#another first attempt!! working with clay for the first time in almost 10 years . i also sculpted these before i tried to make gandalf big

[cockworkangels]

little hobbitses magnets made out of air dry clay :)

[traincat]

I’ve been trying to piece together a few things from your Twitter and Tumblr posts alike and still can’t make heads or tales of things, so would you mind helping out a FF & spideytorch noob? 1) what is currently happening with Johnny in the comics? (I’ve fallen head over heels for this guy, largely all your doing) 2) when’s the last time he and Peter have interacted, canon wise? (And do you think upcoming interactions are likely?) 3) your thoughts on if they’ll have him come out in the near future? (has that ‘biggest change to the fantastic four’ teaser come to pass yet?) Love all your content, thank you!

I'd say no problem but then I started thinking about this current run again and got a headache. But yes, I can do that to save you from reading it, because it is very largely not good.

So I don't think it's unfair to just flat out say the current Fantastic Four run is not very good, largely due to writer Dan Slott's efforts. Slott was previously on Amazing Spider-Man for 10 years, to mixed opinions, but a large portion of Spider-Man fandom, myself included, blames him near singlehandedly for the decline in quality of Spider-Man books over those ten years. I will say, in the interest of fairness, that Slott as a writer has an incredible fondness for the Spider-Man/Human Torch relationship, and that a lot of the recent teamups and interactions between them have been written or co-written by him. So it's all not all negative here. But in general, I personally find Slott's more recent comics (the last seven-ish years especially) to be badly plotted out, messily characterized disasters that feature characters written with all the emotion of a cardboard cutout. That's me putting it nicely.

To explain this fully, you have to understand the position Fantastic Four comics were in from the years 2015 through 2018, both in the fictional 616 universe and in the real publishing world. Following the 2015 Secret Wars event (great if you want some Johnny angst in the background of your plot), the Fantastic Four were disbanded -- Reed, Sue, and their many biological and found family children were presumed dead but in reality were remaking the multiverse, unable, for a reason that was never clearly defined, to reach home. Ben and Johnny were left on Earth. They had an unspecified falling out, likely due to Reed and Sue's absence, and went their separate ways -- Ben joined the Guardians of the Galaxy and went to space. Johnny was featured on both Inhumans and Avengers books. What's notable about this period is that it's the first time since 1961 that there was no Fantastic Four book being published by Marvel. Now the real world reason behind this is both complicated and extremely petty: Marvel really wanted the Fantastic Four film rights. Marvel denied this explanation at the time, stating that the reason was sales motivated, but it was a thoroughly flimsy excuse and Jonathan Hickman, writer of 2015's Secret Wars and overseer of the current X-Men plot, gave an interview saying the decision was film rights motivated. This decision kept the Fantastic Four books off the shelves for three years, up until the Disney-Fox merger, which secured the X-Men and Fantastic Four rights for Disney's Marvel Studios. Marvel then announced that the Fantastic Four book would be returning. So that's a little bit of background as to the precarious place the Fantastic Four currently occupy in the Marvel universe -- it's worth noting that this year is their 60th anniversary, and Marvel has done very little for it. Compare this to the X-Men, whose film rights Marvel also obtained during the Disney-Fox merger, and whose books are currently dominating the publishing lineup. The Fantastic Four definitely occupy an unpopular position, one Marvel themselves is at least partially responsible for forcing them into.

But to move back into the actual content of the book -- the readjustment period Slott wrote reintroducing the Fantastic Four into the Marvel universe can be described as clumsy, at best. It's never fully explained why Reed, Sue, and the kids couldn't return to Earth, something that was explored in Chip Zdarsky's 2017 Marvel Two-in-One, which featured Ben, Johnny, and Doom on a multiversal roadtrip to try and find their family and which I on the whole recommend, despite it having an awkward ending due to being cut short by Slott's announced Fantastic Four main title.

(Marvel Two-in-One 2017 #4)

Instead, the Fantastic Four return to a Marvel universe a little different than how they left it, with the Baxter Building -- formerly the offices of Parker Industries, the company Doc Ock started in Peter's body during Superior Spider-Man that Peter inherited after his defeat and then lost spectacularly when he trashed his own company to fight nazis (good for him) -- occupied by a different fantastic foursome in a plot that goes nowhere and does nothing. This is somewhat emblematic of the early days of Slott's run -- he introduces ideas that fail to go anywhere, including Johnny's rekindled relationship with his other best friend and former college roommate, Wyatt Wingfoot, who he was seen being very cuddly with in the early issues.

(FF 2018 #1) A small group of Fantastic Four fans have argued for a while that if Marvel was to have Johnny come out, a relationship with Wyatt would feel very natural -- they're already close, with Wyatt being an important Fantastic Four supporting character since the '60s. I have some further analysis here on the conspiracy theory that Johnny and Wyatt were supposed to be in relationship at the beginning of this run but that that plot was, for whatever reason, nixed. I don't know that I entirely believe this theory, for the record -- but I do think the pieces line up remarkably well.

Anyway, that didn't/hasn't yet happened, obviously. Slott instead for the most part put Johnny on the back burner for the beginning of his run, up until the Spyre arc, which I have reason to believe is the main story he pitched that he credits with securing him the Fantastic Four title. The Spyre arc suggests that the Fantastic Four's failed space exploration during which they got their powers wasn't just to beat the commies to the moon, as Lee and Kirby envisioned (simpler days), but to reach a specific planet outside of our galaxy. When the team sets out to conquer this mission, they arrive at the planet, but are quickly captured. The planet, they find out, operates like a soulmate AU -- everyone has a fated person that they are matched to via a gold armband. Reed and Sue are soulmates (and Ben is confined to an underground subterranean with the other monsters, because this is a Fantastic Four comic) while it's discovered! Shocker! That Johnny is actually the soulmate of the one the planet's inhabitants, a winged woman named Sky, with the suggestion that this is both why Johnny's previous relationships have never worked and why he loves space exploration -- he was just trying to get to his Soulmate TM.

(FF 2018 #15) "What's going on here? Where are my clothes?" As you can see, this didn't start off super great, with Johnny being separated from his family, stripped naked, and put in Sky's bed with a soulmate armband slapped on him. Did I mention they're only removable if your soulmate takes it off for you? And that Sky has consistently refused despite Johnny asking her to? Yeah. It's bad. (I think it's important to note Johnny's long history as a victim of assault plays into this narrative, whether or not Slott is personally holding that in mind while writing, which I don't believe he is. cw in the linked post for discussions of sexual assault.) There's an additional issue here in that Slott has a history of problematic writing regarding women of color, featuring characters he's created to act as love interests being oversexualized, infantilized, villainized, or some mix of all three, with two examples of this phenomena being Cindy Moon and Lian Tang, both of whom he introduced in quick succession in Amazing Spider-Man. Slott certainly didn't have to write Sky as manipulative or controlling towards Johnny, but that's what he chose to do, and that factors into the bigger picture of unfortunate themes in his writing.

Sky returns to Earth with the Fantastic Four despite Johnny appearing unenthused about the idea and initially generally reluctant to interact with her. Apparently they went on a few dates after this and kind of made up. I don't know because I stopped reading for about ten issues in there but I feel confident I missed very little. It's hard to talk about the Sky plot without referencing Johnny's previous interactions with a character named Lyja, a Skrull whose relationship to Johnny I have a long breakdown of here. It's doubly hard, because Lyja actually showed back up in Fantastic Four during this plot. Lyja's modus operandi has remained consistent throughout almost all of her appearances, which I guess makes sense, because she literally has no storylines that do not involve her being obsessed with Johnny, and this recent story isn't any different: Lyja shows up, Lyja disguises herself as another woman in Johnny's life to get close to Johnny, Lyja gets caught and claims it was all fine because she did it for love. This time she disguised herself as Sky.

(FF 2018 #32) Not gonna lie, kind of proud of him for this one. That's one of my problems with Slott -- very occasionally, he busts out good moments, only to undermine them with the rest of his narrative.

In the same issue, Alicia Masters, the first woman Lyja impersonated in order to get close to Johnny, uses her supervillain stepfather's radioactive clay to control Lyja's mind and send her back to space, and I do think she utilized girl power when she did this. Johnny, left reeling after Lyja's latest attempts to trick him into a relationship, ends this issue by sleeping with Victorious, Dr. Doom's right hand woman.

I know she pegged him. I know it. This scene was a little controversial in Johnny fandom, because a lot of people viewed it as Johnny cheating on Sky and thought that that action was out of character for Johnny. I'm personally of a little different opinion, which is that regardless of whether or not you view Johnny and Sky in a committed enough relationship that Johnny's tryst would count as infidelity when all Johnny and Sky are bound by are magic plot soulmate bracelets, I think Lyja's involvement changes things significantly when it comes to Johnny's characterization. All of Johnny's "playboy" periods, if we can call them that, coincide directly with Lyja having been in and then left his life again, which I think makes a certain amount of sense -- it's Johnny trying to wrest control back after a situation where he had none. None of this is explicitly canon, I have to note, but sometimes in comics you have to do the work yourself. So I think this is a case of something being accidentally extremely in character that Slott accidentally stumbled into because he had these love triangles in mind, not because he put a lot of thought into it.

Speaking of love triangles! Johnny sleeping with Victorious gets more complicated when Dr. Doom announces his intent to marry Victorious -- not because he has any romantic interest in her (this engagement caused a lot of uproar in Fantastic Four because Victorious had been previously referred to as being like Doom's adopted daughter) but in order to install her as Latverian regent in his absence. I'm not going to lie, I love a political wedding. Victorious, for some reason, thinks Doom will be deeply upset that she slept with some closeted blond twink and the member of the Fantastic Four he views least as an enemy and more as an annoyance. Johnny, who Sky is currently not talking to because she "felt" him sleeping with Victorious through their magic plot soulmate bracelets, also feels nervous about Doom finding out about this, which I guess is slightly more valid. Anyway, for some completely ridiculous reason, Victorious decides the best time to tell Doom about this little indiscretion is when they're standing at the altar, which coincidentally the Fantastic Four are also standing at, because Doom asked Reed to be his best man in a not at all homoerotic little setup involving midnight swordfighting and Reed slipping Doom's emerald ring onto his own finger. Sorry to sidetrack into DoomReed territory here but it's just like. It's just a lot.

(FF 2018 #33) Also, Ben walked the bride down the aisle. :,) Look at his gigantic hand.

Anyway then Doom decides he's going to kill everyone in a completely reasonable and not at all overblown reaction to Johnny and Zora having what was most likely both disappointing for Zora and weepy for Johnny sex. And that brings us up to where Fantastic Four comics left us yesterday -- in answer to your "big change" question, that's most likely coming up in the next issue, so it hasn't come to pass yet.

Having gotten all that out of the way -- the last time Johnny and Peter interacted canon-wise was in the recent Empyre Fallout Fantastic Four, at the end of the Empyre event:

It was cute! Slott does right good interactions between them. This is possibly the Stockholm Syndrome talking. I don't know if more interactions are likely imminent -- the Empyre event was fairly recent. On the other hand, Slott does like writing interactions between them. So I'd give it about a 50/50 shot. I was skimming the letter page in the latest issue and someone wrote in asking if Peter was likely to appear in the pages of Fantastic Four again any time soon, so there is definitely a demand.

As for Johnny coming out -- I don't know. It's not a call I feel comfortable making at this moment, which I guess means I wouldn't bet money on it. I'd like to say yes, especially because I think Slott set up, whether that was his intention or more likely not, several good places in his run where Johnny could have come out. The beginning, when he's implied to be living with Wyatt again and where he and Wyatt are paralleled against Ben and Alicia. Ben's bachelor party, where Johnny laments not finding the right person -- specifically person and not woman -- and where Ben tells him to "be brave, Johnny Storm." And the soulmate planet plot, where I think could have had a very different and much better ending if Johnny had told Sky that she couldn't be his romantic soulmate, because he knows he wants to be with a man. But those are just places that I think would have made good opportunities for a coming out story. Instead, Johnny's been involved (dubiously) with three different women over the space of the last 10 issues, which is more heterosexuality at one time than he's been confronted with in the last 60 years. So my thoughts are still that it's going to happen eventually, but quite possibly not anytime soon.

Hope that helps! And that my incredibly long answer about what's currently going on with Johnny in comics sheds some light on things!

[kylosgenesis]

Teardrops on Fire

Synopsis:

Steve Rogers is the last Alpha of the an almost extinct Lycan pack. With only less than 100 members left. Steve must produce an heir to ensure the species survival and reduce the chance of attacks from others. Omegas are rare, and betas have a hard time producing children. Steves reality is finally setting in as his obligation of producing an heir faces a major set back.

Reader is the last suitable omega to mate with Steve, due to the fear of her daughters fate in the pack, her mother kept her hidden from the pack after her own exile. Only her mother, and Bucky's family know of her existence. Bucky is Steve's right hand man, and the packs best warrior! He and the reader developed a friendship and bond over the years, but age forced them to become distant.

What happens when she presents and her first heat cycle comes? Her body is in excruciating pain and a strong fever quickly overcomes her body. Facing the fear of her daughters possible death, her mom calls on the only person who can save her at this point, Alpha Steve! Bucky and the alphas friendship will be tested. The reader will be faced with her love for Bucky or her duty to the pack.

Warnings: Mentions of death , A/B/O dynamics

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/gennyzoe/playlist/7xFIhRFa8o2Ae4QJpD1Hp9?si=gWsZ__YOQdKCS81X21jZqw

Chapter 4: I found

Hours had gone by! Bucky was caught of guard with the smell of fire. Faint...but distinct enough he knew it wasn’t his imagination. The chilled air dragged a whiff of the combined scents of fog, smoke, and very faintly in the background... HER!

She was close! He could feel it! This wasn’t new territory to him, but he wondered how she’d ended up hours from her home. He followed the wind, blowing ashes by his face. Leaving a trail, that called to him as if nature was guiding him to her. All the odds were against her tonight, but the forest smelled safe! It was like it protect her from the evil of the elements.

After a couple of minutes on the trail, it hit him! The smell blew the air out of his lungs, he approached the small faded fire with caution. Not wanting to scare her off. As he got closer he noticed her small frame. She was attempting to stand up, but doing so knocked her directly into the fading red embers of where a fire used to be.

The world disappeared for him at that moment! It was her! Just him and her!

And she smelled delicious! Everything is his being screaming to make her his in this very spot, and vanish with her. Nobody to find them! As long as she was there, there was nothing he’d want in this life or another! She was the trophy and the torture, that cursed through him. To love, but never poses. How could he even be thinking of love right now? He hadn’t even looked into her eyes yet.

What if she hated him?

What if she didn’t recognize him?

How was he gonna explain what’s going on to her? She has to know what her body wants right now, what it’s craving for her to do! And how much he wishes to not crave her in the same way.

He bolted to her with all his might, and caught her calling frame. As her eyes slowly faded into unconsciousness, peace resonated in her eyes. He’d dreamed of those eyes for years! And as her body went limp on his arms all he could do was hold her close and pray for the strength to keep her alive and safe... from himself!

She opened her eyes as they adjusted to the moonlight above her. Her body was covered in a warm flannel, she didn’t recognize the source of it.She remembered the eyes she saw before losing consciousness.

Had it all been a dream?

She felt like her limbs were on fire! They responded to every bit of stimulation the flannel was rubbing upon her body. She realized it wasn’t the flannel that was causing her body to jolt up at the feeling of touch; It was that it smelled like an alpha. Her body was trying to absorb as much of him as it could! She was unconsciously reacting to him and granting him access to her.

Hearing a branch break from behind the forest bush, she sprung up as quickly as her body allowed her to react and grabbed a beach from her side.

“Who’s there?” She was in full alarm, she also noticed the fire she had started had been reignited, and was fully blazing and strong!

“What do you want from me? And for the love of... “

She noticed that the reason she had the flannel on was for her own modesty, because underneath the flannel she was as naked as she was brought into the world.

“ Why am I naked? ”

Bucky noticed her panic as he approached the camp again. He’d gone out to get some more firewood and clay to dress her wounds. He wasn't expecting for her to be so recovered.

“I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean to startle you! I'm here to help.”

He put his arms up, to show her he wasn’t a threat, dropping the contest of his arms to the ground! “I was just getting us some more fire, and you need something for your wound... it doesn’t look good!” he fixed his hair back with one of his free hands, a nervous habit he had kept since childhood.

She furrowed her brow, and took a swing of the branch startling him and forcing him to step back. ” I bet you would you know what wound need tending to?” She replied with a cocky attitude! She imagined he would’ve had to look at her body while he took her clothes off, but the realization that her body was not in display contrition made her blush for a moment.

Ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks, and the small pit of embarrassment in the pit of her stomach. She put on a brave face! As he got closer her body reacted to his presence.

He was tall! Always had been, but despite the fact she’s grown since he last saw her, he still sported a good foot above her. She lowered her stance and let go of her makeshift weapon.

Taking a step back, she tripped, and stumbled back. Bucky tried catching her, but before he could he lost his own footing and tackled her body to the ground.

There she was!

Looking like a goddess underneath him, in a flannel, with her little confused doe eyes! She didn’t even try to fight him off. They just stared at each other's eyes, for a small eternity that what theirs to have.

They could both see their changing features, the fire’s light shone on Bucky to reveal his dark black hair. There were messy strays surrounding his face, but the rest was neatly tucked behind his ears. Stubble framed his face, and his jaw was the jaw of a man. It was also an awkward time to notice how much muscle he’d gained in the last 10 years. His body was solid on top of her, even through his shirt, his body told his story! He was a man of work! His body was that of a man who did hard labor, a man who was outside for long periods of time. Which was something she could tell as she noticed the tan in his upper neck had begun fading as the weather grew colder.

His muscles responded to her stare in ways she couldn’t pinpoint!

He on the other hand noticed her delicate face, the way she had grown into her childhood innocence and beauty. Her frame was so small and breakable compared to him. He for a moment thought he could easily crush her, and tried to ease his weight to make it lighter on her.

Her hair was gorgeously long! It surrounded her like a halo, fit for her like an angel. And her eyes where large and expressive. He could’ve read those eyes a million ways years ago, but now! He couldn’t help but wonder what they were trying to say.

He couldn’t stop himself as the word slipped from his lips.

“Doll!”

He placed his knee between her legs and pushed on the palm of his hands in an effort to lift his body weight off of her.

“Don’t call me that! Haven’t heard that in a long time”... she wiggled under his body and pushed him off her “ that name used to be special to me”

She tried to stand up, but a dizzy spell forced her to remain seated on the ground. Looking at his hurt expression a few more seconds that she wanted to.

“ I really missed you!” Her eyes filled with tears that threatened to roll down her cheek as she tried to stare forward, but he would still read her pained face. “ When you caught me. I thought I was dying! ..and you weren't real”

“ Im sorry! Im so sorry! I shouldn’t have left you just like that!”

He sat down next to her frame, he noticed how her body was shivering, even close to the fire. Her smell was spiking up. He knew that once morning came he’d have to rush her to Steve as soon as possible! But for now, he just wanted to enjoy her! Just enjoy her own smell one last time.

“I never stopped thinking about you!” He lowered his face to the palms of his hands. It was there when she noticed. One of his hands wasn't quite his. It was a lusterly metal, but it still radiated his energy, and warmth.

“I'm sorry too! I shouldn't have interrupted whatever it is you guys do in the village...” she was guarded! Her body tensed up as she talked, a knife in her words ” a lowlife like me getting lost... that’s what it took for you to care again” the tears began to fall, a combination of her hormones, and now shock!

Her body was changing and she couldn’t do anything about it, and now the ghost of her former best friend was back. She didn’t know how to process. She was stronger than this! Why was her body dissolving her to her nature?

Bucky wanted to embrace her! To say so many things, but nothing felt like enough to him.

“Listen now it’s not the time for... ” as he stood up he heard her let out a pain filled grunt. Her hand reached out to grab his thigh, as she doubled over to the ground in pain.

He quickly reacted to her pain, and kneeled down next to where she now laid doubled over on the cold moist ground.

“No, no ,no , no listen to me doll... you have to pull through!” He positioned his body as comfortably as he could for her “ I can’t help you... I’m not supposed to...”

He’d made a mistake! He’d coated her in his smell from the moment he held her in his arms. Her body was screaming for an alpha and it was only going to get worse till an alpha helps her body respond to it’s needs.

From the little life she had a few minutes ago, this little omega at his feet was shaking, and frail!

“I’m sorry, doll…” he looked around in distress “please just stay with me! We have to make it till morning! Please just look at me...tell me you’re alright! “ he cradled her small body and held her close to him.

As a strong wave of her scent hit his nostrils, and a small seizure overcame her body.

Bucky knew what he had to do!

But he wanted to make sure he had well enough exhausted all of his options. It would be selfish of him not to admit he wanted to help her.

“ Bucky... am I gonna die? ” she looked up at him with pained eyes, she was suffering! He used his shirt to wipe down the trails of blood exiting her nose. He wanted to help her so badly! She was nuzzled up against his body, shivering and looking more lifeless by the moment.

Her body was rejecting her omega change!

Bucky knew the fever wasn’t a good sign! But with the seizures that were now overtaking her body every few minutes, it was confirmed to him that she was moments away from collapsing upon herself. An alpha made an omega stronger! It was in their nature!

She needed an alpha !

As he held her in the heart of the forest, illuminated by the light of the moonlight, he could see the teardrops of red leave her eyes. Tears the color of fire!

And when the moon was above then at its brightest, Bucky looked up at the sky, and then down at her “Im sorry doll! I'm about to let you down one more time... I hope you can forgive me one day” as he exposed her neck to him, her untouched mating gland on full display to him.He carefully extracted his canines, and like a soft kiss, he bit her!

He knew Steve wasn’t going to be happy, and quite frankly he was even more scared of her finding out he’d taken away her choice!

Tag list: @austynparksandpizza @nerdgirljen @exposition-belongs-somewhere @connie326 @patzammit @blessedwedgie

[mylittlegemlins]

Hello tumblr, during my childhood I was really obsessed with smurfs and since I found out that they released a reboot, which unfortunately I haven´t yet been able to see, I think I had some inspiration and ended up writing this.

I don't usually post this kind of blog about series unless I'm too immersed in it because I feel like it's too childish but to hell, blogging about-analyzing series for kids is my entertainment method and if I can't post about my likes on Tumblr I don't know why have an account.

So I present:

How to catch the Smurfs

This is the definitive tutorial on everything Gargamel ever did to catch the little blue critters.

It is based mainly on the animated series from the 80s and the 3 films that were produced between 2011-2017, I watched several episodes again to write this, but I still hope I don't forget some important information.

Following these steps:

1. Why catch the Smurfs?

During the comics, the series and the recent movies there were many reasons why Gargamel and other humans wanted to capture the Smurfs that change over time, among its main uses we have:

- They are ingredients for exotic dishes.

-Turn them into gold

- Ingredient for the Philosopher's Stone

- Use its essence to obtain magic

- Their tears serve as an ingredient for spells

-Their skin serves as a treatment to cure diseases

2. Points to consider:

This is a set of rules that fall between the lines when using a Smurf for any of the recipes mentioned above.

2.1 How many are needed:

In some episodes Gargamel was about to cook a single Smurf, so 1 is enough to eat them.

To turn them into gold you need at least half a kilo, about 6 smurfs.

2.2. They don't need to be alive

I didn't remenber any place where it said that Smurfs must be alive to use them in recipes.

2.3. Smurfette doesn't always count

She has to be a real smurf or else it won't work, during her first appearance before the papa smurf spell and the episode "smurfette unmade" where she reverts to her original form she is not a real smurf, so it wouldn't work unless that is in its blonde form.

2.4. Fake Smurfs:

The reason Gargamel can't just create another Smurf and use it in his recipes is because his creations are blue clay with a conscience, to turn them into real Smurfs you need the “true blue”spell

2.5. Artificial Smurfs:

Smurfette, Sassete, Kactus, Vicky and any other Smurf they come up with in the future, count as real Smurfs only after their transformation.

To clarify the points, these are the steps:

3.Locate them

The Smurfs are in a village protected by a magical force that makes it invisible or unreachable, it is only possible to find the village if a Smurf guides you to it, even after finding the exact location it will have disappeared if you try to return, so the best It is marks the surroundings of the village and look for them in the places that the Smurfs frequent.

It is possible to capture them when they leave the village, force them to guide you, enter the village using teleportation spells or hoaxes.

4.Traps

Catching smurfs is relatively easy, you can chase them with butterfly nets, catch them with your bare hands, using a cat or any other hunting animal, now that I think about it a hound would be very useful to track their scent.

Using some classic traps to hunt animals also works with Smurfs, traps with cages or hidden holes in the ground, or camouflage in a bush until a Smurf is close enough to catch it, you can't use traps like an obvious cage with food in it, they are too smart to fall for that.

It is more effective if they are placed in strategic places such as a field of smurfberries which is outside the village.

Small female creatures are also used as decoys, such as female smurfs, little mermaids and lymph to make a smurf fall in love and thus leave the village to a point where they can be captured.

5.Which Smurfs to capture

Personally I think there are Smurfs that are easier to catch, although Gargamel could not have a list of all with so many times that they have passed by his house, he should already recognize one or another Smurf and I remember that there is a episode where he knows some of his names.

The main cast, Smurfette, Hefty, Brainy, Clumsy, Greedy, Grouchy, Jokey and Handy as far as i can remember, they´re the ones that have been captured the most times and also the ones that have escaped the most, since they're easy to capture, it would be convenient to take advantage of this, but since they know how to get out, they should change the cages with them, put the cages in another place, move the objects that previously used to get out, and above all not to fall the same tricks again.

Papa smurf has been captured many times, he is the one who most leaves the village and if in one of his trips they capture him, maybe the others would not notice his absence, it is something difficult because he already knows how to escape and he can use spells against you, but if you manage to kill him the others would be lost without their leader, and with the disaster they would be easier to capture.

Lazy smurf takes naps during his work outside the village so it's a good chance to catch him, hopefully he might still be asleep while preparing the recipe and he won't try to escape.

According to his debut episode sickly smurf was never able to escape from Gargamel and Azrael; it is so easy that he catches him with his bare hands in 20 seconds.

Baby Smurf is more vulnerable for obvious reasons, the negative side is that there is always a Smurf looking after him, but if they manage to separate the baby it would be easy to cook , considering the life expectancy of the Smurfs is more than 500 years, it may remain a baby for the next 10 years so there is time to execute your plan.

Nat, Snapy, Sassete and Slouchy, the 4 children Smurfs that appear in season 5 are in almost the same circumstances as Baby Smurf.

In Wild Smurf's first appearance he kicked Gargamel in the face and easily made Azrael afraid of him so it might not be a good idea to mess with him.

I guess Smurfs like scaredy would never leave the village unless they forced it so the only times he gets caught is when they capture all 100 together.

6.Don't let them escape

In many occasions the Smurfs escape when they have already been captured by Gargamel, either from his hands, cages and in their closest attempts they escape from the pot.

These are the points to keep in mind:

6.1 Capture only one

If you capture a single Smurf than two or more as it will take a while for them to realize that one is missing and they will not come to their rescue, the more they are, the more likely they will find a plan to escape, so keep them in mind. separate cages.

6.2 The others will come

Once Gargamel has one or more Smurfs, it is 100% certain that the others will come to rescue him at his house, so it would be convenient to go to another place away from the forest where he can cook the Smurfs without others being able to find them. Gargamel has a basement with a secret door, he was able to hide there and pretend he didn't have them until the rescuers leave.

6.3 catch rescuers

Knowing that more Smurfs could come, you could use it to your advantage by placing traps on the doors and windows, or on the contrary, closing everything so that it is impossible to enter without having a key.

6.4 They will leave him for dead

In the episode "the tear of a Smurf ", it seems that if they don't find a missing Smurf it only takes a week for them to surrender and prepare for his funeral. You can hide the smurfs with their mouths tied up in a drawer and pretend you don't know what they are talking about until they give up, then it will be time to execute the recipes. If Gargamel had enough brain cells to keep the secret, he could eat the Smurfs and the rest would think they were eaten by birds or something and would not take revenge.

6.5. Do not look any further

If you already have 99 it is enough, even if you have only one, it is not worth risking it to find one more, it is a trap.

6.6. Don't open jokey surprises.

The characters always forget that gift.

6.7. Don't listen to them

On several occasions they try to make conversation to buy time, they trick him into thinking that he will bring more Smurfs or that he cannot eat him, everything is a trap.

6.8. Just kill them

He never did that but it's a very obvious choice, I don't remember somewhere saying that smurfs have to be alive for recipes, Gargamel has repeatedly expressed his desire to destroy them. Wouldn't it be easier to kill them before throwing them into the pot? if you can't, they don't even have to be dead, just unconscious or asleep. Gargamel has drops of lava in his lab for some reason, how come he doesn't have substances to knock them unconscious? In case he have many captured you could use classic techniques such as placing the cage in a tub of water until they drown, even stepping on them would be enough since they are very small.

6.9. Papa Smurf's books

If Gargamel tries to kill them with an epidemic, papa will have the cure, if he casts a spell, papa has the antidote, since he has been in the village on several occasions, he should take the opportunity to steal or destroy their books, he could look for the true blue spell and perhaps find another useful spell.

7.Enjoy your smurf soup

If that's all i came up with, you can already eat or become a millionaire at the cost of a smurf's life, hopefully you'll have to face a horrible revenge from papa smurf, but i'm not responsible for that.

8.Other methods to get smurfs:

This is a set of theories for alternative ways to get smurfs without capturing one from the village.

8.1. create smurfs:

In the second live action movie gargamel gets the formula for the true blue spell, so from here technically he could create smurfs, then transform them into real smurfs and do whatever he wants with them, during the series he had to look for the formula instead to look for smurfs.

8.2. Clone Smurfs:

In the episode "the hundredth smurf" Vanity creates a clone of himself that eventually integrates into the village, it is a genetically exact clone so there is no doubt that it is a real smurf. He just needs to place a mirror in front of a smurf and get it struck by lightning, Gargamel could capture a smurf and make clones that will work, he wouldn't even have to keep the original and he would have an infinite smurf machine.

8.3. Kidnap Baby Smurfs:

During the blue moon it is possible that a zork came to the village bringing a baby smurf, it can take up to 200 years without bringing one but if you are alive when that happens, you can try to hunt the zork and capture the defenseless baby.

8.4. Repeat the fake smurf technique:

If it is possible to create fake Smurfs like Smurfette, it might work on a second try, Smurfs are not very cautious around strangers, once Smurfette arrives in the village no one wonders where she came from or why she was in the forest, but rather Immediately they offer him a house, Gargamel could create a smurf and this time instruct him to lead all the smurfs in the village into a trap and make sure he does not turn good, he can also turn himself into a life-size smurf costume, Nobody will notice that there is an extra Smurf and he can repeat the same trap,third time’s a charm

9.Conclusion:

Surely there are many other methods to catch Smurfs but I can't see the whole series again even if I wanted to, because it is a series for children Gargamel never learns from his mistakes I think that catching Smurfs is not that exaggeratedly difficult, especially for someone who has access to magic may be as difficult as capturing a talking rabbit, Gargamel is just stupid.

The end.

[bxllafanficc]

¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(part one)

part two part three part four part five. Find the rest on; Masterlist

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Yuri's POV*

"Remind me once again why we're going to Japan? It's clear you'd never take us there just because you miss Victor and I know by experience that it's not because of his apprentice."

First class flight like usual. The view out the airplane window of the sparkling city at nighttime below them would stun anybody but at this point, Yuri has traveled so many times it's only become regular sights and the lights of the streets are only plain colored spots in a dark void to him these days. One thing he will never feel comfortable with though is staying in the same seat for hours on end until the airplane arrives at its destination. His legs are itching from wanting to move around. He'll just have to jog it off back on the ground like every other trip in the past.

"You'll be spending some time with Yuuri Katsuki and Victor the following weeks to gain your fighting spirit back. You need to get back in touch with your emotions, remember?" Yakov slightly turned his posture towards the Russian skater beside him, folding his newspaper in half and putting it in his lap.

He only nodded with a slight hum. He could see Yakov's reasoning, some parts of it at least. He HAD been lacking in emotional performance ever since the new year began and it was time to get back into the mindset of winning yet another Grand Prix gold medal like last year. No, not last year. Last year's competition was cancelled after a minor pandemic spread through Russia and the nearby regions. In fear of the virus spreading, all competitions cancelled and larger crowded areas were forbidden to take place. Therefore Yuri's only been able to practice by himself and keeping himself fit for a possible competition next year. But a year of doing nothing can really change your spirit and afraid to admitting it to his coach, he's been missing several opportunities to hit the rink and stayed home watching anime or scrolled through social media instead.

But one thing he doesn't get is how Victor and Yuuri are gonna make him get his mindset in the right track again. He already won his first gold medal at his senior debut and he doubt that the Japanese skater will be in any better condition than Yuri's currently in right now. Pig-man must've been in a much worse state considering his boo Victor had to stay in Russia during the pandemic, unable to keep an eye on Yuuri's routines.

"Besides, there's a little surprise waiting for you where you'll be staying with the two of them. It better work out fine or else I'm out of ideas."

That caught his attention to say the least.

"Well if it's supposed to save me from the deep end then why be so secretive and hushy with it? Spill the news, Yakov."

The old man only grunted and picked up his newspaper once again and hid his face behind it. Well now he really wanted to know what it was. Clearly he would have to make some effort. Soon the article about a Russian charity event taking place this weekend got replaced with a clenched fist going straight through the back of the paper. Yuri expected some kind of reaction but Yakov only sighed and leaned back in his seat without even a flinch.

"It's no surprise if I tell you. I promised Victor to keep it a secret."

"Tell me."

"No."

Yuri groaned and folded his arms with a sour glare. The display in the ceiling told the traveler's that it was 10 minutes until landing so he gave up his attempts and let his eyes rest for a while. At least he would find out tomorrow, he assumed. It was 2am and he would be staying at a hotel close to the airport since it was too late to make rest of the trip in one day.

Yuri was out with the speed of a lightning bolt the second the plane doors opened. He sped past everyone before him and he didn't stop when he finally got outside. His feet carried him to run circles around the plane meanwhile he was waiting for Yakov to get out the normal way. It's a silly habit of his and he knows he looks stupid doing it but his coach has given him strict orders to not run away at one random direction like used to do at first. It would take like half an hour for him to be found once he took off, but only if he got lost.

"Yuri! Get over here!"

Well, there's his cue to get ready and head to the hotel. Finally he's able to get some sleep before he's forced to wake up early at dawn to head to Hot Springs and meet the two most annoying people in Japan.

...

He didn't even have time to eat breakfast. He overslept and got rushed to the cab with an angry Yakov behind him, newspaper folded tightly in his fist. The trip through the beautiful Japan would've been pleasant if Yuri hadn't dozed off every 10 seconds. He didn't get much sleep after all. He spent at least three hours thinking about the special surprise and raiding the free mini bar before he finally got to rest. At 8am he was woken up with banging on the door and now, at 10am, he was standing at the entrance of Hot Springs waiting for Yuuri's mom to announce their arrival. She hurried away somewhere with her usual bubbly happy self that Yuri had no idea how a person could be so... not moody all day long.

The place was as crowded with customers as last time and the two Russians were told to step inside to the more private parts of the building where the family lived along with Victor at the moment.

"Victor! How come my brand new lotion is used? You smelled a suspicious amount of peaches and wild berries at breakfast and there's no point denying it!" A fairly soft and modulated voice was heard from somewhere to the left where the private shower stalls were located. A couple seconds later a giggly Victor and Yuuri came through the direction of the living room and greeted Yuri with happy cheers. The slender white haired Russian caught Yakov in a bear hug, much to the old man's surprise. Yuuri extended his hand towards Yuri but Yuri didn't give any effort in taking it.

"Food. I'm starving."

Yuuri dropped his hand with a light blush but Victor pouted and let go of his former coach. Strong and clingy arms were suddenly wrapped around his chest and he couldn't breathe.

"So unpolite... Yuriooo we've missed you! Haven't you missed us?"

Yuri thrashed like a fish caught in a net and tried to hit the arms of the bastard trapping him. Yuuri joined in, only to get a kick in the hip. His stomach growled angrily and the endless void in his body didn't lighten up the experience a bit.

"Let go you old man! You too piglet!"

"I hoped you'd say it out loud but I know that deep down you've been missing us, Yuriii." Victor went to whisper in his ear with pouty lips but was swatted away by a backhand in his face. That finally caused him to let go and Yuri jumped out of reach for the two males.

"Hm... Or not." The expression he got from Victor was sad and pouty and the man earned a hand on his shoulder, put there by Yuuri. Yuri could only sigh and shake his head.

"Victor! Did you steal my shampoo too?! I will- Oh? What now?" Yuri turned around abruptly by the unfamiliar yet familiar voice behind him. His eyes widened.

The girl was standing to the left of the hall, seemingly coming from the shower. A curious hand rested against the wall beside her and her face was covered in a grey clay face mask, a toothbrush lazily hanging from the corner of her lips. Her (h/c) eyes glistened with mild shock along with her mouth hanging slightly open.

"You are early... Victor, you told me they would arrive at 1pm1!" She pointed a strict finger at the tall man who scratched the back of his head with a hesitant laugh. Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed her toothbrush. Because even if she was standing unprepared in front of two strangers, she would at least not forget to brush her teeth in the process, as you do.

Yuri might've considered it normal if it wasn't for that she was almost naked. Two towels were the only fabric hiding her, one wrapped around her dripping figure and the other tied up in her hair.

"Yeah, about that! I kind of mixed up the time of their arrival and your meeting with the press, that's, by the way now when I think of it, not actually cancelled but later today. Silly of me to forget, right?"

She eyed him as though her bullshit meter was ticking in the red zone and let out a huff. Yuri had to advert his gaze when it suddenly felt intruding to eye her the way he did. He also turned away because a light tint of pink was creeping up his cheeks.

"Right. Thanks for the early update. I appreciate it, really. I'll be with you again in 30 minutes. Don't wait up for me." And with that, she was gone. The silence of the men maintained for a few moments until Yuuri coughed with an awkward smile, his red cheeks still visible even after the girl had disappeared. 'It's a little weird to blush at your almost naked sister' he thought.

"So food, right? Mom is preparing pork cutlet bowls for you, Yurio, since she remembered how much you liked them last time-" He didn't have to say it twice. Yuri was off to the dining area before the man even finished saying 'pork cutlet bowl'.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Your Move (Chibs x fem!Reader)

A/N: Unsuprisingly, I’m writing for SoA. It was just a matter of time until this new obsession caught up with me. This is my first attempt to write an accent phonetically, so I apologize in advance for the mess.

I also wanna thank @toomanystoriessolittletime​ and @penwieldingdreamer​ for beta’ing this for me and @ly--canthrope​ @wishuhadstayed​ and @chibsytelford​ for welcoming me to the SoA fam and encouraging me to write for it.

Summary: When you returned to Charming after your father passed away, you planned to only stay long enough to settle his affairs, but memories of the past and the prospect of a certain Scot in your future made you stay longer than planned.

Wordcount: 4,5K

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and inebriation and that’s it.

You knew the Sons of course.

There was no way to live in Charming your entire life and not know about them or at least some of them. You went to school with Jax and Opie and you remembered having such a crush on them, like most girls your age. They were the cool guys with their air of danger and the prospect leather cuts they wore every single day.

Your father warned you to stay away from them, as most parents would. The thing about the Sons was that they were a necessary evil to your small town, but it didn’t make them any less dangerous. Your father made sure to steer clear of them unless he absolutely needed it. You watched him seek out Clay Morrow once in a while if there was a problem in the diner, but it always pained him so much to do so.

You could see in his eyes, the exhaustion and barely contained shame whenever he had to have a sit down with the President of the MC. Always at the diner because he refused to go anywhere near the Teller-Morrow Garage.

He invested every cent he had to make sure you had a good education and could leave Charming for good. Do something he could never do in his own life and you appreciated that with all your heart but once he passed away and you had to come back to settle his affairs, sell the diner and the house and everything else, you found yourself caught up in the memories and the charms of the small town.

Everyone seemed to know you. Sometimes by name, most times as Allan’s kid. They paid their respects at the funeral, even the MC. You saw Gemma and Jax at the back and when your eyes caught the bright blue of the man Jackson had become, his lips tilting into a small, sympathetic smile in your direction, you didn’t feel the same butterflies as you used to when you were a teen.

He and his mother came closer after everyone else was gone. He still had that same sad smile placed in his face as Gemma pulled you into a hug that you didn’t really feel comfortable with, but didn’t know how to refuse.

“Allan was such a good man,” she said, pressing a kiss to your cheek and you could feel the lipstick imprint Gemma left behind. “Anything you need, sweetheart, just give us a call.” She handed you a Teller-Morrow business card, her number scribbled on the back.

“Thank you.” You nodded as they stepped away letting you go back to your grieving.

The diner was quick to sell. Your father, once he got sick, already found a buyer on call, you just needed to finalize the deal. The house was harder to do so. Not because you didn’t have people interested in it but because you couldn’t bring yourself to put it on the market. Not when there were so many childhood memories in it. This was the house you grew up in, where your father raised you to be the woman you were now. It was hard to let go of that, so you found yourself searching for reasons to delay your departure.

Separating possessions that would stay, be donated, sold, or thrown away. You started doing small repairs around the house, just like your father taught you because he wanted you to be as independent as possible. Taking off old, worn-out carpets and wallpapers, fixing the yard and clogged pipes, and closing off holes in the plaster walls.

Before long, a month had passed and you were still in Charming, only making weekend trips back to your apartment to bring more of the essentials with you. Even your cat had found residence in your father’s house, taking long naps in the porch bench, apparently much more comfortable with the small-town life than you expected.

Still, you had a hard time admitting that you didn’t intend to leave any time soon. Being in the house was a constant reminder that your father never wanted this life for you but at the same time, after spending the last 10 and something years in a big city, you had never felt more at home than when you got back here.

You were even painting again, something you haven’t done since you settled for a career as an art teacher. You were even more surprised when you opened up the yard sale and a couple of people ventured into the garage while you were distracted and asked about your paintings.

“They’re not really for sale,” you replied to a woman around your age, her dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves and she was so familiar, but you couldn’t place her in your memory.

“You should really think about selling them. Maybe even opening a gallery? They’re gorgeous.”

Her words stayed with you after the sale was done because it had always been your dream but in a big city, renting space was expensive and there were tons of small art galleries other there. It was hard to compete. In a town like Charming? It would be a place one of a kind.

The next morning, you found a small store for rent in the main street as you walked through the wide-open space, the morning bright light filtering through the half-closed blinds from the window, you could already see your works hanging around, the small counter with the cash register to the left and the backspace for your studio so you could work during slow days.

“I’ll take it.” The words were out before you could even think it through but once they passed your lips, you knew they were the right thing to do. You just needed officially move back to your hometown after so long away.

You took a week to go back to the city, pack up your belongings, and put in the moving truck. A few boxes of more personal stuff you loaded in your own battered old Chevy to bring with you on the drive back.

The car gave out in the middle of the night, still on the highway, miles away from Charming. The engine coughing and spluttering but refusing to start, no matter how many times you spun the key in the ignition. You had to settle for your fate and call a toll truck.

It was almost like destiny that when you pull out your phone from your pocket, the TM card fell out too and you didn’t even realize it had been there all this time. Gemma’s number in pen was washed out but the printed one for the garage was still visible so you dialed it. It wasn’t like you had another garage’s number on speed dial.

You waited at the side of the road for about 50 minutes until the headlights of the toll truck lightened up the night before pulling by your car and you couldn’t help the nervous flips of your stomach as the man stepped out of the car, in tight jeans and leather cut. His longish dark hair combed back, peppered with grey strands at his forehead and the goatee gave him such a distinguished look that you had a hard time not staring. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this attracted to someone at first sight.

“Ye called for a toll, lass?” he asked in a smooth drawl and thick accent that made shivers run down your spine, and for a second you couldn’t find your words.

“Uh… yeah, yes. I did,” you finally managed, glancing back to your car. Seemed to be the safest thing to do. “The old piece of junk died on me. Sorry for the hour.”

“No problem,” he waved off your apology, setting up to get your car secured in the back of the truck, before opening the door for you. “Come on, I give ye a lift.”

He helped you into the truck’s cabin, taking your hand in his gloved one like a perfect gentleman and closing the door behind you before he got behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Thank you so much, mister…”

“Nah, lassie. No mister required,” he offered you a soft smile and from this close, you could see the pale line of the scar in his cheek. “Chibs is fine.”

“Alright. thank you, Chibs,” you replied smiling too as he pulled into the road and turned the radio into a classic rock station.

You remained in silence for most of the ride, sneaking glances at the man next to you. Had he been in Charming all those years ago? Before you left? Why didn’t you remember him? How many times had you seen the Sons riding through the main street in their Harleys and leather cuts? You would probably have seen him before. Then again, back then your eyes tended to seek out Jax’s slender form due to your stupid teen crush. Maybe that was why you missed him.

“Mind if I smoke?” Chibs asked, startling you out of your thoughts.

You shook your head, feeling the heat of embarrassment burning your face as you tried to ignore the way his lips closed around the cigarette and how his long fingers operated the lighter.

The flame lit up his face for a brief second, reflected in his deep, dark eyes and you had to look away, clearing your throat. You never felt this awkward and uncertain in the presence of man, so you raked your brain for something to break the tense silence.

“Why Chibs?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself and he chuckled, the sound low and husky and it went straight to your center, making you press your legs together as discreetly as you could.

“It a Scottish slang,” he started, glancing your way as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. “For knife.”

“Oh,” you replied dumbly, mulling over his words. “Because of…?” Unconsciously, you reached for your cheek and froze in shock at your own insensitive action. “Oh shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright, love,” he chuckled again as he slowed down the truck and you didn’t even notice he was dropping you off at home until you recognized the construction in front of you. “I dinna mind. And yes, that’s why. Bu’ Filip works too.”

“Thank you, Filip,” you spoke softly, meeting his eyes and he smiled around his smoke and nodded. “I’ll drop by TM tomorrow morning to settle everything?”

“Aye. I’ll let Gem know.”

You hesitated to step out of the truck, and you didn’t even know why. You just didn’t want to leave. Not yet, but there was no reason to stay. So you resigned with doing what needed to be done and watching as he drove away before finally getting inside the house.

Next morning, you took your dad’s old Jeep – and how lucky it was that you hadn’t sold it just yet – and headed to TM to settle payment for the toll and get the cost for the work.

While Gemma was ruffling through some papers trying to find your invoice, you let your gaze wander through the open side door towards the garage, noticing the men in overalls talking and joking while working.

“He’s not here,” Gemma said, startling you to turn back and meet her narrowed eyes. You wondered how she could possibly know. “Jax.”

“Oh!” Relief washed over you and you managed a timid smile. “I wasn’t…”

“And he’s back with Tara.”

There was a clear warning in her tone, almost as if saying you shouldn’t dare to try and intervene between the couple, not that you would want to. She finally handed you the paper so you could sign it, authorizing the service.

“How soon can I expect the car?”

“Maybe a week? Might be more,” Gemma replied, pulling the paper back and giving you a long look. “There were some boxes in the truck… You’re uh, staying in Charming, then?”

“Yeah…” it was the first time you said it out loud and it felt almost like a confession. “I am. The moving truck should be arriving soon so can I drop by later to pick them up?”

“I’ll get one of the prospects to bring them to you,” the older woman declared after an assessing look. Like she was measuring you up, making sure if you were worthy of her town.

You just offered a quick thanks and headed off, resisting the urge to glance behind your shoulder at the men working on the cars or the side building that housed the club. Even if you could feel the baby hairs in your nape prickling due to an intense gaze at your back. If it was Gemma or someone else, you didn’t find out.

The entire thing slipped from your mind by the time you got home and found the moving truck already waiting for you. The rest of your day was spent moving boxes and furniture to their designated spaces, making sure the movers didn’t break anything with their careless demeanors.

It was late afternoon when they finally brought everything in and took off, leaving you to sort out the mess. Just the sight of scattered boxes all through the wooden floor of the two-store house was enough to make you regret your decision. It would take you days to get everything in order and that on top of making sure your gallery was up and running too.

“Better get to it,” you whispered to yourself, tuning in the radio and letting the melodic beats of Pat Benatar set the tone for your work. And if you sang along and danced around the house through it all, well there wasn’t anyone around to see it, even if no curtains were covering the windows just yet.

The knock on the door made you jump midway through setting the cutlery in place and you lowered the radio before making your way through the maze of boxes, your lips tugging into a surprised smile when you found Chibs standing outside, cigarette in his mouth, sunglasses covering his eyes.

“Hia, lass. Gem asked me to deliver some boxes?” he explained, and you smirked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest as you examined the biker in front of you.

“Gemma asked you?” you repeated, brow arched. “Sounds more like a prospect job…”

“Might ‘ave volunteered,” Chibs admitted, his smirk matching yours. “Memory’s a little fuzzy on the details.”

With a chuckle, you stepped aside to let him in offering quick instructions of where to put the boxes while you watch him move around. This time, there was no leather jacket below his cut, only a sleeveless shirt, and you could appreciate the flexing of his muscles and the ink adorning his skin as Chibs worked.

“That’s the last one,” he said, setting the box down by the door and meeting your gaze.

“Thank you. I really appreciate the help.”

He waved off your gratitude and silence fell over the two of you, thick and heavy like a blanket of all the things unsaid. In your brightly lid living room, you could properly see Chibs’ face and his dark eyes watching you as if waiting for something, a sign maybe, but you didn’t know what to do. Had you always been so bad at this? Or was just his presence that seemed to strip you from all functional reasoning?

“I, uh…” you looked around, searching for what to say or do. “Wanna drink?”

“Sure.”

Chibs followed you into the kitchen and you were very aware of his presence behind you like a shadow as you stopped by the fridge, pulling out two beers and offering him one. You drank in silence, watching one another and you wished you could explain why this felt so strange. You wished you could make the tension and awkwardness fade away, but you didn’t really know how and Chibs didn’t seem inclined to help.

Then again, he did take the first step, coming all the way here with your boxes to see you and he wasn’t even trying to hide or deny it. It was your move but just his mere presence made you freeze and you didn’t know what to do, how to show him you were glad he came and wanted him to stay a little longer.

All you could do was watch him, the way his lips fit around the tan glass of the bottle as he took a gulp of the drink, his throat working as he swallowed. You wondered if Chibs knew how effortlessly sexy he was. How just having him leaning against the counter watching you with that heavy-lidded gaze was enough to make your knees weak and your breath speed up.

“I should head off,” he finally broke the silence, setting his empty bottle on the counter and you felt your heart sink. “Get out of yer hair…”

“Right…” you followed him to the door, hands in your pockets. “Thanks again.”

“No problem, love.” Chibs paused outside, his eyes lingering on you. “Ye know, the clubhouse has a bar. Ye could stop by some time.”

“Yeah,” you hurried to say with a nervous smile. You almost thought he had given up on you but here he was, throwing you a line. “Sure.”

“Good,” he smiled too. “‘Night, love.”

You watched once again Chibs driving off from your place until he disappeared around the corner before you stepped back inside, leaning against the closed door. It was your move and knew. You just had to figure out a way to actually take that step.

A week passed since Chibs’ invitation and you had yet to find the courage to meet him at the clubhouse. At first, you told yourself it was because of the move. You were busy getting the house in shape and then your gallery but you knew you were lying to yourself.

You were just afraid. Torn between wanting to learn a little more about the mysterious Scot that didn’t seem to leave your mind and knowing that going there, getting mixed with the Sons was getting yourself involved with a crowd your father worked so hard to keep you away from. Those two sides seemed to be at war, and you didn’t know what do to.

You knew, however, that the longer you waited, the more you made it clear to Chibs that you might not be interested, even if you were definitely were. So you needed to make a decision. Soon.

When you finally worked up the nerve to go to the clubhouse, you spent hours deliberating on an outfit. You wanted to look good but not like you were trying too hard because you knew what you were going to find there.

Several of your high school friends had sneaked in at some point to check out the Sons’ official hangout and report back. You knew there would be the club members, of course, and other friends, but most importantly, there would be other women, croweaters.

The expression always made you grimace in distaste, the implications clear in the pejorative tone used and it made you stop and consider if you weren’t exactly like them, chasing away a biker you knew nothing about.

The thought was almost enough to make you give up, turn around and go back to your car but you were already there at the garage, might as well bite the bullet and do this. With a deep breath, you crossed the parking lot, the heel of your boots crunching the cement as you walked toward the clubhouse, hands in the pockets of your jacket, out of sight so no one could see them tremble with your apprehension.

When you walked into the smoky room, you were almost expecting to see all eyes on you, the outsider in their territory, but no one paid you any attention as you surveyed the space, searching for Chibs. He was nowhere in sight and the longer you stood there, awkward and afraid, the urge to flee grew in your chest. You shouldn’t even have come.

Turning around to walk out, you ran straight into the solid chest of the man you came here to find. Chibs held you steady with a hand on your elbow, watching you with curious eyes.

“Leavin’ so soon, lass?” he asked, his voice a smooth drawl and it set your body on edge, in a good way.

“Yeah, I, uh,” you glanced around at people dancing and drinking and making out in front of everyone, verging on indecent exposure. “Didn’t really seem like I belonged.”

“Give it a chance, love,” he said with a smirk and offering you a hand. “Ye might actually enjoy yerself. How ‘bout a drink?”

“Ok,” you accepted after a moment’s hesitation, taking Chibs’ hand and letting him lead you to the bar.

A drink turned into several and before you knew it, you were playing pool against a guy named Tig, barely being able to stay upright but still managing to be the better player of the two of you to Chibs’ great amusement and loud heckling.

“You’re sure he’s not just letting me win?” You asked Chibs as he brought you another shot of whiskey, chuckling as you winced and pulled a face after downing it the shot. You had just won yet another round against Tig and his annoyed, barely conscious face was very amusing.

“‘M surprised he managin’ to hold on to his cue,” he commented as he took your cue and handed it over to the first person around. “How ‘bout some air? Sober ye up a bit?”

Chibs led you into the cold night air of the yard and to the picnic tables outside. Out there, you two were completely alone except for the stars and the random passing car but it was late enough that the town was mostly silent, the only sounds coming from inside the clubhouse, the music leaking out muffled due to the soundproof walls.

There were just the two of you, sitting side by side as Chibs lid a cigarette, and before he could even take a drag, you snatched out of his lips, bringing it to your own, making him smirk. The alcohol had dissolved most of your reservations, leaving only you desire for the man next to you.

“Bigge’ men 'ave lost fingers stealin’ ma smoke, lass,” Chibs commented, turning his body towards you.

“Good thing, I’m just a little lass, then,” you teased, trying to mimic his Scottish drawl as you shifted your position until you were straddling the bench and facing him.

“Wee lassie,” he corrected, watching intently as you took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out the smoke.

You liked this, being alone with Chibs. Having his dark eyes focused on you and only you. Being close enough that you could smell the whiskey, leather, and the heady sweat of his skin. Feel the heat of his body. You reached over to trail the black Reaper etched on his biceps, daring to touch without asking permission first.

As Chibs allowed the touch, you grew bolder and moved closer, letting your fingers travel higher, over his shoulder and on his neck, until your thumb brushed his jaw and cheek, touching the rough stubble beginning to grow there.

His own palm had settled over your clothed thigh, large and hot, making you acutely aware of how close you two were and how it would barely take a move for your lips to find his. You wanted that more than anything. Chibs had to know that, right? He had to see it in your eyes.

“Ye should head home, lass,” he said instead, pulling away from you and you felt the loss of his heat. “'t’s gettin’ late.” Then you felt the burning shame as he refused to look at you.

“Yes,” you croaked, eyes darting around at anything other than him. “You’re right.”

You had put yourself out there for this man and he was shipping you off like unwanted cargo. You didn’t even know why.

“I’ll get one of the prospects to drive ye, just…”

“It’s fine,” you didn’t let Chibs finish, getting to your feet and stepping back. “I brought my Jeep. I can drive myself.”

You walked away before he could say anything else because you could feel the familiar lump in your throat and the burning behind your lids. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of him. You already made a fool out of yourself enough for one night.

You were almost at the car when you stumbled on your own feet. Fortunately, you never met the ground as a strong arm surrounded your waist, keeping you upright and pressed against his strong chest. You could feel his breath tickling your nape as both of you stood there, neither daring to move.

“If I ‘ere a good man, I’d let ye walk away,” Chibs sighed and you sagged against his warmth, letting him inhale your scent on your neck before you turned around to face him, hands resting against his chest.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be a good man,” you whispered, looking up at him. “Maybe I just want you to kiss me.”

His lips were softer than you expected, just a gentle press against yours the whiskers of his goatee tickling your skin. It was almost as if Chibs weren’t really sure if he should do this. Like he was giving you the chance to pull away and change your mind.

Your fisted his vest, pushing closer to him, pressing harder against his lips in search of more. Letting your own lips part in invitation and soon enough, his tongue was exploring your mouth, tangling with yours, bringing forth the taste of whiskey, nicotine, and something dark and addictive that you could have for the rest of your life.

One hand on your hip, the other on your nape, adjusting the angle of your head so he could better deepen the kiss, Chibs pressed you against the cool metal of your Jeep, his body crowding yours, one of his thighs between your legs as he devoured your mouth.

Everything seemed to fade away then but the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands on your skin, burning a bright fire within you as his calloused hand sneaked under your shirt, exploring your back, his rings catching lightly on your skin, making you shiver as he nipped at your bottom lip and allowed you a second for breath.

“Go home,” Chibs grumbled, his lids even heavier than usual as he peered at you with what you could only describe as bedroom eyes. “Before ye do somethin’ ye might regret at the light of day and without the haze of alcohol.”

You paused, considering his words, licking your lips as if to chase the aftertaste of his kiss.

“And if come tomorrow morning, stone-cold sober, I still want this?”

“Ye know where to find me.” Chibs let his lips brushed over yours one last time, just a small temptation of what he could offer before he took a step back and pulled the car door open for you. “‘Night, lass.”

“Good night, Filip.”

xxx

[shlabam]

TOP TEN COMICS BOOK VILLAINS WE PROBABLY WON’T SEE IN THE MOVIES

Superhero media is the hottest thing going right now. It was true ten years ago when the MCU was in its adolescence, and it’s even truer now. Even with film production on lockdown, Marvel and DC are still planning on literally dozens of their characters entering their respective cinematic universes. However, for the fans of the source material, things can be contentious. For every memorable Tony Stark quip, there’s Superman destroying an entire city because he’s, frankly, kind of dumb now. A major point of contention is how the various popular villains are utilized. Making an intimidating and potent villain in a comic book is very different than in a film. In comics, you have months to establish motive, powers, and backstory before the villain even makes their first move. In films, that all has to be compressed and spilled out in the scarce few minutes when Captain America and Bucky aren’t making bambi eyes at each other. To be concise, some villains adapt perfectly, and some, no matter how good they are in the comics, just don’t. And to be clear, this list is of popular villains who have the possibility of appearing in a big-budget film, so no, you won’t be seeing Ten Eyed Man or Big Wheel in there. Their powers are, respectively, having ten eyes, and being very good in business. (That’s a lie, he’s just a huge wheel who chases Spider-Man.)

10: Mr. Mxyzptlk:

Cool, let’s get this one out of the way. Despite being one of Superman’s oldest, longest-lasting, and most popular enemies from all the way back in the Golden Age, there’s no way in hell he will be in a movie. For the uninformed. Mr. Mxyzptlk is a 5th dimensional wizard-genie who appears every ninety days to torment Superman with his reality-altering antics, and can only be sent back to his home dimension if Superman tricks him into saying his own name backwards. Yes, it would be very dazzling, as Mr. Mxyzptlk’s powers in a movie would basically look like if Christopher Nolan directed Who Framed Roger Rabbit, but he’s a little too silly to fit in with the current “everything is gloomy and also a bummer” tone of the Superman films. This silly tone has lent itself perfectly to the Supergirl series, where he’s made a handful of appearances. Besides, if we get Mxyzptlk in a Superman movie before Brainiac, I’ll lose my entire freaking mind.

9: Hobgoblin:

There have been eight Spider-Man movies so far, and of those eight, four of them have, in some capacity, featured the Green Goblin. And that makes sense, right? The Green Goblin is easily Spider-Man’s most memorable and reoccurring nemesis, with Doctor Octopus and Venom close behind, and Peter Parker’s link with Norman and Harry Osbourn makes their tragic story perfect for film adaptation. On the other hand, we have the Hobgoblin, who is essentially Green Goblin with all the gimmicks, none of the Parker-adjacent backstory, and an orange and blue color scheme, likely tying him to the Denver Broncos [citation needed]. Still, in those four cinematic attempts at tackling the Goblin, none of them have quite gotten him right, and I can’t imagine this character, who is, even in canon, an intentional Green Goblin rip-off, would fare any better.

8: Starro:

Brave and the Bold #28 from 1960 featured the first story with the Justice League, and this story put them up against a very unique new villain: Starro the Conqueror, a giant telepathic starfish who can release tiny versions of himself. If these tiny starfish latch onto your head, you’re under his control and obey his commands. The Justice League have battled him fairly regularly over the last fifty years, and he’s a distinct and powerful enemy that the fans generally appreciate, leading to him being referenced occasionally in Smallville, Arrow, and Flash. Why won’t he ever be in a movie? Because if you’re a Hollywood producer, you stopped paying attention at “giant telepathic starfish”. Sorry. Maybe Shuma-Gorath will pop up in the next Doctor Strange movie, and he’ll set off a Twilight-esque wave of starfish monster movies! Then again, almost absolutely not.

7: Puppet Master:

Speaking of mind control, what’s scarier than that? For my money, nothing. Having your body and will taken away from you by an unseen force is a terror greater than death. How could you possibly make a villain based around such a chilling concept and have him not be scary? Well, maybe if it’s an old bald man in an apron playing with dolls. The Puppet Master is an ongoing threat for the Fantastic Four who is just that: he makes models of his foes out of radioactive clay, and makes them punch themselves and dance around and kiss each other, because he’s, y’know, a weird old man. Why is he such a consistent threat who hasn’t fallen into obscurity like other dumb gimmick-based villains? His stepdaughter, Alicia Masters, is the Thing’s longtime girlfriend. As long as she keeps appearing in movies (including being played by… Kerry Washington? That can’t be right), there’s always a chance he’ll pop up, but I don’t think any movie studio is that stupid, despite the quality of every Fantastic Four movie blatantly defying that prediction.

6: Bizarro:

Superman has always suffered in the villains department. When you’re essentially a god, what can they throw at you? As it turns out, Lex Luthor, almost always. But why not another Superman? Bizarro is essentially that, an imperfect clone of Superman who speaks in opposite speak - “Bizarro am good! Me not punch you until you live!” - and features the same abilities as the Man of Steel. Sounds great, right? Putting a hero against a villain with their same powers has worked for nearly every Marvel movie (shots fired). So why won’t we see him grace our silver screens any time soon? Because they’ve never really figured him out. Is he funny? Is he lethal? Does Kryptonite work on him? If he does everything the opposite of Superman, why does he wear clothes? Isn’t being naked the opposite of being clothed? Bizarro is a major Superman side-character and has made appearances in Smallville and Supergirl, but the idea of him being the Big Bad going toe-to-toe with Henry Cavill doesn’t sound like it would generate a lot of views.

5: Impossible Man:

You remember what I said about Mr. Mxyzptlk? Remember? So take that bit, but everywhere I say Superman, have it say Fantastic Four instead… yeah, that should do it.

4: The Wrecking Crew:

Thor has a unique quirk of having a very cinematic rogues gallery. Sure, most of the movies have pitted him against Loki, but if they were to run him up against the Enchantress, or the Absorbing Man, or Ulik the Troll, or Kurse, or even the Stone Men from Saturn, that’s not a bad movie! However, in one of the attempts to give Thor more of a mortal nemesis, they put him up against the Wrecker, who has an… enchanted… indestructible… crowbar. Yeah. Incredibly, the Wrecker and his Wrecking Crew have become very present characters throughout the Marvel Universe, essentially serving as “jobbers”, being rolled out to get beaten up by the new top hero or villain, but that may not work in a movie, where villains have to be seen as having some level of potency before being struck down. That means we’d need at least a short scene where it seems like Thor might lose to a guy whose power is “crowbar”, and that’s about as likely as an Edward Norton cameo in the next Avengers. Ho boy, they did NOT part on good terms!

3: Clayface:

When the movie-going public goes to see a Batman movie, they generally want something a bit more grounded than your typical superhero fare. After all, Batman has no powers, and therefore the most supernatural thing that should happen in these movies is a gas that makes you smile, or a different gas that makes you think your dead parents are back and disappointed in you. Might wanna put a mouth covering on that mask, Bruce! The one and only they’ve made a movie where Batman fights people with real, off-the-wall super powers (Batman and Robin), it did not go great. And those guys pale in comparison to Clayface, who is, yes, made of clay. In the comics and cartoons, Clayface looks awesome, turning his limbs into weapons and being very challenging to incapacitate, but in a live-action, realistic Batman adventure, we wouldn’t want to see the Dark Knight fight a poop-colored version of the T-1000, especially if it’s got the same chemical composition of a little dreidel that I made.

2: Red Hood:

A relative newcomer to the Batman universe, Red Hood is the revived body of Jason Todd, the second Robin, who was brutally killed by the Joker in one of the most controversial storylines DC Comics ever produced. Literally, fans called a 900 number to tell the writers to kill him off. A 900 number. That’s how much they hated the little turd. Anyway, Jason Todd, whom Batman and the rest of the world believed was dead, was revived by Ra’s al Ghul and became a ruthless villain. Since then, he’s gravitated more to the side of the hero, though one a bit more willing to spill blood than his mentors. Why won’t we see him in the darker, edgier Batman films? Because… that’s Bucky. It’s the same thing that happened in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Teen sidekick killed in controversial manner, revived by super villain to be a thorn in said hero’s side, later changes his mind and becomes a good guy again, though with enough PTSD to fill a PTSD super store. The two storylines even occurred in the comics in the same year, 2005, to much fanfare and across-the-board declarations of one company ripping off the other, reminding the world of the great Aquaman-Namor debates of the 1940s. Considering that DC’s films have criminally underperformed compared to Marvel’s, the last thing they want to do is be accused of lazy plagiarism, so Jason Todd will likely remain a permanent fixture in the afterlife, hanging out with Batman’s parents and, at the rate that people are coming back from the dead, literally no one else. (Plus, if they can’t even get Robin right, how are they gonna do this?)

1: Mister Sinister:

Yes, he was teased at the end of X-Men Apocalypse, but ignoring that the film underperformed both critically and commercially, Mister Sinister is never going to be in a movie. It would make sense for him to appear, though, right? He’s one of the most present and potent X-Men villains, he’s played crucial roles in many memorable storylines, he’s got a sick cape, but… something a lot of comic book fans tend to overlook is his murky backstory, powers, and motivations. He was a biologist in Victorian London who did genetic experiments on homeless people in the hopes of finding clues about the oncoming threat of mutants. In this time, he unearthed the long-dormant En Sabah Nur, whom you plebeians may know as Apocalypse, and Apocalypse gifted him with great abilities. What abilities you ask? HA HA, good question! At various times, Sinister has displayed: telepathy, telekinesis, energy projection, shape-shifting, regeneration, and teleportation, but these powers will mysteriously disappear whenever they want him to get sliced up real good by Wolverine. Additionally, it has never been made very clear what Sinister wants. Does he seek perfect mastery of the human genome? Does he live to torment Cyclops? Is he a blind follower of Apocalypse? Is he just running through all the different kinds of goatee? Of course, in adaptation, the writers would pick and choose the aspects they’d want to use, but I doubt they’d want to untangle the Christmas lights mess that is Mister Sinister, especially when they’ve got a perfectly good villain whose power is just “magnets”.

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg ooo the lore deepens

Heads Up- Part 10 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

With Joseph going to university every couple of days, and Suzi visiting often but still usually sleeping at her own home, there were days that Caesar was left home alone.

Joseph had invested in extra door locks to keep him safe, makeshift mini-elevators to help the bodiless bust get up and down the kitchen and living room tables, and put up canvasses and customized paint holders to encourage his fondness for painting to pass the time.

Caesar was a great painter-- especially for someone with no hands.

With much practice in holding a paintbrush in his mouth, something that Caesar found much easier as opposed to colored pencils that broke when pressed too hard, Joseph's artistic masterpieces had begun producing masterpieces of his own. Simple, abstract scribbles at first, but over time began to make art of the things he saw around the house. Still lifes of tables, furniture, windows, in his own crude, mouth-scribbly style.

Today was one such day. Joseph was away at the art school, working on projects of his own. And Suzi hadn't called for today, and probably wasn't coming for a while.

And so Caesar spent his time painting. But he was tired of the things within the confines of the apartment, and opted for a new medium.

Pulling the blinds of the window open with his teeth, Caesar exposed the view of the vacant lot behind Joseph's house. One that was somewhat still a wild region, overgrown with grasses, with a few sparse trees, and further into the horizon, the skyline of the big city with towering skyscrapers that seemed like mere toys from such a distance.

A smile crept across Caesar's face. This seemed like a perfect muse for another painting.

And as Joseph created art with a purpose, he wondered if this was his.

---------

Suzi looked over at the bag Joseph had given her.

She was in her own home, an apartment somewhat smaller than Joseph's. The post-graduate artist hadn't really done very much in the past year, and her house reflected it: it was quite a mess, with many boxes, items and inexplicable odds and ends cluttering every tabletop and shelf, a problem compounded by the artist's somewhat scatterbrained nature at times.

She sat on her couch, typing away at her laptop. She'd been very curious about the past few days about where exactly that design on the bag came from-- definitely a Mesoamerican influence, perhaps some sort of mystical trinket from long ago.

It had been the bag that Joseph had found in his attic, that had contained the lump of clay that had become Caesar. As Joseph had said before, it didn't seem like a particularly special material at first: yet now, given that it literally was alive, there certainly was something unique about it. Especially given that all other clay they attached to Caesar, in their failed attempts to give him a body, had invariably remained lifeless and cold.

And as she scrolled through pictures on her laptop, she happened upon something extraordinary.

A site cataloguing local folklore, with details that seemed oddly familiar.

Legends told in ancient Central America about sacred soils that could channel strange energies. One myth, in particular, caught her attention: a tale of a talented artist who, in her sheer devotion to detail in her work, managed to usher in spirits of inspiration to take new life into her work.

Idols that harbored the souls of the ancestors that led them to convene with their successors generations on.

Suzi scoffed. This seemed like strange superstitious magic, wasn't it?

Yet deep down, as much of a mature, rational woman as she was, a small part deep within her had always believed in magic, wished to believe. Perhaps it was the hopeful, wide-eyed child within her now enveloped in the shell of a responsible adult, that sometimes shone through when she was around people she was comfortable, like Joseph, and now, Caesar too.

Perhaps that was why she wasn't too surprised about Caesar when she first met the living sculpture in Joseph's apartment a couple of weeks earlier.

Because a bit of her had always believed in magic-- and Caesar's very existence served only to confirm it.

---------

Joseph strolled around the art gallery of the university, beholding in wonder at the vast, museum-like halls bearing the works of its many previous students.

Statues, sculptures, paintings and murals of all shapes and styles adorned the walls, platforms and shelves of nearly every corner of the building's interior. Everything was art, they said, and the masterpieces certainly reflected it.

And as much as Joseph was in awe of the beauty of the gallery, something made him uneasy, as he looked at them, especially the sculpted statues that resided in glass cases, carved in eternal repose with their lifeless eyes gazing blankly into empty space.

Would this have been Caesar's fate?

Joseph couldn't bear the thought of Caesar, his roommate, his friend and companion, spending the rest of his existence like this.

What kind of life would that be?

Joseph's disturbed thoughts were interrupted when he bumped into somebody, as he was too preoccupied with the art to look where he was going.

"Oh, I'm sorry, young man," said an old, throaty voice, with a prominent Italian accent. "You need to be careful around here too."

"Apologies, Mr. Zeppeli," Joseph said awkwardly, with an uncertain scratch of his head.

Mr. William Zeppeli was one of the oldest professors in the university, and had long taught the class on the subject of three-dimensional art. Instantly recognizable by his trademark moustache and top hat, Mr. Zeppeli had mentored Joseph in his first year in the university, and was quite familiar with him.

"I'm glad to see you've come so far, Mr. Joestar," Mr. Zeppeli said with a pat on Joseph's back. "I believe you would be graduating this year, are you not?"

Joseph smiled proudly. "I sure will be, sir!"

Mr. Zeppeli gave a warm chuckle. "That's the spirit!" he said. "So, the final project is due next month. What is your grand masterpiece?"

"A bust sculpture," Joseph said impulsively, before realizing he probably shouldn't have said it out loud.

A proud, yet solemn smile emerged on Mr. Zeppeli's weathered features. "Come with me," he told Joseph.

He led Joseph towards the hall of statues, where Joseph was amazed to see a vast array of clay figures, of people, objects and places, all impressively detailed even for him. Sculptures of birds in flight, each feather intricately carved in astonishing perfection. Miniature models of famous landmarks around the world, such as a replica of the Colosseum in Rome. Faces of people molded in clay, so expressive they seemed they almost could speak.

Something that, at this point, wouldn't have surprised Joseph anymore.

"He would have loved to meet you," Mr. Zeppeli said woefully. "I've seen some of the sculptures you've made before and they remind me of him so much."

"W-who?" Joseph asked, curious at the person Mr. Zeppeli had referred to.

"My grandson," replied the old teacher with a bittersweet note in his voice.

"He went to this school a decade ago, and was one of the best students this institution had ever known. All these, the figures you see before you, are his creations, and I...I am proud to call him my grandson," said Mr. Zeppeli, as he wiped away a tear.

The old professor gestured to a small sign next to the case displaying his grandson's masterpieces. "He was a jolly fellow, if not without a strange sense of humor. You two might have become friends."

Joseph looked closely at the sign. There was something very familiar.

And as its contents sank in, his heart nearly stopped.

"IN MEMORY OF ANTHONIO ZEPPELI (1983-2008), GONE BUT FOREVER REMEMBERED," said the caption.

But what captured his attention, and struck him to the very center of his being, was the picture of the late artist displayed on the sign.

He had no pink cheek marks, and he, of course, had a body.

But he was, unmistakably and otherwise identically, Caesar.

"Is--is this him?" gasped Joseph in disbelief.

"I guess you'd recognize that face," Mr. Zeppeli gave a faint laugh. "Remember that statue of Julius Caesar displayed here, several years ago? He based it off himself. That isn't even remotely close to what the real Julius Caesar looked like, he was a talented, if strange, boy who found it amusing to stick his own likeness onto his art."

Julius Caesar, Joseph thought. His reference.

He felt a strange sensation, as if his whole world was suddenly shattered, and was slowly piecing itself back together like a jigsaw puzzle, into a new reality that seemed way too fateful for his peace of mind.

"Uh...uh...I just suddenly remembered I have a class to go to," said a flustered Joseph, quickly conjuring up an alibi. "See you later, Mr. Zeppeli!" he said, and promptly dashed off in a hurry.

-------

"Jojo? You would not believe what I just found," Suzi said, as she entered Joseph's house later that evening.

"Well, you wouldn't believe what I found out today," Joseph replied, with a shell-shocked look on his face.

Suzi was taken aback. "Looks like you've seen some serious stuff," she gasped. "Y-you go first."

"Do you know a certain Anthonio Zeppeli?" Joseph asked her.

"As in...the student who died a while back?" she said. "I've...I've heard of him, he was talked about a couple of times by my friends one year ahead of your batch. And about...what happened to him."

Caesar, who at just the right moment, had been bouncing by, was intrigued. "Happened to who?" he asked, pausing in his tracks.

Suzi sat down on the sofa. "They say he was a student from a few batches prior. He was a talented sculptor who was great at working with clay, marble, concrete..."

"Yeah, I've seen his stuff," interjected Joseph.

"Well, the thing is, they told he had been commissioned to carve a mural into a hotel's front lobby, nearly ten years ago," she told. "He was perched up on a ladder, chipping away at the wall, when suddenly, he broke a support on a stone ornament, shaped like a cross--"

"--and he was so startled when it began to topple, that he stumbled right off his ladder, fell to his death...and then the stone cross fell and landed right on top of him."

Joseph winced. That sounded like a terrible way to go.

"Well, there's something you wouldn't believe," Joseph said, pulling out a yearbook he'd borrowed from the library. Look at his face."

Suzi leaned closer for a look, and gasped in shock.

"I'd never seen what he'd looked like, but...but..."

"Caesar. It's you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Caesar exclaimed. "I can't see anything from down here!"

Suzi picked up the bust with some effort and rested him onto the tabletop. He hopped over to the book to check out what all the commotion was about--

--and was silent for an uncomfortably long time.

"See, this is what I was gonna tell you," Suzi said. "I'd been reading on the design on the bag that you found Caesar's clay in. There were legends in ancient Mesoamerica that artists who were talented enough would be able to usher in spirits of predescessors into idols of a special sacred clay to serve as inspiration," she said.

"And maybe, just maybe, Caesar is alive-- because he is Anthonio Zeppeli's soul."

"So am I a ghost?!" Caesar screamed in terrified confusion, hopping backwards a few bounces from sheer terror. "I'm a dead man in a clay head?!" he cried, disturbed by the revelation.

"More like a reincarnation," Suzi explained. "The legends told that they became spirit guides to their creators, that they held the wisdom and knowledge of the past, but remembered little of their past lives-- rather, they carried over some traits, but were their own, unique person."

"Did they have bodies?" Joseph asked right off the bat.

"Yes... you were just unlucky to not have enough clay," she added.

Caesar groaned in frustration.

"You know, I honestly wouldn't have believed some ancient mythology," Joseph said, "but given I've been living with a talking, walking sculpture--"

"Not exactly walking," Caesar corrected.

"...er, bouncing, sculpture for the last couple of weeks, I'd take any explanation at this point." he admitted.

"I think he chose you, Joseph," Suzi said with a smile.

Caesar looked at Anthonio's picture in the yearbook, and saw only himself. The same green eyes, blond hair, unmistakable face. He lacked the pink cheek patches, however, which Joseph admitted he'd tacked on to Caesar just for kicks. Anthonio had a body.

Could he really be Anthonio Zeppeli returned from the dead? Caesar pondered. If that was true, he remembered nothing of being Anthonio.

The idea of having once been a living human unsettled Caesar.

But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel oddly vindicated.

He'd wondered often recently why he even existed, as just another of Joseph's art. What use did he serve?

But now he wondered, upon hearing of Suzi's tale-- maybe this was his purpose.

--------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

[aion-rsa]

“God God – Whose Hand Was I Holding?”: the Scariest Sentences Ever Written, Selected by Top Horror Authors

https://ift.tt/3kHWU1Y

Many people have a very intimate relationship with books. And horror books can get under your skin like no other medium, whether you’re peering at a scary novel under the covers as a youngster or devouring new or classic horror as a grown up. Good horror writing sticks with you. 

For Halloween we’ve attempted to round up some of the scariest sentences ever written – and who better to ask for their recommendations than some of the finest horror writers and editors around? We asked some of our favourite experts to tell us the line that scared them most and why. Any suggestions of your own? Let us know in the comments.

To Serve Man by Damon Knight

Scariest sentence: “It’s a cookbook,” he said.

Is there a better whammy of an end line than this? Ten to one you’ll know the story that precedes it: Seemingly benevolent aliens, the Kanamit, arrive on earth, promising peace and prosperity. The aliens are as good as their word, and start whisking “lucky” humans off to their planet for a “ten year exchange programme”. A U.N translator, who (rightly) thinks this is all too good to be true, sets about translating the aliens’ favourite book, which, from its title, “To Serve Man,” is assumed to be an innocent handbook. It ain’t (see the last line). The story and its funny/bleak ending has haunted me since I first read it as a ten-year-old, way too young to consider that it could be read as an allegory about the horrors of colonialism. Back then all I could think about were the people the Kanamit had lured aboard their ships, unaware that they were destined for the table (or the Kanamit version of Masterchef). It still gives me chills. – Sarah Lotz author of Missing Person out now from Hodder. 

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream by Harlan Ellison

Scariest sentence: “I have no mouth. And I must scream.”

If I tell you the name of this Harlan Ellison story, it’ll give away the last line… “I have no mouth. And I must scream.” I remember when I first read that ending, only to find myself caught in a loop where those two sentences kept echoing through my head. Reading it again right now, it’s still hard not to pinch my lips as tightly together as possible and try giving the ol’ lungs a good bellow. Still sends shivers down my spine. – Clay McLeod Chapman, author of The Remaking, out now from Quirk Books

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Movies

How Hulu’s Books of Blood Movie Taps The Mind of Clive Barker

By Don Kaye

Cabal by Clive Barker

Scariest Sentence: “She knew what men afraid, and afraid of their fear, were capable of.“

According to some criminologists, the root cause of many violent acts isn’t anger but fear. Fear of rejection, of failure, of abandonment, of loss. In this early novel by Barker, the link between fear and violence is only subtly hinted at–which makes it all the more frightening. He alludes to the heroine’s personal history with violent men, leaving the reader to fill in the blanks. – Andrew Schaffer, author of Secret Santa, out 10 November from Quirk Books 

The Sibling by Adam Hall

Scariest sentence: “He’s put the clown in her room,” Lorraine said quietly.

As a species, our goal is to keep clowns out of our bedrooms and living spaces and yet here’s some monster deliberately inserting a clown into someone’s room, ignoring the fact that since at least the dawn of time clowns have been mankind’s natural predator. The resigned tone of that “quietly” really drives home the horror because clearly this is not the first time. – Grady Hendrix.

Squelch, John Halkn

Scariest sentence: “It still doesn’t make sense to me. Moths attack sweaters and fly around light bulbs. They don’t devour humans.”

It doesn’t make sense to me, either, but if moths have stopped attacking our clothing and started attacking our bodies then count me out. I’m done. – Grady Hendrix.

Night of the Crabs by Guy N. Smith

Scariest sentence:“What a beautiful night,” Pat remarked, as they passed alongside the barbed-wire fence which enclosed War Department property. “If only we didn’t have to worry about giant crabs.”

Sometimes you just wish you lived in a simpler world. – Grady Hendrix.

The Farm by Richard Haigh

Scariest sentence: “The pigs,” then her control snapped. “Look, they’re coming out,” she shrieked. “Oh, sweet Christ. The pigs!!”

Every time I leave the safety of New York City I fully expect this to be the last sentence I hear as I am devoured by angry livestock. – Grady Hendrix, author of The Final Girl Support Group out July 2021 from Titan Books

The Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum

Scariest sentence: “I’m not going to tell you about this. I refuse to.”

That’s half of chapter 42 from Jack Ketchum’s The Girl Next Door. And The Girl Next Door is a novel that, just as Joe R. Lansdale says at the head of his story “The Night They Missed the Horror Show,” doesn’t flinch. So, if the narrator is looking back to having seen something that even he can’t put on the page, then . . . how bad must it be, right? I’ve talked to other readers of this novel and they’ve told me about chapter 42 as if the narrator actually fleshes it all out for us, and they (myself as well) all flinch as if traumatized from having had to read those words. Except they never did read the words of what actually happened. But that’s Jack Ketchum, for you. He doesn’t need to actually say it on the page to get it into our head. Worse, this is a chapter that never leaves you, either. Worse than that, you kind of become complicit just for reading it. – Stephen Graham Jones author of The Only Good Indians, out now.

In the Hills, the Cities by Clive Barker

Scariest sentence: “In Popolac a kind of peace reigned. Instead of a frenzy of panic there was a numbness, a sheep-like acceptance of the world as it was. Locked in their positions, strapped, roped and harnessed to each other in a living system that allowed for no single voice to be louder than any other, nor any back to labour less than its neighbour’s, they let an insane consensus replace the tranquil voice of reason.” 

As a much younger person, reading this story for the first time, I was overtaken by awe at the imagery; not unlike Mick who chooses to hitch a ride on the impossible doomed giant made of city denizens. Re-reading it now decades later, the story and these lines fill me with bone-deep dread. Like the referee/car thief and Mick’s lover Judd, I cannot bear to view the inevitable fall. – Paul Tremblay, author of Survivor Song, out now from Titan Books. 

Home Burial by Robert Frost

Scariest sentences: ”Don’t – don’t go.  Don’t carry it to someone else this time. Tell me about it if it’s something human.”

The line here that I consider scary is ‘Tell me about it if it’s something human.’ Because of the implication that people may carry within them things that are not human. In this case, I imagine the ‘it’ that may not be human to be something so deeply felt and instinctive that it is pre-language – and so pre-human, almost. Something primordial that requires translation or mediation – and perhaps in that, change or diminishment – in order to be sensible to another sentient being. It is the suggestion that maybe our most fundamental aspects or thoughts – our most important feelings – cannot be properly communicated that is terrifying, to me. It makes me think of each person as a dark pool, with their lived experience and true feelings becoming manifest at the bottom, and the communication of these things to others being only what is visible through the surface of the water, from above.

As much as I do believe that all communication is imperfect, and that it is difficult for people to know each other truly, I take comfort from two things – one is love, which is, I think, a kind of deep, fundamental knowing and acceptance of each other. The other is fiction, which (in my opinion) is often an attempt at translating ideas and feelings that, coming from our deepest places, we don’t otherwise have the language for. – Tom Fletcher, author The Witch Bottle, out 12 November from Jo Fletcher Books.

The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub

Scariest sentence: “You’re the herd now, Jacky.” 

I read King & Straub’s The Talisman when I was 15, at a time in my life when I’d said goodbye to one bunch of friends and hello to another, and the friendship between Jack Sawyer and his werewolf friend Wolf resonated strongly with me. In Wolf’s culture werewolves are farmers and fiercely protective of their herds who they protect by locking themselves away every month. The problem is that Jack and Wolf are on the run and Wolf’s change is coming upon him, and there’s nowhere to shut Wolf away. So when Wolf turns to Jack with blazing eyes and says this, it’s simultaneously a promise of protection (‘I will die for you’) but also a warning (‘I will tear you to pieces’). The chill with which Jack realises that his best friend loves him but will probably kill him anyway has stayed with me ever since. – James Brogden, author of Bone Harvest, out now from Titan Books

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Movies

I Am Legend: Why Can’t Matheson’s Masterpiece be Done Justice on Film?

By Dan Hajducky

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

Scariest sentence: “The watch had stopped”

I think a lot of us can relate to the feeling of getting caught up in our work and letting the hours pass us by without much thought. In the case of Robert Neville, the central figure in Richard Matheson’s seminal I Am Legend, getting lost in the hours is the most horrific thing he could possibly do. The simple four-word-sentence that has scared me more than any other in all my days of reading is “The watch had stopped.” If you’ve read the story, I’m sure you remember how those words burned into you. – Rachel Autumn Deering, editor of Hex Life, out in paperback from Titan Books on November 10 2020

One for the Road by Stephen King

Scariest sentence: “And I think she’s still waiting for her good-night kiss.”

I’m not easily scared, but occasionally I get a real chill up my spine. Shirley Jackson did that with the last line of The Haunting of Hill House. But if we’re talking about one line that lingers, that still makes me remember the way it felt the very first time I read it, I have to go with the last line in Stephen King’s short story “One for the Road,” from his collection Night Shift. It’s a vampire story, a sequel to ’Salem’s Lot, about a family whose car is trapped in a blizzard on the outskirts of a town plagued by vampires. That last line is “And I think she’s still waiting for her good-night kiss.” There, I just felt it again. That shiver. All these years later, it still works on me. – Christopher Golden, editor of Hex Life, out in paperback from Titan Books on November 10 2020

The New Mother by Lucy Clifford

Scariest sentence: “Now and then, when the darkness has fallen and the night is still, hand in hand Blue-Eyes and the Turkey creep up near to the home in which they once were so happy, and with beating hearts they watch and listen; sometimes a blinding flash comes through the window, and they know it is the light from the new mother’s glass eyes, or they hear a strange muffled noise, and they know it is the sound of her wooden tail as she drags it along the floor.”

The scariest sentence ever is from The New Mother by Lucy Clifford. The strange tone of the writing, the situation in the story and the fact that the new mother is not in any way human… – David Quantick, author of Night Train, out now from Titan Books 

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson 

Scariest sentence: “God God! Whose hand was I holding?” 

This scene perfectly conjures the feeling of being afraid in the night. Distance, time, sound – all the natural laws of the daylight world grow slippery and loosen. It’s a unique sensation – no other fear has the visceral, unhinged quality of cold terror in the dark. Shirley Jackson puts all of this on the page – she takes Eleanor and the reader into that same heightened, accelerated state, she makes our hearts race, she makes us feel alone, disoriented, lost in the night with only a friend’s hand to cling to. And then she saves us – the lights come on, our heart rate slows, and the rational world seems to settle into its proper channel again. And at last Eleanor sees: the friend whose comforting hand she held in the dark has been on the other side of the room all along. – Catriona Ward is the author of The Last House on Needless Street out 18th March 2021 from Viper Books 

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TV

The Haunting Of Hill House: How the Extraordinary Episode 6 was Made

By Louisa Mellor

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Scariest sentence: “God god – whose hand was I holding?”

It’s from a scene about two-thirds of the way through the novel. Eleanor and Theodora go to sleep in their adjacent beds in one of the many bedrooms in Hill House. They sleep with the lights on because of previous frightening incidents. But Eleanor wakes in the night to find the room plunged in darkness, and hears an eerie voice muttering from the next room. The darkness and the frightening sounds go on endlessly, and Eleanor is filled with a mounting sense of dread. She reaches out blindly for Theodora’s hand and holds on tight.

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But when the lights finally come back on, Theodora is several feet away, sitting up in her own bed, too far away for Eleanor to have touched her. So the hand she was holding belonged to someone or something else. It’s a brilliantly oblique bit of horror – the realisation that the monster was right alongside you, inside your guard – and every adaptation of the novel references it in some form or other. But I don’t think you can beat Jackson’s chilling, deadpan prose. – Mike Carey author of The Trials of Koli, out now from Orbit Books

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Books

Who Was The Haunting of Hill House Author Shirley Jackson?

By Don Kaye

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson 

Scariest sentence: “No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.” 

I’ll be surprised if no one else has picked these sentences, although maybe not, because I’m blatantly cheating for choosing the entire first paragraph of The Haunting of Hill House. It is a classic of looming dread, and it’s probably generated more commentary and criticism than any other first paragraph in a horror novel. I love it. – Ellen Datlow, editor of the Best Horror of the Year annual series.

A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay

Scariest sentence: “It was so dark it was like nothing was there in the room but us. Only the nothing was actually something because it filled my eyes and lungs and it sat on my shoulders.”

Paul Tremblay perfectly captures our universal fear of the dark in these two lines from A Head Full of Ghosts. That made the flesh on my skull crawl when I read it. The wording is simple but so effective: in one, two, three increasingly creepy instances Paul transforms what’s simply darkness into the tangible, the intimately dangerous… as darkness tends to do. – Thomas Olde Heuvalt, author Hex and Echo, forthcoming from Nightfire in 2021

Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs

Scariest sentence: The Black Meat is like a tainted cheese, overpoweringly delicious and nauseating so that the eaters eat and vomit and eat again until they fall exhausted.

I read Naked Lunch in high school and it was a mind-destroyer. Thankfully, it is also a mind rebuilder. You can turn to any page and find sentences that bewildered, disoriented, horrified, and excited me. So that’s exactly what I just did: I opened the book randomly to page 55 and found one. Disgusting, delightful decadence! – Daniel Kraus, coauthor with George A. Romero of The Living Dead, out now from Tor Books.

The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe

Scariest sentence: “And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.“

It’s ‘illimitable’ that does it for me, though the capitalisations and the against-the-advice-of-grammarians superfluous first and second usages of ‘and’ add quite a bit.  That first ‘And’ – the one your teacher told you not to start a sentence with – is a pointed touch and does a lot of work, indicating that all the bad stuff in the rest of the sentence is a consequence of what’s gone before in the story … which, this season, seems like the most pointed tale of mystery and imagination ever written. – Kim Newman author Anno Dracula 1999 Daikaiju out now from Titan Books.

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Scariest sentence: “In the unending, crashing second before the car hurled into the tree she thought clearly, Why am I doing this?  Why am I doing this?  Why don’t they stop me?” 

Discussions of the prose of Shirley Jackson’s monumental The Haunting of Hill House tend to focus on its famous opening paragraph.  Certainly the beginnings of both the novel’s first and second chapters offer a wealth of riches for scholarly consideration, rhetorical analysis.  Yet it’s this long sentence from the novel’s second-to-last paragraph that comes to mind if I’m asked to name the most frightening line in the book.  Indeed, it seems to me one of the most frightening sentences of any novel or story I’ve read.  Obviously, there are lines whose immediate impact is greater, which have a more substantial visceral effect (Clive Barker’s fiction is rife with these).  But I’m not sure any echo in quite the same way.  At this moment in Jackson’s narrative, Eleanor Vance is being made to leave Hill House, the dwelling with whose structure her personality has become entangled and confused.  Seemingly unwilling to be separated from the place, she steers her car straight toward an enormous tree at a curve in the driveway and steps on the gas.  “I am really doing it,” she thinks, “I am doing this all by myself, now, at last.”  This would be an awful enough end for Jackson’s protagonist, but with the sentence that follows and finishes the paragraph, she gives the screw a final, diabolical turn.  Eleanor experiences a moment of clarity, which tells us that her thoughts of just a line before were not clear.  She is not accelerating toward the tree of her own volition—or, not only of her own volition.  Something else is at play here, some other factor.  Is it the “whatever” Jackson has described walking in Hill House, the unspecified, (possibly) supernatural force (which might be any one of a number of ghosts, or an aggregate of those ghosts, or the house itself, brought to occult life by the peculiarities of its design)?  Or is it some submerged part of Eleanor—guilt at her role in her mother’s death, or anger at her expulsion from the group brought to Hill House to study it?  She doesn’t know, and she is trapped in her unknowing, as the final instant of her life stretches on and on, “unending.”  Her ultimate motivation obscure to her, all she can do is wonder why no one is stopping her.  With hideous irony, the power, the control Eleanor was celebrating a moment prior turns on her, her freedom becoming the freedom of death.  The line passes as quickly as the crash it describes, and in its speed, it’s easy to miss everything going on it.  To say it’s another example of Jackson’s skill as a writer feels somehow inadequate, as it doesn’t get at the way the sentence braids claustrophobia, terror, and confusion.  It’s the kind of writing that haunts you in quiet moments, long after flashier, louder lines have faded into silence.  It’s the kind of writing that reminds you of the horror story’s particular power, its reach and its resonance. – John Langan, author of The Fisherman, out now.

Pet Sematary by Stephen King

Scariest sentence: “Sometimes dead is better.”

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Nobody says this line better than that guy in the first Pet Sematary movie who used to play Herman Munster. Although John Lithgow did his best. King struck on an age-old wisdom when he showed us the folly of trying to bring people back once they’re gone. Just as WW. Jacobs did in The Monkey’s Paw and Shelley demonstrated (albeit piecemeal) in Frankenstein. You’ve got to be careful what you wish for. Sometimes, dead really is better, and far less likely to come back and stab you to death with a scalpel. C.S. O’Cinneide is the author of Petra’s Ghost, out now from Titan Books.

Pet Sematary by Stephen King

Scariest sentence: “Darling,” it said

This line has to be read in the context of an entire, brilliant novel that went before. It’s really not something I want to give away, because of spoilers, but if you’ve read this one, even hearing the final line again should send a shiver through you. The writer was at the top of his game – and that’s saying something – and it remains his most terrifying novel.  Here’s the line: “Darling,” it said. – Tim Lebbon, author of Eden, out now from Titan Books 

The post “God God – Whose Hand Was I Holding?”: the Scariest Sentences Ever Written, Selected by Top Horror Authors appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[mhalachai]

A decade that was - looking back at 10 years

I have just enough introspection left in me to pull this off - let's look at what fanfic disasters I've put out over the last ten years, shall we?

2010 & 2011

I was between fandoms at the time, but I had a Criminal Minds kick for a while.

Immutability: Once part of the team, always part of the team. That's what Spencer told himself as he walked up the stairs.

Branching Out (Criminal Minds/Stargate): Jennifer Jareau's first day as liaison for the Department of Defense really wasn't what she expected.

In Darkness (Criminal Minds/Harry Potter): To the world around him, Aaron Hotchner is a (somewhat) normal FBI agent, with a somewhat normal son and a moderately normal life. He's never told his team who he was... before. When he was known as Aaron Black.

These Small Bones (Doctor Who/Harry Potter): It starts with a girl. With him, it usually does.

2012

I dabble in time travel with this next one, and I still really like how the paradoxes of time hold up.

Marking Time (Doctor Who/White Collar): These are the things Peter Burke knows about Neal Caffrey's beginnings. None of these things are true.

Next up, a little four-part Criminal Minds series, featuring Spencer Reid (genderswapped) 

Fragility Optional: Given all that's happened, you'd think no one would expect Spencer Reid to put on high heels and slink out undercover.

But this was also the year that Avengers came out, and my love for Natasha Romanoff sent me down an amazing rabbit hole for the next couple of years, an Avengers/Stargate crossover series in which Natasha Romanoff was John Sheppard’s mother. And that was the least complicated part of it.

A Widow's Tale series (a 10-part series)

The main pieces of this series are Widow Maker, Baba Yaga's Children, and Old Soldiers, the other bits and bobs lead up to it. 

I also dabbled in a bit of Teen Wolf this year, starting Child of the Wolf (Avengers/Teen Wolf) and getting the first five chapters out the door in November-December before I got stymied - I would come back to this 7 years later, see below.

Child of the Wolf (MCU/Teen Wolf): Caught between hunters and werewolves, Stiles almost doesn’t have time to wonder much about the hot new redheaded Deputy Sheriff or the bow-wielding sarcastic gym teacher. Almost.

2013

Before Agent Carter came out, I wrote a Peggy Carter biopic, going off the riff of, what if Peggy had touched the Tesseract and stopped aging? It's two-thirds done.

Rhapsody in Blue: For decades, Peggy Carter has had only two constants in her life: Howard Stark, and the Winter Soldier.

2014

Agents of Shield came out and as I tend towards dark-haired girls with mysterious powers, I latched onto Skye for five minutes. Here's a quick installment...

Hell's Gate: In the wake of revelations of Skye’s past, Phil Coulson wasn’t expecting to find out what happened to Skye’s parents, and certainly not from a former Russian agent turned SHIELD operative showing up unannounced on his plane.

And oh! I finished Inevitable! My Anita Blake/Harry Potter epic, started in 2005 and in limbo for a number of years, I finally got it wrapped! Although, epic; I am fast closing in on its wordcount with Hour of the Wolf.

Inevitable (Anita Blake/Harry Potter): A late-night run-in with werewolves in the woods outside St. Louis dumps Harry Potter into a whole new world of trouble. Now Anita Blake has to deal with a new charge as well as Death-Eaters come to town.

Also in 2014 I started my baby, Hands of Clay, my Stucky kid!fic in which I attempt to give Bucky and Steve a happy ending, and Natasha and Clint happy childhoods.

Hands of Clay: James Barnes leads a busy life as a single working father in New York. But when his childhood best friend Steve Rogers falls back into his life, James will have to re-learn what love, friendship and family are really all about.

Also randomly I wrote a small Night Court fusion with the Avengers that I still love and am including it in the list.

Then Thor: The Dark World came out and after I punched a wall at yet another MCU mother getting fridged (Frigga, fridged, get it?) I started a resurrection fix-it featuring Loki’s children on earth, that was going to be great only I lost momentum, but the structure of this were good.

Hel's Bones: Magic pulled Frigga back from the realm of the dead, but not even Loki's children can shield her from the consequences of long-ago actions coming back to haunt her.

2015-2016 

the rest of 2014-2016 were consumed with Hands of Clay. But then! Tumblr caught my eye with a figure skating anime, and after the longest time, I checked it out. Which led to

2017-2018

when my Yuri on Ice! phase began. 

First up, we have the Blood in the Water series:

Water's Edge: For years, Yuuri had heard people say Viktor’s skating was otherworldly. He never thought they were being literal.

Undertow: Viktor Nikiforov has spent his entire life pretending to be normal. It's never enough.

There Be Dragons: Seven-year-old Otabek knew two things - he wasn't really related to a dragon, and he was never going to fall in love. Things like that belonged only in fairy tales.

A Late Frost: The one thing that Yuuri didn't expect about the World Figure Skating Championships in Boston was that beating two world records and winning a gold medal was going to be the easy part. (WIP) 

I also wrote a bunch of YOI one-shots: 

Midnight Salchow: Yuuri is convinced he has hidden his shameful past as a writer of Viktor Nikiforov RPF. Yuuri is mistaken.

Eight Days A Week: okay but a nanny!AU where Viktor has somehow acquired a bushel of children and needs a nanny to help care for his screaming brood - enter Yuuri, freshly retired from what he thinks was a failed figure skating career, and in desperate need of money to help pay off his student loans.

Sex Maniac: Katsuki Yuuri, Grand Prix silver medalist and a sorry example of a human being, was seventy percent sure that sleeping with Viktor Nikiforov had turned him into a sex maniac.

The Trials of Anteros: Of course Yuuri knew about Viktor’s hockey-playing twin brother; everyone in the figure skating world did. But given that Viktor had never mentioned the man, Yuuri never expected to get home one day after practice to find Vladimir Nikiforov cluttering up their apartment.

An Uncertain Arabesque: Yuuri never went to the banquet. Viktor never looked into the eyes of a beautiful, sloshed Japanese figure skater, never had the spark brought back into his life with the idea of coaching, and of love.  Viktor never saw the gash in the ice, not in the last minute of his free program at Russian Nationals, and couldn’t prevent his blade from catching in the depression, sending him to the ice with a broken knee and a ruined skating career. Viktor never saw any of it coming.

Silver and Glass: February 14, the Four Continents started in two days, and Yuuri was freaking out. Valentine's Day was the least of his worries... or so he thought.

and lastly, the fantasy swordmaster AU that consumed my summer vacation in 2018:

And each man stands with his face in the light: After the carnage on the fields of the Elven Wars, Viktor Ivanovich, general of the northern armies, was done with fighting. When Prince Regent Yuri asked him to track down the mysterious man who slew the Elven King, Viktor complies, hardly knowing how that one action will change his life forever...

Also in 2018, something kickstarted me down the road of wondering what it would be like if Clint Barton (Hawkeye) was raised by Susan Pevensie (formerly queen of Narnia), as one does.

Turn, Archer, and Heed the Wild Hunt (MCU/Chronicles of Narnia): In the summer of 1983, Clint Barton goes to live with his new foster mom in the middle of nowhere, Iowa. Now he just needs to figure out how negotiate this new life... and also what's up with all the strange things happening in the night.

 2019

And as I mentioned in yesterday’s, post, 2019 was the year of salt, in which I got cheesed off at Avengers: Endgame and resurrected Child of the Wolf, and then started my current obsession with time travel and other paradoxes:

Hour of the Wolf (MCU/Teen Wolf): Allison Stark has spent her entire life trying to live up to her father's sacrifice. But when the universe itself starts to dissolve, desperation and magic come together to push Allison back in time to try to right the wrongs.

2020

Who knows where we go? I hope it's going to be great :D

Thanks to everyone who's been hanging out with me in this pocket of fandom!

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E58 (Apr. 16, 2019)

Gooooood evening, everyone! @eponymous-rose may have social obligations she was actually looking forward to tonight, but I had a birthday party I was desperately trying to get out of, and so I am here, and Henry is also here, looking immensely put-upon at this human flopped on his pillow.

Tonight’s guests: Liam O’Brien & Taliesin Jaffe. Liam’s shirt is remarkably Tal-ish tonight. Rep it, boys.

Tonight’s announcements: New campaign journals available at therooktheraven.com/criticalrole. They’ll be at Denver Pop Culture Con next week MONTH! sorry!--Ashley will be there too! It’ll be the first time everyone’s been at a con together...possibly ever! Liam: “Four years in the making.” Everyone’s sick & Brian took Nyquil thirty minutes ago. This should be an interesting evening. Three days left in the Kickstarter campaign! Earlier today, they cracked $10 million, which means Travis’ll be filming himself traipsing through a haunted house. Good heavens. This Thursday, about half an hour after CR ends, Joel Hodgson from MST3K will be coming on the show to hang out with the guys & celebrate.

And now...Episode 58: Wood & Steel

CR Stats: briefly derailed by accusations that Brian’s hair looks like a shark fin. Caleb’s spent 1475 gold on paper and ink so far. Liam: “God, grad school, man.” Caduceus has used Eyes of the Grave 13 times. “It’s a little panic spell, really. Every now and then it helps. It’s nice to be able to walk into a room and go, ‘hey, is there anyone undead in here?’“ This episode was Yasha’s first natural one stealth check. “Not Ashley’s, though.” “No.”

Tal’s shoulder is still peeling from Ashley’s roast of Sam pre-show last episode. Neither Liam nor Tal think Sam was really prepared for it, and now Sam’s working overtime to make up for it. The president we deserve, honestly.

Re: Cad’s check on Fjord: “Clay loves these people. On the other hand, he also has a sense about what an addict is. I love you, I trust you, and I’m gonna go through your wallet real quick.” He was trying to validate his own trust in Fjord just in case he needed to stop him doing anything dumb later.

Taliesin is REALLY excited (one might say gleeful) about making Travis’s haunted house experience as terrible as possible. Brian suggests tasers in case Travis starts barreling through walls in panic.

Caleb is feeling as if he’s blown a bit of his cover lately; the filthy disguise that he’s maintained for so long is pointless now. He’s expecting someone to come “knocking at the door soonish.”

The whole idea of consecution really, really messed Caduceus up. “Clay doesn’t know what to think. This is definitely a...bedouin monk having someone try to explain the flying spaghetti monster to him. It feel offensive and yet harmless...something’s rubbing him the wrong way and he doesn’t know what it is yet. He’s not really about the souls--that’s not what his order is about. His order is about flesh & what happens to the remains; the souls are the souls’ business--that’s what the Raven Queen is for. He’s not sure if it’s his own prejudices.”

Caleb has to think of Nott as a totally different person now. He doesn’t know what she wants, if she wants to run off with her husband now. His feelings for her haven’t changed. He thinks they were codependent for a long time, but now he’s faced with the reality that she doesn’t need him nearly as much as he needs her anymore. He hasn’t even had a chance to talk to her lately “because he’s not even sure if the script is the same.”

Marisha bombs the set with a laser pointer nerf gun. I am so happy I’m not kidding.

They discuss who did the laser pointer addition (Christina) and attempt to shoot off Brian’s hand. It misses & hits a plush. Brian: “You almost hurt Molly. Oh, wait.”

Clay hasn’t quite figured out the interpersonal relationships of the group yet. He’s kinda noticed the Caleb/Nott relationship (although it doesn’t make much sense to him), but he has figured out he and Yasha have the most in common. He first thought he’d get along most with Jester because they were both clerics, but now knows they’re completely different people who heal for completely different reasons (one out of enjoyment of healing, one forced). He really wants to keep Fjord & Caleb on the straight & narrow, and he sees his relationship with Yasha as more straightforward “I’ll help you, you help me.” Brian’s interested in hearing what Cad thinks Caleb’s right path should be. Me too!

Tal talks about how when they’re traveling at cons, he sits & thinks about other people’s characters and how he/Clay relates to them.

GIF of the Week! Big Shaft. What more needs be said, really. The winner gets a Cobalt Soul journal which Brian says is available on shop.critrole.com as well as the UK store which is A STRAIGHT UP LIE, BRIAN, THEY ARE 100% SOLD OUT, I LOOKED EARLIER TODAY, WHY DO YOU TAUNT ME WITH THESE LIES. >:((((((

Caleb didn’t ask Waccoh about dunamancy because it wasn’t the right time. Cad is very interested in the staff. Liam likes the Ring of Evasion.

What did Tal think of Fjord’s very Percy-esque intimidation in the last episode? “Take it! Run! Murder them all!” Percy loves the dodeca & would have loved to play with it. Both Liam and Tal marvel at how easily threat came to Travis.

In terms of the broken sword, Cad’s hoping for a lemonade-out-of-lemons situation. Brian & Liam switch seats so Liam can pet Henry. Understandable, really. He feels like it’s the world communicating to him that it is meaningful. “He always moves forward to something that feels meaningful. His job was to speak to people about their lost loved ones. He ran a funeral home. So while he doesn’t entirely understand how people relate to one another, he understands how people function, and he’s fascinated by that.” Tal constantly has to weight if his decisions are based on gameplay or something about Cad’s observations. He’s very acutely aware of the difference between his intelligence and wisdom scores.

Liam dabs & regrets it. Then he talks about how that’s why Cad makes Caleb nervous. It’s like talking to a human lie detector. Tal keeps talking a bit about how Cad sometimes spooks Caleb, but I’m 100% distracted by Henry jumping up & sitting between Brian & Tal. Poor Liam.

Everyone worries a bit about Ashley’s low AC, except Liam, who worries sarcastically. Ya jerk.

Liam answers an interesting question about Caleb’s selfishness--is his generosity this last episode a show to prove to the group that he’s a team player or is he just genuinely caring more about the entire group? Porque no los dos--he’s trying to keep them alive and working well together, and now he has different reasons to do what he’s doing. “Everything’s changed for him” over the last few episodes.

Everyone discusses how motivations change slowly over time and how it’s not a smooth journey--sometimes they’re selfish one day and selfless the next, and sometimes the “shitty purpose on the macro scale” still has “good happening on the micro scale.” It’s not a straight road and people can backslide. Taliesin: “I love something that’s complicated.” Liam talks about how Percy freed Whitestone and did some very dark things on the way there. Dani: “It’s all part of being one person with lots of facets.”

Fanart of the Week! I really hope it’s that GoT video! Ahh, it’s @morphenominal12′s portrait of Yasha. Okay okay okay, this is pretty good. Respect. At least Liam doesn’t taunt me with a journal I can’t buy. Why do I keep thinking it’ll stop saying “Sold Out” if I keep refreshing the page?

A question points out that all three of Taliesin’s characters come from large families (even if those families are dead or adopted). Tal says he doesn’t know much about being an only child & is from a large family himself. It’s part of starting from what you know, and he likes having a few pre-built relationships that he or the DM can build on later. He says maybe being an only child will be his next challenge.

Very, very belatedly, the crew adds a graphic of dollar signs falling from the top of the screen. They do it three times before everyone realizes it’s because Tal said he’d do only-child plots for money. “And on this show, we spend five minutes deconstructing a bad joke from the tricaster.”

Cad doesn’t know how he feels about consecution. They’re not undead...but what are they? It’s making him a little queasy but he can’t put his finger on it. He’s spent a lot of time thinking about how a nature cleric relates to larger heroic destiny, and about his need to see the kiln.

They tuck in a sleepy Henry. I would die for this dog.

Liam signs us off with all of Brian’s catchphrases. What a nerd.

And we’re out! Is it Thursday yet?

[a-daydreamers-stories]

~So this is the last part of Hate me right! I’m sorry it took me so long! My work has been short-staffed so I have been working almost 7 days a week and it makes me sad to finish this story too. This part is really long so I will be putting a keep reading in it this time.~

Chapter 11

Reader’s POV

~A year later~

After the initial shock wore off everyone was very both happy for us and terrified by us. Our arguing had taken on a playful tone and as Juice described it we had “disgusting tactics” to win them. Which was just us trying to distract the other one by doing something sexy and that led to rough and angry sex.

It had been an interesting year and honestly, I couldn’t have been happier. Happy had truly been amazing, we understood and were comfortable with each other. Happy moved in after 3 months, he’d practically been living with me anyways, but he insisted it was because he wanted to make sure I was protected. He didn’t exactly talk to me about it beforehand either, just showed up one day with the rest of his stuff, which caused me to laugh at him so hard that I started crying. I was currently laying in bed watching tv while Happy was sketching beside me.

“What ya working on?” I scooted closer, attempting to see when he shut the sketchbook and smirked.

“Surprise.” He said simply. 

“For me or one of your brothers?” I pouted slightly. He hated showing me his work before it was finished but I always loved watching him sketch.

“Have you asked for a new tattoo?” Happy asked, raising an eyebrow at me. He had designed a few for me since we officially got together. Having Happy give me a tattoo was one of the most erotic things to ever happen to me and each time I was left a soaked mess.

“Can I ask for one now?” I smirked and moved his sketchbook onto the nightstand so I could straddle him.

“Why?” He smirked and nipped at my lower lip.

“Because…” I smiled.

“Because it makes you horny when I tattoo you?” He chuckled and brushed my hair back away from my neck.

“Maybe…” My breath hitched as his lips brushed over my neck.

“Maybe?” Happy laughed. “When I tattooed your thigh, I had to pause just to eat you out because you were so soaked and squirming.”

“Not my fault,” I said and smiled as his fingers trailed up my back. “You’re just so damn hot and being that close to my pussy…”

“You’re impossible.” Happy smirked and sucked hard on the soft spot on my neck.

“Mmm… but you love me.” I moaned and grinded against him.

“So fucking much.” Happy groaned softly and his lips moved down to the collar of my shirt. “Thought we agreed that clothes are outlawed in the bedroom.”

“You said that but then you continued to wear boxers so I figured that law was revoked.” I giggled.

“I’m bringing it back.” He growled and took my shirt off, his hands going up to cup my breasts.

“Then take your fucking boxers off,” I smirked and pushed him back against the headboard roughly. “Now…”

“So fucking bossy.” Happy grabbed my hips and rolled us over so he was on top. “Did you forget that I’m the boss?”

“I know you’re the boss, daddy.” I batted my eyelashes at him innocently.

“Then why are you giving me orders?” Happy smirked and leaned down to kiss my neck roughly. I moaned and moved my head to give him better access which he took full advantage of and bit playfully. “Tell daddy you’re sorry…”

“I’m sorry, daddy…” I moaned loudly as he bit the other side.

“Hmmm… I think you’re just saying that.” Happy smirked against my skin.

“Daddy…” I whined in frustration as Happy grinded against me, his boxers still on. “Please! I’m sorry, daddy!”

“Mmmm… good girl.” Happy lifted his head up and looked down at me with a smirk. “Now, ask me nicely to take my boxers off.”

“Take your boxers off…” I started sweetly, smiling up at him. “And please fuck me hard.”

“Good girl…” Happy smirked and quickly pushed his boxers down. He thrust into me hard and quick, filling me completely and I gasped loudly. My hands wrapped around him, nails digging into his back as he started moving in and out of me.

“Fuck!” I moaned as he growled lowly, his head moving down to my neck. He marked me, roughly, showing me exactly who was the boss.

“My… good… girl…” He growled out with each hard thrust, pulling his head back to look at his work. One hand gripped the headboard and the other wrapped itself around my throat. Our eyes locked with each other and I smiled as his fingers squeezed, I trusted Happy completely, he was the love of my life.

Happy pushed us closer and closer to our orgasms, gently applying more pressure as we started growing closer. My nails dug into his back, leaving my own marks on him. RING! RING! RING! Happy’s simple ringtone cuts through the air and I nearly sobbed as he stopped moving.

“Happy…” I whined as he leaned over and grabbed his phone.

“Shhh…” Happy smirked as he let go of my throat, he winked down at me as he answered. “What?”

“Hap…” I tried to wiggle under him and he let out a warning growl before slamming into me harshly. I moaned loudly before burying my face in his neck, he started a slow and hard pace as he talked on the phone to whoever. I honestly didn’t care at this point, my eyes closed while I bit and sucked on his neck as he slowly built me back up to the orgasm I should have had. I bit down on a sensitive spot on Happy’s neck and he paused inside of me for a second.

“Fuck…. Baby…” Happy growled loudly as he started moving faster, completely forgetting that he was on the phone.

“Hap!? What the fuck are you doing!? ARE YOU TWO DOING YOUR DISGUSTING TACTICS!?” I could hear a high pitched Juice voice come through the phone.

“You fucking called me when I’m at home with my girl! What the fuck did you expect!?” Happy snapped into the phone and hit a spot inside me that sent me straight over the edge, moaning Happy’s name loudly as I came undone.

“Tell him to get off the fucking phone.” I moaned before rolling us over so I was riding Happy.

“Juice you have 5 seconds to spit out what the fuck you wanted before I hang up.” Happy growled into the phone as I rolled my hips. I didn’t hear what Juice said as I started riding Happy. “Fuck… give me 10 minutes, possibly 15.”

He hung up and threw the phone before grabbing my hips and thrusting up into me hard. I gasped and put my hands on his chest as I met his thrusts, building towards another orgasm. I knew he was getting close as his breathing became erratic and his thrusts grew sloppy.

“Fuck… I’m so close…” I moaned loudly.

“Cum for me, baby girl.” Happy growled up at me before leaning up and taking one of my nipples in his mouth and sucking hard. I came apart as soon as he did and Happy followed soon after. We rode out our orgasms together before I laid down on his chest. Both of us panting hard as Happy’s hand moved up to stroke my hair.

“Do you have to go?” I pouted and he chuckled.

“I’ll be back soon, Clay wants Juice and I to go check on a few things.” Happy tilted my chin up and kissed me softly. “You better still be naked when I get back.”

“Mmm… of course, clothes are outlawed.” I giggled. Happy chuckled and kissed me again before rolling us over so I was laying on the bed.

“Rest up…” Happy smirked before playfully biting my lower lip, he stood up and got dressed. “When I get back we’re going a few more rounds.”

“Looking forward to it,” I smiled and cuddled further into bed, my eyes closing. I felt Happy’s lips against my forehead before he left. I slept for a while before being drawn out of my sleep, Happy was at his dresser. His back was turned to me and in the moonlight, I could see he was holding his side. I sat up and frowned as I saw the blood covering his shirt. “Hap…”

“Go back to sleep, baby girl.” He said softly as he peeled his shirt off.

“You’re hurt.” I got out of bed and came over to him. Gently turning him to face me, he smiled down at me and put his hand over mine before I could touch the huge gash along his stomach.

“Just a graze, baby. Go back to bed, I’ll be there soon.” Happy lifted my fingers and kissed them softly.

“A graze!? Hap, you’re going to need stitches!” I looked at him with wide eyes.

“I got it.” Happy said and leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Get that pretty little ass in bed.”

“Happy, I’m not going to bed. Sit your ass down now!” I told him an edge coming into my tone. He looked at me for a second before sitting down at the end of the bed. I went to the bathroom and grabbed out the first aid kit that Happy had and a rag before I came back, getting out all the supplies I would need.

“Baby girl, you don’t have to do this.” He said and I glared up at him.

“Let me fucking take care of you, god damn moron,” I grumbled the last part as I grabbed the rubbing alcohol. Drenching the rag in it before I started cleaning Happy’s wound. He hissed slightly as I was probably a little rougher then I should have been but I was so pissed at the dumb fucker right this second.

“Baby girl…” Happy started but I shook my head.

“No, don’t start. We have been together for a year now and I thought…” Tears came to my eyes. “I thought we were past the stage where you didn’t trust me.”

“Trust you?” Happy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Baby girl, you know I can’t tell you about club business.”

“I’m not talking about that Happy!” I snapped and cleaned the rest of the blood away before grabbing the needle and thread. He grabbed my wrists and shook his head.

“Before you start stabbing me when you’re mad… why don’t you explain what you mean.” Happy said.

“Trying to send me back to bed while you patch yourself up? That screams how much you don’t trust me to take care of you, to be there for you even after everything we’ve been through.” I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling, admitting that hurt so fucking bad. “Am I not good enough to take care of you?”

“Baby girl…” Happy said softly and cupped my cheek, his thumb gently. “I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

“Then why not let me help?” I asked.

“Because I don’t like you seeing me hurt. I don’t like you seeing me weak…” Happy said.

“Hap… you are sitting here with a huge gash in your stomach, talking to me, and not even flinching. You are the strongest person I have ever met.” I leaned up and kissed him softly. “Let me patch you up.”

“Okay, baby girl.” Happy smiled softly and released my cheek and wrist. Leaning back slightly to allow me to start stitching him up. I was almost finished when I accidentally leaned against the bulge in Happy’s pants. I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“How the hell are you turned on right now?” I asked.

“Same way you get turned on when I tattoo you.” Happy smirked.

“No, not the same way. You gave me a tattoo is not the same as me stitching you up.” I said.

“I have a gorgeous naked woman in between my legs, patching me up… How could I not want to fuck you into next week?” Happy growled the last part, making me wet.

“I’m guessing making you take pain meds and putting you to bed isn’t an option?” I smirked.

“You better finish or I’m going to take you before you do.” Happy growled and I giggled before finishing up the last few stitches. As soon as I had the kit on the ground, Happy picked me up and placed me on his lap. “Mmmm… I’m injured, you’re going to need to ride me.”

“Oh, of course…” I smirked before kissing Happy hard.

~2 weeks later~

God, I was fucking miserable. Happy and I were never going to get Chinese food again, never ever again, I thought as I puked my guts out. Happy had already gone to work and honestly, I was extremely grateful for that, not wanting him to see me like this. I rested my head on my arm and groaned, maybe I should call him and see how he’s feeling. He must be miserable if he’s at the clubhouse with food poisoning, I pulled out my phone and clicked on Happy’s icon.

“Hey, baby girl. It’s your day off, what ya calling for?” Happy asked.

“I was just checking on you, see how you’re feeling,” I told him.

“How I’m feeling?” Happy asked.

“Yeah, figured you were probably miserable at the clubhouse,” I told him.

“Well, I mean I’d rather be buried inside of you right now but nothing I’m not used to.” Happy admitted in a slightly confused tone.

“So you’re not feeling sick?” I asked, confused.

“No… Wait are you sick, baby girl? Do you want me to send the prospect over?” Happy asked in concern.

“No…” My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Nah, just have a bit of a stomach ache. I thought it might have been the food from last night, I’m just going to make up some soup and lie down.”

“Okay, baby girl. If you need anything, call me.” Happy told me in a serious tone.

“I got it, I’ll be fine. Might go to the store to get some ginger ale.” I told him.

“I can just send the prospect, baby girl. No need for you to leave.” Happy said.

“No, no… I’ll be okay. I can handle going to the store.” I told him. “No need to bother the prospect.”

“Fine… I love you.” Happy said.

“I love you too.” I hung up and sighed. I sat back against the tub while Sammy came and laid his head in my lap, I stroked his head while I thought over why I was sick and Happy wasn’t. Maybe I should go see a doctor, I thought before pulling myself off of the ground.

I didn’t want Happy to worry, he had been very concerned ever since I got into the car accident. I loved the man but I didn’t need a babysitter at the doctor’s office. I put my hair in a messy bun and changed out of my PJs, putting on jeans and one of Happy’s plaids before heading out of the house. I went to my doctor’s office and filled out the paperwork before waiting for the nurse to call me in. I didn’t have to wait long, being a friend of the club’s made things move fast but being a son’s girl… being Happy’s girl, that made things move at lightning speed.

Normally, I’d roll my eyes and deny the special treatment but I hated having to go to the doctor’s and didn’t mind getting out of here as fast as possible. The nurse came out a few minutes later and called my name before leading me back to a room. She checked my vitals and wrote down my symptoms before leaving the room. A few minutes later, a doctor came in and started asking me questions.

“When did these symptoms start?” She asked.

“Well the puking started this morning but after thinking about it, I’ve realized that I’ve been feeling funky for a few days now,” I admitted and she nodded before looking over my chart then looking up at me.

“Is it possible that you might be pregnant?” She asked in a soft tone.

“What? Oh… no, no I can’t be pregnant…” I paused and started counting back to the last time I had a period. I had missed this month’s without even realizing it and looked at the doctor with wide eyes.

“I…” I cleared my throat. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to do a test.”

“Okay, we’ll take some blood then get it sent off to the lab. I’ll call you with the results in a day or two and we’ll go from there, okay?” She smiled softly and I nodded. She took some blood and I left, heading back home. Once I was home, I took off my pants and snuggled into bed. Happy came home a while later and made me soup, before cuddling into bed with me.

The next few days, I was a nervous wreck. I didn’t want Happy to know because we had never discussed kids and if it wasn’t true then why worry him about it. Every time my phone went off I jumped and grabbed it as quickly as possible which had Happy watching me closely. I was currently at work, holding my head in my hands and attempting not to throw up when my phone started going off.

“Hello?” I answered nervously before going to shut both doors to the office. I looked out the window to the garage and watched Happy work on a car.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N, this is Dr. Young calling about your test results.” She said and I took in a shaky breath.

“Yes and?”

“And they were positive, congratulations, you’re pregnant.” She said and I nearly dropped the phone. “Mrs?”

“Yes… uh, thank you. Have a nice day.” I mumbled into the phone and hung up. I set the phone on the desk and ran my fingers through my hair as I sat in the chair. Holy… shit… I thought before picking my phone up and calling my OBGYN, setting up an appointment for tomorrow.

Happy’s POV

I had been debating about this for a few months now, spending most of my free time sketching different versions. I had come up with at least five different crows for you each of them were perfect and I could picture any of them on your amazing body which was the issue. I wanted to put them all on you just a whole fucking flock of crows with my name on them.

Something had been wrong the past few days though, you seemed on edge since you got sick. You kept reassuring me that nothing was wrong but I was getting very concerned. Your stomach ache had turned into you throwing up and I was worried about you getting dehydrated. Making sure to keep you drinking water, texting you reminders if I wasn’t with you.

You were in the office right now on the phone to someone and I frowned. That was another thing, you had been treating your phone like a bomb lately. Nervously glancing at it and grabbing it quickly if it rang. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were seeing someone else. We both know that wasn’t true though after everything we went through to get together neither of us would just throw it away.

.I finished off the car and looked as you wrote something down, maybe it was a work call. I waited until you were done before going over and opening the door, you looked a little pale but smiled at me.

“You okay, baby girl?” I asked softly.

“Yeah… I’m fine.” You waved your hand.

“Still feeling sick?” I asked and you nodded. I walked inside the office and shut the door behind me. “Maybe you should set up a doctors appointment?”

“That’s actually what that phone call was about. I… set up an appointment for tomorrow.” You told me.

“Great, what time? I’ll tell Gem we need either the morning or the afternoon off.” I said coming around to your side of the desk. I crouched down in front of you and you shook your head.

“Hap, I can go to the doctors by myself.” You said and leaned down to kiss me softly. I kissed you back before standing up, I picked you up and walked you over to the couch. I sat down with you on my lap.

“I just want to make sure you’re safe,” I told you and you smiled.

“Hap… I’m going to the doctors tomorrow, by myself.” You told me. “I will talk to you about what I find out after, okay?”

“Fine but if it is anything serious, you come here afterward.” I gave you a serious look. “I want to know right away.”

“Happy, I’ll be at home waiting for you tomorrow. Might even cook dinner if I’m feeling up to it.” You smiled and I chuckled before kissing you deeply.

“Why don’t you order us food? Whatever you want, okay?” I said and you nodded in agreement.

“I will have food straight from the take out box waiting for you.” You smiled and I chuckled before sighing.

“Gotta get back to work,” I said and you pouted before kissing me one last time. You got up off my lap and I got off the couch with a groan.

“I love you.” You said.

“I love you too, drink your damn water.” I winked before heading back out to the garage.

“Yeah okay, bossy ass.” You chuckled and I smirked before heading back to the car.

The next day was the longest of my life, waiting for you to either show up or not was killing me. I had wanted to go with you so badly, but you insisted that you wanted to go alone. Your appointment would have been an hour ago now and it was driving me nuts that you hadn’t called or texted yet which meant you weren’t out yet. Why weren’t you out yet? I tried to focus on the car I was working on but fuck was it hard… I quickly pulled my phone out as it started to go off.

“Baby girl?” I asked.

“Hey, Hap. I’m all good, the doc gave me some stuff to take that should make everything better.” You said and I let out a sigh of relief.

“Good… that’s really good, baby girl.” I smiled. “How about I finish up this car and see if Gem will let me out early?”

“That sounds great, let me know if she does and I’ll order us food.” You said.

“Okay, I actually have a surprise for you too.” I had spent the past few days worried sick about you, I’d never spent that much time worrying about anyone besides my ma. I wanted you to be my old lady, I wanted you to be my everything.

“Ooo! A surprise, well I have one for you too.” I could hear the smile in your voice and chuckle.

“I love you and I’ll be home soon,” I said softly.

“I love you too.” You hung up and I went into the office to talk to Gemma.

Reader’s POV

I called the pizza place after Happy texted me that Gemma was going to let him go early. I bit my lower lip and looked at the sonogram picture again. Our baby was just a tiny little blob but it made my heart race, we were going to have a baby. I smiled and giggled as I thought about that. Fuck, Happy and I were two dysfunctional jackasses and we were going to bring a baby into this world. I couldn’t have been more ecstatic about it after the initial shock wore off.

It was going to be one hell of a shock for Happy though and I wasn’t sure if he was going to be okay with it. I tucked the photo away into my jacket pocket and set my jacket on the chair. I started pacing back and forth as I thought about how I was going to tell Happy. I didn’t have time to think about it since the front door opened a few minutes later, I moved to the doorway of the kitchen. Happy came into the living room and smiled at me.

“How ya feeling, baby girl?” Happy asked coming over to me, he kissed me softly.

“I’m feeling better,” I said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I missed you.” Happy smirked before leaning down to nuzzle my neck.

“You miss me or my pussy?” I giggled as I wrapped my arms around him.

“Couldn’t I miss both?” Happy chuckled.

“Mmm… maybe.” I pulled Happy’s head up and kissed him hard. He groaned softly and pushed me gently against the counter. His hands were about to slide under my shirt when someone rang the doorbell, Sammy barked happily while both of us groaned in disappointment.

“Go grab the food, I’m going to get cleaned up before we eat.” Happy smirked before spanking my ass. I yelped and smacked his shoulder.

“Fine! Jackass…” I pouted as I went to the front door, hearing Happy chuckle as he went to our bedroom. I paid for the pizza and brought it back to the kitchen, setting it down on the table. I was lost in thought when two arms wrapped around my waist and pressed me back against a warm, wet chest. “Happy, you’re all wet!”

“I usually say that to you.” Happy nipped at my earlobe.

“Yes… you do.” I smirked.

“Baby girl…” Happy said softly and turned me around to face him. He was just in a towel but he had his sketchbook in his hand. “I want to get your opinion.”

“Oh! On the surprise for one of the boys?” I smiled. “What’s the occasion?”

“Well… how about you take a look first.” He opened the book to a certain page and passed it to me. The 2 pages were filled with 5 different crows, all beautifully designed. What caught my eye was that every crow had Happy’s name etched every design.

“This… These are mine?” I asked, looking up at him in shock.

“Yeah…” Happy shifted on his feet and ran a hand over his head.

“Hap, I love these but I can’t… I can’t take your crow.” I couldn’t get tattooed while pregnant.

“What?” Happy furrowed his brow, “We’ve been together for over a year and I am showing you how much you mean to me, how much this means to me and you can’t take my fucking crow!”

“Hap, I can’t take your crow for 8 or 9 months,” I told him softly, he was angry and I understood. It had just been such a shock that I worded it wrong, I don’t blame him for getting upset.

“What? What the fuck does that mean?” Happy scoffed and I moved over to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him softly.

“Happy… think about the reasons you can’t tattoo a person.” I smiled before gently taking one of his hands and putting it on my stomach. His eyebrows furrowed and he blinked a few times before his eyes got comically large.

“You were… then… and oh…” He breathed out in shock, and then he just kinda stayed there. Not moving, not saying anything, hell… I wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

“Hap?” I gently ran my nails over the back of his neck. When I didn’t get a response, I waved a hand in front of his face. “Happy?”

“I’m… good…” His voice cracked and I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, you let me know when that’s true.” I patted his cheek before stepping away from his frozen body. I moved to the table and grabbed a slice of pizza out of the box. I munched on it while I waited for him to move, it took about 5 minutes before I saw him move again. He ran a hand over his head and looked over at me.

“So I don’t care about none of that gender crap.” Happy started while pacing. “I think the nursery should be done in blues and greens. Maybe I could do a mural on one of the walls… something pretty. Something for them to grow up in… shit! Maybe we should get a bigger house first. We’re going to need to get a crib, clothes, oh! Gem is going to want to get them Samcro clothes. God, the guys, and Gem are going to be so excited too, I can already hear fucking Tig and Chibs demanding to be godfathers since they quote "got our crazy asses together.” Also, I am not doing no home birth bullshit, we are going to a hospital with doctors who will keep you and the baby safe…“

"Hap… Happy breathe.” I giggled and stood up. I moved over to him and gently cupping his cheek before kissing his lips softly. He took in a deep breath after I pulled back. “Better?”

“Better,” He nodded.

“Good now, this baby isn’t very big right now.” I took his hand and put it under my shirt, over my belly. “Feel, barley nothing there yet. How about we eat and then we can start discussing the idea of a new house if that’s something you’re really interested in.”

“Okay…” Happy nodded his head, still looking a little dazed. He shook his head before a smile broke out on his face. His hand gently rubbed my stomach before he looked down at it. “We’re going to have a baby…”

“Yes, we are…” I smiled and put my hand over his before kissing him softly. “Now, stop stalling and come eat.”

“Whatever you say, Mami.” Happy winked before pulling back, he patted my ass before sitting down at the table and eating. I smiled as Happy told me about his day, Tig had apparently decided to sleep with some crazy chick who Gemma had to threaten off the property.

“As insane as it sounds… I kinda want Chibs and Tig to be the godfathers. Together, of course, they have to raise the baby together if something happens to us.” I said suddenly and Happy’s eyebrows raised.

“Did you hear what I just said? What part of that made you think Tig is suitable to raise a child?” Happy asked.

“Oh none of that did, but Tig only cares about the things and the people he loves. Tig loved both of us so much he was willing to face your wrath to try and get us together, he loves his girls so much that he’ll take them only seeing him when they need money, he loves the club so much that he’d do anything for it. He’d be a good godparent and Chibs will be the level headed one to reel him back in when he gets out of line.” I explained. “Plus, it’d be a second chance for both of them, one they both deserve.”

“You know… I think they’d both be very excited. Maybe we should invite them over?” Happy suggested.

“I think that’s a great idea.” I smiled brightly. Happy chuckled and called the guys, I was enthusiastic to see their reactions to the news. I took another piece of pizza and waited for Happy to get off his phone.

“They’ll be here soon.” Happy told me after hanging up with Chibs.

“Gemma’s going to be pissed we told them first.” I giggled.

“Yeah, well she’ll be less pissed if we distract her with baby shower details.” Happy shrugged with a smirk on his lips.

“You’re the one telling her that we didn’t tell her first,” I said.

“What? Why?” Happy’s eyes widened.

“I’m pregnant with our baby,” I said as if it was a logical answer. “You need to keep me out of slapping distance.”

“Fine…” Happy groaned and I laughed.

“You’re so dramatic, it’s just Gemma.”

“She’s terrifying!” Happy exclaimed.

“Nah, you’re just a pussy.” I winked and Happy flipped me off. “Love you.”

“Fuck you.” Happy grumbled.

“You already have,” I smirked and Happy rolled his eyes. Two motorcycles came roaring down the street and I threw a napkin at Happy. “Go answer the door.”

“Why can’t you!?” Happy glared playfully at me.

“Because you got me pregnant and the morning sickness is just the beginning,” I smirked.

“This is going to be a long fucking 8 months.” Happy grumbled and got up to answer the door.

~Tag list~

@ilikechocolatemilkh

@dolphingoddess81

@kacilove26

@dmagicreality

@leaalfred

@slytherinqueen394

@make-things-beautiful2

@cheyanhicks

@daddyslittleone1019

@simam12

@jadert15

@sam-samcro

@homicidalteenagedream

[lurafita]

Rich!Tony/Artist!Peter, part 2

Go here for Part 1

Okay. Gotta be honest, this part isn’t that much more interesting than the first part was. But I did some actual research for this one and most of the artworks described in the text were inspired (or unashamedly stolen) from this site: https://theartofeducation.edu/2017/10/26/11-fascinating-artists-inspired-science/

So, let’s get this done!

The Art of Science and the Science of Art

While self-satisfaction might not be very virtuous, Pepper couldn't help the proud smirk that spread over her face, as she watched Tony all but fawn over the different artworks.

“Are you seeing this, Pep? This is a glass model of a magnified virus cell. They installed tiny light sources in specific places and angles to show how and where the cell interacts with the human body. And then there is a whole other set of lights and mirrors that indicates which parts are targeted and gradually destroyed by an antiviral drug. Actually, the way the mirrors are positioned here... yep. If you go around the pedestal and look at it from the different angles, it's like a little movie. First you see the lights indicating the parasitic effect of the virus on the body, then the way the drugs counteract the effects, and once you reach full circle; Ah, see here? Now the lights and the mirrors and the shadows create the effect that the virus evaporated. Damn, that's clever.”

Tony walked around the pedestal once more, trying to make out the positions and calculate the angles of all the lights and mirrors used.

Pepper's previous gleeful smirk softened, as she watched her boss move on to the next exhibit, a gorgeous piece created with metals and specially coated glass. The reflected images and light created 'Sun Drawings', that moved and changed in response to sunlight and the passage of time.

Having been Tony Stark's personal assistant for almost 8 years now, Pepper had learned much about the inner machinations of the man. And at his very center, Tony Stark was an engineer. A mechanic. He could talk theoretical physics with the best of them, but he preferred practical results. Tony's work had a purpose, a direct impact.

Which was one of the reasons why he wasn't normally swayed by art.

“Okay, this here? Classic movie effects. Chemical reactions used to visualize the images of a nuclear explosion, but it all happens under a microscope.”

While the billionaire could certainly appreciate beautiful art, something that was nothing more than 'nice to look at' held no value to him. It was the same reason why he had tons of one night stands, and hardly any actual relationships in his life. He was at first attracted to a person's physical beauty, which usually led to sex. But when the sexual need had been sated, mere physical attraction wasn't enough to keep him interested in the person he had bedded the night before.

“Now this, this is art. Applied physics at its finest. Do you see how the magnets interact with and against each others polarity? This is a perfect demonstration of the symbolism behind the theory of gravitational forces.”

It was why Pepper had jumped on the chance to get her hands on the tickets to Peter Parker's first ever art exhibition. He had been steadily making a name for himself over the last two years, and the redhead had seen some of his early works while she was on vacation in Europe. The young man had been set up in a corner of a street market in Marseilles, and with the help of various visual and practical effects, had explained the complex mechanics behind aerodynamic principles, to his wide eyed and utterly fascinated audience.

“A model of Nikola Tesla's early design for a solar collector made by modern computer code. See this section here? That's programming code for data extraction. In this context, it translates to Tesla's attempt to convert the energy of solar rays into electrical power. It serves as a parallel between combining old and new resources. See? This is the kind of art one can actually talk about. Not a painting of a stupid fruit bowl.”

Whereas Tony used his genius and understanding of different areas of science to create and improve, Parker used his to teach and inspire. Parker's art was something that Tony could not only relate to, but also admire, because it had purpose beyond it's beauty.

The hour that Tony had initially given himself to suffer through the showcase had long since passed, as the billionaire found himself unable to curb any of his enthusiasm, as he grew ever more fascinated with every new piece of art. Other people milling about the rooms 'oohed' and 'aahed' as they inspected the different works of the artist, sipping on their glasses of complementary champagne. But Tony doubted they could truly grasp the idea; the genius behind it all.

He was going to buy it all. The whole exhibit. Everything. He wanted those pieces in his company, in his home, in his workshop. He wanted to have the computer coded Tesla piece in his office, as a symbol of Stark Industries work on renewable energy. He wanted to gift the glass model of the virus cell to Bruce, to celebrate the biochemist's latest break through in the field.

He wanted both the magnetic force field work and the microscopic chemical reactions in his workshop, as a source of constant inspiration. His fingers itched with the want to create, the need to pour his skills into his work.

He wanted... He wanted to meet the artist.

When they had made their way almost full circle around the exhibit, they stopped at what appeared to be the last of the show cases. This one was different from the rest. For one, it was made out of Play Dough, though that was a fact Tony only realized by reading the description. How the hell this Parker guy had managed to form a completely genuine looking circuit board out of such an inferior material as children's clay, he could only guess.

He wanted to talk to the artist.

Another thing that struck Tony was that this circuit board looked somehow familiar.

He leaned in closer.

“This one section here looks like a rather awkward welding job. The connections between the wires seem a bit clumped. I would put it down to the use of Play Dough, but the other details on the board are so clean... You know, this looks almost like-”

“-the circuit board you built when you were five years old.”

Both surprised by the new voice, Pepper and Tony quickly turned around. Just a step behind them stood a young man, dressed in a casual but nice enough suit, with deep brown eyes, fluffy looking chestnut hair and a shy smile. Pepper recognized the man she had seen in France right away, and held out her hand to him.

“Mr. Parker. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Virginia Potts. But please, feel free to call me Pepper. Everyone does.”

The artist took her hand with a pleasant smile.

“In this case, I insist on Peter. And the pleasure is mine, Pepper.”

Tony could hardly wait for the handshake to end, to insert himself into the introduction.

“So you are the surprisingly gorgeous face behind all these beauties. I'm-”

“Tony Stark. I know. I'm a big fan of your work, Mr. Stark.” Parker smiled brightly (and blushing heavily) at him and eagerly reached for his hand. Then he shyly nodded to the pedestal display. “Your earliest work included.”

He wanted...

“Just Tony will do. One question, though. Why Play Dough? I may not have been very skilled with the welding equipment back then, but I do remember using the actual parts needed.”

Peter turned to his work, a helpless sort of smile on his lips, as he explained.

“When I was in my last year of highschool, and it was time to make a decision regarding college, I felt helplessly defeated. Was I supposed to attend one that focused on all the things that fascinated me about science, or one that focused on all the things I loved about art? I didn't know if I would ever be able to meet the expectations others had placed upon me, and the ones I had placed upon myself. I became wary and anxious about every choice I made. Constantly questioning myself if it was worth it to try to combine the things I loved, or if I wouldn't be able to hold on to both at the same time. Science versus art. Wanting to pursue such opposite things seemed ridiculous. But then my teacher gave us the task of writing a paper about a person that had greatly influenced our society and progress. I chose to write about you. And during my research, I found an old newspaper article, front page, about the young Stark prodigy, who was already showing the whole world how smart he was. The ordinary 5 year old makes crayon drawings and forms simple shapes out of Plasticine. A few can already read some of their children's books, but many are still more focused on the pictures in them. But the 5 year old you broke out of the limitations perceived for kids, and defied expectations. And I thought to myself ‘Hey, if Tony Stark can build a circuit board at such a young age, then maybe I can find a way that doesn’t mean I have to give up on one of the things I love.’ So, I guess I used the clay to symbolize what was expected, and your final design to show how you rose above.”

That shy little smile again. He wanted...

“In fact, you have done nothing but risen, Mr.- Tony. You have been a great inspiration for me, over the years. Quite possibly even a bit of a muse, if you will.”

Tony was a bit stumped, honestly. He had never been lost for words before. Thankfully he caught himself quickly. 

He wanted...

“So, philanthropist, billionaire, genius, muse.” (Had he just replaced his usual playboy title with ‘muse’?) “I like that.” (He did.) 

Peter.

“As your muse, I get dibs, right?”

A confused little head tilt. 

Cute.

“Dibs?”

On you.

“On the art pieces.” Tony elaborated with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “They are up for sale, right?

“Oh, yes. It’s uhm... we will hold an auction in a bit, after I have officially introduced myself to everyone here and said a few words.” Peter looked distinctly uncomfortable with that bit.

Tony was just opening his mouth to say something else, when suddenly Pepper inserted herself back into the conversation. (He had admittedly forgotten that she was there.)

“Peter, I think the woman over there is trying to get your attention.”

They turned to see a middle aged woman in an elegant dress, subtly gesturing to him. Peter grinned a bit ruefully as he turned back to his two companions.

“That’s my aunt, and also kind of my manager. I guess it’s time for my big entrance.”

He offered his hand once more first to Pepper, then to Tony.

“Pepper, Tony, again, it was a pleasure meeting you. Since it’s an auction, I can’t exactly grant you dibs, as much as I would like to.” He grinned at Tony. “But about 75% of all our revenues tonight will be donated to The Future Hope Foundation, which is a research center focused on developing cures for different diseases, speacially in children. I will be talking a bit more about that one in my speech, provided my severely repressed stage fright doesn’t hit me in a few minutes. So just know that whatever you decide bidding on, it will be worth it.”

Tony wanted to keep holding on to that hand. A hand that was just as calloused as his own, but still somehow softer and more delicate.

“I’m sure it will be.”

You will be worth it.

Just as Peter turned to leave, he cast one last look at the Play Dough model.

“Take a look at the note beside the general description before things start going, would you?”

Then he and his aunt vanished out of the room, to prepare for Peter’s introduction.

Curious now, Tony and Pepper turned back around to the pedestal and found what Peter had been talking about.

‘Of all my works, this one is my favourite, not only because of what it represents to me, personally, but also because of the person who inspired it. Unlike many of the other pieces, that are named after that which they represent, for this one, no other title than

Indomitable

could have ever come to mind. This is the only piece in the show case that will not be part of the auction. As this one already belongs to Anthony Edward Stark.’

“Pep.”

“Yes, Tony.”

“If I win every single auction bid, which I will, I would be entitled to a date with the artist, right?”

“You are probably still going to have to ask him the old fashioned way.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for coming tonight. Without further ado, it’s my sincere pleasure to introduce you to the man whose art work has brought you all here.”

Tony smiled. “I can do that.”

“I proudly present to you, Peter Parker!”

_________________________________________________________

The End.

Thanks to everyone for reading and liking the story! I hope you all enjoyed it, even though the story ends before Tony and Peter’s relationship really begins.

Thanks to the original prompt giver as well, due to the research I did for this story, I was able to see quite a few amazing art works.

Tagging: @unicornpower5301 -->why isn’t this stupid tag working?

[mudbots3dconcreteprinting]

Why Choose Mudbots?

MudBots didn't start first, but we did finish first. As you attempt to get information from others you will discover that finding a phone number or getting any kind of a response is problematic at best. Being first to market, MudBots has moved away from conceptual ideas to real time input from customers all over the world. What looks good on paper doesn't always make sense in the real world.

 THE RIGHT DESIGN

A perfect example of this is the printer still under design by the Germans. There is no question that Germans are exceptional engineers, but though their printer will likely do what it was designed for. When they finally get it to market, it is, in all practicality, the wrong machine for the job and overlooks the primary advantage concrete printing is becoming famous for (time savings). Take a look at the information HERE and you will quickly know what we mean.

MudBots printers can be set up and printing in hours rather than days without the need of cranes, permits and inspections. Being able to complete jobs in a 3rd the time as conventional construction methods is one of the strongest attributes of this new technology.

 EPSON PRINTER IDEOLOGY

Another significant advantage with MudBots printers is our transparency when it comes to printer mixes. Most others are not satisfied with merely selling you a machine, they want to lock down the printer ink as well. This is the Epson printer ideology.

Sell customers a printer for 35.00 and then force them to buy proprietary ink at 50.00 a set every few weeks. When we started down this road it was agreed early on that, although we understand why others are trying to do this, our customers would not like the idea of voided warranties for running their own mixes especially since the primary ingredients in all Portland mixes is sand, cement and line which is readily available from hardware stores everywhere. Why would anyone be happy about shipping truckloads of specialty mix at accelerated prices when most of the materials are just down the street?

MudBots is working with specialty mix companies and additive companies from all over the world. It's just a matter of time before customers discover on their own the best mix formulas for their needs and when they do, they will not want to pay for expensive premix scenarios when the idea is to reduce costs and efficiency.

 AFFORDABLE SPECIALTY MIX SOLUTIONS

MudBots has tested and continues to test a myriad of different mixes from standard portland scenarios to hempcrete, clay, polyethylene, polyurethane, geopolymer and geopolycrete. While most have never heard of some of these mix solutions, they are on their way to becoming industry standards in the not so distant future.

MudBots has spent most of their time printing with nothing more than standard Type S Mortar mix. The strength of Type S is about 2500 to 3000 psi which is more than enough for print jobs, but when you begin adding other attributes like hardeners, synthetic fibers, polystyrene fillers, powder adhesives, plasticizers and dies, you can significantly change the mix characteristics. MudBots provides lab results for several most common mix formulas which are included with the purchase of every machine, but the company has also partnered with a Vegas group that owns a series of mines from Mexico to Utah that will allow for the production of off-the-shelf (affordable) additives that can be added to everyday mortar mixes. It doesn't make sense to ship truckloads of 90 lbs. bags of specially mix with the high cost of shipping when all customers really need is the right combination of additives. Just add 5 lbs to every yard of sand, cement and lime at a fraction the time and cost.

 CUSTOMER SERVICE.

As time goes on, more and more companies will want to get into the 3D Concrete Printer Business. When this technology can reduce production costs by 70% and in a 3rd the time, builders everywhere will not have a choice but to accept the changing times and get on board. The demand will encourage others to get involved. But there is far more to consider when thinking who to buy from than a few online videos and a website. This is a significant purchase for most, but as you're out knocking on doors, the one thing you should consider most is customer service.

Start calling around and most report that there is no one to talk to. Phone numbers are hidden, and emails go unanswered for weeks. You have to ask yourself, if no one will talk to you now when you have money and hand and want to buy, what's it going to be like when you need support with men on the clock.

MudBots is a subsidiary of USABotics. We automate factories all over the world and do business with companies like 3M, Tesla, LG and Honeywell. These are serious companies that demand a level of professionalism and transparency that most are not prepared for. MudBots ideology comes from decades of experience from its parent company and is one of the attributes of who we are that is valued MOST by all our customers. Price is one thing but when you can't support your products, customers will suffer. MudBots customers are from all over the world, and as such, provides 24/7 support. MudBots also continues to build its franchise network that very shortly will provide local support with qualified dealers in every state in the country.

 REMOTE VISIONEERING SUPPORT (See What I See)

Not only does MudBots provide 24/7 support, but engineers insisted that the company provide FREE remote visioneering with every printer purchase. Remote visioneering allows for real time, hands free (see what I see) diagnostics. RVS allows for quicker solutions by allowing our engineers to see everything you see as though they were actually there. Implementing RVS eliminates costly delays and expensive travel that made remote service so cost prohibitive in the past. Now, our engineers can lend support instantly in a way that was unheard of or impossible years ago.

 PRICE

One of the most common statements we get from prospective customers is the affordability of our printers. MudBots offers a 6' x 6' x 4’ landscape model for just 38,760.00. Our startup printer is 10 times less than the next reported price by any competition. We do offer machines that sell for more than a million, but rather than forcing customers to buy more than they need, we sell the right printer for the right job.

In almost all cases, we are told that our printers are more than half the cost of any others. There are many reasons for this but the two best reasons are first, that there is just way too much "blue sky" in what others are offering, but besides that, we have simplified the process and done away with all the fluff. The best example of this is seen in most of the videos online today. You will see print nozzles with fancy aluminum rings, digital lights and buttons that are nothing but nonsense. At the end of the day, take away all the misleading gadgets and you'll will find cement coming out of a 1 1/4 pipe. It's nothing but smoke and mirrors designed to make the process mysterious and justify prices that are unnecessary. USABotics has established a reputation for providing affordable automation solutions by identifying simple/efficient solutions for challenging objectives. What you will find with MudBots is a straightforward concrete printer that was designed with the end user and common trade practices in mind.

 REAL TIME FINISHING

That being said, don't doubt where we're going from here and what's about to be unveiled, least of which is real-time finishing. While some like the layer by layer appeal of what's commonly seen, the next evolutionary step is a system for real-time finishing for a smooth finish without the need of trowels. We are speaking from experience when we say that anything you’ve seen online so far is never going to work. Automated trowel systems or roller systems may work for straight vertical prints and walls, but never for cantilever prints. The beauty of 3D Printing is the new flexibility of designs. No one is going to want straight boring walls which means what's being shown isn't anywhere close to what customers will want. MudBots knows this because we've been there, done that a long time ago. After going down that road we quickly realized that we were going in the wrong direction. Today, we are finishing an RTF system that will change everything. We're unable to say more until patents are in place but rest assured, when it comes to Concrete Printing, we are pushing the envelope because our customers are driving the need. Their input and ideas have been invaluable as we consider where we need to be.

 RESIDUAL INCOME OPPORTUNITY

We at MudBots know that to be successful in this marketplace, it's going to require lots of good people and support. We can’t be everywhere at the same time, and with hundreds of trade shows across the country each week, we recognize the need for professional representation. It's not only very valuable to the brand, but essential to the growth of the company.     Most of our customers contact us because they are excited about the income possibilities that our printers will offer them, but for this very reason, the greater opportunity is in securing the exclusive distribution rights for their state. By merely owning and using our printers, our customers will undoubtedly generate tremendous excitement as they begin printing unbelievable designs at a third the cost and a third the time.  It would be impossible to keep such a tool a secret. As news of this innovation begins making its way to the public, demand will become unimaginable.  Since our customers are creating the exposure and excitement, it's only right that they share in the success.     MudBots offers exclusive distribution to professional businesses that can prove their ability to support our products, and generate the exposure by enlisting dealers throughout their state. Imagine having the exclusive rights to sell and profit off such a significant tool that everyone is soon to have.  With earnings up to 30% of each sale, it's not hard to imagine the advantage. States are going out fast so tell us if you would like to know more.

 FINALLY

TL;DR — As you knock on doors, know what to ask for. In this case, what you don't know can hurt you. We want our customers to make informed decisions so that they can utilize a technology that will give them an unfair advantage over competition with a company that will be there all along the way.

[lawofavgs]

The Sacrifices We Make - Chapter 7

A/N: WHAT? What is this? No, this isn’t a dream. This is a new chapter! I want to thank every reviewer, every person who said nice things about this fic (despite how long it’s been since it’s been updated). It was certainly the motivation and the confidence-booster I needed to finish up a half-done chapter.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Clouds were insistently rolling in, blocking out the sun and matching well with Jamie’s mood. I could see him gripping the paddock railing, head bowed and shoulders rising along with his ragged breaths.

I stopped 10 feet away, clutching my fingers before I spoke. “You realize that if you can’t keep your anger in check, you’re proving your father right. He’ll never allow you to be in the presence of the English army.”

At first, it didn’t seem like I would get a response. His shaky inhales and forced exhales filled the air between us for stretching moments. My sense of self-preservation was whispering at me, telling me to retreat to safety at once.

“Aye, I ken. I’m just…Christ!” His voice, starting off soft, rose in anger as his palm slapped the wooden beam. “How long does this go on? How long must we live under the thumb of those bastards?”

I sighed and closed the remaining distance between us, taking a place on his right side and gazing up at the ominous cloud cover.

“The Act that Parliament is going to enact soon will remain on the books for decades. Scotland will eventually become more of an integrated part of the Kingdom, and will not attempt another uprising. This level of intrusiveness will not last, since your father and grandfather did not support the Jacobite cause, but the Redcoats won’t leave you be for some time,” I answered plainly. There was so much more information, and so much more I did not know, but that was better saved for another time.

Jamie’s head turned my way quickly, brows drawn tight. “My grandsire? How do you know about him?”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, mind searching for the best answer that would not be considered a lie. “At the start of the Uprising, back in my time, I was at Beaufort Castle when your uncle Colum was making his argument to stay out of the fighting.”

I felt Jamie’s stare hot on me for endless beats of time before his eyes dropped, the acceptance of my story clear on his face. A large part of me wished to tell him I went to Beaufort Castle with him, another version of him, the version I called my husband. A slow inhale of breath calmed my unchained emotions and alerted me to the rain threatening to fall.

“I want to stand with my father when they ride up to our front steps, but I dinna ken how I would stay calm if I saw anyone strike him,” he told me with a strained voice. Without much thought, I placed my hand over his on the wooden railing, wishing to soothe him with a simple touch, just as I did in the priest hole not even a few hours past.

“You would grit your teeth because you knew any outburst would put your family in danger. I know how much you love them, how far you’d go to protect them, and that’s how I know you’d never do anything to risk their safety. Even if it meant punching an innocent, unassuming piece of wood afterwards,” I informed him with a soft smile.

His eyes searched mine for the span of several heartbeats, the attention making my breath come faster. He used the hand I was holding to turn us until we were facing each other, separated by a meager half foot of space. I was frozen under the weight of his intense gaze.

“Even knowing what you are,” he started, swallowing before continuing, “it still takes me by surprise when I see how familiar you are. You know me, my family. And I swear it’s like I know you as well.”

I wanted to answer, to tell him everything about me, to confess the secrets I’d been holding on to so tightly. Every word died in my throat as he bent down, lips softly touching mine in a tender question. As soon as I responded, I felt one large, calloused palm cradling my cheek with a heartbreaking gentleness.

With a start, Jamie took a step back, disengaging from all contact. His eyes were panicked, his breathing laboured.

“I’m sorry, lass. I dinna ken what came over me. To be so bold and forward with ye….”

“Stop,” I interrupted, laying my hand lightly on his forearm. My cheeks were flushed from the brief kiss and sore from my futile attempts to contain my smile. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he could hear my heart beating a rapid rhythm against my ribcage. So much time had passed since our last kiss. The contradiction between that frenzied, heart-shattering moment and this soft, tender one was staggering. A goodbye and a hello. So many days had been spent around him, getting closer to him, yet never close enough. The simple act of a undemanding, almost innocent kiss was enough to send a riot of emotions through me. Words failed me, so I merely leaned in, lifting my lips to meet his once more.

“Jamie!” Ian’s voice cut through the bubble Jamie and I created and we broke apart hastily. If I hadn’t been so annoyed by the intrusion, I would have enjoyed the fierce blush steadily creeping up the back of his neck and covering his ears.

“Aye, I’m coming,” Jamie grumbled, eyes noticeably not meeting mine. My hand, still wrapped around his muscled forearm, gave a reassuring squeeze. When his gaze finally lifted, I offered what I hoped was a calming smile. He released a shaky breath before replying with a grin of his own and a respectful bow. I watched as he turned, walking away in his reluctant retreat.

Memories flashed before my eyes as I replayed that reverent bend of his head and shoulders. Our wedding day. His ill-fated departure from Lallybroch. The soldier on his way to battle at Prestonpans. I fought for every breath as I worked to steady myself.

I had to tell Jamie. I had to explain everything I had kept hidden during my time here.

Room for secrets, but not for lies.

With a secret this large, it could not be viewed as anything other than a lie. A sin of omission.

A sin I was ready to repent for.

 - - -

“Ach, lass, would ye give me some peace?” Brian grumbled out as I removed the bandage covering his wound and prepared to clean and re-dress it. “Tis merely a scratch.”

I shook my head with an almost-contained smile, noting the Fraser trait of stubbornness alive and well in Laird Broch Tuarach. I pretended not to notice his wince has I swiped the cut with an alcohol-dipped cloth.

“Waste of perfectly good whisky,” he muttered under his breath as he fought to school his features. I quickly finished the re-bandaging with a practiced hand before passing him a tumbler of the amber liquid – this time to be used as intended.

I sat with as much grace as I could, desperate to be off my feet after such an emotional day. It would have been easy to tilt my head back and find respite in the arms of sleep. “We’ll leave that on until it’s scabbed over, so don’t pick at it.”

“How was Jamie? The lad seemed rather intent on avoiding me today,” Brian noted, taking another sip from his glass.

“He’s a 25 year old man being treated like a child. He’s angry and frustrated and worried about his family.”

A familiar Scottish noise erupted from Brian’s throat as he shook his head. “Ye saw how quickly his temper came about when he saw what the Redcoats had done to me over something as small as a lack of meat to give them. I cannae risk it.”

“He was upset at being locked away while you were the one in danger. It isn’t that he would have started a brawl, he just wished it had been him being struck instead of you,” I reasoned passionately. Brian eyed me warily, perhaps wondering if Jamie had told me this or if I figured out his feelings on my own.

“And what if they only gave me a quick blow to the head because I’m an auld man? What if that was their idea of compassion, something not afforded to a young man such as my son? It wouldn’t be the first time someone saw his size as an unstated challenge and decided to have a go wi’ him.” He set his tumbler down with a little extra force, the mix of his fear and ire bubbling under the surface.

“Brian –“

“I will. Not. Lose. Him,” he cut me off with clear, concise words. “This family has mourned enough, as I’m sure ye ken well. Ellen, Willie, wee Rabbie, all taken too soon. Jamie’s name will not be added to that list. For all ye’ve done to keep him alive, I’m sure you agree.”

I took a moment to collect myself, his words hitting their mark. I knew loss as well. My mother and father, Uncle Lamb, Faith. For a brief moment in time, Jamie had been included as well. “I do agree. I also know you can’t keep a Fraser out of the skirmish for long. You tend to be a stubborn lot. Eventually, it will be his duty to represent Lallybroch against less-than-friendly forces. Who better to learn how to do it from than you?”

His eyes softened dramatically, his frustration ebbing away like water down a drain. He shook his head in wonderment as he sat back in his chair.

“I couldna have picked a more suitable lady for my son if I had been given a lump of clay and told to create her from that. Whip-smart and headstrong enough to walk beside him and to keep him in line.” I blushed at the praise, finding an interesting spot on the floor to focus my gaze on instead of meeting his eyes.

“Perhaps a little less English?” I joked in an attempt to regain my composure.

“Nah,” he replied with a smirk so familiar to the one I’d seen from Jamie countless times. “English or Scottish, it doesna change your heart or your mind. Are ye planning on telling him the whole of things soon?”

I sucked in a startled breath at his impromptu question. Surely I was running out of time to tell him about everything before he realized I was pregnant. Into my fourth month, there was only so much my corset and layers of clothing could hide. Even with the rationed food, I was showing. I had seen Jenny eyeing my midsection earlier with a knowing gaze. It would only be so long before Jamie noticed, too. While I didn’t know for sure the words I wanted to say, I did know it was a conversation I wanted to start on my own terms – not because news of my pregnancy got out and forced my hand.

“I’ll have to,” I responded quietly as my hand unconsciously moved to my belly. “All I can hope is that he’ll listen with an open mind.”

“He’s yers, Claire. His heart belongs to you, whether he kens it yet or not. Gather your words and give them to him gently. If he willna listen, box his ears until he hears your story. As someone told me recently, us Frasers are a stubborn lot.”

My spirits lifted from Brian’s pep talk. His unshakeable belief that everything would work out, that Jamie would accept what I had to say, gave me the confidence needed to have one of the most difficult conversations of my life.

Tomorrow, I promised myself as I bid Brian a good night and headed up the stairs to my room. Tomorrow I would gather my courage and explain my wild tale to Jamie, and I would keep telling him until he believed every word.

I fell into a deep, restful sleep with the feeling of hope residing in my chest.

[leiascully]

Fic: Home Again (Part 5/5)

Timeline: Season 10 (replaces Home Again in its original order in the All The Choices We’ve Made ‘verse - Visitor + Resident + etc.) Rating: PG Characters:  Mulder, Scully, Bill Scully, the Trashman (established MSR) Content warning:  canon-typical body horror (dismemberment) A/N:  This story is an alternate Home Again that cleaves fairly close to the original but reflects M&S’ growth/change in the ATCWM ‘verse and makes reference to past cases. I’m weaving canon dialogue into the stories in an attempt to keep the reframing plausibly in line with canon.

Here’s the end of it, and here’s the link to all of it on AO3:

She spends the entire drive to Philadelphia staring out the window as tears roll down her cheeks.  She isn't even actively crying, just leaking.  Lachrymose.  Lagrimosa.  If she were a statue, it would be a miracle.  She wishes she were a statue.  

At the lab, Mulder introduces her to the lab techs.  She smiles politely, eyes dry at last, but she can't remember their names, even when she looks at their nametags.  She has one hand in her pocket, worrying the coin necklace like a talisman, and her phone in the other hand, waiting for Bill to call.   Their mother may be dead, but her life isn't over.  There will be loose ends to tie up, certificates to file, legal documents to be read and analyzed.  Her body was, in some ways, the least significant part of her existence, until it failed.  It's a lesson Scully has learned over and over as a forensic pathologist.  

"I broke down the paint samples you chipped away from the Trashman's signature," says one of the scientists, gesturing at an expensive-looking machine.  "I used vibrational spectography to analyze it.  It defines binders, pigments, and additives that are in spray paint.  The binder present in this breakdown was patented by a brand called Cannonz - that's with a z - and used only in their high-end spray paints."

Scully Googles it.  Cannonz with a z makes a lot of spray paint, but when she puts in Philadelphia, the results narrow.  "Product locator indicates there's only one store in Central Philadelphia that carries it," she announces.  

"Then it's time for a visit," Mulder says, and they're off.  The forward motion feels good.  It feels productive.  When she's still, her insides churn and her mind slips inevitably back to the hospital.  

"You want to stake out the store?" Mulder asks.  

She opens her mouth to say yes, please, let me work, but then reconsiders.  The few times she's been in a hardware store, she's been too noticeable.  Men assume she doesn't know what she wants, or that she's a DIY blogger, or that one way or another, she needs their attention.  It'll be better if Mulder does it and she stays in the car.  

"No," she says.  "It's a little conspicuous.  Better if I drive."  

"Okay," he says.  

+ + + +

Mulder lurks in the hardware store, pretending to look at sandpaper and paint.  It's easy and absorbing to flip through the paint chips.  Maybe they should redo the bedroom.  He hasn't, since she moved back in.  Maybe it's time for a new look to go with the reboot of their old life.  Something to signify that the times have really changed.  They've never really lived anywhere that had color on the walls.  

He knows she's right and she would be conspicuous.  A beautiful woman in a suit in a hardware store is unlikely to be an everyday occurrence, especially one who occasionally weeps in an understated and elegant way that breaks hearts.  As far as he's concerned, she's always the center of attention.  

Movement catches his eye.  There's a young man by the spray paint.  He knocks cans of Cannonz Premium into his basket: black, light grey, dark grey, white.  There's no hesitation in his movement.  Mulder follows him, walking casually with his fistful of paint chips, moving toward the front of the store.  The kid looks back over his shoulder.  Mulder detours down another aisle, glancing at a display of fans.  When he catches up again, the kid has ditched his basket of paint and is headed for the front door.  Mulder trails him.  He follows the kid out the front door at a reasonable difference.  Scully's in the car.  Her head is bent, looking at something she's holding, probably the necklace her mother will never get a chance to explain.  He whistles, wishing he didn't have to, and her head snaps up.  She shifts out of park and follows him.

Mulder runs, wishing he wasn't wearing dress shoes.  Scully catches up to him and pulls over a hundred feet away.  He flings open the door and climbs into the passenger's seat.  

"That way," he says, panting.  They run the kid to ground at a warehouse in a fenced-off wooded lot.  Mulder jumps out of the car and regrets it as his knee twinges.  Some parts of them are getting too old for this.  But he glimpses the kid and takes off in pursuit, Scully close behind him.  They clamber through a hole in the chain-link fence.  The kid stops to unlock a door.  He's polite for a vandal and potential murderer.

"Federal agents!" Mulder calls, just as the kid gets the door open and vanishes through it.  Mulder shares a look with Scully and they go in.  It's dim inside the warehouse, like most of the warehouses he's been in, but his reflexes are still sharp and he reaches for his weapon almost without thinking as he sees the kid draw a gun.  Scully has the kid in a headlock almost before either of them can react.  He wonders if she took up jujitsu in the time they were apart.  She's impressive.  Then again, she always was.  She hands him the kid's gun and cuffs the kid.

"We're looking for the Trashman," Mulder says.

The kid sighs.  "Why would I know where he is?"

"You had the paint," Mulder tells him.  

"Is it a crime to buy paint?" the kid snarks.

"No, but it's a crime to deface other people's property," Scully says.  

"With the same paint the Trashman uses," Mulder points out.  

"Why are you looking for him?" the kid asks.

"We believe he may be a key witness in a murder case," Scully says, looking at Mulder.  

"There might be compensation in it for the person who could help us find him," Mulder says.

"Lead with that next time," the kid grumbles.  "You want the Trashman?  Take the cuffs off and I'll take you to him."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Scully asks.

"You're the ones with the guns," the kid says.  

She raises her eyebrow at Mulder.  He shrugs.  They've had this discussion more times than he can count.  It hasn't needed to be verbalized for decades.  The potential reward outweighs the risk.  He's pretty sure Scully could throw this kid.  She uncuffs him and the kid rubs his wrist.

"We kept our end," Mulder says.

"Right this way," the kid says, like a sarcastic maitre d'.  He leads them through the warehouse to another door that he unlocks with his jingling ring of keys.  There are stairs dimly visible beyond it.  The kid points down to them.  Mulder pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight.  He should have brought a real one.  There were years when he never went anywhere without a flashlight.  The one on his phone is brighter, but harder to balance across his gun.  Twenty-first century skills.

"I'm just letting you know," the kid says, "from here on down, there's no light.  Power's out."

"Crime doesn't pay the bills," Mulder jokes.  The kid pretends to laugh.  The three of them start to ease down the stairs.  It's dark, but the stairs seem to be in good condition, and they're even.  The light from their phones casts dizzying shadows around their feet, but that's something Mulder can deal with.  He spent decades in the shadows.  When they're what must be most of the way down, the kid shoves them suddenly into the wall and pelts back up the stairs.  Mulder sighs.  Scully shoots him a sideways glare.

"What?" he says.  "I wasn't going to shoot him.  He's a kid and it's dark.  You want to do the stairs, be my guest.  I'm too old for that shit."

She rolls her eyes.  "Mulder, back in the day, I used to do stairs in three-inch heels."

He glances at her feet and shines his phone at them.  "'Back in the day', huh.  Three inches not enough for you anymore?"

She rolls her eyes again.

"Go for it, G-Woman," he tells her.  

"I'm not leaving you alone in the dark," she says.  

"By all means, ladies first," he tells her, making a sweeping gesture.  She comes down the last few stairs and steps onto the warehouse basement floor.  They make their halting way across it, but the floor is mostly clear.  It's the dark that's the danger.  The light washes it away, but it flows back around them as they move.  Mulder's shoulders tense.  There's something down here, or someone; he knows it with a certainty he can't shake.  His nerves twang.  Suddenly, there's a flicker of white at the edge of their pool of light.  It freezes as the light touches it, and then flees, straight into a wall.  It hits with a thud and falls to the ground.  They run to catch up, but it's gone.  There's only a pale puddle, a muddle of cloth.  He nudges it with the toe of his shoe.  It leaves a smudge.

"What the hell?" Scully says.  

Mulder shrugs, already proceeding.  At the end of the corridor, there's a locked metal door.  Mulder locks eyes with Scully and then bangs on the door with his fist, hoping his phone won't fly out.  "Federal agents!  Open up!  If you're in danger, we're here to help."

"I am in danger," say a voice inside.  It's a baritone, slightly raspy.  "Go away."

Mulder glances at Scully.  She nods.  He kicks open the door, creaky knees be damned.  He's just lucky this one opens in.  He's made the mistake before of trying to kick in a door that opened out.  They burst into the room like they're on a movie set.  There's a statue in the middle, human-sized, of a human-shaped figure with a trash bag shirt and a Band-Aid on its nose.  Mulder gets chills down his spine, remembering other statues with other faces inside them, wet clay plastered slashed-open faces, a muse like a demon that drove an old mentor to murder.  He takes a step toward the statue.

"Put the guns down!" says the voice.  "They don't work on them!  Put them away!  They don't work.  I've tried.  I've tried to shoot them."

Behind the statue, there's a man.  He's hiding behind a shopping cart full of spray paint cans.  The shadows stripe his face, cutting him into checkers.  They aim at him, guns and lights trained toward him.  

"You the Trashman?" Mulder asks.

"Turn down the light, man," the Trashman says.  "Turn down the light.  If they don't see me and I don't see them, they can't hurt me."

"What's the opposite of hiding in the light?" Scully murmurs.  She points her light toward the floor but holds her weapon steady.  Mulder turns his flashlight off.

"Thanks, man," the Trashman says.  "Hold on, I've got a candle.  Candles aren't enough to attract them."

He straightens up from behind the cart, pulling himself up on the wire frame, and shuffles over toward a workbench.  He strikes a match and lights three little candles.  Scully reluctantly turns off her light, but she doesn't holster her weapon.

"We can place you near the scene of two different murders," Mulder says.  "Why don't you explain that to us."

"The people on the streets - the homeless people, the street people - they ain't got no voice, right?" the Trashman says, leaning against the workbench.  "They get treated like trash.  I mean, actual trash.  It's like this.  You throw your grande cup or your Coke bottle in the right trash can under the sink - if it's recyclable, if it's not - you tie it in a bag, you take it outside, you put it in the right dumpster.  You feel good about yourself.  You saved the world, a little bit.  Kept global warming at bay, spared a sea turtle or two.  Garbage truck comes to take the trash away.  One way or another, it's not your problem.  Just like magic.  But it is your problem, because it piles up in a landfill, or it gets floated out to sea on a barge, or it gets incinerated, and now there's toxins in the water and in the land and in the sky.  But you don't see the problem, so there is no problem."

"Is someone incinerating the homeless population?" Scully asks.

"It's a metaphor," the Trashman says.  "People treat people like trash, like if they can just sweep them somewhere else, there's no problem.  They don't fix the problem.  They just try to eliminate the symptoms."

"So you fixed the problem?" Mulder asks.

"I did my part," the Trashman says, some kind of pride in his voice.

"By killing Joseph Cutler and Nancy Huff?" Mulder asks.

"There were two art thieves too," the Trashman says.  "The ones who stole the billboard.  They've been taking my work for months, selling it to the people who cause the problem.  That's why I switched to brick.  Can't steal brick."  He pushes a hand through his hair.  "I was just trying to give those people a voice the only way I know how.  Through art, not violence.  I wanted something I could put around town so they wouldn't be forgotten.  A stencil that looked over the Bad Suit Building Man, the Lawn Gnome Suburban Lady.  A reminder for them.  A stop sign."

"Why'd you put up the art after the fact?" Mulder demands.  "We've got footage that shows that the graffiti on the billboard wasn't painted until the morning of Cutler's murder."

"I didn't do it," the Trashman protests.  "That wasn't me.  I made the stencil, but I didn't paint the billboard.  I only thought him up, you know?  Those people who got killed - that was him.  Only him."

"Who, exactly, is him?" Scully asks.

"You saw those things in the hall," the Trashman says.  "I heard you."

"Yeah," Mulder allows.  

"I made them," the Trashman says.  "I didn't mean to, but I made 'em.  They'll go away, eventually.  They're kind of fading out, the less I think about it.  But the Band-Aid Nose Man...he's different.  He's got a life of his own."

Mulder turns to look at the statue.  It doesn't move.

"Tibetan Buddhists would call him a Tulpa," the Trashman continues.  "A thought form using mind and energy to will a consciousness into existence."

Mulder glances at Scully.  Motor oil and coffee grounds, he thinks, red footprints staining the plush white carpet in a perfect suburban McMansion.  "Tulpa is a 1929 Theosophist mistranslation of the Tibetan world 'tulku', meaning 'a manifestation body'," he says.  "There is no idea in Tibetan Buddhism of a thought form or thought as form.  And a realized tulku would never harm anyone.  That's antithetical to the Buddhist tradition."  

"A thought form made of trash seems unlikely at best," Scully murmurs, and Mulder knows that she remembers it too.

"Okay," the Trashman says.  "But Buddhist or philosophist or whatever, I'm telling you, I spend a lot of energy on my art.  I meditated on it.  I put all my energy into the Band-Aid Nose Man, and somehow, I willed it to become what the street people needed.  Someone who didn't see them as trash.  Someone willing to deal with the problem."

"That's a powerful wish," Scully says.  

"I thought about what I wanted him to look like, what I wanted him to be, and why I wanted him," the Trashman says, shuffling through a pile of papers.  He holds up a sketch of the Band-Aid Nose Man, beaming like a proud parent, and Mulder feels a pang in his heart.  He remembers Maggie holding up a photo of William like that.  Their son, no less a miracle, no less a thought made form.  They wished devoutly for him, prayed for him, and he was made flesh.

"I didn't bring him here," the Trashman says.  "He came to me.  I didn't expect him, but he told me what he wanted to be.  What he wanted to do.  All we do is hold the pencil, or the clay, or the words, or whatever the medium.  I think there must be spirits and souls floating all around us.  And if you think real hard or you want them so, so bad that you can't think of anything else...they come to you.  They pass through you on their way to existence.  And then they become alive with a life of their own."

Scully's breath hitches like a hiccup and Mulder knows she's thinking of William and of her parents, of the spirit she saw when her father died and of the way her mother slipped away.

"This is what came to me in my dreams," the Trashman says earnestly.  "From some other place I can't fathom.  It's more powerful than I even imagined.  But now it's alive and it's out there, right down to the Band-Aid I used to hold the clay in place while it dried.  Who would copy this?  Who could?  And did you smell it?  It smells like nothing on this earth.  It has its own life now.  Does what it wants.  Goes where it wants.  I just wanted to scare anyone who took dignity away from the homeless, who treated them like trash.  I just wanted them to know that fear.  That's where the violent idea popped into my head.  It was just an emotion, just a notion that went through my head while I was making it.  They treat people like trash, so they should know what it feels like.  But ideas are dangerous.  Even small ones.  It uses that violent thought now.  It thinks that's what it's supposed to do.  Put them in the trash."

Scully looks mesmerized.  She shakes her head.  "You are responsible," she says.  "If you made the problem, if it was your idea...you're responsible for whatever destruction it causes.  You put it out of sight, so that it wouldn't be your problem.  But you're just as bad as the people you hate."

Mulder doesn't think the Trashman can hear the ache in her voice.  He wants to tell her that their son was never a problem.  But it isn't the moment, and he wasn't there.  She's told him of the moving mobile, of the powers their son might have shown, of the danger inherent in those abilities.  He can't believe that Scully's child would have used those powers to destroy or to harm, but he could believe it of his child.  Maybe they called to the universe and a spirit answered, and they just didn't have the time to understand its purposes.  Benign or malign, William is out of their life, but Mulder isn't sure if that kind of connection can ever be broken.  He kept looking for Samantha.  Maggie asked for Charlie.  The act of creation is powerful.  Maybe that tie can't be severed.

"If what you believe is possible," he says, returning to the Trashman, "the last person involved in the relocation would be Landry."

"He got the injunction lifted," the Trashman says.  "He was bragging about it in front of the HUD office, letting everybody know.  They're moving people out to Franklin Hospital tonight.  There's signs posted and everything."  

"Don't leave the state," Scully says.  "We may need to speak with you again."

The Trashman laughs.  It's a hollow sound.  "Got nowhere to go."

"That's what they all say before they run," Mulder says dryly.  "I think we'd better bring you along with us."  

They take the candles as they climb back up the stairs.  The Trashman seems convinced any more light will attract more of his ghouls, or tulpas, or whatever they are.  They don't seem to have as much power as the Band-Aid Nose Man.  Still, Mulder would rather avoid any delays.  He gets out his phone and looks up the number for Landry's firm.  The secretary, alarmed, gives him Landry's cell phone number, and Mulder dials quickly.  

"Mr. Landry," he says when his call goes to voicemail, "this is Agent Mulder with the FBI.  I need you to call me back.  It's urgent."  

Scully's on the phone with the Philly PD.  "We're looking for Daryl Landry," she says as she opens the door and gestures the Trashman into the back seat.  The GPS sends them on a convoluted route back to the HUD office.  Mulder checks his watch.  By the time they pull up in front of the office, the yellow school bus is gone, leaving only a cloud of diesel fumes.  Scully, with a grim set to her mouth, puts Franklin Hospital in the GPS.  

"Just trash," the Trashman says.  "That's what he thinks of them.  Put them in the right bin and they'll disappear, like magic.  Put them in the right bin and they'll be somebody else's problem."

"Thank you," Scully says.  "Very helpful."  

The hospital is a big building, half of it lit in the dim of the evening.  They run in through the doors, the Trashman behind them.  

"Landry?" Mulder bellows.  "Where's Landry?"

"He took my dog," a man says.  "He sent my dog to the shelter.  I need my dog.  I told him I wasn't coming if I couldn't have my dog."

"I tried to tell him," a woman says.  "I tried, but he kept going."

"Which way did he go?" Scully demands.

The woman points.  They clatter down the hall, dress shoes noisy on the tile.  

"Ugh!" Scully says.  "That smell!"

"Like nothing on this earth," the Trashman says.  "I told you."

There's a scream.  They burst into a room.  It's tiled, lined with showers, with benches down the middle.  There's no exit except the one they came through.  On the floor of one of the showers is a heap.  That's the best way Mulder can describe it.  The heap was a person until recently - that much is clear - but that person has been...disassembled.  Next to the heap is a phone, blood splashed across the illuminated screen.  

"There's only one way out of this room," Scully says, easing forward, peering into the stalls.  "He screamed just seconds ago.  How did we not see whoever did this to him leave the room?"  She scuffs her foot like there's something on her shoe.  "Mulder," she says.

When she moves her foot, there's a Band-Aid stuck to the floor.  

"I told you," the Trashman says.

"How do we find him?" Mulder demands.

"How the hell would I know?" the Trashman says.  "I didn't plan this.  I didn't tell him to do it."

"Are you willing to say that in a sworn statement?" Mulder asks.  

"Yeah, man," the Trashman says.  "Call me in."

"We can hold him overnight," Scully murmurs.  "Talk to him in the morning."  

"Let's do it now," Mulder says.  "There'll be somebody to talk to him at the police station.  We'll turn him over to them."  He looks at her.  "Let's go home, Scully."

He sees the gleam of tears in her eyes.  "Home," she says quietly.  

"Yeah," he says.  "Let somebody else write the report.  We'll fill in what details we can, but...."  He shrugs.  "It's an X-File.  It's unexplainable.  I'm learning when to let go."

"It's not easy," she whispers.  

"I know it's not," he says.  

"Are you letting me go?" the Trashman asks.

"No," Mulder says.  He picks up his phone.  "Can I speak to Detective Dross?  We've got a situation out at the Franklin Hospital that relates to his case."  

They wait at the old hospital until Dross shows up, fielding questions about dogs and when people will be able to go back to their usual spots.  The Trashman seems calm.  Maybe the Band-Aid Nose Man's murder spree is over, the violent notion having run its course.  Maybe the Trashman's a sociopath.  Either way, they're turning over the case.  Someone else can run the truth down to its burrow.  He's taking Scully home to their own house, where she can cry her eyes out in peace, and he can hold her in his arms and cry too for a kind woman who held him close when no one else understood what he might lose.  

+ + + +

The funeral is sweet, but short.  Bill gives a speech.  It's surprisingly gentle.  Scully gives a speech too.  She stands at the lectern, hands braced on the sides.

"Mom was always there for me when I needed her," she says, keeping her voice deliberate and low.  "She was always there for all of us, no matter how far away we went.  And I know that she's still here for us.  For her children, her grandchildren, and all of us.  Her heart...her heart was so big.  And I'm going to miss her so much."

"You should take the ashes," Bill says at the end.  "You knew her the best.  You were at Dad's funeral.  Just take them to the same place."

"I will," she says.  

Mulder holds out his hand.  "Sorry to see you under these circumstances," he says.

Bill, after a moment, reaches out and shakes hands.  "Maybe next time there will be better ones."  

"Let's hope so," Mulder says.  

"I've got to get to the airport," Bill says.  "I couldn't take any more time away.  But I know you'll do the right thing."

"Thank you," Scully says.  

Bill hugs her, a little stiffly.  She hugs him back.  

"I wish Charlie had come," she says.

"It's a little far," Bill says.  

"I know," she tells him.  "Still.  You made it in from Germany."

"You of all people should know that Charlie's different," Bill says.  

"Melissa was different," she says, her words curling into each other with remembered affection.  "Charlie's just...Charlie."  

"You're all different," Bill says.  "I guess we're all different.  But you're the one who went the farthest, Dana."  

She scoffs.  "I'm the one who stayed home."

"Not physically," he says.  "You're the only one who did the unexpected."

She draws back a little.  "Bill, I don't know what to say."

"I was a little envious," he says.  "We all were."  He hugs her again.  "Take care of yourself, Dana."

"You too," she says.  "Give my love to Tara and the boys."

"I will," he says.  

She looks at Mulder helplessly.  He shrugs very slightly and hands her a handkerchief as Bill strolls away.  She picks up the urn.

"Where are we going?" Mulder says, pulling out his keys.  

"I'll tell you on the way," she says.  

They drive to the beach where Scully once watched her father's ashes being scattered.  She cues up "Beyond The Sea" on her phone as they tip Maggie's ashes into the waves.  

"We should have gotten a boat," Mulder says.

"It's all right," Scully says.  "Mom always liked to stay close to shore."  They sit on a log and watch the waves wash up and over the sand, distributing the dark smudge.  

"I know she's still with you, Scully," Mulder says, putting a gentle arm around her shoulders.

"She is," she says.  She sighs.  "I've been thinking about thought forms."

"I thought we agreed that the thought form was a stretch at best," he says.

"I know now why Mom asked for Charlie, even though he was out of her life," she says.  "She wanted to know before he left that he'd be okay.  She gave birth to him.  She made him.  In a way, isn't that a thought given form?  He was her responsibility.  And that's why she said what she said to us."

"We gave him form," Mulder says softly.  "William."  

"Didn't we?" she says.  "We wished for him.  Mulder, we wished for him so hard.  Maybe that's how he came into the world.  And she wanted to know that we were okay, that he was okay."  

"I'm sure he's okay," Mulder says.  "You made sure of that."

"We gave him up to keep him safe," Scully says.  "But I can't help but think of him, Mulder.  I can't help it."

"Neither can I," he says.  

"I'm so happy that we're back on the X-Files," she says.  "I knew I would miss it, but I didn't know how much.  And I believe we will find the answers to the mysteries we're seeking, side by side."  She turns to him.  "But our mysteries - some of them can never be answered.  I won't know if he thinks of us, or if he's ever been afraid and wished that I was there, the way I wished for my mom so many times.  Does he know that he's adopted?  Does he doubt that we love him?  I have this necklace, this quarter, and I have so many questions, and I'm sure I'll only have more as we go through her effects.  Does he have questions?  Does he look in the mirror and see us?"  

"I'm sure he knows that he's loved," Mulder says.  "By us, by his parents.  By everyone who knows him, probably."

Her voice falters.  "I just have to believe...Mulder, I have to believe we didn't treat him like trash.  Our son, Mulder."

He pulls her against his shoulder and she bursts into tears.

"You didn't have a choice," he says as she sobs, her tears soaking into his lapel.  "Scully, he knows.  You did the right thing.  When you meet him, that won't be a mystery."  She feels his lips mumble against her hair.  "He'll know how hard we wished for him, how wanted and cherished and treasured he was.  He couldn't not know that, seeing you."

She cries until she can't cry anymore, and it helps, as much as anything could, and then they go home.