remaining polite as always as he refused. To his surprise, Alec had readily agreed and the two of them had shared a lovely breakfast in the early July sunshine.

But not before Magnus had been treated to the sight of Alec’s beautifully sculpted chest, the dusting of hair over it sending his brain offline in the best way.

While he knew that Alec kept in shape, he couldn’t have predicted just how delicious the sight of him in nothing but a damp towel would be, that towel doing nothing to preserve his modesty.

Magnus had made a hasty yet dignified retreat, all the while thinking about just how much he wanted to get his hands on Alec.

When he’d come out of his bedroom and seen Alec reading against his bookcase, he’d felt warm and content.

He wanted Alec to feel comfortable in his space. He wanted him to feel welcome to explore or read or do anything else that struck his fancy.

It was purely wishful thinking if Magnus wanted for one of those things to be Alec pushing him against the nearest wall and kissing him senseless.

Magnus spent the rest of his weekend after Alec left catching up on work and errands. He’d made a trip to the dry cleaners, cleaned his loft and packed for his upcoming trip. A considerable chunk of Sunday had been spent grading papers and discussion posts, resulting in Magnus sending out a class wide email to his special topics class to clarify his expectations along with a reminder to all of his students about classes being cancelled this week.

He’d actually had a student respond to the email with Thank u god!!!!! at three in the morning. He’d huffed out a laugh in the Uber this morning as he’d seen it, rolling his eyes at their antics.

As the plane takes off and he feels the shudder as the wheels roll up and they begin their ascent to thirty five thousand feet, Magnus reflects that maybe it’s a good thing that he’ll be out of the country for almost a week.

He needs the perspective. He needs space away from Alec. While it’s true that he’ll have a great time over the next days, learning and teaching and catching up with friends he hasn’t seen in far too long, he’s also a little disappointed that Alec won’t be in the same city, that their messages will probably grow far and few between and phone calls will be nonexistent as his data is turned off for the duration of the trip.

He knows Alec only wants friendship and that there’s a million people who are lined up around Magnus for the shot of something more with Alec.

Magnus has a healthy ego and great confidence. He knows he’s a catch but he can’t help but worry that Alec sees him as nothing more than a friendly fan. Maybe the very fact that he’s admitted to enjoying Alec’s music for years and has followed him on social media for ages has automatically denigrated Magnus to a friendly face without the possibility for anything else.

He can’t blame Alec. Christ only knows what he’s had to put up with because of his celebrity. Magnus has heard horror stories through tabloids, through Cat, about the frankly terrifying number of people who are willing to use celebrities to reach their own ends.

Luckily Catarina had found Ragnor in college before she’d reached the level of fame she’s at now, but there have still been people over the years who had tried to befriend her only for it to turn out that they were only looking for an investor, bragging rights, or their own fifteen minutes in the spotlight.

Magnus thinks that it would be almost impossible for Alec not to be jaded, wary about new people.

No, Magnus knows that he’s solidly in the friend arena with Alec but that’s enough. Magnus thoroughly enjoys being Alec’s friend even if he wishes there was a possibility of a next step, a more intimate stage.

Magnus drifts off, his busy morning catching up to him, with Alec in his ears and in his mind.

[recentanimenews]

THE GREAT CRUNCHYROLL NARUTO REWATCH Opens the Gates in Episodes 43-49!

  Welcome back to THE GREAT CRUNCHYROLL NARUTO REWATCH! I'm Nate Ming, and I'll be your host this week as we make our way through all 220 episodes of the original Naruto. Last week, we covered episodes 36-42, and we continue this week with episodes 43-49.

  This week is all about the FIGHTS, as we witness some of the best action in the series yet--and the start of what many consider the best showdown in all of Naruto! The "elimination tournament" portion of the Chunin Exam heats up, and we get to see a whole bunch of characters show what they're really made of--Kiba, Neji and Hinata, Shikamaru, and of course, Rock Lee and Gaara all get a chance to shine.

  But first, a reader question from last week--this one's from twintailedmadness:

  Hey, what happened with the two people impersonating the grass ninja along with Orochimaru? At the beginning of the forest exam part when they run in he says "you know what to do, we only have one target" and they go separate ways. Its not the two with Kabuto, you also see them at their own gate. Is it a plot hole or something that will come up later?

That's a really good question! They actually do vanish and we only see Shiore/Orochimaru-in-disguise--I think that Orochimaru was either controlling their corpses, or he had two underlings impersonating them. Sound off in the comments with your thoughts on the two random Grass Ninja who entered the Forest of Death and never returned!

  And now, this week's Q&A!

  This week we've got three, four… FIVE fights all in a row, and yet we're also getting a whole bunch of great character moments and development. How are you feeling right now with the show's pace?

Kevin: Knowing what’s coming with the third exam, I wish that they had saved some of the more poignant moments for after the prelims. Maybe of the people that completed the second exam, the slowest half need to fight, and then everyone else moves on to the actual third exam, so that the likes of the Hyuga fight and Lee versus Gaara would happen while the plot was actually moving forward?

Paul: No objections here. The show is moving along at a brisk pace, especially considering that it's a shonen action series, and by comparison sometimes a single fight in One Piece or Dragon Ball will last like five or six episodes. Two to three episodes per fight, maximum, is about my attention span these days.

Jared: This set of episodes in particular really felt like it moved quickly. Which isn’t bad, considering all the fights and moments that were packed into these episodes, it’s amazing how well it kept the flow up. Which really is how I’d characterize the pace, in that it does a good job of keeping things moving and the only time it really feels hindered is when it can go into recap mode.

Danni: I watched all of this batch’s episodes in one day without even realizing it until I was done. It was extremely tempting to just go ahead and keep watching. It feels like we’re really moving along right now.

David: The pace hasn’t been consistent--the recaps and long-winded explanations of stuff that should be easy to grok come to mind - but these episodes were all incredibly solid and left me wanting more. It’s very easy to see why this arc is remembered so fondly.

Noelle: I don’t have any complaints. It’s mostly fighting, but it’s compressed enough, especially when compared to a lot of other shonen series of the time.  What we get really isn’t that bad, and is engaging enough that I didn’t feel like it was dragging.

Kara: I think I may be in the minority that actually enjoys when fights cut away to back story. We had a lot of characters introduced all at once, and they seemed genuinely interesting. Especially considering the techniques a lot of them use. I dig the sheer amount of action, but I’m also enjoying finding out more about these people as we go.

Joseph: I’m loving the pacing of these episodes because, with a couple exceptions (especially Gaara vs. Rock Lee), I don’t really think they needed to spend too much more time on anything here. The stakes aren’t that high, but they still make it seem as if each fight is a deathly serious affair.

Carolyn: I’m also in the minority but for a different reason. I actually really like when the fights are sprinkled with backstory, I feel like it makes their fights more relevant and emotional. But I’m really over how many fights are dragged across multiple episodes. It feels like they are stretching them out to fill time.

Peter: What’s. With. The. Constant. Split. Screen. Facial. Reactions. That aside I was pretty pleased with the animation treatment Kiba and Hinata got. The show really set its pace to the moment whether it was comedy, dramatic reveals, character moments, or even just taking an extra second so you can appreciate how f**ked-up Temari’s finisher was.

How does it feel getting to truly see Shikamaru in action, even if it was for only a half an episode?

Kevin: Shikamaru is one of the characters that grew on me over time. Early on, he’s just lazy and doesn’t do much, but as we get to see him fight and plan more, he just gets more awesome. So finally getting to watch him execute a plan in the moment was a great taste of what’s to come.

Paul: While I enjoyed it in the moment, I almost instantly forgot that Shikamaru defeats his opponent by using his understanding of the layout of the battlefield to trick them into banging their own head against a wall. For some reason, the details weren't sticking with me.

Jared: For me, seeing him in action was pretty similar to everyone else we hadn’t really seen fight yet. I was glad to see them all get screen time and actually see what they can do. With Shikamaru we kind of saw what he could do in the forest with his shadow possession, but this fight really showed the extent of that power and how dangerous it can be.

Danni: Shikamaru seems cool, but I don’t understand why people call him a galaxy brain level strategist. He seems no smarter than the other top genin.

David: The best of Shikamaru has yet to come. As of now, he’s interesting, but not much more interesting than the rest of the cast.

Noelle: This fight is more of a Shikamaru 101 than anything. Where he really shines has yet to come, but it’s nice seeing that his intellect and creativity has been highlighted even this early on.

Kara: One thing I’m learning about Naruto is there are very few one-trick ponies, despite what early episodes may lead you to believe. It was cool seeing Shikamaru step up from being the “mendokusai” guy to having some good in-the-moment tactics.

Joseph: I think I mentioned his power as being the type I’d like to have myself. I loved the strategy of using his environment to his advantage, even it if seemed like a totally wild gambit.

Carolyn: Shikamaru! I love him so much. I love that everyone tends to think he’s just a lazy jerk when really he could be the most grounded of them all. Reality/knowledge leads to depression and all that. In my opinion, he’s incredibly observant and clever.

Peter: I have never understood why he doesn’t just hit someone with a damn shuriken when he’s got them trapped. Even with all holsters being coincidentally placed in the same location, he could have another one just for this purpose or pull a needle out of himself. Then even him taking damage was part of his plan.

We're seeing more and more ninja animals show up--Kakashi's ninja dogs, Shino's ninja bugs, Guy's turtle that only showed up once, and now Kiba's dog, Akamaru. What animal companion do you think would be the most useful for a ninja to have?

Kevin: The insects would probably be the single most useful creature a ninja could be in charge of. Reconnaissance that no enemy would think to check for, setting up traps that are practically invisible and a weapon that drains the enemy’s chakra, making them much easier to defeat, all in one. The only problem is that the bugs live in their host, which would make me run away so fast that Lee wouldn’t be able to keep up.

Paul: Definitely a turtle, because while your enemies are busy wondering why on Earth you brought a turtle to a ninja fight, you could sneak up behind them and shank them in the kidneys. Ninja are all about sowing confusion, and the only ninja animal that would be more confusing than a turtle would be an inexplicably out-of-water shark.

Jared: Having a bunch of bugs would probably be very beneficial since you could have just thousands upon thousands of them swarm an opponent. Just having that numbers advantage is going to be beneficial in most circumstances.

Danni: Without contest bugs are the most useful for a ninja to have. Control a few and you have the most stealthy intel team imaginable. Control a swarm and you will never, ever lose.

David: For the sake of variety, I’d argue that rodents like mice and squirrels would be similarly useful to insects. They are everywhere, which is useful for surveillance and such, and they easily carry disease for assassination purposes. Also, you probably wouldn’t have to let them live in your body, so it’s just a win overall.

Noelle: Bugs, all the way. There are so many kinds that each specialize in different things- poisons, paralytic agents, webbing, heightened senses- even reconnaissance from away is very easy for something so small nobody would notice. It’s a lot easier to catch sight of a mammal than a fly. I also am pretty fond of bugs, so it’s not like dealing with them would be a problem.

Kara: Guinea pigs, and not just because me owning four of them kind of obligates me to say that. Those little suckers are faster and stealthier than potatoes on legs have any right to be.

Joseph: I’m down with the dogs, because when you’re not fighting to the death with them by your side you got yourself a ride or die buddy.

Carolyn: Based on what’s in the show and not just any animal we choose? Because, sharks maybe? I dunno. But I guess bugs would make the most sense. Dogs could be useful in a fight but they would need to be exceptionally trained, I would think. Bugs at least give you a shock factor.

Peter: Really can’t argue with chakra eating demon bugs. Such a variety of insects too. Always thought Shino was an underutilized character given how freaky his power is. Little sad they turned him on his head to be an awkward joke character in Boruto. I’ll always have my Ninja Storm ougis I guess.

Neji and Hinata's fight had a lot of raw emotion to go with the really brutal combat. For those of you who are new to the series, how do you think this story's gonna play out?

Paul: I don't honestly know where they're going with the conflict between Hinata and Neji, although I doubt they'll let Neji remain victorious in the long-run. Neji demonstrates the sort of rigid thinking that's a prime candidate for karmic retribution, and pride goeth before the fall. It was also nice to see that Hinata practices Hokuto Shinken.

Jared: Neji’s gonna have to get his comeuppance eventually, although you could probably go about this in a few ways. One could be that eventually Neji finally realizes that Hinata is deserving of his respect and they go that route. Or they have Hinata save him from something and that’s what makes him change his mind. Either way or with whatever they do, I’d be surprised if this beef extended throughout the entirety of the series and they aren’t at least tolerable of each other.

Danni: The conflict within the Hyuga clan is one I can easily see becoming tied in with a civil war were that to ever happen. The lesser clan families will likely attempt to usurp the main family through assassination and align themselves with a greater evil threatening the Hidden Leaf Village, is my guess.

Kara: For me, Neji reads so much like the personification of Hinata’s self-doubt—at least in this fight. That feeling of self-doubt never goes away; we kind of resolve ourselves to it, admit it’ll be there, but learn not to let it overtake us. With all the focus Naruto has on personal growth, I feel like their relationship will mirror this to at least some degree, with Hinata coming to a point where Neji’s thoughts about her don’t even matter. Whether he’ll ever respect her? No idea. I hope so.

Joseph: I think it’s gonna end up with Hinata shocking him with her prowess later on, and bringing out his own lurking self-doubt in a way that mirrors how he messed with her at the start of the fight. I’d like to see more psychological ninja warfare either way.

Carolyn: I’m not new to the series, but I’ll answer with my thoughts on the episode, anyway. I was very happy with Naruto throughout Hinata’s fight. He pays close attention to his friends, which often comes across as being callous or inappropriate, but he knew Hinata wasn’t out of it yet even when everyone else thought she was down for the count. I appreciate that.

Peter: I don’t think this question's for me because I already know, but just wanted to say I forgot how brutal the whole affair was and the anime delivered. Right when the board had their names next to each other you knew Hinata was afraid and their opening combo was basically psychological torture. Bless Kurenai for being a good wingman.

We're here, at my single favorite fight in the series: Rock Lee vs. Gaara. For newcomers, how was the experience? For those of us revisiting Naruto, what was it like coming back?

Kevin: Rock Lee versus Gaara will always be one of the hypest things in all of Naruto, and the hypest part of it comes next week, once Lee starts tapping in to the Eight Inner Gates. It is taking all of my discipline to wait to watch the next episode.

Paul: One of these days, Rock Lee is going to hit a Lotus on somebody that doesn't use Ninjutsu trickery to cushion the blow or replace themselves with a decoy, and that day will be glorious. Until then, I'm just going to have to wait to see how the final episode of the fight plays out next week. I can see why people like this fight, but I still have difficulty taking Sandy Murder Cinnamon Roll (aka Gaara) seriously as an antagonist.

Jared: Maaaaaaaaaaaan, this fight rules. I’d seen the gif of Rock Lee’s weight moment before watching this so knew at some point it was coming, but I’m so glad to finally see the context and know it’s even cooler. The animation in the first episode of this fight was just astonishing with how much it let that fight feel so dynamic and fluid. Rock Lee continues to solidify himself as the coolest character in this show and the best boy.

Danni: This is the only fight I’ve ever heard anything about in Naruto, and I’ve seen the weights dropping already. It was still extremely kickass to see my favorite boy landing shots through Gaara’s impenetrable defense. Rock Lee is the ultimate underdog and I want nothing more than to see him dominate.

David: Ridiculously good. I haven’t watched this fight in years, and it’s really amazing how supremely it holds up. Taijutsu is straight-up the coolest form of fighting in the series, and it’s already being set up to be outclassed overall, and while that’s kind of sad, it ends up making Rock Lee’s underdog status so easy to see and root for that this fight benefits from it.

Noelle: Rock Lee!! Appreciation!!! This fight, and I think a lot of old fans would feel the same, was one of the most spectacularly awesome moments in the series. I haven’t rewatched it since I finished the series, but it’s just as hype as I remembered. Gaara, the boy who has never taken a hit, finally is forced to eat a blow from someone who only uses pure martial arts, and it’s great.

Kara: Everyone’s been talking about how this fight is The Best. I get it, I see it, I believe you now. It’s amazing and hype, but also a little weird because we’ve got two characters who wandered in from other genres going at it—Rock Lee being every sports anime personified, and Gaara genuinely belonging in a horror movie. (Seriously, the sand shell was hitting my creepy doll vibes more than Kankuro’s literal creepy doll.)

Joseph: It’s Frieza eyes vs. Usopp eyes and it rules. I’ve read the source material but I like the anime version of the event even more. When Rock Lee dropped the weights I got chills.

Carolyn: I actually liked the flashbacks more than the fight itself. Seeing baby Rock Lee so dedicated and driven, holding himself to impossible standards, it’s why I love him so much.

Peter: I thought there was still one episode to go until I saw literally ANY animation. Azuma was talking to Choji or something and I was thinking to myself “why does this look so good?” They gave every second of that episode special treatment. Lee dropping the weights is still iconic.

This is less of a Naruto question, and more a general question about action anime. Can you think of 1-2 other instances that were your "Rock Lee dropping the weights" moments from other shows?

Kevin: After giving it some thought, nothing I can remember did the same thing. In Lee versus Gaara, we had no idea that Lee was holding back, but then suddenly he’s on a whole new level and managing to injure a character who was previously untouchable. The closest comparisons I can think of are various moments from Dragon Ball Z. In the Raditz fight, Goku and Piccolo wore weighted gear, and Gohan had his first berserk moment that showed he had further untapped powers, and later on Goku going Super Saiyan for the first time also showed off the hero managing to one-up the villain with powers the audience had never seen, but each of those moments have a part of what made Lee dropping his weights such a memorable scene, not the whole picture.

Paul: There are plenty of direct parallels, such as Sky Star removing her weighted shoulder pads in Air Master, but I think my favorite recent example of someone taking the limiters off (at least in a metaphorical sense) is when Satsuki Kiryuin stabs her mother, Ragyo, in the heart before openly declaring her rebellion in Kill la Kill. That moment has the same transcendent impact, dramatically speaking, because you can kind of see it coming just an instant before it happens, but the reveal is still glorious.

Jared: These maybe aren’t direct comparisons, but for me it’d be something like Joseph vs. Esidisi from JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Battle Tendency where we see the fruits of Joseph’s training and cunning pay off. Although, I might also put what Jotaro is able to pull off in the final episode of Stardust Crusaders as one that got me hyped in the same way.

Danni: Dragon Ball has quite a few moments where characters literally take off weighted clothing, but the most "Rock Lee dropping the weights" moment in the show I can think of is when Goku unleashes the Kaioken on Vegeta for the first time. I think a good recent example would be Uraraka vs. Bakugo in My Hero Academia. Everyone completely underestimated her and it looked like she was being ripped to shreds, but then she reveals it was all part of her plan to launch a meteor attack.

Noelle: This is hard, because I don’t think there are any direct comparisons. The fight shows a capable fighter showing their true strength, but also in a way that nobody expected, even the audience. There are many good fights, and many surprises, but none that we can’t see coming, at least on some level. I think the thing that elicited the closest feeling to that was Black Lagoon when Roberta was first introduced, and despite her demure appearance, she started blasting through absolutely everything.

Kara: It’s really kind of the “I am not left-handed” of anime, isn’t it? Except turned up to a ludicrous extreme. Funnily enough, the first one I think of is sort of an inverse—the mid-point of GaoGaiGar, where after a battle to the near-death that leaves our heroes and multiple robots on the point of falling apart, we get a post-credit scene that shows us the villains have been holding back. Definitely not a “punch the air” moment so much as a “drain the glass” moment.

Joseph: I have a really bad memory so no, this is the only one ever.

Carolyn: Not to be repetitive, but I think Uraraka and Bakugo are a pretty good example, as well. I tend to watch darker anime over action anime, so I don’t have a lot to draw from.

Peter: I have to thank Carolyn since I was trying to find a way to shoehorn in that in retrospect you can see a lot of the Hinata/Neji fight in Uraraka/Bakugo. As far as a moment where the series reveals its been underselling a character? Maybe Killua ripping that dudes heart out in the Hunter exam? Or Kenpachi pulling off his eyepatch is probably closest. I love when Ichigo claims there’s a trick and Kenpachi admits the trick was he had a demon eating his power the whole time.

  COUNTERS:

"I'm gonna be Hokage!" count: 19

Bowls of ramen consumed: 2 bowls, 3 cups

Shadow Clones: 123

And that's everything for this week! Remember that you're always welcome to join us for this rewatch, especially if you haven't watched the original Naruto!

Here's our upcoming schedule!

-Next week, on MARCH 8th, the Chunin Exam finals begin in EPISODES 50-56, with CAROLYN BURKE hosting!

-Then, on MARCH 15th, DANNI WILMOTH covers EPISODES 57-63--Naruto settles a grudge as the finals heat up!

-On MARCH 22nd, the Chunin Exam ends as NICOLE MEJIAS covers EPISODES 64-70!

  Have any comments or questions about episodes 43-49? What about our upcoming installment, featuring episodes 50-56?

-----

Nate Ming is the Features Editor for Crunchyroll News and creator of the long-running Fanart Friday column. You can follow him on Twitter at @NateMing. Check out his comic, Shaw City Strikers!

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[crispychrissy]

Define Justice - Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Dean Smith heads out to the crime scene in New York with the task force and makes an important discovery that can lead them closer to their suspects. Pairing: Dean Smith, Agent Novak, Agent Gabriel, Charlie, Lisa, Brady, other minor background characters Word Count: 2777 Warnings: Language, minor sexuality, description of a crime scene, blood Author’s Note: Chapter three! It’s here! Thank you to @saxxxology for betaing and being my muse. Next chapter is when things really start to heat up, so buckle up everyone! Tags are still open, so please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged.

Series Masterlist — Complete Masterlist

Dean sat in the conference room for five minutes after everyone left, staring down at the folder in front of him. He still couldn’t believe he was selected. He was going to be working on the highest profile case the FBI had seen in decades. Smiling, he shook himself out of his thoughts, gathered his papers, and tucked them back into the folder.

He was almost back to his desk when he realized he’d forgotten Charlie’s coffee. He did a U-turn and walked back to the break room, where there was an agent from the meeting already in there making coffee. He looked up when Dean entered and narrowed his eyes at him.

“So, Smith. Who’d you pay off to get that task force spot?” He scoffed and then grinned. “Or are you one of those ‘on your knees’ types?”

“Piss off, Brady,” Dean growled as he poured a cup of coffee, “you’re mad I was selected instead, I get it.”

“Not really” Brady tightened his jaw, “enjoy being the errand boy for the task force. They obviously need someone to fetch them coffee like a good dog,” Brady gestured to the cup in Dean’s hand. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

Dean smirked and looked up at him. “This coffee’s for Charlie. You know, the smoking hot southern redhead that sits next to me? You might want to try talking to some women, sometime. It might help with your self-image issues and obvious alpha-male overcompensation. Isn’t that right, boy?”

Brady gritted his teeth and opened his mouth to say something, but swallowed the thought and stormed away. Dean laughed softly to himself and walked out of the kitchen back to his desk. Charlie was on the phone when Dean set her coffee down on the corner of her desk, and she smiled, mouthing ‘thank you’ under her breath. He sat down in his chair and began to type up a crime scene report for a senior agent when Charlie hung up her phone.

“Well? How did it go, hon?” She asked, peeking her head over the cubicle wall and sipping from her coffee.

Dean looked up and smiled. “They picked me. First meeting is at three.”

Charlie gasped and set her coffee down before running around the desk and pulling Dean into a bone crushing hug, which earned looks from several surrounding agents. “I knew you’d get it, Doudou! I’m so happy for yah!”

Dean smiled and rubbed his hand up and down her back as she vigorously rocked him back and forth in their embrace. “Charlie… can’t breathe.”

“Oh, sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes.” Charlie stepped back and tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear.

“It’s okay,” Dean chuckled. He sat back down at his desk and then furrowed his brow. “Wait… did you call me doo-doo?”

Charlie laughed and shook her head as she sat back down. “No, hon. It’s spelled d-o-u-d-o-u. It’s French. It means ‘darling’ or ‘sweetie’.”

“I see. Well, keep that between you and me, okay?” Dean laughed as he continued typing up his report.

“Will do, Deano.” Charlie replied before she took another sip of her coffee and got back to work.

An alarm on Dean’s phone going off tore his attention from the eleven page report he was finalizing, alerting him that it was two forty-five and he needed to head out to the meeting. He silenced the alarm and locked his computer before he gathered his folder and a notepad.

“Knock ‘em Dead, hon,” Charlie said as Dean walked past her toward the conference room.

“Always do, cherry,” Dean said, throwing Charlie a wink.

“It’s ‘chérie’, darling,” Charlie said, giggling at Dean’s horrible pronunciation. “And you know you’re not my type.”

“Maybe not, but how else am I going to learn French without flirting with you?” Dean laughed as he walked away, earning and eyeroll from Charlie as he made his way to the conference room.

“Agent Smith!”

Dean turned around to see Novak walking toward him with a piece of paper in his hand. “Yes, sir?”

“Change of plans. Head home, pack a bag. Wheels up in two hours; we’re heading to New York. Local LEO’s are done with the crime scene and are letting us take over.” he handed Dean the paper and watched as he looked it over.

“First class?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We have to fly with weapons, and it’s easier to be in first class so civilians don’t get nervous. We’ll meet at Gate 7,” Novak strode past Dean, “and make sure you bring your badge with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean whispered, staring at the plane ticket in his hand. He grinned and sprinted back to his desk to grab his bag and turn off his computer.

“What’s going on?” Charlie asked, poking her head over the cubicle wall, watching Dean frantically clean up the paperwork and files spread out across his desk.

“Plane to New York for the task force in two hours. Need to go home and pack.” Dean muttered.

“Go, hon. I’ll clean up your desk and shut everything down. Don’t miss your flight,” Charlie said, stepping out from her cubicle and into Dean’s.

“Really? Charlie, you’re awesome!” Dean said, pulling Charlie into a hug.

“I know,” she laughed. “Now get going! Go!”

Dean nodded frantically and grabbed his bag, making a run for the door. He was down to his car and back to his small apartment in only twenty minutes. He opened his door and was instantly greeted by a hyperactive bulldog jumping all over his legs and whimpering. Dean smiled and shut the door behind him before bending down to the pup.

“Hey, Benny,” Dean cooed, scratching between his ears. “You’re going to have to stay with Lisa for the next couple days, okay?”

The dog barked once in reply, feigning understanding. Dean stood back up and walked into his bedroom, pulling out a suitcase from his closet. Once he packed enough clothes and emptied his bathroom of important toiletries, Dean grabbed Benny’s leash, his bag of food, and his favorite squeaky toy and headed over to the apartment next door.

Lisa, Dean’s neighbor, was a stay-at-home mom of an eight-year-old boy named Ben, and always took care of Benny whenever he needed to leave town for work. Dean rapped three times on her door, and after a few seconds, Lisa answered with her arms full of clothing.

“Hey, Dean!” She said before looking down at the dog. “Well, if it isn’t my second favorite Benny! Here, come inside, I’m in the middle of laundry.”

Dean smiled and ran his hand over the back of his head and down his neck as he followed her inside and closed the door. “Hey Lisa. You mind taking care of him for a few days? I have a sudden business trip for work. Sorry about the short notice.”

“Of course,” She brushed a dark lock of hair out of her face with a finger. “You know Ben loves his canine twin. He’ll be excited. You just let me know when you’re back.” Lisa took the leash and supplies from Dean. “Have a safe trip!”

“Thank you, Lisa. Next time you need anything fixed on your car, you know who to call,” Dean smiled, turned around, and headed down the stairs to meet his cab.

The drive to the airport and the flight passed in a blur. Dean enjoyed his time in first class, and could definitely get used to it if it came with membership on the task force. The flight to Syracuse airport was uneventful, except for a nervous flight attendant asking why there were so many armed FBI agents on the flight (Novak assured her that there was no danger on the plane to calm her down), and they all arrived a few minutes before eight that night.

Once the group of five agents were on their way to the hotel, Novak turned around in his spot in the front passenger’s seat. “First thing tomorrow morning we’re heading out to the crime scene. We’re leaving at seven and expect to arrive close to eight. Local sheriff will meet us there. Try not to cause too much disruption tonight, okay, gentlemen?”

A couple of noises of approval followed by some laughter echoed throughout the van right as they pulled up outside the hotel. It was a very nice hotel (the name HILTON on the front should have given that away), and Dean was surprised at how much extra money the task force must have kept just for travel expenses. They all piled out of the van and began walking into the hotel.

“You okay, Smith?” Gabriel asked, noticing Dean stopped walking with the group.

Dean offered a shy smile. “I’m… yeah. Just not used to all of this…”

“Luxury?” Gabriel offered.

Dean nodded. “Is this a usual thing for you guys?”

“On any other task force, no. But this Justice Killer task force has been around for years, so the Bureau puts aside extra money to make sure the agents involved are at their best and are comfortable.” Gabriel opened the door for Dean, gesturing for him to enter.

“Thanks. I think I’m still in shock that I’m on this task force,” Dean laughed, walking with him toward the main area to check in.

“Take it from me, bucko. Novak was thoroughly impressed with your theory and he really thinks you have potential. Enjoy the ride.” Gabriel said before stepping away to the desk clerk to get their room keys.

Dean nodded and looked around at the spacious lobby and exquisite decor. This hotel had to be at least three hundred dollars a night for each room. He smirked when he saw signs directing patrons to an indoor heated pool and was happy that he remembered his swim trunks. Gabriel waving a keycard in front of his face broke his daydreaming.

“Earth to Smith,” Gabriel handed the keycard to Dean. “You’re in six-twenty. Rest of the agents are in six twenty-one and down. You headed out tonight?”

Dean started walking toward the elevator with Gabriel and smiled. “Nah, I’m gonna go for a swim and hit the sack. Want to be on my game tomorrow.”

“Boring. Suit yourself. See you in the morning,” Gabriel said over his shoulder as he walked toward the hotel bar.

After a swim and some pie from room service, Dean fell asleep on the huge king bed in his suite. His phone alarm went off at five thirty the following morning and he rolled out of bed and got directly into the shower. By six thirty, he was already down in the hotel’s restaurant eating breakfast and reading the newspaper. There was an article about the murder and he was skimming over it as Gabriel stumbled into the room and sat down at his table.

“You look like you could use some coffee, man,” Dean said, raising his voice a little.

“Not so loud, please. I think I might still be drunk,” Gabriel muttered, grabbing the large jug of coffee and pouring himself a cup. “They give you those complimentary little champagne bottles, what the hell are you supposed to do with ‘em?”

Dean smiled as the other agents one by one arrived for breakfast as well, the last being Novak at five to seven. He swiped a croissant from the table and devoured it in a few bites. “Ready to go, gentlemen?”

The ride to the cabin took a little less than an hour, and just like Novak said, there were two squad cars at the scene when they arrived. Dean took his time looking around the location, noticing how secluded the cabin was and how easy it must have been for the killers to get in and out.

“Smith and Gabriel, join me inside. Guthrie and MacLeod, get the evidence from the sheriff and catalog it for transport,” Novak said, walking toward the front steps of the cabin. Dean sprinted over to him while Gabriel slowly shuffled after them.

The second that Dean walked inside the cabin, the strong smell of bleach hit his nose. It was extremely evident that someone cleaned up the scene after the killing was done. He wandered into the kitchen, taking note of how much detritus and food scraps there were scattered across the room.

“Look at the kitchen. There was no way this guy used bleach to clean his house. He doesn’t strike me as the type to clean anything, period,” Dean thought out loud, drawing the attention of Novak and Gabriel, who both joined him in the kitchen. “The body was found downstairs?”

“Yes. Officers who found the body said the front door was open and light was spilling onto the street,” Gabriel said, flipping through a folder in his hand.

“The door being left open was done intentionally. Our killers are too meticulous and controlling to let something like that happen. I’m guessing it was done to draw the attention of the officers so his body would be found quickly,” Dean gestured toward the stairs to the basement. “One of them called police and reported an officer down, knowing that all officers in the area would respond. I’m guessing one of them at least has some kind of police training or knowledge.”

“Gabriel, why aren’t you writing this down?” Novak nudged Gabriel with his elbow.

“Don’t worry guys, I have it covered,” Dean pulled out a tape recorder from his pocket and wiggled it in his fingers. “Let’s head to the basement.”

Dean walked down the stairs to the basement and groaned as the smell of stale blood hit his nose. The bed was still in the same position as it was when Mark Allen had met his brutal end. Dean studied it for a few moments before tilting his head.

“Do you have the autopsy photos?” He asked.

Gabriel shifted papers in the folder in his hand and pulled out several photographs from the medical examiner’s report. Dean flipped through them and stopped when he came to the photo of Mark’s knees. He squinted and used his thumb and pointer finger to measure the length and width of each bruise.

“These bruises were made by two different sized shoes. One is a women’s size seven or so, and the other one,” Dean looked up at the two agents, “is a women’s size nine.”

“Wait a second,” Novak shook his head. “Are you saying we have two women serial killers? I mean, women serial killers alone are rare. But two working as a team? Come on.”

“I don’t know what it means, sir, but unless she has two different sized feet or works with a man who wears women’s shoes, it looks like two women. I’m going to check out back.” Dean said as he walked back up the stairs and out on the back porch with Novak and Gabriel following closely behind.

Dean walked outside and down the steps into the backyard of the house, noticing the drying mud surrounding the cabin. “Did it rain after the murder?”

“Yeah. A few hours after the body was found a couple thunderstorms passed through. Why?” Gabriel asked.

Dean gestured to faint indents in the mud that trailed from the edge of the stairs and to the edge of the woods. “These look like footprints coming from the woods over there.”

“Deer tracks. It’s noted in the file report.  Not uncommon for deer to be around these parts looking for food and mates,” Gabriel said, reading from the crime scene report.

“These aren’t deer tracks. Why would a deer walk up to the back of the cabin multiple times and follow the same path back down the side of the cabin back into the woods? It doesn’t make sense.” Dean followed the trail of faint footprints to the edge of the woods. “You guys can wait here if you want.”

Both men shook their heads and followed Dean as he carefully made his way through the woods, following the muddy tracks. Dean came upon a small clearing behind a row of trees, and instantly recognized four equidistant imprints as tire tracks from a vehicle.

“Yahtzee,” he said to himself, pointing at the tracks as they made it to the clearing. “Tire tracks.”

Gabriel looked up at the trees surrounding them and smiled. “Looks like the trees blocked some of the rain from the treads so we might be able to get a match.”

Novak came over and patted Dean on the back. “Way to go, kid. I think you just gave us the first lead we’ve had in over a year.”

Forever: @katymacsupernatural @queen-of-deans-booty @your-modern-shakespeare @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @wheresthekillswitch @holyfuckloueh @just-another-busy-fangirl @growningupgeek @ididntasktogetmadedidi @trashimaginezblog @jensen-gal @spnbaby-67 @feelmyroarrrr

Define Justice: @winchesterprincessbride @manawhaat @httpslouisoh @mereka18 @thelittleredwhocould @fallingoutthetardis @introverted-book-lion @unicorndreamer1622 @luciferskidd @deans--chevy--baby @dean-winchesters-babydoll @dizzy-sunshine @ryantherandomhero @frickfracklesackles

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 4: Heresy

Our cards for this session: The Hunter, The Knight, The Madness, The Heretic.

This week: I took EXCELLENT notes, probably because I was physically incapable of speaking and had to conduct all roleplay via telegram.

Back at Shoshana’s house, we crash for a long rest. Ser Balderich is convinced to take the only bed, because he’s spent the last forty-eight hours in a curse hole. Shoshana is surprised - and a little saddened, in a way - to see that his time in the supernatural darkness has not affected Ser Balderich seemingly at all, unlike her. Beggar Knights are granted strong protection from Rack, the god of suffering and mercy, and likely this is what helped him resist corruption.

Didn’t help him resist breaking his bones, though. He’s gonna stick around in Ovruch to heal and to protect the town. Shoshana warns him that her cats are probably going to stay here and be assholes, and he laughs it off. He’s fought the most terrible monsters known to man - cat-wrangling can be his next adventure! She laughs with him, but warns him that they are affected by the Curse - he may have to put them down, when they get too aggressive to save.

Ser Balderich takes the chance to lay down some wisdom on the young witch: “I’ve seen a lot since I started fighting the Curse. It can turn a man’s hands to claws, it can break his mind, but it cannot make you a monster unless you allow it. I have seen people barely recognizable as humanoid who have the noblest hearts. And I’ve seen men you wouldn’t blink at in the market with the most monstrous hearts of all. Don’t let anyone turn you into something you’re not.”

The man has INCREDIBLE Dad Energy. It’s so potent he almost immediately falls asleep in an armchair in front of the football game.

Meanwhile, Gral rolls a 19 and, in his own words, “wakes up in the morning feelin’ like P. Diddy.” 

Shoshana leaves a letter for Herschel the innkeeper, letting him know “I think she’s alive - I’m going to find her,” and then we get on the road to the town of Holzog, Ser Quentin Morozov’s base of operations.

The party is hustling along the road, being Super Quiet and Awkward because we’re all stoic assholes with secrets (not you, Valeria, you’re an angel and we’re glad you’re here). Then, rapid hoofbeats! Coming along a fork in the road, a company of lightly armored riders bearing the crest of a rook upon their shields thunders past us. Despite our absolutely terrible history rolls, the DM can’t resist telling us that these are Condotierri - mercenaries from Ventallus, known for being highly professional, highly skilled, and deeply cautious about any venture too dangerous to be worth their hire price. They seem to be headed to Holzog as well, just much faster.

Holzog is set in a valley, surrounded by huge craggy hills that the Curse has made dark and foreboding. We know it’s a much bigger town than Ovruch, sustained mostly by fishing on the large lake that butts up against it. There’s a strange smell on the breeze - it’s familiar to Gral, but he can’t quite place it, not with a perception check that low.

Awkward road conversation is made (”SO UH I SEE YOU’RE A LARGE LIZARD PERSON. HOW’S THAT GOING FOR YOU. WHERE YA FROM.”) but Valeria’s explanation of how she’s from Aurentium, the Golden City, the shining example of the post-Aquilian Empire!!! is interrupted by the sight of a big ol’ keep on the horizon, flying a flag with the crest of Holzog. Looks like a watchtower that’s been recently expanded. Soldiers are stopping a caravan of merchants and ushering them inside. We head on over.

A halfling woman in fancier armor than the rest of the soldiers introduces herself as Captain Claudia. “Road’s closed ‘till morning,” she tells us. “The mists are out.”

From the tower’s windows we can see a strange, shimmering purple mist has indeed descended on the town, purple and rippling. The hell is that?!

Captin Claudia says hell if she knows, but baroness’s orders are not to fuck with it, and the valley’s shut down until it’s gone. Usually takes 12 hours or so. Comes out of the lake.” The baroness of Holzog has established this roadhouse for travelers who are stuck. Claudia’s in charge, and she’s not above using her musket or kicking us out into the woods in order to keep the peace. She confirms the Condotierri we saw were hired by the baroness as extra muscle to guard the forts around the town - but they only answer to their captain, and they keep avoiding the rough jobs.

So we’re stuck here for the night. We go chat with the merchants - a Demish furrier shows us the weird cursed furs that are all the rage in fashion right now (this one’s purple! with spines!) and Valeria manages to buy some Fortified Demish Healing Wine off him - for discount price, because you’d hardly sell GOOD wine to these beer-swilling Valdian yokels, and Valeria, being a noble AND a dragonborn, rolls pretty darn well on her snob check. 

There’s a bookseller, too. Clem makes the practical decision of purchasing some journals published by Sturmhearst University about the latest research into the Curse. Valeria gets a beautifully illustrated heroic tale of the Peacock Knight, founder of the Knights Radiant. Shoshana, who has more money in her pocket than she’s had in maybe ever, giddily buys a dramatic Gallish pirate adventure. 

The door slams open, dramatically. “Why, Captain Claudia! I had heard the mists were up in the valley, and I did so hope you would be the one to host us this night!” Two humans stride in. First comes a lean man with a goatee and a big hat with a feather in it, his white leather cape falling over a gleaming sword. Behind him comes a muscular, angry-looking woman, with similar hair and features, lugging a huge lumpy sack and two nasty-looking warhammers. Both prominently wear the symbol of a sword and hammer crossed over a sun - the symbol of the Knights Radiant.

“Ah! Do not fear, huddled citizens of Valdia! You will not need to pass this night in fear of the things that lurk beyond the walls, for the Knights Radiant are here!”

Captain Claudia tells him to can it and go help his sister carry stuff. The gentleman in the majestic hat mourns that sadly, duty keeps us apart, and yet - oh hey, I have an audience.

“Who here would like to hear how my sister and I slew the werewolf of Vanderburg?!” he declares with a flourish to the gawking merchants, and us. “My sister Fiona and were in Vanderburg when we heard the distinctive howl, the locals were terrified of the beast, who had been taking cattle and stalking them for weeks. We laid our trap! Knowing the wolf preferred beautiful long haired women, we obtained a fancy dress! My sister hid in the bushes while I played bait. Then, I drew my silver blade!” It’s all very dramatic. His blade glows as he waves it around dramatically. The descriptions get flowery. The story is very heroic. “So you need not fear anything tonight – oh. There’s already knight-looking people here. Well, you still don’t need to fear anything because I am HERE!”

Thanks, All Might. We continue to awkwardly look like a blatantly obvious adventuring party, which has clearly thrown Mr. Hero off his game a little.

His large, intimidating sister taps him on the shoulder and rapidly motions to him in sign language. “OK fiiiine, I won’t tell the story of how we cleansed the cemetery of ghouls – Fiona, don’t speak for them, I’m working here. Remember, sister, our mission does not end when the beast is slain, but when spirits are lifted!”

The aforementioned Fiona looks at us, pulls out a wineskin, takes a slug of alcohol, and offers it up. Clem identifies it immediately as primo, grade-A trench hooch. Cooked in a dented greathelm, made of spit and armor polish. Clem happily accepts a swig of what most folks would identify as industrial solvent. 

Fiona’s theatrical brother notices Valeria’s new Peacock Knight book and decides to come bother miss – uh, Kyr? Kyr Dragonborn, please allow me to introduce myself, I’m SER FLYNN FAIRGOLD OF THE KNIGHTS RADIANT, DEFENDER OF THE PEOPLE, PROTECTOR OF VALDIA. My lovely sister is SER FIONA FAIRGOLD. She has neglected to take any additional titles. THE HUMBLE. I gave her that one.

”What’s he in town for? “My sister and I are here upon a dangerous quest! A noble seeker of truth tasked us to investigate and retrieve a-” He notices Fiona making a cut-throat gesture. “Yes, we are delivering things to a knight of much renown!”

Us: “Is it Ser Quentin Morozov? Because he’s the guy we’re gonna go bother.”

Flynn: “...Why yes! Ser Morozov is a frequent employer of ours! He dispatches us, his most trusted agents, as far as possible! He knows that the further we travel from him, the more evil we defeat and hopes we raise. Honestly, I usually check in on our uncle while our sister talks to him. While you’re in Holzogh, check out the Greencloak Inn, my uncle runs it-”

Shoshana begins to make conversation about knowing guys who run inns named after wars with elves. (Greencloak being a term for Kevan soldiers.) Gral tries to ask Fiona about her travels, but she just points to her throat, which is covered in thick burn scars. We’re all settling in for a night’s conversation when there’s a banging at the doors, and Captain Claudia shouting “nO DON’T OPEN THE...gates, dammit.”

A group of men pour in, uniformed in rough white clothes bound with chains. They bear a banner with the image of bloody chains, and their leader wears a thin blindfold over scarred eyes and carries a wicked-looking thorned whip.

He intones, “REJOICE, CITIZENS. THE GODS HAVE SPOKEN TO ME. WITHIN THIS FORTRESS LIES ONE DEEPLY TOUCHED BY EVIL. A BEING WHO HAS BOUND THEMSELVES TO THE DARKEST POWERS. THEY LURK AMONG YOU! BUT REJOICE, FOR WE HAVE COME, TO MAKE THEM FACE THE JUSTICE OF THE GODS.”

Shoshana immediately rolls for stealth and dives behind the largest available Clem.

These, we know, are the Penitent Knights: militant devotees of Rack that fanatically slay anyone deemed to be sinful, in order to excise the Curse from among the people. They are...not known for remembering the “mercy” part of their god’s whole shtick. 

“LET THE EVILDOER OR ANY WHO KNOW OF THEM STEP FORTH, THAT WE MAY BE ABOUT OUR HOLY BUSINESS.”

Valeria immediately uses her Divine Sense to detect whether there are, actually, any Fiends among us. Nobody pings the radar, though our wrapped tapestry is a little suspect, but there’s a slight whiff of...something?...from the Fairgolds, who are beginning to look just a little nervous. Especially emanating from Fiona’s back and shoulder?

We all simultaneously remember that Fiona was carrying a huge mysterious sack earlier, like a buff warrior Santa. HMM. The bag’s nowhere to be seen, though - she put it somewhere in the keep while Flynn was telling stories.

Meanwhile, Valeria is not about to put up with these creeps going all Spanish Inquisition on a bunch of innocent merchants, and stands up to reveal her impressive presence. “None here are any sort of fiend!”

“DO YOU SPEAK TRUE, OR ARE YOU A DECEIVER?”

“I’ve taken my oaths, I am no deceiver!” Valeria rolls an excellent persuasion check and looks Very Knightly and Trustworthy. Everyone in the room is on her side. Well, except the captain of the creeps:

“AND YET I KNOW THAT WITHIN THIS FORTRESS A VILE HERETIC RESIDES. MEN! SEARCH THE PLACE FOR SIGNS OF HERESY.“

Valeria: “There’s no need for any of that.”

“I WILL NOT SEE JUSTICE UNDONE.”

“Whatever you’re looking for isn’t here!”

“AND YET I KNOW THAT IT IS. UPON MY AUTHORITY AS AN AGENT OF THE ARCHCLERIC OF RACK, I DEMAND TO SEARCH THIS FACILITY AND DISPENSE THE JUSTICE OF RACK.”

Valeria, also being an agent of Rack’s justice, thinks this guy is full of crap and tells him in no uncertain terms to get lost. Gral, Clem, and both Fairgolds decide to assist by Looming Intimidatingly. They’re very good at it.

“VERY WELL. GOOD PEOPLE, THIS KNIGHT OF THE ROSE HAS DECLARED RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR SAFETY THIS NIGHT. LET ANY EVIL THAT BEFALLS THIS PLACE BE UPON HER HEAD.” With that ominous proclamation, the Knights Penitent shuffle back outside the gates. Captain Claudia wastes absolutely zero time making sure everything is locked and barred.

“Yeah, sorry you had to see that. They creep me right the heck out,” she tells us. Out of sight of the merchants, she motions to us surreptitiously. “But there’s something you should see.”

Flynn: “UM, my dearest Claudia-”

Claudia: “Shut it, Flynn, I think the Knight of the Rose has the right to know.”

As she leads us back towards the dungeon-y part of the keep, she berates Flynn further: “Dammit, Fairgold, I’ve got people here who are my responsibility. If you knew they were following you-”

She takes us back to the keep’s single jail cell. Inside is a battered, emaciated elf, thoroughly bound and gagged, and unconscious to boot. He’s covered in tattoos, and even the idiots among us can tell the symbols are fiendish in nature. Clem recognizes what he is on sight. Back during the Ascension war, there were members of Raspult’s cult - who he gave free reign to do all evil, on the reasoning that once he was king of the gods, he would forgive them for everything and anything done in his name - called the Marked. They would tattoo themselves with sacrificial blood and demonic symbols, mad-eyed cultists able to summon demons by making themselves bleed. The worst part of battling them: wounding them could just as easily summon the demons as if the cultist had done it themself. 

Clem is not best pleased. “Who brought him here?!”

Flynn: “Welllllll...that would be us. See, Ser Morozov sent us to investigate reports of a demon summoner. We found him, slew some of his imps, and my sister Fiona choked him out. We’ve been tasked to bring him back for interrogation; Ser Morozov believes that followers of Raspult may have information on how the Curse came to be.”

Clem, who has seen combat with these bastards, is incensed. “So you brought him here, to a keep full of innocent people? He has an ARSENAL tattooed onto his skin!” Gral, who has not personally fought a Marked, claims he can access memories of those who fought them through the Orcish Allsoul, and that yes, they are absolutely that bad.

“He’s drugged unconscious, it’s one night-”

“If - WHEN - he gets lucky, just once, everyone here could die!”

“Well, we couldn’t let the Penitents get him! If they found him, they’d drag him out in public and whip him until he bleeds to death with their chains!”

We all pause a moment, to contemplate just how Super Absolutely Not Good that scenario would be.

Clem’s still not having it. “So you brought him INSIDE a stronghold filled with civilians? When he gets free, their blood will be on your hands,” she hisses, filled with contempt.

We all agree that even though it’s one night, someone will stand guard. We can’t all fit into the small jail room, so we’ll take shifts. Whoever is on guard will take our magical horn, so they can sound the alarm the second anything happens.

Flynn and Valeria take first watch, and roll just absolutely terrible on all their perception checks. They hear a noise in the other room, and Flynn goes to investigate. Valeria promptly gets clubbed over the head with a blackjack.

Two Penitents have snuck inside and are making a beeline for the now-awake elf in the jail cell. Roll for initiative, everyone, it’s ON.

Clem is woken up by the magic horn and Nat 20′s on initiative out of sheer rage, and everyone else is woken up by Clem’s vehement cussing. The Penitents get some damn good hits in on Flynn and Valeria, but with Clem and Fiona crashing in as extra tanks and Gral and Shoshana sniping spells from behind, neither one makes it into the cell. The bound elf is struggling and making noise, but hasn’t managed to get free or summon anything.

Clem immediately turns on the Fairgolds, punching Flynn in the face and spitting that this is exactly why the Marked should never have been left alive! I told you, and it’s been what, an hour?! Now Clean. Up. Your. MESS.

Fiona signs to her brother that the rest of the Penitent Knights have been sighted outside, waiting for the prisoner. We all know that we can’t let them have him, they’ll release the demons on his skin. Clem argues that we should do now what we should have done two hours ago: kill him immediately.

Clem Valeria, a hint of the Hunt’s corruption in her expression, concurs.

Gral stalks up to the cell, growling at the Marked for his crimes. “Defiler of our ruined lands, we have killed your god and we will kill you too. If you struggle we will kill you faster.” His Words of Terror ability chillingly cows the tattooed elf into submission.

Shoshana quietly asks if this means we’re interrogating the elf, or if we can get on with it already - because, after all, a sorcerer can kill without ever making their target bleed.

Seeing no objection, she uses the rest of her spell slots to repeatedly Chromatic Orb him to death with cold damage. Clem must roll a will save when seeing a humanoid die - albeit super-rapidly - from the elements, but succeeds with a stony glare of contempt toward the cultist.

Once she’s done, she coldly looks back at the rest of the gathered warriors. “See? This,” she says, gesturing to the dead elf, “is why you should just put things like me DOWN, when you have the chance.” She stalks off into the keep.

Clem stares down the Fairgolds and then similarly storms off in a rage, leaving Gral and Valeria to figure out what to do with the bodies. 

Though the tattoos have become inert now that the cultist is dead, the Fairgolds still want to bring the body to Ser Quentin - Speak With Dead can grant the Cursebreakers a limited amount of interrogation, at least. But the Penitents outside aren’t going to leave without proof their quarry is dead. 

Gral sends their leader a Message cantrip: “Inquisitor, you have breached our trust and peace by sending your agents here, but we do not want further conflict. We have the corpse of the fiend you seek.”

They meet the Penitents at the gate and show them the body.  “I apologize for my men, they were…overeager,” says the Inquisitor. Upon seeing the frozen body: “The god’s justice has been done this night. Justice…can be cold. Thank you for seeing it my way. Do you have my men?”

Well, uh, technically, yes? Gral and the fort’s soldiers give them the bodies. The Inquisitor doesn’t even look particularly bothered by his men’s deaths. 

Just as Gral is going back inside the gates, though, he hears something, carried on the mists. A terrible, familiar sound. He immediately dashes inside, calling to Close The Fucking Gates (the guards were already on it, they are barricaded as HECK).

Meanwhile, Valeria tracks down Shoshana, who is curled in a ball in a corner somewhere. She sits down next to her - not quite crowding, but close enough to touch. “That...thing was nothing like you. You know that, right? He chose that, over and over again.”

Shoshana’s not comforted. “Yeah, well, I knew people who wouldn’t have chosen what they did, until the Curse changed ‘em.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“You think those were the first cats I ever adopted?” Shoshana asks. “I’ve had to put them down, when they got so fucked up and aggressive that they were just little monsters. Eventually the Curse wins, every time.”

She leans on Valeria’s shoulder. “It’s gonna happen to me eventually. Just...minimize the damage, you know?”

“It doesn’t have to happen. You can choose differently. You’ve been choosing differently.”“

“If I’m lucky. If I keep getting lucky. And...I just want you to know. When the time comes and you have to do it, I’m not mad or anything.”

Clem finds her way to the courtyard and drinks alone all night. 

On those depressing notes, the morning comes! A troop of Condotierri ride by and declare that the mists have cleared. Captain Claudia shooes everyone out of the roadhouse, thanks for coming, safe travels, BUH-BYE. 

We walk with the Fairgolds and make it to Holzog by mid-morning. The Condotierri at the gates give us the hairy eyeball but don’t stop us, probably because we’re with Flynn and Fiona. We head to the old mining office that the Cursebreakers have taken as their headquarters, while Flynn bounces off to arrange rooms at his uncle’s inn and avoid talking to Ser Quentin.

A sly-looking fellow in a long coat, holding a book with an eye on the front, greets us at the door. This is Contractor Darius, a Cursebreaker Knight using the title of a Celestial Warlock of Torme. He has a white bird familiar who we immediately, in reference to a previous campaign, dub Daikon. Darius leads us inside.

Ser Quentin Morozov is a gaunt elf with silver spectacles and a bandolier of knives across his chest, examining a wall of maps covered in pins and strings. “Ah, Fiona,” he says. “Did your brother learn to cast Hold Person?”

She shakes her head.

“Then you have brought me a corpse instead of a prisoner.” His disdain is palpable, but we explain what happened. It takes him a moment to remember who the hell Shoshana is, despite meeting her only a few days ago - he finds the correct journal entry: mild corruption, unlikely to be a threat. Anyway: he’s happy to hear we’ve rescued Ser Balderich (and entirely unsurprised at the other knight’s foolhardiness, and rather intrigued with the gory tapestry we’ve brought him. He’ll certainly have to interview all of us about the Hunt.

Gral inquires about the Mist, implying that he might know something about it. Here’s what the Cursebreakers have: Darius has studied it. It rises out of the lake and seems to spread, wandering irrespective of wind. Living things caught in it get corrupted, maybe with lingering effects. Monsters and beasts seem to roam within it. It originates within the lake, and the fish in the lake have shown signs of corruption. All travel is forbidden when the mist is out, by order of the Baroness - a wise policy, in Ser Quentin’s opinion.

This is unsatisfying to Gral, who anxiously insists he has to have an audience with the Baroness about the Mist.

Meanwhile, Clem inquires with Ser Quentin whether he is familiar with a group of Kevan soldiers known as the Red Hand - she’s a former member. Indeed, he’s worked with them before. One of the more excellent entourages he’s hired. He assures her that he last saw them unharmed, but with a strange twist. 

He had taken them on an expedition to Mornheim, the territory ruled by Ser Balderich’s family, known for its apple orchards and its extensive necropolis. Before the Curse, Mornheim had been famous in that its lands spawned no undead, so many wealthy and noble families would send their dead to be buried there, unbothered by magic. And then the Curse hit, and that streak broke, and now there’s a LOT of undead there due to the extensive burial grounds. 

When Ser Quentin had taken the Red Hand on an expedition to fight the undead in Mornheim and investigate the catacombs, a member of the party had been separated from the group during an ambush. Ser Quentin would have left the young man for dead, but his comrades insisted on going back for him.

“They returned with their companion the next day, but there was something strange about him. He was very secretive around me. Hid things from me – and you must be very good to be able to hide things from me. Shortly afterward, they announced their intention to leave my service. I did have some of them followed. Some of them left Valdia and headed south to the Crownlands or Keva. Others went different directions throughout the Greatwood. I do not have evidence to say yet, but part of my expedition to Mornheim is to figure out what happened. Rather uncharacteristically unprofessional that they didn’t tell me.”

Ser Quentin gives us a monetary reward for saving Ser Balderich and bringing him the tapestry, and asks us to sign on for his expedition to Mornheim to investigate what caused the undead to rise, and what happened to the Red Hand. Clem is, obviously, interested, but Gral is far more interested in the mists.

Ser Quentin pulls some strings and gets Gral his audience with the Baroness. Gral and Valeria go in - Clem’s not interested, and Shoshana is pretty sure they don’t just let peasants in there. Darius escorts them in, to a small audience room in which the Baroness is working. There are guards and clerks and scribes there, doing their work. The Baroness is a beautiful tiefling woman with royal blue skin, pitch-black eyes, and four horns, one set curling forwards and the others pointing back. She wears a royal purple gown and a simple silver circlet as a symbol of office. 

The Baroness Francesca von Holzogh addresses Gral with a posh Ventallan accent. “Is this another entreaty from your Duke to join his forces?”

It is not. Gral instead brings up the mist, and asks her if she is aware of the theory that the Curse has its own agenda. She affirms that Ser Quentin has shared the theory with her. 

“The Curse has not only its own agenda but its own Champions,” says Gral. “I heard the cry of its Champion last night in the mist. We need to talk.”

-fade to black-

[batterymonster2021]

FOUND REBECCA ZAMOLO in GAME MASTER SECRET HIDEOUT with ESCAPE ROOM CHALLENGE CLUES!!

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/found-rebecca-zamolo-in-game-master-secret-hideout-with-escape-room-challenge-clues/

FOUND REBECCA ZAMOLO in GAME MASTER SECRET HIDEOUT with ESCAPE ROOM CHALLENGE CLUES!!

Is that the house grace yep that’s the apartment oh we’re right here we’re definitely here he shares what is going on on so well final of all you saw that we had been at Legoland in California but what we did not realize is after they gave us these nametag guidelines on the back of those pens used to be really an deal with and the address led us to this house correct here all of the way in for yes all that ninjas spydra which means we’ve got been doing I believe it is making ready us for anything in that condominium and the weird part is rebecca’s omalo is already right here and he or she referred to as us and gave us the previous oh boy I don’t know if it’s her that so Steven can we go inside or what yeah what was the passcode she texted you grace 5 5 four 4 3 3 7 7 no that was not right huh ok hold on let me verify equipped yeah 5 5 7 7 three three four we did last time work now whoa that was once bizarre okay gates open let’s go check this place out yeah seem at this recreation on what game is on best this is not her Rebecca Texas yeah i’m now not certain if it can be her or no longer consider about it recreation on game master whatever’s no longer proper right here i am sort of thinking the game master meta Patrick Becca’s oh appear what don’t anger the birds whoa what’s that who’s that who’s that high-quality I do not know gotta determine expectantly we’re I really hope Rebecca’s inside grace that you simply I do not know what Chuck that is excellent let’s maintain going there’s like fruit within the trees look at this is an orange tree whoa what is that Cher’s remark down beneath if what that is where did that truck there isn’t a hurry come on what is this place grace it can be so weird I don’t know Steve it is form of creepy whoa check this available in the market’s anybody did you see that person yeah the door just closed that’s so weird who’s that can we go in i do not suppose so appear there is like a monopoly individual on high of the condominium whoa no tell me that used to be Rebecca I have no idea who that used to be that certainly looks like someone’s within the house you’re like does not look like a shadow of an individual grace yeah it does looks like they’re gonna like that gazing us and there’s two automobiles within the driveway however the address on this Lego pin said to return right here that is absolutely the condo so the query is is the sport masters condo or is it Rebecca appear there is undoubtedly folks in there there’s two men and women appear at that you just believe that’s real persons or is it like a snake shadow factor no they may be certainly moving they’re absolutely relocating let’s simply go inside of and let’s have a look at what’s going on right here this has received to be our subsequent clue in the coaching session however I do not know what’s going on let’s go in okay that’s no longer gonna door let’s see what is going on on what a mess right here late wash the place’s that I have no idea so bizarre look at this a Jenga dock human bowling what does all this mean marshmallow video games this is some like either Rebecca’s inside to ask us to come back here or that is the game masters coaching facility yeah okay good there is only one method to find out it is just now not going to doing the CFO solutions yeah i assume so here we go three two one no person answered wait code are attempting the code the identical gate code oh uh what was once that 5 seven three four whoa it labored k go whoa what is that this situation hey one right here hi there Rebecca earlier than it can be right thanks Oh Rebecca whoa it’s a piano what is that this location Rebecca what used to be that why is it closed what cats in right here you guys Chad related me and Matt are caught in a room I are not able to get them out it wasn’t open before and the lights simply became on what can we go down there assembly us or something wait possibly we are able to hear Chad hiya can you hear us are you guys walked okay that an extra Rebecca’s had a door opens k certain is Chad wild clay B and Matt are all stuck in that room what is that this room what is that this it’s like a clue get away room does it result in their room the door just closed we’re gonna have to work out open this door to get out it looks like oh my gosh Chad its logs get to you guys yeah possibly if we stole all of the clues we are able to meet by means of this doorway proper right here ok ok good look round booth ok clues Clues Clues how we imagined to point whose little clue welcome to the clue me in break out room k we received to seek out clues somewhere wait seem at it blocks locks locks excellent Rebecca you’ve gotten that lock from the gamemaster earlier than this directional form lock you know the way to use these things yes you must uptown or whatever however there wishes to be a clue directions recommendations arrows what might be arrows there is some rope candlestick a software a secret agent machine thing okay arrows although we need some thing’s with arrows what looks like an arrow what might be an arrow thanks mark arrows you believe that is an arrow Oh an arrow wait look at all the clocks up there wait they’re pointing in distinct recommendations wait it’s a directional lock there may be four o’clock what if we use the late lengthy hand and go up and then the second is down what we are going to are attempting that ok left correct right okay should I are trying it yeah let’s are trying it okay you do it fine you know how to do it grace yeah you don’t forget from the sport master coaching yeah when you’re training me you quit it twice ok push the dancers set it and then it’s purported to be pop up up down down sure laughs right correct oh no grasp on what we’ve got carried out fallacious wait a second share this maybe fascinating but what it is three up two down two left and one correct we reuse the hour hand and the minute arms and put that every one into the combo lock ok so reset it again grace so two clicks one ok and then three up three up one two three two down one to two left one two and one proper please read exceptional print fine whoa what does that imply exceptional print what does that imply my gosh mother there may be whatever on there yeah proper there oh my gosh it is so small I are not able to even read that I are not able to read that both it’s like we need like glasses or something or some thing to love make it better grace did you deliver that magnifying glass I continuously carry around with us no we’re locked in i will be able to get it okay magnifying we’d like like a magnifying glass telescope microscope whatever that might be tremendous it is so tiny look appear look seem look look this character’s looking by means of like Rebecca no appear above Oh try that are attempting that are trying that read it read it what does it say what does it say it says there are lots of clues on this room Riya buck for more just right information wait all correct these books right there yeah many books many books wait there wait they are fake it’s not actual books oh wait wait right here what there’s some thing inside there like drawers there might be clues a quantity oh yeah quantity one quantity one what is that one okay however quantity six six there’s numbers in here we hit save um simply in case probably there is extra books wait your books a notch or two oh correct there what are they cigarettes what do they say they’re fake – there may be nothing okay to any extent further books these are one-of-a-kind these are tremendous then I make two these are all fake books and look it can be similar to the fake book we found within the deserted jail there may be three three three we’ve 4 numbers appear at this B had no idea and then how have you learnt if it’s a code what quantity 4 did for digital thing or books any longer books no extra books four digit code four 4 4 digits grace take into account within the training that we did yeah recall you seem for some form of pattern or numerical order we now have the four-digit code so try striking these numbers in like greatest and smallest or anything ok six 4 three one line are attempting that grace 6 four three 1 6 four three 1 please work no nothing yeah 1 3 4 6 adequate we got to look for some type of pattern chairs recollect the gamemaster could be very problematic however he constantly has some style of fashioned theme so we’re considering some type of sample or numerical order can work simply best 1 3 4 6 nice share the love song from the swag store wait what certain is how’s it going to swag that is quite weird I have no idea sure good day s very wellsock is a four-letter word wait that first clue used to be for recommendations up down left and correct that walk was a 4 number letter words we’d like a 4 letter word do you consider it can be delicate let’s do it Oh c.Ok what might be inside I have no idea what adequate flying glass has replaced the mini telescope one more magnifying glass oh yeah – no feel why would there be a magnifying glass I have no notion everybody we needed this to seem at that first clue why would we need an additional magnifying glass something else that is rather small that we must see wait see keep in mind once I was treating you in the recreation grasp Detective assignment yeah what about it and the first skill I taught you with the magnifying glass yeah it was once to search high search low search a long way search close and that the sport master used to be continually one step forward one step ahead similar to you stated in that final vlog wait however what does that imply one step forward grace believe about it appear and it says something it says tick tick tock knock knock use this on the door to unlock what so let’s use this on the door to free up it okay yeah a fan oh we without doubt want some form of card to unlock this factor up hard although it is a piece of paper wait so so the game master likes to play games with us what what if that is a clue from them what if they’ve some thing for us like something to swipe same as the cameras death shares cult as a substitute now we have the clue tick so he can see he can use it to unlock anything white over right here maybe we are able to like put it below the door or anything daddy do you could have something anything definite do you know if China beat Matt have some thing for us