#anyway this is a stupid joke for approximately six people

[redacted-metallum]

Bitches will make it so that you cannot forget Carcosa, where black stars hang in the heavens, where the shadows of men's thoughts lengthen in the afternoon when the twin suns sink into the Lake of Hali and be like "can't help being a Taurus ♉💫💛!"

[five-rivers]

Snow and Song Chapter 5

About five seconds after Danny registered the huge crowd of people gathered in the park (and why were they there?  Had there been some kind of event he forgot about?), it began to snow.   Danny looked around himself in alarm.  He was often insensitive to temperature changes (and a few other things, according to his sister), but it wasn’t nearly cold enough snow.  It was September.

He looked up.  There weren’t even any clouds.  

A snowflake, perfect and crystalline, stuck to his eyelash.  

Alright.  When something weird and unnatural started to happen in Amity Park, usually there was a ghost involved.  All Danny had to do was find the ghost causing it to… snow…

Oh.  Right. He was a ghost that could make snow.  

He was an idiot.  He hadn’t even noticed his core activating.  His cheeks flushed with cold.  This was so embarrassing.

Wincing, he looked back down at the crowd.  Only about a tenth of the people had phones in their hands, winking camera lenses pointed up at him, but that was more than enough.  He felt entirely too visible.  

… Which he could fix because he was a ghost, darn it, something that he kept forgetting about tonight.  Berating himself, he adjusted his visibility down to zero and flew away.  

Almost at once, all the birds took off, the sound of wings obscuring whatever the humans down below were saying.  

Danny didn’t stop until he got home, trailing snow all the while.  He was not looking forward to tomorrow, but for tonight, maybe, he could forget what had happened.  

He went human, phased off his clothes, laid down on his bed, closed his eyes, and started to-

“Maddie!” shouted Jack.  “The ghost-kid is on TV again!  He’s in the park!”

“Oh, good!  Go start up the GAV!  This time, we’ll catch him!  I’ll be with you in a minute!”

Danny let out the breath he had been holding since his dad startled him from his doze in a long sigh.  He resigned himself to being woken up at least once more that night.

.

.

.

The first rays of sunlight filtering through Danny’s window brought with them something that would have chilled Danny to the core if his core weren’t naturally frosty.  

Music.  

He peeled his eyes open slowly, grudgingly, because it was still September, and sunrise was still quite a bit before the time he had to get up in the morning.  Hoping he was hallucinating, he trudged over to the window and pulled back the curtains.

Ah, yes.  He hadn’t quite expected to find a bunch of cultists standing outside his house with a boombox, playing back a rather scratchy version of Tale as Old as Time, but, somehow, he was unsurprised to do so.  What exactly were they attempting to accomplish here?

One of the younger (about six years old) cultists waved up at him.  Resigned, Danny waved back, then let the curtain fall back down.  

He rubbed his eyes.  Normal teenagers didn’t have to deal with cults that worshiped them as a god.  Even that dude from Nazareth was a full adult before he got hit with the heavy stuff.  

(Yeah, because it wasn’t at all a sign of megalomania, mental instability, or good old-fashioned insanity to compare himself to that guy.)

(He didn’t want a cult, darn it.)

What did they want, anyway?

He got dressed and started downstairs.  To his horror (but again, not surprise) he heard more music emanating from the kitchen.  

“What are you guys doing?” Danny asked.  

“Oh, morning, Danno!” boomed Jack.

“Shh, shh,” said Maddie.  “We need to go over that last part again.  There are pancakes on the stove, sweetie.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Thanks. But, really, what are you doing?”

“Analyzing the sound patterns of Phantom’s voice!” said Jack.  “We missed it before, but he must have a low-level mind control power!  Just like that Rockstar ghost!”

“Sneaky post-human ectoplasm glob,” muttered Maddie. “That’s how he’s got so many people on his side.  He’s brainwashing them.  But don’t worry, sweetie.  As soon as we figure out how he’s doing it, we’ll be working on a cure!”

“Well,” said Danny, trying not to sound bitter. They had made him pancakes. “That’s news to me.”

.

.

.

Danny stepped out of the house and sighed in the general direction of the cult.  

As always, acknowledging them in any way shape or form proved to be a mistake.  They rushed at him.  

“Daniel Fenton,” intoned today’s leader, a man wearing robes colored in an approximation of Phantom’s suit.  His beard was… interesting.

“What?” asked Danny.  If only there was a way to skip through awkward conversations like this, like there was in video games.  But, no, life was like one, huge, un-skippable cutscene.  Tragic.

“Last night, our Lord Phantom gave us a message. A message, and a divine task.”

Danny was pretty sure he’d remember that.  “What task?” he asked, resigned.

“To spread his word through song!  And you, his prophet, his chosen, his blessed consort, shall reveal his intent upon the stage of the Casper High School Musical!”

“I’m begging you, call it anything but that.”

“We will do anything to make the Casper High School Musical go well!  We are at your command!”

“Please stop picketing my house and harassing me on the way to school.”

“We have fine members of our choir here to audition for you!  Please take word of their worthiness to our Lord Phantom.”

Several of the cultists began to sing.

“Danny!” called Jazz from the driveway.  “Stop feeding the cultists, or we’re going to be late for school!”

.

.

.

“So,” said Sam.  “The Ghost Watch feed blew up last night.”

“I know,” said Danny.  “I feel so stupid.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” said Tucker.  “But we really do have to put some time aside to test whether or not you really do have a pied piper ability.”

“I made it snow while I was singing,” said Danny.

“Ah.  We’ll have to look into that, too,” said Tucker, making a note on his PDA.  “Who wants to bet that the ‘Phan Club’ will try to incorporate last nights performance into the play somehow?”

“That’s not funny,” said Danny, closing his locker. “Guys, what if I accidently mind control the audience?  Or start a snowstorm inside?  The cultists are already on top of this.  They were outside my house this morning.”

“Again?” said Sam, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, again.”

“What did they want?”

“They seem to think that there’s going to be some kind of revelation in the play,” said Danny.  He caught the look in Sam’s eye.  “Sam.  No.”

“Sam, yes.”

“Cults are not a toy,” cautioned Danny.  

“Not the way you’re using them, they aren’t.”

“Seriously, Sam.  No matter how much you want to change the world, do not use a cult to do it. It never goes well.”

“Christianity started off as a cult.”

“And would you say that went well?  I’m asking you this as a Christian.”

“Are you a Christian?” asked Tucker. “I’ve never seen you in a church. Can you go in a church? Have we tested that?”

“I—What?  I’m not a demon, Tucker.  I went to church, uh…  Last Easter. I can totally go in a church.”

“You had to think of that for an awfully long time.”

“What about a synagogue?” asked Sam.  “Or a mosque?”

“I don’t know.  But you’d think that if I could go into a church, that’d mean I could go into the other ones.”

“But what if you couldn’t?” asked Sam.  “Would that mean that religion is more right than the others?”

“Or more wrong,” said Tucker, “since Danny is a good guy.”                                                                  

“I—” started Danny.

“PHANTOM!” screamed Wes from down the hall, interrupting whatever revelation Danny could potentially have had.

“Oh, great,” said Danny.  “I’m not Phantom, Weston!”

“Kids,” said Miss Lyn, poking her head into the hallway.  “Please don’t shout in the halls.  Class is about to start.”

“I have proof, this time!” crowed Wes.  “I have video.”

“Oh, no,” said Danny, with perfectly flat affect. “Are you here to harass me with yet another badly photoshopped, grainy, vertically filmed, twenty-second clip of me ‘transforming’ into Phantom like some kind of anime heroine?”

Wes reared back, face coloring and nostrils flaring.  

Danny would feel worse about what he had said, if half the videos in Wes’s last ‘Fenton is Phantom’ presentation hadn’t been exactly that.  Tucker had made several of them and stealthily dropped them in various chat rooms for Wes to find, as something halfway between a joke and an exercise in misdirection.  

As soon as Wes had included one of those in his presentation, it was doomed to be a laughingstock.  Again, Danny almost felt bad.  

“No!” said Wes.  He puffed his chest out.  “From Ghost Watch!”

“Uh huh.”

“I kind of feel like we’d be hearing about it from more than just you,” said Sam.  

“Yeah,” agreed Tucker.  “If the news decided Danny was Phantom’s dead twin or whatever, you’d think some of his groupies would be swarming.”  He pointed at a pair of Phan Club members who were having a sedate conversation near the water fountain.  “Where are the groupies, Wes?”

“Did you not learn your lesson from the beauty pageant?” asked Sam.  “Or Egypt?”

“I don’t know, didn’t you learn yours from Desiree?”

“Who’s learning what from Desiree?  Because you should ask her for a better naming sense.  I mean, you just copied.  Lame.”

“You’re talking to me about copying?  You vegans are the copiers!  Vegetable burgers, tofurkey, where does it end?”

“With the abolition of the cruelty of MEAT!”

At this point, most people would have started edging away from Sam and Tucker’s patented and infamous meat vs. veggies argument.  However, Wes had long since proven himself to be of sterner stuff, and Danny wanted to hear what he was on about.

“Guys,” he said, “guys, it’s not working.  He’s still here.”

Sam and Tucker turned back towards Wes.  “Bummer,” said Sam.  

“Yeah, Wes, why do you have to be such a bummer?” asked Tucker.  

“Let him speak,” said Danny, magnanimously, twirling his hand.  

Wes glowered.  “Well, now I don’t want to,” he said, mulishly.  

“Come on, Wes, what’s the video, don’t leave us in suspense!”

Wes attempted to glower harder but failed.  Grudgingly, he held up his phone, which did, indeed, play a video from Ghost Watch.  Danny watched himself singing for several long seconds before returning his gaze to Wes.

“I’m not sure what this is supposed to prove.”

“The song, you idiot!  It’s from Beauty and the Beast!  And I know the drama club gave you that music.”

“A movie that thousands of thousands of people have watched and know the music for?”

“That doesn’t matter!  You’re the only one who has any reason to sing it.”

“You mean, other than everyone else in the drama club?” asked Sam, bored.  

“Or anyone who likes Disney?” said Tucker.  

Wes opened his mouth to make some kind of riposte.

The warning bell rang.  

He closed his mouth.  “I’m watching you, Fenton!”

“You and everyone else,” muttered Danny as Wes retreated down the hallway, pointing at him.  

Why was everyone around him so ridiculous?

.

.

.

“We’re doing Snow White, not Beauty and the Beast!” howled Razor, baring his teeth at the hapless Phan Club member that had suggested adding ‘Tale as Old as Time’ to the song list.

“If you guys had taken that bet, I’d have so much money right now,” said Tucker.  

“Students, please,” said Mr. Lancer.  “We can’t have any actual copyrighted music in our play. Not without paying for it.  And I’m not negotiating with Disney.”  He looked into the distance.  “Not again.  Never again.”

Danny did not want to know the story behind that, but nevertheless, he had to ask… “Are you okay, Mr. Lancer?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer.  “Thank you for asking.  In any case, my lovely drama students!  Today, we are going to do our first round of auditions!”

“But, sir, we haven’t finished the script, yet!” protested Mikey.

“Right you are!” said Mr. Lancer.  “But I have found that things go more smoothly when we have people already in the main roles.  There’s less… outright sabotage and script jockeying.”

“What does that even mean?” whispered Samhain (aka Kevin) loudly.  

“People trying to change the script to fit a certain person so that person gets the role,” said Paulina.  “Or exclude a certain person.  Which I would never do, Mr. Lancer.”

The covetous glare shot in Danny’s direction indicated that Paulina’s words might have been less than truthful.  

Mr. Lancer chuckled.  “I didn’t think you would, Miss Sanchez!”  He began writing on his whiteboard.  “Now, we already have our Prince Snow White, our Princess Charming, and our Evil Queen.”  He nodded at Paulina as he wrote the roles on the board.  “Now, we need our seven dwarves—”

“Ghosts!”

“Excuse me, yes, ghosts.  Thank you, Mr. Baxter.  Our Huntsman—”

“Or woman!”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Thunder,” said Mr. Lancer. “Huntsman, or Huntswoman.  And… Let’s see…  Snow White’s parents, for the prologue, Princess Charming’s retinue, and… I think that’s it.  Alright, let’s start with the ghosts.”

“Shouldn’t they have names?” asked Mia.  

“Well, sure,” said Mr. Lancer.  “But we can’t use the Disney names.  You’ll have to come up with your own.”

“Phantom!” screamed Paulina.

“Here we go,” said Danny, burying his head in his hands.  

“You want to bet that we’re going to wind up with your whole rogue’s gallery?” asked Tucker.  

“If you need money, Tucker,” said Sam, “you just have to ask.  Rates on my loans are very reasonable.”

“Isn’t usury against your religion?” asked Tucker.

“Nope,” said Sam.  “Not at all.”

“I am incredibly against this development,” said Danny.  “The cults are going to have a field day.”

“Ember!  Ember! Ember!”  Chanted the punk goth crowd, which had split off from the larger goth subgroup.

“I am somehow even more against this development,” muttered Danny.  “Mr. Lancer! I don’t think it’s a good idea to include a ghost who gets power from people saying her name!”

“Shut up, Fentonnage, what do you know about ghosts?”

“My parents study them.  I know a lot.  More than I ever even—”

Danny narrowly dodged the workbook Dash flung at him.

“Mr. Baxter!” scolded Mr. Lancer.  

Sadly, when everything shook out, Danny did not get his way.  One of the seven ghosts was named Ember and was going to be played by Star.  Because why not?

“At least the Box Ghost and the Lunch Lady aren’t on the list,” said Sam.  

“But ‘Hamlet, father of Hamlet,’ is,” said Danny.  “Why does that bother me more than Ember?”

“Because you hate Shakespeare?”

“No, I don’t,” protested Danny.  “Shakespeare is a perfectly nice person.  I just don’t like how his writing is taught in schools.”

“You’re going to break Mr. Lancer’s heart saying stuff like that,” said Tucker.  

“He wrote love poems to boys.  Why do they skim over that?”

“Excellent point, Mr. Fenton!” exclaimed Mr. Lancer, who had somehow materialized behind them.  “Shakespeare was definitely bisexual.  I wi—”  The teacher stopped.  “Nope, can’t use that word.  It would be nice if the state let me teach it like that.  Along with the crossdressing.  School board won’t let me.”  He shook his head.  “Dale Baxter. Someday, someday he’ll lose an election. Eventually.”  He took a deep breath.  “Next time we meet, we’ll be doing auditions, okay?  I want you all to think about what parts you would like! And, Miss Gray, I’d like to have a word with you about your role in our production, alright?”

[passable-talent]

ya boi is back with a new niche character played by hayden christensen for yall to enjoy.

CW: blood, wounds, cursing, piercings, tattoos, guns, fighting, deaths of unnamed characters

AJ x gn!reader - Takers (2010). the stupid hat grew on me.

dedicated as always to @haydens-moles and @iscariot-rising for being my friends and for appreciating hayden as much as I do

The story of your life, as you loved to explain it, boiled down to a little math joke. Excited five, you called it, or it’s official terminology- five factorial. Written as “5!”, hence the awful pun.

“Factorials,” you’d say, “for those that don’t remember, are a multiplication of every number up to the one that’s being discussed. As such, five factorial is five, times four, times three, times two, times one.”

Your life, your excited five, was as follows: five major scars, four tattoos, three piercings, two eyebrow slits.

“The one is usually ignored,” you’d say, “as it makes no multiplicative difference. That’s why I don’t have a ‘one’.”

In August, 2009, you got your ‘one’. Its a doozy. But we’re not there yet.

~~~

Five major scars.

December 25, 1983. It’s your first Christmas. Your parents think you’re just being a cranky infant, but something way more serious is going on- they find out the next day that you’ve got RSV, a respiratory virus that’s especially dangerous for infants. You spend the next three years periodically using a ventilator whenever the coughing acts up. You don’t remember much of it, other than the vaguely crayon-looking piece of the machine, but you can’t forget that it happened, due to the pretty white scar over the bridge of your nose. It’s not such a gnarly wound as it is a reminder- not of the ventilator that wore through your skin thanks to frequent use, but of the virus that almost took your life only a few months after it had begun.

July 28, 1993. You’re seven years old, staying at your grandmother’s house with your cousin, who’s six months older than you. You’re playing cops and robbers- he’s the cop. The forest streaks by as you run the length of the property, slightly faster than him, but he catches you and throws you down. You land on your back on a jagged rock, not only painfully impacting your spine but digging deeply into your muscles beside it. It was the first hospital visit you remember, and the dark, long scar halfway between your tailbone and your shoulders reminds you never to fall without controlling it.

January 15, 1998. You’re in sophomore year of high school, and not the most popular. You like to play by the rules, and some asshole junior decides that he doesn’t like the way you won’t let him cheat off of your trigonometry homework, and decides that a knife is the best way to settle the problem. Those homework answers weren’t worth the long white line over all four of the knuckles of your left hand, but it is a pretty little reminder that lowlifes do what they want. And law enforcement, or whatever your school called the ‘anti-bullying league’, does jack shit about it.

October 30, 2002. You’re almost done with your certification to become a cop- thank god. You couldn’t stand the people who were to become your graduate class. They were so ready to become cops just to bully people, just to get to weild an iron fist and hide their bloodlust behind the law. Not you- you’re here to do some real good. That’s what they don’t like about you. And that’s why Fred Young splits open your cheek when just he’s supposed to be practicing his sparring. It’s an ugly scar, needed six stitches, but it’s a reminder that even the cops aren’t always the good guys.

May 14, 2004. You’re a new cop, working under detective Wells. There’s a robbery of a jewelry store a few blocks from where you’re patrolling, and as you’re making your way to the scene, a man in a fedora runs smack into you, taking you both to the ground. Broken glass digs into your shoulder, but he apologizes, and his blue eyes look so genuine. He’s afraid. You’d not realize until a month later that he wasn’t a scared bystander, but in fact one of the thieves. The fifth of your scars matches your first meeting with AJ- who would, by the end of the summer, become one of the most important people in your life.

~~~

Four tattoos.

August 4, 1999- Left wrist, inside knob of the bone. The little symbol had represented something to you when you were sixteen, but it had long lost whatever meaning you’d given it. Now, it was just a pattern to pass your thumb over whenever you got restless.

February 16, 2002- The cap of the right shoulder. It was your bunk number, from when you were training to be a cop. Nothing extravagant, but it was supposed to represent the beginning of the rest of your life- it was supposed to represent your calling.

June 1, 2004- Left arm, the outside of the forearm. Bleeding from your first tattoo was a new one, the largest one on your body. It was geometrical and high contrast, black lines loosely following your veins up toward your elbow, as though that left hand was bringing darkness into your body. It did- you shot with your left hand.

July 17, 2004- Right collarbone. A single, circular monogram, made up of six letters.

T A K E R S.

~~~

Three piercings.

April 7, 1989. Your father took you to get your ears pierced, but insisted upon arrival that it was too expensive to get both done, so you only got your left. The assymetrical style would have to grow on you- at six years old, you hated it.

May 19, 2003. You couldn’t have piercings at the academy, they were unprofessional, they were dangerous. So the night of graduation, you went out and got a hole punched into your nostril- the pain made tears well up, but more than anything, it was the satisfaction of giving a pretty little ‘fuck you’ to your superiors, who you’d never see again.

July 18, 2006. AJ takes you to a fancy beauty salon for an eyebrow bar after hearing maybe once that you’d wanted another piercing. You knew you were in love with him- who else in your life had ever paid such close attention to you?

~~~

Two eyebrow slits.

June 23, 2004. You leave the police force. You tell Wells that it’s because you’re pissed you can’t find the guys that robbed the jewelry store, but that’s not even close to the truth. You’ve found them- hell, you got a good look at one of them on the very day of the robbery. But you’ve done the looking, and didn’t have the heart to bring them in. They had families. They donated ten percent of every heist to a charity. They did more for the community than the police you worked for, and they did it clean- they didn’t hurt anybody, if they didn’t have to. They did what you’d hoped to do, when you joined the force. What you’d never gotten to do. Eyebrow slits were considered extremely unprofessional, so the moment you were free of your two week notice, you split open your right eyebrow. It would give a good balance to the bar piercing you hoped to put through your left someday.

March 4, 2007. You’re cleaning up your slit when AJ walks into the room and stands behind you so that you can see him through the mirror. You keep your eyes on the trimmer you’re so delicately running over your skin, but when he opens up a little felt box with a pretty ring inside, you whirl around with such panic that you make the slit approximately half an inch wider than it should’ve been. Lilli helped you fill in the gap for the engagement photos, but you decided to keep a second slit on the other end of the unfortunate shave- a little reminder of the evening in which he proposed to you.

~~~

“The one is usually ignored,” you’d say, “as it makes no multiplicative difference. That’s why I don’t have a ‘one’.”

On August 27, 2009, you got your ‘one’.

You’d been out of the game for two years, choosing not to take a cut of the winnings. You’d advise, you’d plan, you’d set up, but you did not want to be on site when the heist went down. The boys had it taken care of, and you butted heads with Jesse far too often for anyone’s comfort.

You especially couldn’t work on this project, thanks to a little fucker named Ghost- he didn’t trust you, as a member of the Takers he’d never met, and you didn’t trust him, as a criminal you’d never grown to respect.

You knew that most of them didn’t trust Ghost either, but everything he brought forward checked out- AJ must’ve mumbled the plan thirty times in his sleep in the five days from its suggestion to its fruition. There were no holes. Knowing Gordon and John, they had some ‘insurance’ for Ghost, anyway. In case it went wrong.

Still, you stayed at the Hotel Roosevelt through it all. You were their sitter, keeping the hotel room warm and ready for their arrival. They arrived back one by one- and like usual, AJ got there first. He, Gordon, and John were usually the first to get out, but he always made it back to the room first, because that way he could get some time with you. That way, he could have a private reunion, fresh off of a job.

“Hey, baby,” he said as he closed the door, and you waited for him to turn his eyes to you before you gave him a smile. He threw down his bag onto one of the chairs, and it landed with a heavy thump, but you’d long grown used to the sound of the score. However much he pulled, good for him. You were just happy to slip your arms around his neck and feel him kiss the scar on your cheekbone before sliding his lips to yours.

He always kissed different right after a job- before the boys had all gotten back, before the total was counted. He had a confidence to his movement, but there was fear, insecurity, just a tinge. He wasn’t just a taker, he was a man, who had worries and risks just like every other man.

You were out of the game for a few reasons. They had it taken care of. You butted heads with Jesse. You didn’t trust Ghost. But you knew that you were AJ’s biggest fear- you knew that if you got hurt on a job, he’d never forgive himself.

So he kissed you, he held you close, he reminded himself that you were here, you were fine. His long fingers seems to take up half your back, and his hair was already in his face, as though you’d tugged it there yourself.

With just one more pass of your lips over his, you pulled away.

“How’d it go?” You asked with a soft voice, rolling your first finger through the curls at the back of his neck.

“Could’ve gone better,” he said with a chuckle, “but we got it done.” You heard a knock at the door, and Gordon was the next arrival- then John, then Jake, then Ghost. Jesse came last, and with him, a whole host of new problems.

A bullet splintered the door and caught AJ somewhere under the ribcage. Everyone hit the floor, diving behind couches, and you popped your head up long enough to see AJ launch over the kitchen island. The room shattered into gunfire and feathers from expensive pillows, glass shards littering the ground like raindrops. It all moved so fast, and the air exploded into noise. You could barely track AJ through it all, he was so far away, all the way across the room. And you wanted to keep your eye straight down the barrel of your gun.

“AJ!” Jesse called from beside you, hidden behind a brown leather couch, “You okay?” You looked around the side of it, and saw him ten feet from you, the longest ten feet of your life, behind the kitchen island. He was struggling, on his hands and knees.

“Get up,” you snarled, knowing he’d already taken a hit.

“Out the back!” John ordered from the doorway behind you, and you started to realize the moment, the dangerous, heavy moment. AJ was all the way across the room- he couldn’t cross it. Not with these mobsters holding ground.

“Let’s go!” Gordon shouted, and your eyes connected with AJ’s. He saw the same thing you did.

“Go,” he said, voice calm, and it cut through the chaos of the room, cut through every hardened lesson ever pounded into you, cut through every wall you’d ever built around you, around your heart. “I’m coming.”

AJ was a good liar. But he couldn’t lie to you.

“No,” you growled through gritted teeth, and you made a rash decision.

You’d always been good at gymnastics. You had strong control over the movement of your body, and had, ever since you’d learned from your cousin throwing you down onto that stone that split open your back. You could move and slink and roll and dive in ways that would keep you not only from falling, but even from being noticed.

Using the chaos as your cover, you did a tight diving roll across the room to him, slipping between shelters unscathed. This brought you just a bit closer to the mobsters, but further from the back door exit that Gordon had been trying to guide you toward. You’d chose AJ over your safety any day- the surprise and the fear in his eyes said that he wished you wouldn’t.

Making sure you had enough ammo, you considered your final move- this didn’t end until these mobsters did. There were five of them left, after all this commotion: four in the room, one in the hall. You couldn’t take all five, not with their guns being so much more than yours, but you could take out a few. You could shift attention, you could buy time.

And hopefully, you could stay breathing, too. That’d be nice.

“Stay down,” you hissed, leaving AJ behind the island where he’d be forgotten about, or assumed dead. Then, you rounded the corner and rolled to the feet of the closest mobster. As you came out of the roll you caught his legs in yours, wrenching them from under him and taking him to the ground with one of the first moves you’d learned in basic training. He hit the wall hard, and was unconscious by the time he landed- the same could not be said for his friends.

From your right, you could see Gordon, still firing, still hopeful for your and AJ’s escape. Your shoulders were above the couch, so you knew he saw as you turned your weapon to the second mobster before he could turn to you, and stopped his heart.

Your commotion had caught the attention of the other three who still remained. You whirled around and raised your gun to one of them, but they managed it first.

Gordon had to swallow back his horror as he saw a bullet enter the front of your side profile, and blood explode from the back. He took out the mobster who still had his attention on you- but your shoulders smacked to the ground outside of his view, and he closed the door.

Luckily, their aim was spotty. You now had a useless left arm, but you were still breathing. Not that you’d let the one remaining mobster notice that.

You and AJ played dead, only a few feet from each other, but the kitchen island becoming a thicker wall than any you’d ever been split by. As you stared blankly at the ceiling, taking shallow breaths hidden by the folds of your shirt, you hoped he didn’t think you were dead. You hoped he wasn’t bleeding out.

After what felt like agonizingly long minutes, the shooting finally stopped, and the door opened again. Gordon was the first to enter the room, and rounded the couch to you, grief in his eyes, expecting the worst.

But you could give him a smile.

“Surprise,” you groaned, and he lit up in relief, helping you sit up with your good arm.

“Look at you, playing dirty,” he said with a laugh, “I thought you were gone for sure.”

“AJ,” you heard Jake say from across the room, and finally AJ could sit up from where you’d forced him down. The two of you had both bled straight through your shirts, but there wasn’t any time for sweet reunions- everyone had to get out, and fast.

AJ left his car wherever it was. John gave the two of you a ride to the airstrip where Gordon was going to disappear for a while, and on the way you and AJ attempted to give each other first aid until the personnel on the plane could take care of it.

Eventually, you leaned against his left, and he against your right, your wounds still stinging and sticky with blood, but manageable, for as long as they needed to be.

The night didn’t get any easier, but that didn’t matter- you were home free, they’d managed the job, and Ghost was out of the picture, and neither of you were going to die.

And someday, when you felt brave enough to recount your near-death, near-loss, near-jailed experience, you’d say:

Five major scars, four tattoos, three piercings, two eyebrow slits. And one gun shot wound.

-🦌 Roe

[gobbluthbutagirl]

going on desktop to post this which is something i have not done in so long that as it turns out i had been automatically logged out due to inactivity. anyway i had to have a readmore and i guess if you read more you’ll see why on account of this is so fucking embarrassing. but i think perhaps i need to be put down so bad it makes me look stupid. and here’s why: i straight up ditched my family in santa monica last night. we had a hotel room that was nicer than my apartment and i left it and i walked a mile to the train station and rode a train and then another train for approximately 90 minutes to get back to my apartment. and i don’t even know why i did it. i think something inside of me just snapped or broke or whatever and i realized i simply do not want to speak to any of these people ever again. and it’s not like they’ve even done anything to me. i do not know what is wrong with me and i have been avoiding their attempts to contact me all day. and they are now almost back to the airport and they have not seen me in some 22 hours. and i don’t know what the hell my problem is. but i do not want to see them ever again. and it’s not like i can say that because i mean they’re about to fly cross-country and what if i said that and then their plane crashed and they died. how could i ever live with myself(said while unsure i can live with myself as-is).

but it’s like. i already barely speak to my mom and have no plans to return to south carolina ever. it would NOT be difficult to just cut contact with them all completely. and i’m sure everyone is already wondering what the hell is wrong with me due to me ditching them in santa monica and i don’t know. it just seems right to have their last memory of me ever be a betrayal. also not to brag but i think i might be leading a more hopeless existence than anyone else in all earth’s history has led ever. and i kind of hope my job fires me so i have a valid reason to kill myself. and it’s also my grandma’s birthday which is really the most unfortunate timing ever but i have already gotten a passive-aggressive text from my mother reminding me that it’s my grandma’s birthday and i will be neither responding to that text nor wishing her a happy birthday which is another great reason for everyone to hate me. and i think they should make a suicide hotline that you call and then the guy tells you that you SHOULD kill yourself because if such a thing existed it would either push me over the edge or make me so mad that i would no longer be wanting to kill myself and either way i would win because i would no longer be feeling like this.

and here’s something really funny. i didn’t even have today off originally. i had to go back and request it off later because i found out their flight wasn’t leaving until like 11pm. i used my vacation day for this. i got PAID to let two garbage bags sit on the floor for six hours because that’s how long it took me to stop crying long enough to take them out. i don’t deserve to get paid for that. i deserve to get KILLED for that. and everything about my life just sucks so much. it just sucks SO much. and i am not willing to put in ANY of the effort required to change that right now because why even bother. what’s even the point. i have suffered for so long and so relentlessly that if anything good ever DID happen to me i wouldn’t even know what the hell i was supposed to do with it. and the last time i viewed myself as a human being the year was 2008 and i was 11. and this is why “i started a joke” by the bee gees is my all-time top track on spotify

[mcwriting]

The Marriage Project (9)

I’m back with anotha one! Sorry it’s taken so ridiculously long! I’ve been soooo busy that sitting down and writing or even formatting has been such a challenge. Please enjoy this chapter!

*also i watched Cherry and Tom was so good in it I’m- that film messed me up a lil bit but like it was so good. Also I’ve loved Ciara since btr and now I’m just insanely jealous and love her even more ugh 

Story Masterlist

Word Count: 2333

Warnings: Some language? I can’t think of anything else

% approximately the 3rd week of October %

Friday evening, the volleyball team arrived at the town regionals were being held at, about an hour away. You were staying in a hotel again, and as before, Julia was your buddy.

After having spent the evening laughing and having fun, your whole hotel room group was about to head up the stairs.

“Hey, y/n. Do you mind staying back for a minute?” Julia asked.

“Oh, sure. We’ll meet you guys upstairs,” you called to the other two, who waved back nonchalantly and continued walking. Julia and you went back to some empty seats near the lobby.

“What’s up?” you asked, smiling.

“Well… Sam told me he caught you and Tom yesterday and I just wanted to ask you about it…”

Your smile faltered.

“What’s there to talk about? I told him that Tom sprayed me with water so I got back at him by soaking the back of his shirt. There’s nothing more to say.”

“Well, yeah, he told me that but he also mentioned that you stayed for dinner? And met Nikki’s parents last weekend? Not trying to imply anything, but I didn’t meet their grandparents until Sam and I had been dating for like 6 months.”

You were getting annoyed, considering this was the second person in two days to ask you about Tom.

“I didn’t just meet them over nothing! Nikki took my senior pictures at the same time as Tom’s and wanted to do them there. I was just tagging along for the ride.”

“You know he’s also coming to state next weekend, right? If we pass through tomorrow?”

He is?

“Uh, no I didn’t. Doesn’t he have football stuff to worry about? It’s also Halloween next weekend, like he’d miss out on the big party.”

“They have a bye next week. Sam is going to come and I guess Tom is taking him, but Nikki might come too? I’m not sure. I guess you’d better ask him. Anyways, I just wanted to clear things up since there were all those rumors today,” she said, starting to get up.

“Wait, wai- Rumors? I never heard anything. Like about me?”

“You haven’t heard? I guess one of the freshman girls who has a massive crush on Tom was stalking Nikki’s website last night and saw some pictures of the two of you. A bunch of people think you’re dating now.”

You felt yourself pale.

“Oh no, and she changed one picture after Tom asked her to. Do you know what the picture was?”

“Something about him carrying you..? I never saw it, why?”

“Great. Now everyone is going to think she changed it because a secret got out or something. Ughhhh I just wish this stupid marriage project had never happened and I would never be in this mess.”

Julia looked at you contemplatively for a moment.

“Think of it this way, you and Tom are friends now, right?” you apprehensively nodded. “If it weren’t for that project, you two would still be fighting all the time and you wouldn’t have had the incredible Nikki Holland taking your pictures. Everyone can just get over themselves, you know?”

You snorted, then grinned.

“Yeah I guess so. You know, you’re annoyingly wise beyond your years,” you stated. “Now let’s get back upstairs. We have a long day ahead of us.”

%

Placing first at regionals meant two things: you were going to state, and everyone was congratulating you again when Monday came.

They also kinda looked at you funny when Tom high fived you in the hallway as he passed by, but you had decided to follow Julia’s advice and stop caring about the rumors people were spreading. 

Once the morning announcements ended, your calculus teacher stood up, a small paper stack in hand.

“Okay, everyone, since I’m your first period teacher and homecoming is next week, today you get to cast your nomination votes. Y’all know the drill: three guys, three girls for king and queen. Try to make it fast, we have a lot to do today.”

She walked around handing out half-sheets of paper with six lines on them. You and Tom immediately looked at each other.

“We nominating each other?” Tom asked before you could.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” you joked, filling out the sheet with both of your names and four others.

In home ec, you sat next to Tom cutting fabric for yet another project you had to do together, thinking about something Julia had mentioned.

“Hey, I gotta ask you something. Is it true you’re going to the capital this weekend for our state tournament?” you asked.

“Oh, yeah. This is our bye week and I promised Sam I’d go with him and mom. Plus, we can work on the project when you’re free.”

“You do realize that’s like a four hour drive, right? I mean it’s Halloween this weekend. Wouldn’t you rather make an appearance at Johnny’s big blowout?”

“Eh, it won’t be that great. I mean his place isn’t even that big and it’s in town. There’s literally no way it won’t get busted within the first half hour. The homecoming party at Tyler’s however… that’s gonna be insane.”

“Okay Johnny’s trash party aside, you really would rather spend your one free weekend of the season four hours away watching girls play volleyball then at home doing… whatever it is you do. And please don’t tell me you watch the ‘hub in your spare time.”

“Come on, y/n I’m not an animal. Even without the tight uniforms volleyball is really cool.” 

You backhanded his arm at the comment.

“Plus, I don’t need any videos to get myself off,” he added, smirking.

“You disgust me.”

“You know you love me.”

“Hmm. Debatable,” you shot back dryly, earning a chuckle and shoulder bump from him as you finally cracked.

%

At lunch, your friends were discussing the Halloween party when you sat down.

“Okay we really need to figure out what to wear this weekend, and we’re not going as playboy bunnies like Daisy and all her group,” said one girl.

“Well I say we dress as frat boys. It’s funny, not super sexual, and we all know half the guys are going to rush next year,” suggested Caroline.

“I like it, but what if we went a step further and dressed as dads. You know, hawaiian shirts, khaki shorts, socks and sandals. That would be hilarious. What do you think, y/n?” said Alexis.

“Sorry ladies, I won’t be there. We have state this weekend at the capital so as always, we’re driving down Friday after school. I will be at Tyler’s homecoming thing next weekend. Also, I do really like the dad thing, but I vote y’all do Guy Fieri.”

“Wait why is that literally genius,” Alexis said as the others agreed. “Of course it would suck to take your idea without you even getting to do it.”

“You guys really think I care? Just credit me in your insta captions. I’ll make the team put ribbons with flames on them in their ponytails Saturday.”

“Okay now we have to do it,” a different friend said.

“Hey, at least you won’t have to worry about Tom. I’m sure he’ll be at the party,” Caroline said. You wrinkled your nose.

“Yeah about that… His brother’s girlfriend is on the team so he’s going, too. I’m the one that’ll be seeing him instead of you guys but whatever. We’ll need to work on our project anyways.”

“Don’t you think that’ll fuel the fires people are already spreading about you? A good portion of the school thinks you’re secretly together now,” added the first friend from before. 

“People are going to believe whatever the hell they want. I honestly don’t care anymore. Oh! By the way, did I tell you guys that some freshman was the one spreading shit about me Friday? The nerve those kids have,” you said.

“Wait, what? It was a freshman that was trying to tell everyone y’all are together? Ugh why would anyone believe them?” Alexis asked, incredulous.

“I know, right? Apparently she’s like obsessed with Tom or something. She must have a backwards way of thinking if she believes spreading fake rumors will make him want her. Jokes on her when she has to see us together on homecoming court. He’s just as likely to be voted as I am, maybe even more.”

The group all laughed and continued talking about random things, and you mentally wiped the sweat from your brow now that the conversation was shifted from you and Tom.

%

You were nervously bouncing your leg before calculus Friday morning. You’d gotten to school early to make certain you would be there for the announcements, which is when they would be releasing the list of nominees.

Tom came in a couple minutes before the bell, hair still wet from his post workout shower. Usually he blow dried it, and he obviously noticed you looking at his curls, your knee bouncing anxiously.

“Got out of the weight room late so I rushed over here. What are you wired up about, princess?”

“Do I really have to tell you? Homecoming noms.”

“You’re actually nervous about that? Everyone knows you’re already at the top of the list.”

“Uh, no, that’s you. After everything that’s happened the past few weeks, there’s no telling how people feel about me.”

“Oh you’ll be fine. I know it,” Tom finished. You wanted to disagree with him further, but then the bell rang and announcements began. After the general daily stuff, they got to the part everyone was waiting for. 

You were on the edge of your seat. The disembodied voice began with the underclassmen’s court nominations, eventually working up to the senior king contestants.

“Alright, first up in the running for kings we have… Tuwaine Barrett!”

Tuwaine was a cool dude. He played basketball and was in theatre. You were happy to see him nominated.

“Next up we’ve got Harrison Osterfield!”

Ugh. I’d rather abdicate the throne than end up against him.

“And finally for the boys, Tom Holland!”

A small cheer went up in your classroom as people congratulated Tom and patted him on the back. You gave him a high five.

“And now for the ladies. First on the list is Zendaya Coleman!”

Ah Zendaya. You were never that close, but she was always nice when you’d had classes with her. She was way taller than you, a star player on the basketball and softball teams. Not to mention she was insanely gorgeous. This was already some stiff competition.

“Second, we have Daisy Ridley!”

And of course another likely contender. Daisy, who was planning on going to that evening’s Halloween party as a playboy bunny, was a cheerleader. She didn’t fit every aspect of the cheer stereotype, like the fact that she was actually really smart, but she definitely wasn’t the nicest person either.

“And finally, your last nominee for homecoming queen is… y/n y/l/n!”

It took a second to fully process that it was you they were talking about until there were people cheering you on like they’d done for Tom. He reciprocated the high five.

“What’d I tell you princess? Or shall I say queen.”

%

Tom was leaving football practice after the bell when a few of his buddies appeared next to him to walk across the parking lot.

They were talking when Tom saw you all loading the bus, and you sent each other a wave.

“Damn, y/n’s not gonna be at the party tonight? That’s rough, she always has the dopest costumes. ‘Least you will. What are you going as?” one guy, Jake, said.

“Did I not tell you? I’m going out of town. Won’t be there. I totally would’ve been Spider-Man though,” Tom explained.

“Wait you won’t be there tonight either?” another, Chris, asked. “You’re gonna miss out on some major exposure for homecoming votes.”

“Oh yeah, right. I’m pretty sure things are in the bag for me. I’ll just be gone tonight and tomorrow. Promised Sam I’d go to the volleyball thing with him.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You. Are going to the capital. Which is four hours away. At the same time as y/n. Am I hearing this right?” Jake asked as they finally reached their cars.

“Oh shut up, man. It’s not like that. Yeah we’ll be at the same place this weekend but whatever. We’re cool with each other now.”

“Cool? Is that code for ‘I want to make out every time I look at her?’” interjected Chris. He and Jake gave each other a look and laughed.

“Ugh, no. I’d kiss a salmon before I kissed y/n. I just meant we’ve come to an understanding and are somewhat friends now.”

They both looked at him funny.

“So you mean to tell me that there’s nothing going on between you two? Yeah right. We’ve all seen the way you look at her at games,” Jake said suggestively.

“What is up with you and everyone else at this school thinking there’s more to the story?! We are fake married for a school project and are nothing more than friends. You’re crazy to think otherwise.”

“Who are you planning on asking to the dance?” Chris asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“What? What do you mean? I haven’t even thought about it.”

“I’m asking who you’ll take to homecoming. It’s y/n, isn’t it?”

“No. No, it’s not, because I haven’t asked anyone.”

“Would you go with her?” Chris continued, pressing in.

“I mean I guess so. If we’re voted king and queen then it’ll basically be an obligation.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Dude why are you asking all these questions! If she isn’t queen then I’ll go with whoever is. If I’m not king, I’ll just go solo and see what happens. Whatever, though, I need to get home. I’ll see you guys Monday,” Tom finished.

He walked off to his car, where his brothers were impatiently waiting.

%

A/N: Thanks for reading! Again, sorry for my inactivity but I’m hoping that writing will be a little easier as one of my classes was a half semester and I’ll now have a little more buffer room to write!

My asks and messages are always open!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Story tag list: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads, @justafangirlduh,

[hannawatchesesc]

Kinda a (long) rant about this movie situation.

I have seen a lot of posts (mainly from States) saying that Europeans are way too sensitive about this Fire Saga what ever situation, that the movie should be taken with a sense of humour, and that people from States doesn't even care about our stupid competition (when joked that they made this movie because of jealousy.)

Please note that this isn't the end of the world, or the most pressing issue to be solved, and Eurovision fandom surely knows it. Still, it doesn't change the fact, that this movie wasn't the Eurovision representation we hoped for.

TL;DR in the end

So here me out.

I'm not even ashamed to say, that this Eurovision movie didn't spark a joy in me, and that I'm tired of people who don't understand Europe, and the worth of Eurovision for this continent.

Eurovision is one (1) single thing, that honestly unites Europe. The European Union consists 27 countries, and the whole continent 51. There are about 750 million people living here, and about 450 million in the Union. So obviously the cultural differences here are huge.

These 51 countries includes: one of the most powerful countries in the world, a dictatorship, few countries with worrying state of democracy. Poor countries, rich countries, welfare states, countries which have faced a devastating humanitarian crises and wars no longer than 30 years ago, old countries, and countries not older than 10 years.

Creating unified European identity is really hard, even within the Union. And we are always compared to other parts of the world as the European Union. Sure, it's a great comparison since the Union and the States are approximately same size in population, but this erases the fact that there are 27 independent nation states in the Union with their own norms, laws and leaders. Not to mention, that Europe ≠ European Union.

We don't have sports, politics, religions or even cultures, which could unify whole continet. So to be able to unite it once a year is a miracle, that shouldn't be belittled or say that it is useless.

Eurovision has a long, succesful history of doing this. First contest was held in 1956, to unify war torn continent. Lets not forget, Europe was devided ideologically and politically. Old enemies were suddenly friends, and old friends were now enemies. Many countries were in ruins both literally and figuratively. It's not a small thing if a song contest is able to do this barely a decade after a world war tore through whole Europe, and keeps doing so six decades later.

ESC might be silly and over the top, but it's our silly and over the top. It's one thing Europeans can discuss with each other and everyone can understand the concept. It's a safe platform for marginalized groups to show their art and communities in a very large and public place, and in countries that tries to deny those communities. It isn't only about the music, it's about the possibility to share our cultures as well as be as freely who we are, when not everyone has right to do so in their every day life. Eurovision isn't without a flaws, but it has shown it's commitment to human rights more than once in recent years.

Eurovision is also a few of those things, that is truly ours (and Australians, but you know.) We live in a world full of news about US. Past four years I don't remember a single day reading/watching our national news and not seeing news from across the pond.

Sure US politics have been kinda crazy lately, but I have a hunch, that most of people there cannot tell as much about a European country's (not UK) politics, as Europeans can about US politics. We read, write and post about problematic politics in the States constantly, and worry how their foreign policy desicions will affect our countries.

And it is not just about politics. We watch American movies, tv shows, read American books, eat American foods and follow American celebrities. We use US based platforms; US based companies collect and sell our data. To be able to understand (internet) culture we need to speak English and understand how the States works as a society.

We live in very US centric world right now, that is unavoidable, but I wish Americans would regonise that. There are many issues in US that are not relatable in European countries (example gun violence, or electoral colleges). We have own problems in our countries, and yet we still need to hear about and understand yours all the time, whether we wanted it or not.

Eurovision is one piece of culture that is just European. There is a reason why we don't want Americans to be involved. We don't really care if you don't care, we are going to make these jokes anyways, because we have to care so much about your problems and culture. This is our moment to atleast pretend that US doesn't matter. Once a year we can be in our own bubble without worrying if there is going to be nuclear war next week.

So sure, we are going to be salty and sensitive about this, but it is going to be a big of a deal for like 6 days max. We are going to return to post about BLM, and gun laws and Donald Trump. But I think we have a right to be salty. Some Americans (who don't even care about our stupid competition) made a movie about our thing, made some beginner level mistakes and used the most tired European/Eurovision stereotypes.

Will Farrell maybe great guy and Eurovision fan, but it isn't the same. I know they probably tried their best to make this fun and light, but it wasn't probably the best way to tell about Eurovision for wider audience.

Maybe, just maybe this could have been our movie to make, and our story to tell? There isn't that many European movies about Superbowl, is there?

TL;DR

Living in the US Centric world is really tiring sometimes as we need to learn and understand at least our own countries and US politics and cultures, and stress about said politics' effects on our countries and continent. Beside that, we have our neigbouring countries and European Union to worry about.

Eurovision is one thing that unifies Europe and its vastly different countries. It's okay not to understand it, but being disrespectful about it is just super rude. Europe is full of problematic shit and we know it, but Eurovision isn't one of them, so just leave it alone.

[needtherapy]

the road in leaves no step had trodden black

“You don’t smile much anymore. You used to smile more.”

“Not much to smile about these days, is there?”

Jiang Cheng gets a little therapy session from Wen Ning, learns to plant potatoes, and decides he's not giving up on something he wants. 

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories or Skadiseven Stories on AO3

The title is from Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” and the story was written for Jiang Cheng’s birthday and, more importantly, @wangxianbunnydoodles​‘s birthday!

Jiang Cheng wonders if it’s irony that a dead man is so intent on digging in the dirt, hoping to bring forth new life, or just a strange coincidence. He can never remember the difference.

Irony, he decides, as the dead man carefully buries a row of eyes, one per mound, evenly spaced in neat rows. He wonders if this will even work, if life can come from death, if...

“Jiang-zongzhu, can I help you?”

The gentle voice startles Jiang Cheng from his morbid thoughts. In all the times he’s visited Burial Mounds, Wen Ning has never spoken to him. He supposes that’s his own fault. When has he ever invited conversation? Or, if he’s more honest, when hasn’t he discouraged it?

“Or...would you like to help me? Have you ever planted potatoes?”

No, Jiang Cheng thinks, he has never planted potatoes, and he’s not exactly enthusiastic to try right now, but Wen Ning is handing him a circle of potato with a small sprout, and he takes it without thinking.

“You put it in the ground about this deep, eye facing the sky,” Wen Ning shows him with a little chuckle. “And then you bury it under the dirt, but you have to make a little mound and pat it down.”

It would be rude not to plant the potato he’s holding, and when it’s safely underground, ready to do whatever it is potatoes do, Jiang Cheng looks at his fingernails. He’s a man of the water, and his fingernails are never dirty. But he doesn’t have time to think about it, because Wen Ning is beaming at him and holding out another piece of potato. Much to his consternation, Wen Ning has proven to have all the menace of a kitten and all the enthusiasm of a puppy, and it’s impossible not to smile back. Maybe he doesn’t do it right, though, because Wen Ning’s eyebrows draw together, and he looks concerned.

He doesn’t say anything, just gestures to Jiang Cheng with the potato-eye piece.

Well, what the hell, he may as well, Jiang Cheng thinks. He’s already dirty just being here. He kneels down and follows Wen Ning's directions, taking the second piece of potato and the third without saying anything at all.

He plants six more tiny eyes in tiny sockets of mud before Wen Ning says anything else.

“You don’t smile much anymore. You used to smile more.”

“Not much to smile about these days, is there?”

Wen Ning’s mouth flicks sideways sadly. “No. Not much.”

Jiang Cheng remembers that he’s talking to a man who has recently been deceased, exiled, hunted, and also lost nearly his entire family, so perhaps he knows something of sorrow. Jiang Cheng doesn’t feel guilty, not exactly, but he does feel...something. Something niggling and uncomfortable.

“But there are some things, aren’t there?” Wen Ning goes on, and Jiang Cheng stares at him as a smile turns up the corners of Wen Ning’s mouth. “I have my sister and you have yours. We both have a great friend—kind of like a brother—in Wei-gongzi. I have family to care for and you have a nephew on the way. Someone saved my life, in a way, and someone saved yours.”

Jiang Cheng laughs, despite himself. “Wen-gongzi, is that a joke? Yes, yes, you’re right, my thanks is long overdue. Thank you for saving my life.”

He makes an approximation of a deep bow, even though he is still kneeling in a potato patch. It comes out more like giving obeisance, which is, possibly, more appropriate anyway.

Wen Ning bobs his head, still smiling. “I’m glad you’ve used it well, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Has he? He’s helped his own sect recover, and he’s told himself that nothing else matters, but the truth is, he doesn’t want to help anyone else right now. It never works, and no one else even needs him, so why bother? Yanli managed to get herself married without his help. Wei Wuxian is determined to do whatever this is without his help. He’s been supportive! Sort of. But...maybe...maybe he hasn’t been a great brother. Fine, especially not to Wei Wuxian. Sure, he comes to visit this vile place sometimes, but he doesn’t know why. It’s stupid. He repudiated Wei Wuxian publicly; it’s dangerous to keep visiting. And he hates it, every inch of it, not because it’s ugly—which it is—but because Wei Wuxian chose it. He doesn’t understand why Wei Wuxian stays, why any of them stay, why Wen Qi…

“Why are you here?”

The question bursts out in an angry snap and Wen Ning looks puzzled.

“I’m planting potatoes. Wei-gongzi likes them better than turnips.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “I mean, why are you here? Here in Burial Mounds? Why did he save you? Why is it more important...”

He breaks off and looks away, angrily jabbing potato pieces into the ground until he realizes he’s doing it wrong, and Wen Ning is following his progress, adjusting the pieces and reburying them. Jiang Cheng slows down. It occurs to him that maybe they can’t afford to waste even a single piece. Gods, he can be an asshole sometimes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Wen Ning stops, rests his dirty hands on his knees and looks at Jiang Cheng with that wide-eyed innocent look he’s always had. In other people, it would make Jiang Cheng suspicious, but in Wen Ning, he thinks it’s exactly what it looks like. Even with the darker-than-they-should-be eyes, the whiter-than-it-should-be skin and the creepier-than-necessary black veins, Wen Ning still strikes Jiang Cheng as somehow unsullied by the world, as though the burdens the world has handed him were tokens he could accept and carry without breaking.

“When I was a boy, I trusted my sister. More than anyone. More than my parents. You know, it’s because she never lies, and parents do lie. Not to be mean or anything, just...because they’re adults, so they don’t think it counts. But a-jie never lies.”

“Ha!” Jiang Cheng huffs. “My brother lies all the time. I usually don’t even know why. He could just tell the truth.”

Wen Ning tips his head, a preternaturally agile tilt. “A-jie did lie to me, though. She said she would always protect me, and look what happened. She said she would take care of me, and we live in a graveyard. She said everything would be okay, and...it isn’t. I probably shouldn’t trust her anymore.”

“That’s not fair! Things happened. You know they did!”

Jiang Cheng is incensed. Maybe he’s not...maybe he doesn’t… He snorts irritably, collecting his thoughts. Maybe there’s nothing between them, but he knows Wen-guniang is honorable, and she has done everything to save her people, even to share their fate. She didn’t have to, but it was the right thing to do, and she chose it knowing she had other options, selfish options, as he is well aware. Whatever she’s done, it’s always been to protect the people she loves, even if it didn’t always seem like it at the time. If she lied to her brother, it was to save him, over and over again. She always had a reason! How could Wen Ning say he doesn’t trust her?

...oh.

His head whips around to glare at Wen Ning, but Wen Ning just smiles at him, that sweet, guileless smile, and goes back to planting potatoes. Jiang Cheng takes a handful with a huff, and they work in silence for a little longer.

“A-Cheng! What are you doing here?”

Wei Wuxian’s sunniest, happiest voice makes Jiang Cheng smile instinctively, and he doesn’t wipe it from his face like he usually does these days.

“Saving your life, apparently. I heard you were going to be forced to eat turnips,” Jiang Cheng whispers the word in mock horror, and immensely enjoys the surprise, suspicion, delight, and hope that cycle over his brother’s face in rapid succession.

“Oh? Uh...thank you.”

Wei Wuxian smiles tentatively at him, and rather than focusing on the fact that usually, these days, Wei Wuxian’s smiles are tight and wary, and that usually, these days, they fight with more rancor than teasing, and that usually, these days, Jiang Cheng never touches him if he can help it, Jiang Cheng pulls Wei Wuxian into a hug, a real hug, fitting together they way they always have, and he doesn’t let go until Wei Wuxian hugs him back. He’s too thin, Jiang Cheng thinks. Next time he visits, he’ll bring soup.

“A-Ning, what...what the hell is going on?” Wen Qing whispers to her brother, watching Wei Wuxian and his brother laugh and cry and hug like they’ve never seen each other before, and Wen Ning shrugs.

“A-jie, how could I know? We were just planting potatoes. Jiang-zongzhu must really like potatoes.”

Wen Qing looks suspiciously at her brother, but Wen Ning just smiles at her, that sweet, guileless smile everyone else thinks is innocent but which Wen Qing knows is always, always a precursor to Wen Ning getting his way. He trots away, probably off to find a-Yuan, and she sighs. Whatever it is this time, she hopes it doesn’t disrupt the planting schedule. They have mouths to feed.

She glances back at Jiang Ch...Jiang-zongzhu—you don't get to call him Jiang Cheng anymore, a mean voice reminds her—and to her surprise, he meets her eyes over Wei Wuxian’s back, a smile she’s never seen on his lips. It looks like...determination. Her stomach flops alarmingly, a betrayal of all her good sense. No, she thinks. That smile? That smile looks like the future calling, and it’s absolutely terrifying.

“A-Ning, get back here immediately!” she yells, heading in the direction he ran away. “What did you say?”

[makeste]

top 20 favorite quirks

okay, but listen, though! it’s exactly what it says in the title. not best quirks, or most useful quirks, or most creative quirks. not even coolest quirks! I did try to take all of these things into consideration when choosing, but honestly? by far the most important factor was, “I JUST THINK THEY’RE NEAT.”

anyway but let me backtrack and post the actual ask.

you’ll note that at no point was I asked to pick twenty of them. I did that all on my own. so here is my list!

20. Solid Air (Tsuburaba)

Tsubaraba Kousei. all-time undefeated grand champion of The Floor Is Lava. or at least he was until Ochako came along. anyway, so this is an extremely nifty quirk with all sorts of utility ranging from defense to helping him get around. it’s super useful for catching bad guys, and apparently the only real limit is his lung capacity. this quirk has so much potential and I love it.

19. Copy (Monoma)

the fact that he can copy his opponents’ powers and use them against them is badass enough, but add in the fact that he can hold up to 3 (or 4??) of them at once -- for as long as ten minutes -- and this quirk starts getting seriously powerful. anyway so one thing you might note as you read on is that although Copy is on my favorite quirks list, AFO is not! and that’s because Monoma’s limits actually make the quirk much more interesting to me, because they force him (and Horikoshi) to get creative. this is a really fun quirk and I would love to see more of Monoma in action. about time we saw him fight some actual villains and not just class 1-A, honestly.

18. Brainwashing (Shinsou)

as with Monoma’s quirk, what really sets this apart from other mind-control superpowers (to me, anyway) is the fact that it has limitations. he can’t just control anyone at random; in order to take them over he has to get them to respond to him somehow. which leads to innovations like the voice-changer, and which as a result has made his battles so genuinely interesting and fun to watch. anyway so I really want Shinsou to hurry up and join 2-A, and for them to just give him his provisional license all “here you go, son” with no testing whatsoever, because we’re past the point of pretending the HPSC is actually responsible these days, and because I really want to see if he can help turn the tides the next time the heroes battle the League.

17. Zero Gravity (Ochako)

I feel like it’s worth noting that I don’t really have any kind of fear of heights or falling or anything like that. and so I can’t really explain why Toga using this quirk on Ms. Curious and her lackeys was hands down one of the most singularly disturbing scenes in the entire manga for me! but it was!! even now I’m wincing just thinking about it. she just lifted them all up and DROPPED THEM and they just FELL and DIED. just like that. holy fucking shit. anyway, so we should all be very grateful that Ochako is super kind and sweet and more inclined towards helping people rather than murdering them. because holy shit. anyways though this quirk is dope.

16. Erasure (Aizawa)

I once said that this quirk was “not very cinematic”, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so wrong about anything in my life. oh, past me. you truly underestimated the dramatic impact of someone with a terrifyingly powerful quirk going in for the kill, only to be all “NANI?!” as they suddenly realize that their powers are no longer working, and the camera pans over to a man with gorgeous floating hair and intense red anime eyes. I owe you an apology, Erasure. you are cinematic AF.

15. Black Hole (Thirteen)

I really wish we got to see Thirteen fight more often. they suffer from the same “too powerful” curse as so many of the other characters and it’s a shame. anyway so Black Hole is cool af and gives me a ton of Miroku/kazaana vibes, which I freaking love. this quirk is lowkey on a Tomura-level of destructive potential, honestly, and yet no one ever talks about it?? Thirteen could literally destroy anything they touched if they wanted to?? imagine if they ever Awakened, you guys. holy shit.

14. Tape (Sero)

this power is so fucking stupid and ridiculous and completely absurd and I LOVE IT. Horikoshi really drew a skinny guy with tape elbows and was all, “so this kid is basically Spider-Man but with tape. I have not put the least bit of logical thought or creative effort into this power beyond that, and I’m not going to, either.” and somehow we all just accepted it. anyway, dubious origins aside, it’s such a versatile ability and Sero has such amazing control over it. it’s offense; it’s defense; he can use it to set traps; he can use it for maneuverability. TAPE ELBOWS CAN DO IT ALL.

13. Outburst (Ms. Joke)

when will it finally be her time. Outburst is one of those powers that sounds super dumb at first, until you really stop and think what the ability to make someone laugh at will could actually DO to people. true uncontrollable belly laughter is a totally incapacitating thing. she’d have people collapsing to the ground and practically seizing up. and good luck using your own quirk to fight back when you’re doubled over struggling to breathe and can’t even see straight because of the tears in your eyes. that’s assuming any of her opponents are even capable of thinking straight long enough to try it. like, this is such a straight up brutal ability and the fact that we have still NEVER SEEN IT is honestly infuriating.

12. Glamour (Camie)

it’s an illusion quirk. of course I have to put it on my list. illusion powers make every battle approximately 100x more entertaining. and what makes this particular power even better is that in any other series, this quirk would have been given to some Tokoyami-esque super serious emo kid. but BnHA went and gave it to Karen from Mean Girls instead. what a fucking power move. goddamn.

11. Black (Kuroiro)

according to BnHA Ultra Analysis, Kuroiro’s Appearing Out of Nowhere skills are rated a 4 out of 6. I still haven’t figured out if this is meant to be a burn on him or not. this kid can ninja in and out of literally any dark object in existence. if it’s nighttime, that means he can basically move wherever he wants to at will. of course he’s skilled at Appearing Out of Nowhere. so tell me then, why is it ONLY a four out of six?? how could he possibly fuck this up?? who was grading him?? DOES HE JUST SUCK. I don’t know, but anyway it’s really funny to me and also I really love this quirk.

10. Transform (Toga)

Toga went and Awakened herself right into the top ten with the reveal that not only can she mimic other people’s appearances, but that while she is transformed, she can actually use their quirks. like excuse me, what?? holy shit??? it is honestly driving me crazy that we’ve only seen this in action once. Transform is basically Plot Twist: The Quirk. I really want to see Toga use it to its full potential and infiltrate U.A. and/or spy on the HPSC and/or murder someone with their loved one’s own quirk. I WANT HER TO GIVE SOMEONE THE MAES HUGHES TREATMENT. I want her to do something so shocking that people ragequit the fucking manga lol. I know I’m always saying the manga isn’t that dark, but this is honestly the one exception where I would freaking love for it to get dark as shit. anyway so yeah. if you want to fuck with people you really couldn’t ask for a better quirk.

9. Creation (Momo)

MACGUYVER: THE QUIRK. an unlimited inventory in the hands of someone brilliant enough to actually utilize it to its full extent. what’s not to love? honestly if it were me with this quirk it would be completely useless. not only would I get hopelessly bored two seconds into trying to memorize an object’s molecular structure or whatever, but even if I DID manage to figure out how to make stuff, I would never know what to do with the stuff, or when to use it. every time a new situation cropped up I would just create a bunch of random objects in a panic. but Momo is so elegant in her problem-solving that she often needs to create only one or two things to come up with the perfect solution for something. basically this is a good quirk that becomes a truly great quirk when placed in the hands of the best possible person in the world to wield it. the quirk is awesome because Momo is awesome, and I fucking adore quirks like that (see: next entry).

8. Permeation (Mirio)

ah, Mirio. the original victim of the “too powerful to be allowed” curse. remember that time he BEAT HALF OF CLASS 1-A IN UNDER SIX SECONDS, you guys.  small wonder Horikoshi couldn’t even make it through one complete villain fight with him before he had to de-quirk the poor kid. anyway, so Mirio makes this quirk look so mind-blowingly awesome that it’s easy to forget what a terrifying and fucked-up power it is in reality. “yeah it makes me blind and deaf and if I’m not careful I’ll fall into the center of the earth or splice myself in two or some shit.” what the actual fuck Mirio. but because he’s worked so hard and because Nighteye trained him so well, he’s mastered the timing to such an insane degree that he could kick Overhaul in the face without harming a single hair on Eri’s body. and honestly, there’s no way I could not love a quirk that gave us a moment like that.

7. Warp Gate (Kurogiri)

unlike SOME OTHER PEOPLE whose names start with Kuro, I would bet you that Kurogiri’s Appearing Out of Nowhere skills are a full six out of six! alas, the top ten of this list is chock full of people whose quirks are so badass that they had to be written out of the story one way or another. with Kuro at large there was technically nothing stopping the villains from just dropping in on U.A. one night to kill All Might, or rekidnap Bakugou, or whatever else they might want to do. and that’s actually a really scary thought though lol so it’s no wonder that Horikoshi was all, “yeah I’ll just have them capture him now.” anyways do you guys remember that one time in chapter 18 when Kuro used Warp Gate to create an endless loop of All Might suplexing Noumu suplexing All Might?? fucking quirks, though. wild.

6. Fiber Master (Best Jeanist)

another badass quirk, another badass quirk-user incapacitated and taken out of the story before their time. Best Jeanist is honestly terrifying. if he wanted to he could immobilize and even strangle and kill pretty much anyone in the world, whenever he fucking felt like it. that alone would be crazy enough, but then add to that that this quirk for all intents and purposes is basically telekinesis. as long as someone is wearing clothing he can move them around however he wants, as we saw in Kamino. basically, everything Hawks can do with Fierce Wings, Jeanist can probably do with his own quirk. AND THAT INCLUDES FLYING, YOU GUYS. the more I think about it the more I think we truly were robbed. I need Jeanist to come back already and fly everyone at Jakku to safety and tie Tomura to a chair with his own cape before proceeding to style his hair.

5. Rewind (Eri)

IT’S MY LIST!! I CAN PUT WHATEVER I WANT, AND IF YOU SAY I CAN’T, I’M TELLING MOM. okay but listen. everyone always rags on this quirk and how stupidly powerful it is, and look, I get it. but isn’t it kind of interesting that everyone is also always speculating over who Eri is eventually going to heal with her quirk? like, fandom is always complaining about how broken it is but at the same time they’re out here hatching all of these wild theories that center around it. and to me that indicates that in truth, this is actually an awesome quirk -- just so long as it’s used right. obviously there have to be some major limitations or else this is just “Fix Everything: The Quirk.” thankfully, Horikoshi did limit it! it’s super dangerous, she has trouble controlling it, and most importantly, it’s ridiculously slow to recharge and so she can only use it once every few months. it’s basically Recovery Girl’s quirk with a bonus slow-replenishing stamina bar that, once charged, allows her to release one ultra-powerful SUPER HEAL special move. and that’s pretty awesome. basically I think this quirk gets too much hate and not enough credit for the additional menu options it adds to the story. it’s interesting and compelling and I can’t wait to see what Horikoshi does with it.

4. Dark Shadow (Tokoyami)

TOKOYAMI WHY IS YOUR QUIRK SENTIENT. Existential Crisis: The Quirk. do quirks have souls?? if you shot Tokoyami with a quirk-be-gone bullet would Dark Shadow fucking die??? if Tomura absorbed Tokoyami’s quirk would Dark Shadow grow out of his back and be all “hey um, who the fuck are you”?? and would Toko’s head turn back into a normal human boy head?? would Dark Shadow look like Tomura instead of a bird shadow?? what even IS Dark Shadow, actually?? obviously it is not just a shadow because shadows can’t punch people or shield people from attacks or pick people up and fly them around. but yet he’s afraid of fire and grows weaker in daylight?? is Tokoyami secretly the strongest character in the entire series?? is there any way I can possibly justify putting this quirk all the way down at #4 instead of #1 where it clearly belongs?? let me answer that question by not answering it and moving on.

3. Explosion (Bakugou)

is the fix in?? is “exploding hands” really a better quirk than a fucking sentient monster man who lives in your belly button and reads your mind and is made of ~darkness energy~ and is your best friend? apparently the answer is yes! to both of those questions. yes the fix is in. I love Kacchan and his quirk is fucking awesome okay. it just never ceases to amaze me how this one single quirk, which really only does one thing, is nonetheless so spectacularly powerful that it allows Bakugou to compete on the same level as the fucking protagonist with all of his godlike super-strength and Main Character Powers and wacky SIXQUIRKS!! shenanigans. in my opinion the coolest thing about Explosion isn’t even its firepower; it’s the way Bakugou’s adapted it to fly around and to boost his speed. I think he legit may be the fastest character in the series right now, or close to it. he’s faster than Iida and Gran Torino and Endeavor. he can keep up with Deku without breaking a sweat. and he knows how to use that speed, thanks to his insane reflexes. add in the fact that this is also without a doubt the most cinematic quirk in the entire series, and I think I’m justified in putting it this high up. and anyway I still put two others up above it so shh.

2. Search (Ragdoll/Tomura)

Hey, What’s That Guy’s Deal: The Quirk. I just really love this one you guys. it’s so fucking useful. Video Game HUD: The Quirk. one hundred people at a time?? locations and weak points?? works even when you’re not looking at the person anymore and have blinked your eyes, unlike CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE’S weak-ass quirks?? check, check, and check. is it any wonder AFO wanted this? plus it just looks so damn cool. the visual representation of everyone as little stars on a map. Turn On Location: The Quirk. okay look I feel like I’m doing a bad job of explaining why I have this quirk all the way up at number two. it just has this subtle badassness to it, and its introduction after almost two hundred chapters of buildup was just so fucking cool. maybe it’s recency bias?? I don’t even know; all I know is that I love this quirk and want to see more of it in action.

1. Blackwhip (Lariat/Deku)

listen, I was obsessed with this quirk back when it was called “Venom” and was by far the absolute coolest part of the 1990s Spider-Man cartoon series. I’m not just going to suddenly not be obsessed with it just because fandom is mad that Horikoshi gave Deku an additional power beyond just Smashing Stuff. Blackwhip is hands down the coolest quirk, guys. I’m sorry, it just is. it has the coolest name. it had the coolest entrance. it does basically anything you could ever want a quirk to do in battle. it grabs stuff. it Bloops. what more do you want. you’re all just jealous because you wish that you could Bloop too. I know I am. I wish I had a Bloop. anyway so yeah, Blackwhip is the upgrade to Deku’s fighting style that we desperately needed after 200+ chapters of Delaware Smashes and Broken Bones. all his fights are cooler now. he can save more people! he can fight without instantly dying! plus you just gotta love powers that occasionally explode out of control if their user gets all emotional and pissed off about the fact that you insulted his boyfriend. so yeah. Blackwhip at number one! on this list of favorite quirks. not best quirks!! jesus christ. please don’t kill me I have a family.

 so that’s my list! all 3000 words of it. how does this keep happening.

[hottestthingalive]

For the fake tittle prompts, here ya go: “This is why we don't play truth or dare anymore”

hmmmmmmmmm

-A short oneshot, with a bunch of people who were friends in high school and/or college five or six years later. college.

-moceit, because i don’t give my reptile disaster dads enough love

-all of the sides meet up for a small party at remy’s house, who, unsurprisingly, is throwing the tired adult equivalent of a birthday bash, and surprisingly managed to be the only one who managed to keep in touch and stay good friends with everyone. 

-janus and patton have seen each other occasionally across the years, but it’s always been a bit awkward. 

-especially since janus has essentially been in love with patton since they met, and he told patton right after they graduated, and patton ghosted him. 

-just up and scadoodled out of there. he already had a job lined up, and he hightailed it to his new work that night.

-it was pretty clear to janus what patton thought of him after that. he didn’t bother going after him, especially not after virgil asked him off-handedly if he had patton’s new number. 

-a guy hating you so much for liking him that he changed his phone number? yeah. he gets the picture. 

-patton tried to apologize the next time they saw each other, but janus told him “it’s fine, okay? i messed up. it was stupid; forget about it, pat,” and walked away. as far as anyone else knows, they made up. 

-as far as they know, well... things are still rather strained. 

-but patton is there, at remy’s birthday, mainly because he and emile and remy are still really good friends, and emile is remy’s qpp, and so that works out. and janus is there, too, because he and remy fell into the same circles when navigating the business and fashion industries, and it just made sense to work together. janus takes care of designing products, remy does the business side, and together they’ve created quite the successful clothing line. 

-“i feel like doing something stupid,” remy says late into the night, when the credits are rolling on their third movie. 

-“like what?” asks remus, remy’s qpp, a mischevious glint in his eye, and that certainly doesn’t bode well. 

-“how about truth or dare?” emile, their other qpp, suggests. 

-“lame,” virgil says, but he’s already going to rinse out one of their empty bottles so they can use it to spin. 

-they all sit on the floor. janus ends up beside patton. it’s fine. this is fine. 

-though janus is swiftly recalling that truth or dare is honestly kind of boring. 

-logan spins the bottle next, after roman dares him to kiss him and virgil (”I am your husband, roman, i’d kiss you two anyways”) and it lands right between patton and janus. 

-“hm,” logan says, and janus remembers suddenly that logan is kind of an asshole, sometimes, when he says “why don’t you two go sit in that closet together for approximately ten minutes?”

-“oh, great,” janus says, but obeys anyways, because he’s far enough past tipsy to do just about anything. patton seems more hesitant, but follows eventually, and as roman closes the doors, winking obnoxiously obviously at janus, he hears logan ask “is that not a typical dare for this game?” and virgil reply “yes, love, good job,” in the kind of giggly sarcasm janus is used to hearing from him around his husbands. then the doors closed, and janus realizes this is the closet remus uses for voiceover work, which explains why it’s so well sound-proofed. 

-he and patton sit on opposite sides of the tiny room, patton staring down at his hands in his lap, janus leaning his head back against the wall, eyes shut. 

-“so... how’ve you been?” patton asks after far too many minutes. 

-“just peachy,” janus drawls, and opens his eyes. 

-surprisingly, patton looks much the same. on one hand, it makes sense -- he’s always been sure of himself, sure of who he wanted to be and what he wanted to look like, even back when they were freshmen and met when janus was so sleep-deprived he managed to trip over his boots and land in the middle of the street, books everywhere. “are you alright?” patton had asked, though of course janus hadn’t known he was patton then, all concerned frowns and grace even as he tugged janus to his feet. patton was a dancer, he remembers, and wonders briefly if he still dances. he certainly still moves like it, as if at any moment he could step into empty air and just keep walking. 

-“oh,” says patton, and another awkward silence settles between them, and then he looks up. 

-their eyes meet.

-janus had known, in a rather detached fashion, that he still loved patton. it was hard to imagine not loving him, this man who moved like the sky was just a floor not yet stepped on, who helped idiot strangers pick up their books, who attempted to play nice even with the guy who’d made things weird all those years ago. he didn’t want to love him still, but it seemed as if his heart didn’t know any other way to feel about patton. 

-“i’m sorry,” janus blurts out, at the same time patton says “janus, i-”

-“sorry, go ahead,” patton says, ever the peacemaker, and he doesn’t know why that makes him bitter, but it does. 

-“why’d you leave?” he asks, and patton bites his lip. 

-“i got scared,” he says.

-“scared of what? me?” that hurts, though he’d never admit it, but thankfully patton is already shaking his head. 

-“i could never be scared of you, silly,” he says, and for one glorious moment he grins, and janus can’t help but smile back. his grin vanishes quickly, however. “i was scared of... of what i felt then, i guess.”

-“for the record, you could have just rejected me,” janus tells him, and means it as a joke, but patton buries his face in his hands and mumbles something that makes his heart kick into overdrive. “what?”

-“i said, i didn’t want to!” he exclaims, and janus just stares at him. 

-“then why did you?” 

-“it was an accident!”

-“you rejecting me was an accident.” 

-“i panicked!” 

-he can’t help but laugh, then, and patton starts giggling, too, and before he knows it they’re both cracking up, if only because they’re both idiots. “why didn’t you say anything?” janus says when he gets his breath back, and patton’s smile fades again. he hates it when it does that. patton doesn’t look right when he’s sad like that, and janus would give anything to make him laugh again. 

-“you said it was a mistake,” he says. “when we saw each other next. you said you’d made a mistake. i thought you... regretted it.” 

-“no,” janus says, and then, impulsively, “i’d do it again.” 

-“really?” 

-“and it would still be true.” 

-“good,” patton says, “because my answer would be different, this time.”

-“can i kiss you?” janus asks. 

-when roman finally knocks on the door, it has been far longer than ten minutes, and logan grins in a way that says he knew exactly what he was doing when he made that dare. virgil throws confetti in the air with a remarkable amount of implied sarcasm for someone grinning so widely, and remus says, loudly, “fucking finally.” 

-“you planned this!” janus exclaims, holding hands with patton, and remy rolls his eyes. 

-“obviously, babes. now, can we stop playing truth or dare, please?”

-truth or dare isn’t any better in janus’ eyes after that -- it’s still really, really boring -- but they don’t have to play it in an elaborate ploy to set up their friends ever again, so that’s alright.

I liked this one so much!!! i love my boys <3

Send me a fake fic title and I’ll tell you what I’d write for it!

[welllpthisishappening]

Winning a World Series has its benefits. 

Backpage spreads in New York tabloids, a parade, a seemingly never-ending amount of champagne. And a trip to Disney World. Emma was fairly certain that was a joke. Until she’s standing outside of Hollywood Studios and Killian has done research about rides and that’s kind of messing with her head a bit. 

As is everyone’s determination to get the high score on the Buzz Lightyear ride in Magic Kingdom. 

Because while you can take the baseball player off the diamond, you apparently can’t take the competition out of the athlete. Even at Disney World. 

----

Rating: Honestly like the lowest level T. Mostly for the trash talk.  Word Count: 7.7K AN: Oh hai there, internet! Approximately a million years ago I asked for prompts before Justin and I went to Disney for Christmas and @distant-rose​​ sent me this: “Babes, love of my internet life, am I allowed to prompt you? In honor of Gerrit Cole becoming a Yankees, may I ask for a combo of Killian in pinstripes and a Disney World Christmas if possible? Bonus points for Captain Cobra goodness. Love you! Have I mentioned that?“ Because of who I am as a person, this is...only kind of that. Instead it’s in that one baseball ‘verse where Killian’s on the Yankees and David is on the Red Sox and this whole story is honestly almost too autobiographical. Anyway, I did this instead of work today. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

----

She kind of thought it was an urban legend. 

Something spoken in hushed whispers, nothing more than a photo-op or overblown publicity stunt for corporate America with hats that no one really wanted to wear and t-shirts already damp from on-field champagne celebrations. 

Emma has never been happier to have been proved wrong. 

Even if she’s also pretty positive that her championship t-shirt will never be entirely dry again. Or smell like anything except champagne. 

She’s not sure she’s done anything except smile in the last forty-eight hours. 

Between the parade and the photo-ops that did happen, flashing lights and back-page spreads, she’s admittedly a little exhausted and just a little overwhelmed, but Killian’s arm also seems to be glued to her shoulders and that’s kind of nice. Especially because it’s a little colder in Florida than she thought it would be. 

They’ve won a World Series. 

And now they’re going to Disney World. 

Or, well—they’re already in Disney World. The specifics aren’t important. It’s very early in the morning, Emma figures that’s enough of an excuse. 

And they keep drinking champagne. 

And sparkling wine. 

Just a seemingly never-ending supply of sparkling wine. From the Italy pavilion in EPCOT. 

It keeps getting delivered to their room. 

“Should have brought a jacket,” Killian mutters, mostly into Emma's hair and she doesn’t have to glance up to know he’s doing that stupid thing with his mouth. Also known as smiling. Smirking, even. 

“No one likes a told you so,” she argues.

“Is that a phrase?” Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, flicking her finger against Killian’s chest when he actually has the gall to laugh at her. “Shut up, World Series champion. And stop moving so much. You keep shifting and shaking and then you take the heat with you.” “Am I the heat in this scenario?” “There’s a joke about the hot corner here,” David says. He’s got his own arm around Mary Margaret, her head drifting towards his shoulder every few moments and Leo fell asleep almost as soon as they left the hotel. 

Very early. 

Earlier than—actually, Emma has no idea what time it is, and she cannot quite wrap her mind around the number of people who are also here, all of them mulling around the still-locked entrance to Hollywood Studios with their phones out, like they’re waiting for instructions or something. 

Killian taps his thumb on his phone. More than once. And sighs, more than once. “Was that you making the joke?” he asks suddenly, as if he’s only just processed David’s words. 

“Slow on the uptake, huh?” “It’s because we haven’t gotten any coffee yet,” Mary Margaret mumbles. The words are difficult to hear when they’re mostly spoken into David’s t-shirt and none of them had explicitly decided not to wear team-branded merchandise, but they’ve only been stopped for autographs twice and it’s been kind of fun to just...celebrate. 

Emma’s not sure this exact scenario falls under that umbrella. 

“We had to do it this way,” Killian says, not for the first time and Emma knows she nods in something almost resembling placating spousal support. Her hair moves, at least. And the kid in her arms barely stirs, falling asleep a few minutes after Leo because it might not even be six in the morning yet. 

“So we’ve heard, babe,” she says. “Super serious business.” He scowls. Emma still hasn’t looked up yet. 

“If we got here after the park opened,” Killian starts, and David might groan weakly because they really have heard the explanation half a dozen times already, “then the boarding parties would have already been filled and we wouldn’t be able to get on this ride that—” “—TripAdvisor has called the start of a new generation of rides,” Mary Margaret and Emma say in tandem. 

Killian clicks his tongue. 

“Did we offend you, Mr. World Series MVP?” Emma asks, all innocence and her chin digging into Killian when she, finally, tilts her head up. 

He is, in fact, scowling. But it’s also kind of cute and also kind of endearing and Ellie keeps burrowing herself close to Emma, which does something to the overall state of her heart, so she can’t really be that upset about anything. 

People aren’t allowed to be upset at Disney World, anyway. 

By like—rule. Of humans, or whatever. 

“Can you say boarding parties again, though?” Mark Margaret asks, not quite able to get the words out without laughing. 

Killian huffs. “You guys are the Star Wars nerds, not me. I am doing this for you. Plus, the internet really thinks this is the greatest ride ever made.” “They said exactly?” “Who is the internet in this scenario?” Emma asks. “Is that just—like did they poll people? Babe, are you looking up polls about Star Wars rides?” “It’s supposed to be better than the Avatar one,” Killian reasons. 

“Yeah, well, no one actually remembers the plot of Avatar, that’s why. Just that one scene with the tree and Zoe Saldana’s character and—” Emma cuts herself off when Ellie moves again, a knee to her side and sleep-tinged words pressed to the side of her neck. There’s hair dangerously close to her mouth now. 

Mary Margaret’s shoulders are shaking. “And is the phrase boarding party better or worse than referring to the internet in the collective?”

“I don’t think you’re as tired as you claim to be,” Killian says. “If you can use the word collective like that.” “Feel free to be impressed by extensive knowledge of the English language.” “I absolutely am.” “And speaking of World Series MVP,” David adds, “couldn’t you have pulled some strings or something here?” “That’s a Pinocchio joke,” Emma mutters, the muscles in her cheeks threatening to stage some kind of biological mutiny when her smile stretches even wider. Killian’s expression changes slightly, not quite the smirk or even the put-upon frustration from their teasing because he really has researched this Star Wars ride more than all of them combined. 

If they don’t get a good boarding party, Emma’s going to force the Disney people to give them more sparkling wine. 

On principle. 

“You think you’re very funny, don’t you?” Emma shrugs. “I think I know I’m funny and David thinks you should have used your World Series clout—” “—Oh that’s a good word too,” Mary Margaret says. 

“To get first dibs on the fancy Star Wars ride,” Emma continues. “And then we wouldn’t have to get out of bed so early because the pillows here are ridiculous.” “Is ridiculous good in this scenario?” Killian asks. 

“Was that not obvious?”

“What do you think it is about the pillows, exactly? Overall neck support? Fluffiness? Just vacation-pillow characteristics?” “Vacation-pillow is definitely the lamest thing you’ve said so far today,” Emma laughs, a soft sigh of thanks when Killian pulls Ellie into his arms. There’s no threat of hair in her mouth anymore, and a chance to give her arms a rest, but it also means that she’s now responsible for Killian’s phone and whatever it will do once Hollywood Studios does, actually, open. 

“Maybe we can ask the Boardwalk people where they get their pillows,” Killian suggests. “Stock up or something.” “You say that like I’m not actually going to do it.” “Oh, no I’ve got every belief that you’ll one-hundred percent do it, but—” “—Why didn’t we tell the Boardwalk people that we were very athletic and very important and use that to get on Rise of the Resistance first?” David interrupts. “Also, I just want it noted for the record that the clown in the pool is super freaky.” “Super freaky is definitely a lamer string of words than vacation-pillow, don’t you think?” Killian asks Emma. She has to bite the inside of her lip to stop from laughing 

Cackling, maybe. 

It’s too early in the morning for cackling.

“And,” he adds, “while I do agree with the inherent creepiness of the pool-clown—” “—Oh, God, don’t say it like that,” Mary Margaret says, “that makes it even worse.” Killian lifts his eyebrows. Emma’s going to bite her lower lip in half. “We didn’t tell anyone that we wanted special treatment because then we’d have to act like we’re special.” “That’s decidedly self-effacing, World Series MVP.” “C’mon, now you’re just showing off,” Emma accuses, fingers reaching up to toy with the ring that’s fallen over the front of her shirt. Killian’s eyebrows shift again. 

“It’s not,” he says. “It’s just—do you guys want to be taking pictures the whole time we’re here? None of us are really going to wear team stuff and—” “—That’s just because David is embarrassed to wear team stuff,” Emma points. “Sucks to lose in the Wild Card, doesn’t it, Nolan?

David sneers. “I think I’m the heat in that joke from before. Depending on what I’m throwing. Definitely if it’s a slider.” “What?” “I”m too tired to go over this with you again. Also, your phone is doing something.”

Emma startles at the vibration she hadn’t really noticed before, arm practically flying into Killian’s bicep like he’ll be able to do something or fix something and it has been kind of nice to just be in their own Disney bubble for the last forty-eight hours. 

Even with the freaky pool clown. 

She can’t fathom the person who approved that. 

It’s enormous. 

And freaky as all fuck. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, and Emma is honestly impressed when he manages to find her hand and keep Ellie from waking up, tugging her towards the gates while Mary Margaret and David do their best to keep up. Leo is definitely awake now. And does not sound particularly pleased to be there. 

Killian is bobbing on the balls of his feet as soon as they get in line, an excitement that’s catching, even as they scan their MagicBands to get into the park — which may be the single most endearing thing Emma has ever seen, even with the World Series and the parade and the whole arm around her shoulder thing. 

Her face muscles are never going to recover from this trip. 

The ride is pretty damn cool. 

It’s long and requires more walking than Emma is entirely ready for, but she and Mary Margaret boo Kylo Ren like he’s actually there and not some computer fabrication and Ellie gasps and giggles at least fifteen different times when they start flying away from the First Order, so that’s just about the best thing that’s ever happened. 

And David gets yelled at by a Stormtrooper. 

“It’s because he’s short,” Emma mutters, tugging lightly on Killian’s shirtsleeve. “Get it?” Killian hums. “We’ve already decided you’re hysterical, love. You don’t have to keep trying to prove it.” “What’s that about the inherent competitive nature of athletes?” “Too many words.” “Right, right, right,” Emma nods. She tilts her head again, even as they file off the ride and their boarding party hadn’t been until that afternoon. They’re all well-rested and ready for more park and more wine and it doesn’t take long for her to press her lips to the side of Killian’s cheek. “And here I thought the playoffs were over. You’re all scruff over here, Jones.” “Who’s scruffy looking?” Emma rolls her eyes, but her heart is definitely threatening to explode in her chest and maybe there’s something to be sad for mid-day naps and vacation pillows. Like they make everything better. Winning the World Series probably didn’t hurt either. “I love you.”

That makes Killian grin. “I know.” “Idiot.” “Exactly that,” he agrees, arm finding its way back around her shoulder as he hitches Ellie against his side and kisses exactly where his lips land. On the top of Emma’s hair. 

They get a picture in front of Rey’s speeder. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to hold it like that,” Emma says. “Wouldn’t the ions cut off your arm pretty quickly?” Killian blinks. “Do ions make up a lightsaber?” “No,” David answers, but he’s also holding his lightsaber by resting it on his shoulder like it’s a makeshift bat, which Emma figures proves her point. 

“You are not a lightsaber expert,” Emma argues. “Plus you picked a dumb color.” “Blue is not a dumb color!” “Eh…” David huffs — like this is actually some sort of insulting conversation. Emma smiles. Like she’s won. Something. Maybe blue milk from that one drink stand. 

Killian claims the internet liked blue better than green. 

“Lightsabers are fueled by kyber crystals,” Mary Margaret announces, shrugging when she’s met with three identical stunned faces. She clicks her tongue when none of them show any sign of moving, frozen in the middle of the line for Smuggler’s Run and Emma is admittedly more excited to fly the Millennium Falcon than she is about—

Much of anything. 

Except maybe the World Series. 

Winning a championship is definitely better than flying the Millennium Falcon. Probably. She’s sure. Kind of. After all, she’s only done one so far. 

“Why do you know that?” David balks. “How do you know that?” Mary Margaret waves her phone in his face. “Killian isn’t the only one who can claim the internet as support for his argument. Also, now we have a dinner reservation.” “Where?” “The Grand Floridian Cafe, which means we can go to Magic Kingdom at night and—” “—Churros?” Emma finishes, and it comes out like a question, but it’s really more like a demand and Mary Margaret winks. With a rather pointed finger added for extra agreement. 

“You two are obsessed,” David sighs. 

“You ate an entire thing on your own the other night!”

“Only because Leo couldn’t possibly be expected to eat all of them on his own.” “Yuh huh, whatever you have to keep telling yourself. What was that about offseason workouts?” Killian has to duck his head against Emma’s shoulder to avoid drawing attention to them, but his laugh is still pretty loud and Mary Margaret’s shoulders are doing that thing again and—“You know what?” David challenges. “I’m going to make sure that I get to be captain of the Millennium Falcon and then I’m going to fly us directly into Hyperspace.” “Is that not the point of the ride?” Emma asks, eyes flitting towards Killian. 

He shakes his head. “Part of the ride. And you’re not captain of the Millennium Falcon, Nolan. Only Han Solo gets to be that.” “Babe, are you offended on behalf of Han Solo, right now?” “You get to be a pilot.” “God, that sounds like a lot of responsibility.” He hums again, another kiss to the curve of her jaw and fingers that dance up Ellie’s back. She giggles. “We”ll make sure you’re an engineer, huh, Swan?” 

“Pity role.” “I want to shoot something,” Mary Margaret announces. 

“I think we can do that.”

They do just that. 

Switching cards and they’re not really supposed to do that, but this is vacation and maybe everything that happens after that is some sort of vacation-type karmic retribution. 

Because the switch is the start of their problems — if that’s even the right term. It’s not, but Emma’s way too busy laughing and shouting and flying through Hyperspace is exactly as cool as she thought it would have been when she was nine. 

But there is something to be said for the inherent competitive nature of athletes. 

And Killian and David have always been on the close-to-insane end of that particular spectrum. 

“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” David yells, sitting at the front of the cockpit, and that might not be the right term either. “We’re getting hit! Shields down! Shields down!” “Repeating it more than once does not reinforce your point,” Killian grumbles. He’s sitting opposite of Mary Margaret, stabbing his finger into the button that controls his makeshift gun and there are definitely tears in Emma’s eyes. 

Ellie is giggling again, all but slamming her hands flat against the console of buttons, while Leo’s concept of steering threatens to drive them into a black hole. 

Drive probably isn’t the right term for a spaceship anyway. 

The cockpit shakes again — David shouting some words and mumbling others, still aware of the kids and the overall Disney-vibe they’re going for, but Emma can see just how straight his shoulders have gone. He hits another button, twisting so he can yell— “Can you two just hold it steady, please?” “Captaincy has gone to his head,” Mary Margaret mumbles, and Emma can just make out the exact way Killian’s lips twitch. “Maybe we should stage a mutiny or something.” “Do you know how to do that?” “Get off the ride eventually?” “Oh, yeah good call.” “Watch out for that space garbage,” Emma yells, pointing at the screen and David curses again. Ellie laughs. Loudly. And she barely notices her own button, lighting up, which is apparently some indication that she’s supposed to do something, but Emma was never much of a video game kid and she’s not a professional athlete either, so she figures her hand-eye coordination is allowed to be less-than-impressive. 

They get hit by the space garbage. 

Even as they’re getting ready to go back to Hyperspace. “Emma, can you not be the worst engineer on this ship?” David cries. “Fix our shields!” “You are taking this way too seriously,” Emma shouts back, but she’s a little worried she’s actually going to break her button. So, maybe they’re all competitive idiots. 

Ellie is definitely a better engineer than she is. 

And they all gasp and groan as if they’re actually landing as soon as the ship skids to a stop at the drop-off point they’ve been trying to get to for the entire ride. Emma jerks forward, the seat belt digging into her stomach and her heart beating quickly, a mix of adrenaline and fun and—

“Best captain in the galaxy,” David announces.

Mary Margaret boos him. 

“Traitor!” “You come back here and fight the First Order then,” she challenges, Killian unbuckling so he can grab Ellie and they can get off the ride and Emma isn’t surprised when he mumbles—

“We’re going to have to take him down a peg, don’t you think, love?” Emma grins. “Game on, MVP.”

It goes from there. 

They’re all competitive idiots and this is an amusement park, so there’s not competition that’s immediately obvious, but they manage to find their fair share. 

And make it when they can’t find it. 

David eats more churros in Magic Kingdom later that night. 

And they discover Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast. 

Complete with its tallied score. 

And names for reaching certain levels of points. 

“Oh God,” Emma sighs when they get off, the closest cast member smiling at her and telling her to have a magical night. 

Mary Margaret hums in understanding. “How long do you think it takes for them to start looking up cheat codes?” “Killian looked up tips on how to pull that string thing faster on Toy Story Mania last night, so…” “I told you that in confidence, Swan,” Killian yells, a few steps ahead of them with his hand tangled in Ellie’s. Her sparkle-covered ears are threatening to fall on the ground. 

Emma shakes her head when Mary Margaret glances in her direction. “He thought he was being very secret, looking stuff up under the cloak of darkness, but—” “—David’s been practicing rope-tugging rhythm.” “Are you kidding me?” “Would I do that?” “We’re going to ride the People Mover now,” David announces, like that will end the conversation or distract Emma from how frustratingly and impressively competitive they all are. She had not been good at the Buzz Lightyear ride. At all. 

She’s not even sure where she’s aiming her laser thing in the picture. 

“No one is against that,” Mary Margaret reasons. “As long as we don’t have to ride The Carousel of—” “—Don’t say it,” Killian warns. “It’ll get stuck in our head and there’ll be singing and—”

It’s too late. 

The damage has been done. 

Mary Margaret at least has the common decency to look repentant — as both Ellie and Leo do, in fact, start singing at the top of their lungs, heads tilted back as soon as they step on the automatic track up towards the People Mover. 

“There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow,” they start, and Emma tries to get her phone out before anyone notices. Both Killian and David beat her to it. 

Stupid athletes. 

“Shining at the end of every day,” she joins. Killian’s eyes get bluer, she’s sure. Bright under the night-time lights of Tomorrowland, a place that is very quickly becoming one of her favorite spots in all of the parks. 

Killian slings an arm over her shoulder. And holds the phone in front of them. 

“There’s a great, big beautiful tomorrow,” he half-sings under his breath, grinning when Emma’s lips graze his cheek. “And tomorrow’s just a dream away,” Emma finishes. She nips at the side of his ear, only stumbling slightly when they twist into the cars and the carts and she’s really got to learn the right terminology for all these things. 

Killian looks up Buzz Lightyear cheat codes later. 

After they eat more churros. 

Obviously. 

“I can’t believe we waited in line for that,” Killian grouses, that particular string of words becoming something of a mantra as they make their way back towards Fantasyland.

“You’ve got to let it go, babe,” Emma says. “And technically we didn’t wait. We had fast-passes. Can you imagine if we had to wait as long as everyone else?”

That’s also not the first time she’s said that. 

Mary Margaret’s hand is over her mouth. 

“It was so dumb, though!” “It wasn’t dumb,” Emma argues. “It was—magical. We flew over London!” “We moved at a snail’s pace over London and saw vaguely racist depictions of that one part of Neverland while the sound of that cast member telling us to watch our step played on loop in every single corner of my mind.” “You’re very dramatic. Is it because you want a turkey leg?” “I do not want a turkey leg.” “No?” “No,” Killian echoes. “I want to know why anyone in their right mind would wait an hour and a half for Peter Pan’s garbage ride of garbage.” “You should suggest they call it that from now on.” “Don’t think I won’t. I’m a very important athlete, you know?” “If that’s how we choose to use our athlete powers, then I’m going to be really annoyed,” David says. “Plus—Peter Pan was not It’s a Small World, so let’s count our blessings, huh?” “You guys are ruining this,” Emma grumbles. 

“And,” Mary Margaret adds, “people wait even longer for the Seven Dwarves this is not actually a roller coaster ride. So, comparatively speaking.” Emma groans. “Where is your sense of magic, grown adults? Also, the queue line for Seven Dwarves was actually pretty cool.”

“The line for Big Thunder Mountain is shorter all the time. And a better ride.” “This is true, Swan,” Killian agrees, and Emma may be looking for as much magic as she can get on this trip, but she also wasn’t born yesterday. 

She narrows her eyes, twisting her lips with as much judgment as she can get until Killian’s eyes flicker towards his shoes and the tips of his ears go red. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with how much you enjoy Splash Mountain, would it? Mr. MVP? Or how much closer that is to Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“No comment.” “Yuh huh.” “Em,” Mary Margaret reasons, “we are this close to getting perfect photos on all of those rides.” “You’re a competitive weirdo too!”

Mary Margaret does an admirable job of looking legitimately hurt, and it really does smell very strongly of turkey legs in this part of the park. “Mama, mama, mama,” Ellie chants, yanking on Emma’s necklace until she nearly chokes and there’s a very well-placed shoe in her side suddenly. “Can’t we go see Rapunzel now?”

“That’s what we’re doing, kid,” Emma says. “We’ll get better pictures with her and Tiana than we will on any other ride, right?”

Ellie nods enthusiastically, and they’d been pretty good about the lack of team-branded so far, but she’s a kid and she wanted to wear Killian’s number that morning, which was honestly just more than Emma was capable of dealing with. So. Whatever. 

It’s cute. 

Magical, even. 

And there isn’t much of a wait at Princess Fairytale Hall, but they still have to stop in some kind of pre-meeting chamber, Ellie talking a mile a minute about Rapunzel and Flynn and do you think she’ll have a frying pan, mama?

Rapunzel does have a frying pan. 

Definitely magical. 

Emma’s mouth drops despite her own proclamations to adult, Ellie running forward as quickly as her legs can carry her. So she can immediately throw herself forward. 

Directly into Rapunzel’s arms. 

“Oh shit,” Emma breathes, but Rapunzel is smiling and doesn’t seem all that surprised and Mary Margaret has her phone out. 

When she and David were very little, Ruth had taken both him and Emma to Disney World, but over the years her memories had grown a little fuzzy and a little distant and she’d never been particularly inclined to come back. She thought this whole trip was a photo-op not more than two weeks ago. 

And yet. 

In that moment, in the middle of goddamn Princess Fairytale Hall, with her daughter still hugging Rapunzel and David trying to get Leo to walk forward, Emma has to blink more than once to stop herself from crying over the memories she’s certain will plaster themselves on every corner of her brain from here on out. 

Except she’ll eventually think of a better way to describe that. 

“I think I may have a new favorite ride,” Killian mutters, hand on Emma’s hip and his lips half an inch from her ear and it’s all she can do to nod. 

And sniffle. 

“What was that about magic?” he adds. 

She swats at his chest, but he catches her around the wrist because he’s really a very good third baseman and has much better hand-eye coordination than Emma could ever hope to achieve. “I love you a lot, you know that?” 

“Yeah,” Emma nods. “And I want really good pictures of this.”

Rapunzel lets Ellie hold the frying pan. 

They fine-tune the Splash Mountain photo two days later. 

“Get ready,” David yells from his spot in the front row, and Emma sits up a little straighter out of instinct. 

The doors open and the vultures at the top of the hill make some kind of vulture-type sound, Killian whispering instructions in Ellie’s ear. 

Seriously, Emma’s smile is going to get stuck on her face. 

It’s not the worst thing in the world. 

“No.” “Come on!” “Absolutely not, Swan.” Emma pouts, but Killian doesn’t do much more than shake his head brusquely, the hint of something close to a smirk tugging at the ends of his mouth. “Nope,” he says, popping his lips on the word for emphasis. “Not until you stop reeking of something that would freeze a vampire in his and or her tracks.” “Gender inclusive, huh?” “Something like that.” “You really aren’t going to make out with me?” “No,” Killian says again even as the smirk wins out. “You ate nothing but garlic naan and dipped it in that one sauce that had legitimate cloves of garlic in it.” “It was good!” “I’m not suggesting otherwise. I’m just telling you that you—” “—Reek?” Emma suggests. She grabs another slice of naan, and Mary Margaret and David had taken both Ellie and Leo to see the animals from the windows on the other side of the restaurant. They’ve been here four times already. Mostly because Emma is somewhere in the realm of obsessed with this naan appetizer. 

Plus, Ellie and Leo both love Animal Kingdom. 

Ellie’s a big fan of giraffes, only she can’t quite figure out the word yet and that’s only kind of painfully adorable. And Leo’s eyes go wide as saucers every time they see some kind of new animal, hands flat on the glass a few hours earlier when they’d wandered around what Killian’s phone told them was actually called Gorilla Falls. 

“That’s rude, you know,” Emma says. “No, rude would be telling you that you aren’t very good at the ring toss part of Toy Story Mania.” “Tower of Terror is way more fun.”

“We’ll go on Tower of Terror later.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Killian confirms, sliding a package of gum he definitely didn’t buy at Disney World across the table. They don’t sell gum at Disney World. 

Emma turns at just the right moment on Tower of Terror. 

So her World Series-winning, MVP, definitely the best third baseman in the league husband can kiss her when the camera goes off. 

It makes David groan. 

Loudly. 

“I think we’re winning,” Emma murmurs, already saving the picture to her phone. 

Killian nods, still close enough that his nose brushes her cheek. “Absolutely. And you don’t reek of garlic anymore. Now, we just have to get you better at Toy Story.”

She finishes last in their car. 

Every time they ride that night. 

They ride four times. 

And the competition continues — as it’s apt to do, really, because of who they are as people, some fundamental something that also apparently requires them to play miniature golf. 

“This is pretty on point for offseason athletes, Em,” David reasons, and it’s not a lightsaber, but he’s got his club propped on his shoulder again. “Just think, it could be real golf. Now you get to battle for supremacy too.” “Do you hear yourself? Honestly? On this course that has hippos wearing ballet shoes?”

“That’s just a Fantasia thing,” Mary Margaret says. “At least there isn’t that Hell monster. That’d be a lot for me to deal with.” “I’m sorry what?” Killian asks. He’s crouched between Ellie and Leo, trying to show them how to swing their clubs and they’re really going to have to lock down on that six-stroke maximum. 

The guy at the cash register had recognized them. 

That’s three photos and one autograph for the entire trip so far. 

It’s not bad, really. 

“You know,” Mary Margaret continues, clicking her tongue when Leo’s backswing threatens to take out several bits of landscaping, “at the end of Fantasia. It’s like the devil or something.” “You’re making that up.” “I’m not! It was terrifying. Honestly, I used to hide behind my couch until the song was over and all the people started singing Ave Maria.” “You’re making this up,” Emma accuses. 

“I’m not! Look it up. Honestly screw Walt Disney for that part of Fantasia.” “I think you’re the only person in the world who has opinions on Fantasia.” “Look it up!” Emma sighs, but does as instructed, swiping away from notifications telling her she’s got even more pictures available on her MyDisneyExperience app. They really have gotten very good at trying to one-up each other on photos. 

Another competition. 

Seriously, they’re all so messed up. 

“Oh, wow,” Emma mutters, flinching slightly when she sees what can only be described as the devil or something. It’s got horns. “That is terrifying. Why is this in a children’s movie?” “Would we call Fantasia a children’s movie?” David asks. 

“It’s Disney, isn’t it?” “Screw Walt Disney,” Mary Margaret repeats slowly, making sure to emphasize every syllable. Killian almost falls over when he laughs. “Actually, you know what? This is how I’m going to get my revenge. I’m going to absolutely wreck the course record on this mini golf…” “Course?” Killian suggests.

“Yeah, exactly that.”

“Competitive weirdos, the lot of you,” Emma grumbles.

“Do you not want to see Mary Margaret take out her childhood anger on plastic hippos in ballet shoes, Swan?” “Well, when you put it like that.” “Let’s go,” Mary Margaret calls, already standing at the first-hole green. “I’ve got a vendetta to settle!”

And it’s not a course record — probably, they don’t really have the wherewithal or even the athletic pull to demand that kind of knowledge, but Mary Margaret beats them all soundly and makes Killian take her picture with the scorecard. 

And it keeps going. 

They ride more rides. They hum the song from Carousel of Progress without actually meaning to. They take pictures and meet princesses, eat their way around the world in EPCOT and then drink their way around the world, because those are the rules, toasting MVP awards and world championships and that makes David gag a little, but Emma laughs and kisses Killian and he gags again, but then she’s too busy making out with her husband to really be worried about...anything. 

Plus the sparkling wine selection in the Italy pavilion really is other level. 

The whole thing is something close to perfect. 

Emma is starting to wonder if anyone will notice if she just steals those pillows. 

David and Killian keep looking up cheats on Toy Story Mania. 

They trade top scores on Buzz Lightyear, and Emma isn’t entirely surprised that by the time their final night rolls around they’re locked in some New York-Boston battle, complete with mumbled trash talk and pointed glares, each of them demanding just one more time, c’mon, like they’re the children in this family 

The actual children are much more interested in getting back on the Dumbo ride. 

Or eating more churros. 

Honestly, the number of churros they’ve consumed in the last eight days must be some kind of Disney World record. 

And it’s starting to get late, both Ellie and Leo showcasing consistently fluttering eyelashes, heads on shoulders and fingers curling into the back of shirts and Emma hopes she doesn’t cry during the fireworks. 

That would almost be too cliché. 

“Just,” Killian says, grunting softly when Ellie’s chin threatens to dig into his collarbone, “one more time and we can break the tie and then we’ll have—” “—Bragging rights?” Emma asks knowingly.

“I mean…” He can’t shrug when there’s a kid draped over his right shoulder, but an attempt is made all the same and David is wearing a Sox hat. Emma figures that’s what tips the scales, so to speak. 

“I’m already getting in line,” David announces. “So, either Jones gets with the program, or—” “—That is the oldest sentence I have ever heard.” “I found a new spot to shoot at that will practically give me immediate Galactic Hero status.” Emma doesn’t freeze, per se. That would be insane. And the last thing she is is insane. Naturally competitive, maybe, and a little tired, but that good kind of tired that comes from good kind of things, a pleasant ache in the back of her legs and heaviness to her muscles and her eyes flit towards Killian immediately. 

He smirks. 

“It’s the hat, huh?” 

Killian tries to shrug again, Ellie grumbling at the movement. “Sorry, love,” he mumbles, resting his cheek against their daughter’s head so he can level Emma with that very specific stare. Like Game Seven and two outs with a runner in scoring position and probably some joke about hitting against the shift. “You did promise we’d bring him down a peg, Swan.” “I mean I thought losing in the Wild Card game would have done that already.” “I heard that,” David yells, impatience wafting off him while he waits at the end of the line. “And I think you guys are just stalling.”

Mary Margaret lets out what Emma can only hope is a fake gasp, and Leo has definitely fallen asleep already. 

Killian’s smirk gets more pronounced. 

Tommorowland is absolutely Emma’s favorite part of Magic Kingdom. 

“What do you say to a combined effort, Nolan?” Killian asks, not taking her eyes away from Emma. She might swoon a little. She’ll blame the smirk. “We add up the collective scores of your car and whichever team comes out on top has to buy a snack of the winner’s choosing.” “You just want more churros,” David says. 

Emma clicks her tongue. “We're also offering to buy you churros." “Which isn’t going to happen,” Killian says, nudging on Emma’s back until she starts walking again. “But it’s nice that we’re acting like you’ve got a chance.”

David rolls his eyes. “Wow, that’s scathing.” “And not an agreement yet. What’s the matter, ace? You nervous you can’t win when this becomes a team sport?” “Was that an insult?” “Honestly babe,” Emma mumbles, not sure if the animatronic Buzz Lightyear in line has always been this loud or it’s just because they may actually be the only people in line. It’s late. “Also, did you call him ace?” “That makes sense,” Killian objects. “Ace of the staff and number-one pitcher and—” “—Insults are not insults, if you have to explain them,” Mary Margaret says, sliding into the next available car and holding her hands up so the cast member can slam it closed. “Also, you guys suck and we’re going to win. We did research.” “David did research,” Emma argues. “You’re just hanging on for the glory.”

“Go Sox, go!” “That’s not even a cheer!” “I love when you get belligerent like this,” Killian grins, nipping at Emma’s lower lip when his mouth finds hers. 

“It’s bad trash talk.” “Mmhm, you’re a very good trash talker, Swan.” “Flattery will get you everywhere.” “Aim for the Z, huh?”

Her muscles aren’t quite as tired anymore — an adrenaline that usually only comes when Killian takes a ridiculously large lead off second, but this is still kind of fun and maybe as magical as everything else and she really likes winning. 

With Killian. 

On, like principle or something. 

“Try to find the strike zone, Nolan,” Killian yells, but they’re already moving and Ellie’s head keeps lolling between his side and Emma’s. She starts slamming her thumb into the button. 

If asked, Emma will never be entirely sure if that’s what does it. Her vaguely over-excited thumb or the sheer determination to win, driving her to start shooting at things before they’ve even really gotten into the first room, but whatever it is proves to be important and some kind of game-changer because— “Shit,” Killian gasps, gritting his teeth as soon as the word is out of his mouth. Ellie looks up at him. “Don’t repeat that.”

She laughs. She’s got no idea what’s going on. 

Neither does Emma, really. 

“What’s your deal?” she asks, thumb still moving quickly enough that she’s briefly worried about dislocating it. “Are you not shooting things right now?” Killian shakes his head slowly before nodding towards the soft red glow of their respective score screens. “Oh shit,” Emma gasps. “Seriously, Ellie, do not say that around Uncle David.”

Emma blinks more than once — like that will get the score to change and not continue climbing. It does the second thing, a number she’s never seen on her side of the car before, already over seven-hundred thousand and they’re not even out of the first room yet. 

“What happened?” she snaps. “I—is it a glitch or something?” Killian clicks his tongue in reproach. “Swan, you’ve got to be more confident in your talent than that.”

“I didn’t do anything!” “I think you hit David’s secret big-money targets.” “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said. Worse than vacation-pillows.” “I asked one of the people at the desk, they said we could get pillows online.” Her heart explodes. Like it’s been shot by Buzz Lightyear’s laser. She’s only slightly confident she’ll come up with better analogies at some point. 

And Emma’s score is cresting eight-hundred thousand now. 

“Just keep shooting, love,” Killian says, joy in the words and the overall width of his smile and something, something, magic. Or luck. 

Emma keeps shooting. 

And her laugh seems to soar out of her, ignoring the pain in her right thumb and the dig of Ellie’s shoe in her left thigh when she scrambles onto Killian’s lap, which is definitely breaking the rules, but can I shoot, daddy and Killian is nothing short of a pushover, so. 

Emma keeps shooting. 

With Ellie and Killian and she’s not sure who grabs the joystick when they reach that one tunnel that’s supposed to look like space, but then they’re spinning and there’s more laughter and it’s good, great, everything Emma thought vacation should be. 

Especially after winning the World Series. 

But then animatronic Zurg is yelling at them, the flash of the camera making Emma blink and Killian’s trying to direct Ellie’s hands on the laser gun, but she’s got her own ideas and—

“Swan.” Emma hums, shaking her right hand gently before she realizes that Killian is trying to take a picture of their score screen before it disappears. 

Nine-hundred thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine. 

“No way,” Emma laughs. “That’s—” “—Galactic Hero,” Killian finishes, grinning like an idiot. “You, my love, appear to be a Galactic Hero. And probably the savior of the Universe.” “Do those go together?” “Undoubtedly.” “What is this?” David shouts, standing at the end of the moving sidewalk. 

Emma beams. “What was your score, Nolan?” He scowls. 

“Only space ace,” Mary Margaret mutters, and Killian’s laugh threatens to do damage to Emma’s ear drums. “But that was better than me. I only got like two-hundred thousand, which is just—embarrassing, honestly.” “Seriously,” Killian nods, directing them towards the pictures so Ellie can scan her MagicBand. “I think you get a button, Swan.”

David’s eyes bug. “No.” “You going to be ok, over there ace? Space ace?” “Stop it. That’s not—” “—Excuse me,” Killian says, getting the attention of the nearest cast member. “What happens if we’ve got a Galactic Hero in our midst?” To her credit, Jenny the cast member — whose name tag informs them that she’s from Maine — doesn’t look anything but overjoyed by Emma’s recent achievement, gasping like this is a serious thing or they’ve won something equivalent to another World Series, but Killian’s smile suggests just that and there is a pin involved. 

“Congratulations,” Jenny says enthusiastically. Both Ellie and Leo cheer, any hint of exhaustion gone in the pomp of becoming a Galactic Hero. 

“Thanks,” Emma mutters. Her cheeks are very warm all of the sudden. 

Killian makes her put the pin on. 

And she definitely cries during the fireworks, especially when Tinker Bell flies out of the castle — something about memories and moments and beating Boston. Even when Boston is just her brother and his internet research. 

“You’re thinking,” Killian says, a few moments after the fireworks have ended and people have started to make a mad dash for the exit. “You ok?” Emma shakes her head, but her cheeks are still warm and Ellie’s head is on her shoulder. “Swan, c’mon, love it’s—” “—Did I steal your Buzz Lightyear thunder?” “What a sentence.” “I’m serious. I mean I knew we were doing joint stuff because you thought Mary Margaret would bring down the team, but—” “—Well that’s an accusation.” “Tell me I’m wrong,” Emma challenges.

Killian squeezes one eye shut. “The thought had maybe crossed my mind.” “Exactly! You’re—I mean, the inherent competitive nature of athletes is no joke and you and David have been going at it all week.”

“That was fun, though. I wouldn’t have been totally upset if he beat me.”

“Say that again with a straight face.” “Ok,” Killian sighs. “I would have been annoyed if your brother beat me, but I’m not even remotely upset that you did. Team New York has reigned supreme on whatever planet Buzz Lightyear is from.” “Star Command?” “Nah, that’s just where he works.” “I don’t know enough about the mythos of Toy Story,” Emma admits, not able to stop her laugh. Killian kisses her forehead. ‘You’re sure, though? You looked up stuff and I just started shooting things and got the high-score you couldn’t.”

He chuckles, fingers drifting dangerously high up her side. Especially when they’re still surrounded by so many people. 

And that Walt Disney statue. 

“Well, when you trash talk like that,” Killian starts. He has to shift Ellie so he can crowd closer to Emma, the toes of his shoes threatening to rest on the top of hers. “But, no, Swan. I am not upset that you hit a high score I didn’t. I am very proud of your ability to defend the galaxy and my own trash-talking honor. Plus, the deal was a team, right? That’s kind of how it works.” She may be crying. 

Again. 

Peak cliché. 

“I love you,” Emma says. “I’m glad you won a World Series so we got to come to Disney World.” “Yeah, that’s totally why I did it. And I love you too.” And it’s not like she’s not expecting the kiss, but there is a kid between them and that Walt Disney statue, so Emma can’t quite help the gasp she lets out when Killian ducks his head. But then her hands are moving and he makes that one specific noise when her fingers find his hair, tugging him closer, like he’d have any objections. 

Her back noticeably arches. 

At the same time she presses up on her toes. 

A flash goes off somewhere. “Damn,” Emma mumbles, mostly into Killian’s mouth and she’s going to blame David’s hat. He’s a few feet away. Buying churros. 

“Ah, it was only a matter of time,” Killian reasons. His fingers dance up Ellie’s back again, drifting across his number and his name and Emma’s blushing for a whole other reason. “Plus, if that’s the picture they want, I’m only too willing to start making out with you again.” “Yeah? No garlic, huh?” “Eh, post-celebration I’d even be willing to risk the garlic.” “Charmer,” Emma mumbles, but then she’s pushing up again and kissing Killian again and she can’t really think when his tongue sweeps across her lips. Something about a home run or bases-clearing double or Galactic Hero status on the Buzz Lightyear ride in Magic Kingdom. 

“Although,” she adds, “might not be a bad idea to give social media something to work with. I bet they’d appreciate it.” Killian arches an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

They take a family photo in front of the castle. 

With the lights of Main Street around them and Ellie’s shirt obvious. 

And Emma’s pin. 

She laughs when she sees the caption later, head already on pillows she won’t actually have to steal — 

World Series Champ and Galactic Hero. Talk about keeping up with the Jones’es. 

[lalainajanes]

The Kindness of Strangers

It takes a good half hour for Caroline to realize that she’s been ditched.

In her defense, she’s not exactly at her best.

She can’t stop coughing, her chest hurts. She’s freezing, still wearing her coat and scarf even though she’s been indoors, waiting for her turn to see a doctor, for three hours. Caroline will admit that she’s never been an ideal patient. She hates every single part of being sick – gross fluids leaking from her body, disruptions to her carefully plotted schedule. She loathes weakness, isn’t used to having to count on other people. She’s lived in Chicago for just under a year, doesn’t have many people to rely on.

She’d been self medicating for days, guzzling DayQuil and NyQuil in turn, googling home remedies and forcing down cup after cup of chamomile tea with honey.

The medicine hadn’t helped, nor had the tea and the best medical advice Pinterest had to offer.

Hence why she’s sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, in a packed waiting room, braving screaming children, bloody wounds, and even more airborne germs.

She’s staring dumbly down at her phone, at the picture that’s just popped up on her Instagram feed. Posted just a few seconds ago it features her boyfriend at the gym, his face strained as he lifts a kettlebell. She hadn’t bothered to read the caption, knows it’s some nonsense about reps or mile times that she’s only ever feigned interest in for the sake of politeness.

He’d been yammering on about his workout plans since he’d picked her up. Caroline had been humming in acknowledgement at regular intervals but she’d figured it didn’t need to be explicitly stated that leaving her in a hospital waiting room was so not cool.

Apparently she’d been mistaken.

“Please tell me he’s some sort of useless relation. A cousin you’re only nice to because your mum insists.”

Caroline’s head swivels to the speaker, a touch surprised by the accent. The guy next to her is looking down at her phone, his expression disbelieving.  She’d nodded tiredly at him when she’d sat down, some part of her brain cataloguing a general impression of an attractive man in her age range. She hadn’t been in the mood for conversation and he hadn’t attempted one either. She’d felt him shifting next to her, restless, and probably in pain judging by the impressive rainbow of purple-black bruises covering his bare left foot.

She should probably snap at him, demand he mind his own business but, if her own freaking boyfriend can’t be bothered to skip a workout when she’s in the emergency room, it’s probably a good idea to expand her social circle.

“My mom has even less time for useless relations than I do.”

“She sounds like a smart woman. Does she like your boyfriend?”

Her mother had yet to be introduced. Caroline had planned a trip to Mystic Falls for a long weekend but Stefan’s brother had called last minute with one of his bimonthly crisis’s so Caroline had made the trip solo. In hindsight, maybe she should have read more into the lack of effort. “Very smart. And handy with all manner of firearms.”

A warning, just in case he happens to be a serial killer.

His brows rise, a hint of amusement beginning to curl his lips. Caroline’s forced turn away and bury her face in the crook of her elbow as she’s wracked with coughs. She slumps back when she’s done, needs a moment to catch her breath.

When she peels her eye open her neighbor’s expression has softened with concern. “I’m Klaus,” he offers.

“Caroline.”

His arm nudges hers on the armrest between their chairs, a weird approximation of a handshake that Caroline returns. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

She’s naturally nosy, and he’s given her an opening, “What happened to your foot?”

“Stupid accident. I was helping my brother move, he got distracted. A rather heavy sofa came down on my foot.”

Caroline winces in sympathy, leans forward to peer around Klaus. She hadn’t noticed him talking to another guy but, as she hadn’t really noticed Stefan taking his leave while in her fog of misery, that doesn’t mean much. “Is he here?”

Klaus makes a low noise of denial, “God, no. Kol can only sit still as long as the average five year old. I’ll be storing this incident away for later, when I need a bigger favor than a ride to the hospital.”

Caroline doesn’t know much about healthy sibling relationships but she can admire a strategic mind.

“How long have you been waiting for?”

“I got here about an hour before you did.”

“Ugh,” Caroline grumbles, crossing her arms and yanking her sleeves down over her hands, “maybe I should have just made another pharmacy run and gone back to bed.”

Klaus leans forward, pulls a jacket and a scarf out from under his seat. He shakes them out, offering them to her. “Here. I find it quite warm in here but you’re obviously suffering.”

She shakes her head, “No, I wouldn’t want to infect you with whatever I have.”

“Did you just fall ill?”

“It’s been a few days.”

Kat, her boss, had bullied her out of the office when Caroline had nearly passed out after standing up after a meeting. Caroline had tried to protest but Katherine Pierce was excellent at getting her own way. Caroline had been in the back of a town car, under a blanket, with a driver who’d had strict instructions to only stop at a restaurant for the giant takeaway container of chicken noodle soup Kat had ordered.

She’d texted Stefan when she’d gotten home, had gotten sympathy followed by an apology. He’d told her to rest, that he hoped she’d feel better soon, but he’d claimed that he couldn’t rick catching anything, not when he’s training for a marathon.

Alone on her couch, trying to muster the energy to get herself to her bedroom so she could change out of her pencil skirt and blouse, Caroline had told herself that she shouldn’t be resentful. That ambition was sexy, goals were admirable, and she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

That it wasn’t at all annoying that, just a month ago, she’d spent a whole weekend refilling a hot water bottle for Stefan every half hour after he’d pulled a muscle. He hadn’t asked her, she’d offered, and relationships shouldn’t have scorecards.

Maybe they had different love languages. That didn’t mean they were incompatible.

Reciting the bullet points from Cosmo relationship articles hadn’t stopped Caroline from feeling resentful.

Klaus shakes his jacket gently, drawing her attention back to him, “I doubt you’re contagious at this point.”

The jacket looks to be wool, heavy and lined and probably super cozy. She only hesitates for another second before taking it, draping it over herself like a blanket and looping the scarf around her neck.

She manages to avoid obviously tucking her nose into the fabric, to better appreciate the light touch of the very nice cologne Klaus must use.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “You can tell your significant other that you’ve earned a pile of gentleman points.”

It’s not the most subtle fishing Caroline’s ever done but she’ll just have to blame that on the large doses of over the counter meds still swimming through her system.

Klaus doesn’t seem to mind, his smile widening as he leans back in his seat. He rests his head back against the wall and sprawls a bit, closer to her than he’d been before. “There’s no significant other.”

She probably shouldn’t consider that good news but she totally does.

“And you?” Klaus asks, “how long have you and the… fitness afficianado been an item?”

Caroline suspects the moniker he’s settled on is far more polite than he’d like to be.

“About six months. But we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“Let me guess, you were high school sweethearts who reunited years later.”

His distaste is obvious and Caroline laughs softly. “Um, no. Not even close. I had a ginormous crush on him but he was really into my best friend.”

Who’d waffled between being into Stefan right back and being into Stefan’s older brother.

Klaus sighs, “So he’s got an appalling lack of taste in addition to his other less than stellar qualities.”

It’s instinct to jump to Stefan’s defense. “He’s really a great guy.”

“I’m sure.”

“He’s training for a marathon. It’s a lot of work.”

“Is this marathon tomorrow?” Klaus asks pointedly. “Because otherwise I don’t understand why he couldn’t take a day off when you’re so ill you can barely walk.”

Caroline deflates, presses her lips together as she swallows the argument she’d been about to make. She’s had plenty of practice lately. When she’d first moved, and Stefan had shot her a message offering to take her out for a drink to celebrate her new job, it had been easy to fall back in with her old friends. He’d been familiar, Elena and Damon too, and she’d been busy with her new job and settling into a new apartment. It had been easier to relearn how to be around them than to meet new people.

She’s a people person though, has started getting closer to a few coworkers, and Enzo, Rebekah and Kat all have certain opinions about Stefan that Klaus is mirroring.

“Perhaps this is none of my business,” Klaus says, after her silence has stretched on. He’s watching her carefully, like he’s wondering if he’s pushed too far.

“It’s really not.”

“Lost those gentleman points, did I?” he jokes.

Caroline laughs, willing to roll with his attempt to lighten the mood. “Maybe not all of them.” Because she is warmer now, with his layers piled on top of hers. “Where are you from, anyway?”

He’d given her the perfect opening to pry and Caroline’s not going to waste the opportunity.

All in the interest of broadening her social circle of course.

A month later, after a breakup, rearranging her entire apartment (three times), she’s decided to make more of an effort to turn her coworkers into real friends.

Rebekah’s throwing herself a birthday party. There’s even a dress code. Enzo informs Caroline that all of Rebekah’s brothers are ridiculously hot, so clearly she needs a great new dress. And heels. And some lingerie and a new lipstick because, why not?

She sees Klaus before he sees her. He’s planted on a loveseat in the living room, his casted foot resting on an ottoman. He’s flitted through her thoughts more than once since they’d met and Caroline had regretted not getting his contact info. Or at least a last name.

Klaus might be a unique name but her attempts at social media stalking had all failed.

Caroline grabs a flute of champagne (seriously, Rebekah knew how to throw a party) and hugs the perimeter of the room. She approaches Klaus from behind, sitting down on the arm next to him and chirping, “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

His eyes snap up, widening when he recognizes her. “Caroline,” he says, something like wonder coloring the tone.

It’s enough to confirm that she’d not the only one who’s spent way too much time thinking about those few hours they’d spent together.

“Glad you remember me,” she teases. “How do you know Rebekah?”

“She’s my sister.” He shifts over, threading his finger through hers to pull her down next to him. Caroline has no objections, not even when he’s pressed along her side, leaving enough room for another person beside him. “And you?”

“We work together.”

“Small world,” Klaus murmurs, very pleased about it.

Caroline can relate.

She nods down to his foot, “What was the verdict?”

He groans, “At least six weeks in the cast. I’m right sick of it. I’ve barely left my place since it happened because I can’t drive and the simplest things are infinitely more annoying.”

“I’m glad you made it out tonight.”

He’s still got her hand clasped in his but his free arm comes up, resting loosely around her shoulders. He speaks more softly and Caroline leans closer to make sure she can hear. “Likewise, love. I’ll never complain about Rebekah being a shameless nag again.”

Somehow, Caroline doubts that.

She spends the duration of the party at Klaus’ side but she meets a whole pile of new people. There’s Kol, the brother whose couch had maimed Klaus’ foot, Elijah, who is a little scary, with his appraising eyes and aggressively perfect manners. She gets some tips about thrifting vintage clothes from Gia, a classical violinist, and when she chats with Marcel he says he hopes he sees her around, promises that he knows plenty of embarrassing stories about Klaus.

She’s kind of kicking herself for falling back into old habits when she’d first moved to Chicago. Clearly, she’s pretty kickass at making friends.

She leaves with Klaus’ number in her phone and plans for dinner the next night.

Sunday brunch plans follow, with Rebekah, where there are bottomless mimosas and vague threats.

It’s easily the best weekend she’s had since moving.

Though not for long.

[singledarkshade]

Detective Hunter

Part Four (Part One, Part Two & Part Three can be found here)

 Rip stood in front of the former community centre the Tenctonese Elders had been given to use. The outside was nondescript and the words ‘Private, Members Only’ were written in multiple languages on the sign beside the door.

Knocking, Rip stood and waited.

“Members only,” was snapped harshly in Tenctonese from behind the door.

“I have been invited,” Rip replied in the same language, one of the few he could speak without the translator, “By Elder Moodri.”

The sound of several locks being undone came and the door opened, Rip spotted Moodri motioning the much younger male out of his way.

“Welcome, Rip,” Moodri smiled, “I am pleased you took up my offer.”

Smiling slightly, he replied, “I never had a chance to return to Tencton in my own universe. This may be as close as I will ever get.”

Moodri opened the door wider allowing Rip to enter. It was a very blank, nondescript reception area, with a door at the other side.

“Follow me,” Moodri told him, walking through the door into the main sanctuary.

Rip took a slow breath as the world around him became completely different from the one on the other side of the door.

The room was filled with flowers and crystals of all different colours surrounding pathways through the garden, small islands with benches and cushions were located randomly with soft music playing. He spotted several small groups talking quietly, a few others meditating and several others painting. Looking up, Rip smiled at the projection of the sky above him showing the Tencton sky during a summer night.

Moodri drew him through until they reached another door at the back of the room, the Elders sanctum. He could hear murmuring that he, a human, was being allowed into such a sacred place but Moodri ignored them and ushered him inside.

The glow from the shard instantly greeted Rip, and he saw several other Elders sitting just past it. Edging past the glowing piece of the time core, ignoring the tug he felt to touch it, Rip took the offered seat and tea.

“Moodri has told us you are a traveller who has visited our home,” an Elder Woman said.

Rip nodded, “I was lucky enough to be able to spend several months there once.”

She smiled, “Please, tell us about it.”

With a smile he began to talk about a time in his life before he’d lost everything and when he dared to believe in many things.

 “This place is beautiful,” Gideon breathed as she sat beside Rip in one of the small islands hidden away near the back of the room.

“It is,” Rip replied softly. After he’d told the Elders about his time on their planet, they’d offered him a chance to meditate for a while. Rip accepted their offer gratefully, he had loved his time on Tencton, it had given him a perspective he’d never had before.

Gideon sighed, “I wish I could experience it the way you do, Captain.”

Rip tilted his head thoughtfully, “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be human?”

“All the time,” Gideon replied, “I sometimes feel it would be easier to get people’s attention if I were human. And I could smack you across the head, as you so often deserve.”

Chuckling softly, Rip shrugged, “I guess I do.”

“Do you want to talk about earlier today?” Gideon broached.

“I’m okay,” Rip assured her, “I’ve learned to deal with their loss, and thinking of them makes me sad…” he trailed off, “Gideon, you don’t have to worry I’m going to do anything stupid just because I thought about them.”

“Again, you mean?”

Rip sighed, “Using the core against Mallus was the only thing I could think to do. I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I was trying to protect the others so they could stop him for good.”

“There were other ways to do so,” Gideon said.

“None that could be put together in the time I had,” Rip reminded her. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, “The fact that Mallus was free was partially my fault because I let Sara go through with her insane plan, despite knowing what would likely happen. I failed as a Guardian of the Spear, I failed as a Time Master, I failed as a husband and father, I failed…”

“Captain,” Gideon whispered as he fell silent.

Rip closed his eyes and took several deep breaths centring himself before he spoke again, “I didn’t want to die, Gideon. I didn’t want to leave you alone with people who cannot understand how special you are. I was trying to make up for at least some of my failures.”

“You’re not a failure,” Gideon said.

“My plan was always to retrieve the Waverider after Mallus was dealt with. I planned on giving the team another ship,” he looked in her eyes, “You’re all I have left.”

Gideon reached out, her hand resting just at his cheek and not for the first time he wished she had the ability to touch him.

“Rip,” she said softly, “When you come home then I will be waiting for you. We will be together again, I promise.”

“I’m sorry I disappoint you at times,” Rip whispered, “I wish I could be better.”

“I am not disappointed by you, Rip. I know your strength and your heart better than anyone,” Gideon moved closer, as close as she could without her image melding with him, “You are my Captain. And, as I told you once before, I am always with you.”

                                 *********************************************

 Rip woke up but kept his eyes shut as he went through some of the meditation techniques he’d been reminded of the night before. He hoped that they found their missing girl soon, he didn’t think he’d be able to get away with this much longer.

He’d checked in on the real Dean Hunter on his way back to the hotel the night before and all signs were pointing to him waking soon.

Which was good for him, but bad for Rip.

Opening his eyes, he was surprised to find that Gideon was nowhere to be seen. Sliding out of bed and into the shower he hoped she would be back soon. Ordering breakfast from room service, Rip quickly ate while he studied the information he had on the case. When he’d finished eating, he packed up everything just in case. If they managed to solve the case, then Rip knew he had to leave as soon as possible. If the real Dean Hunter woke up then he would also need to leave fast, so he wanted to make sure everything was as neat as possible. He included a small note, apologising for using his identity but explaining why he’d done it. To a degree anyway.

He also added a quick note to the two detectives he’d been working with.

 Heading out the hotel, Rip’s phone rang.

“Rip, it’s Matt,” the voice on the other side said before he could even speak, “We’ve got a lead. We’re on our way to pick you up.”

“I’m outside the hotel,” Rip replied, just before the line went dead.

Glancing around, Rip wondered when Gideon would appear, and hoped everything was alright. He had no way to help her if the Legends did anything to the ship that damaged her systems. He jumped slightly when Matt’s car screeched to a halt in front of him.

“Get in,” Matt called.

Climbing in, he barely had a chance to put his seatbelt on before Matt screeched away again.

“What do we have?” Rip asked, gripping the handle tightly as Matt swung them round a corner, siren blaring.

“Uniform officers spotted Mr Innabocks at approximately six am,” George explained from the passenger seat, looking completely nonchalant about how Matt was driving, “He shot at them and retreated to a warehouse. It is currently surrounded and they’re waiting on us.”

“Does he have the girl?” Rip asked.

Matt swung round another corner, “We’re pretty sure he does.”

“That’s good,” Rip grimaced, wondering if he’d survive Matt’s driving,

Finally, they screeched to a halt and it took all of Rip’s strength not to drop to the ground in relief when he stepped out the car.

The warehouse was surrounded by cops, some keeping people back and others ready to move into the warehouse when ordered.

“Edison,” Matt called to the officer standing closest to the, “What do we have?”

“Innabocks is in a room at the top of the building,” the officer stated, “He has a good view of us, and anytime anyone gets too close he’s shot at us.”

Rip frowned and looked around, “Is there a back entrance to the warehouse?”

Edison shook his head, “Unfortunately no. There is a window but it’s not easy to get to and we have no idea what’s on the other side.”

Musing for a moment Rip finally nodded, “Alright, I’m going to have a look. I’ll try to get in if I can.”

Matt pulled out a radio and tossed to him before handing him a gun, “Stay in touch and be careful.”

Catching the radio, Rip nodded and headed around the back of the warehouse. He grimaced finding that the officer hadn’t been joking. There was a window that Rip knew he could fit through but unfortunately getting to it would not be easy.

“Please tell me you’re not contemplating something hazardous to your health?” Gideon’s irritated voice came from behind him.

Rip turned and smiled at her, “It’s a little less hazardous since you returned. Problems?”

“Nothing that I couldn’t handle,” Gideon replied blithely before asking, “What is happening here?”

“We’ve found Jack Innabocks,” Rip told her, “We think he has girl in the warehouse. I’m trying to get inside without being seen.”

She frowned in thought, taking in the world around her, “It would be easy enough with the Waverider.”

“Unfortunately, not an option,” Rip murmured annoyed, “Anything else?”

Gideon winced, “It is something you could have done in your youth…”

“I’m not that decrepit,” Rip said annoyed.

“You were however smaller and lighter,” she replied before explaining, “There is a drainpipe that has been painted to blend in with the walls. If you climb it to the roof, you will then need to lower yourself down and through the window.”

Following her thought he grimaced, “Oh well, why not?” He pulled out the radio, “Matt, I’m going to try and climb in the window. I’ll let you know if I make it safely.”

“What if you don’t?”

Rip sighed, “You’ll know.”

A chuckle came through the radio, “Good luck.”

Tucking the radio back into his coat, Rip headed across to the drainpipe and studied it for a moment. When he was a child, he would have scrambled up this without thought but these days he was a little less…agile.

 “Be careful,” Gideon said as she watched Rip begin to climb.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” sarcasm dripped from his voice, “Thanks for the reminder.”

Gideon frowned but decided not to reply as she did not want to break his concentration. She winced worriedly as he pulled himself up the drainpipe, thankfully making it to the room where she met him.

“Can you by any chance get a look in through the window?” Rip asked, “So I know I’m not going to fall the moment I go through it.”

Gideon nodded, “I will try.”

Concentrating Gideon found herself on the other side of the window. She stuck her head out and looked up to see Rip looking down at her.

“There is a walkway,” she told him, “You shall be safe, if you manage to get to the window.”

Rip let out a long sigh, “Here goes.”

Gideon winced as she watched him hold onto the edge of the roof and drop, swinging in through the open window. Rip used his long legs to anchor himself against the wall below the window before sliding in.

“Ow that was not fun,” he murmured as he stood up properly. Pulling out the radio he said, “Matt, George, I’m in.”

“Good,” Matt replied, “Let us know when you reach the room and we’ll create a diversion for you to hopefully grab the girl out of there.”

Rip glanced at Gideon before he replied, “Will do.”

 Matt turned to his partner, he was surprised Rip had managed to find a way in and wished he’d gone with him. He would have preferred being inside, but it was better that only one person snuck in.

“What’s wrong?” he asked George who was frowning.

“I just received a call from dispatch,” George said, “They received a call from the hospital.”

Matt frowned, “Something wrong?”

“A man who was brought in a few days ago unconscious has just woken up,” George explained, “He claims to be Detective Dean Hunter.”

“What?”

“Grazer contacted London and had them send a picture of Hunter,” George continued, “It’s not Rip.”

Matt stared at him, “Then who the hell is he?”

[lemonadegarden]

For the birthday prompts! Jason realizes Damian is more vulnerable than he pretends to be. Jason then discovers that he has more protective older brother instincts than he thought he did.

Jason squinted, looking at the high peaks in the distance. In the dying light of the sun, they were bathed in a deep pinkish hue. He sighed, hiking his rucksack up his back by a few inches.

“We’re too far off. We’ll have to set up camp for the night,” he said.

Damian scowled. “I told you we would have made faster progress if you had let me pick the route.”

Jason turned to look at Damian, an incredulous expression on his face. “You wanted to scale a cliff face. If I’d let you do that, your Dad would never let me hear the end of it.”

Damian shook his head. He was in one of those bright orange puffer down jackets, which combined with his height (or lack thereof,)  made him look approximately like he had the proportions of a beach ball. An angry, orange beach ball. But, you know, still deadly.

“I’ve been trained in rock climbing since the age of three,” Damian said. “I would never do something as stupid as fall.”

“Hey, I believe you,” Jason said, “and I’d never pass up the opportunity to throw you down a cliff face, believe me. But your Dad might not feel the same way.”

Damian scowled again. “Father would never have to know.”

“Kid, Bruce knows everything. He’s probably got a tracker on that stupid jacket of yours.”

Damian looked at his jacket, narrowing his eyes. “He wouldn’t.”

“He absolutely would,” Jason grinned. “C’mon, you like cliffs, right? I think we can find a cool place to pitch the tent.”

Bruce was the one who’d sent them on the mission, was the thing.

He’d called Jason into the cave after Patrol one night, and handed him a file.

“The oxy Batgirl found in Burnside. I traced it back to a distributor working out of Mexico and Florida, and then further back to the original lab in West Colombia. It’s in the mountains. Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta.”

“You want me to go check it out,” Jason said.

“I want you to take Damian with you,” Bruce said.

Jason raised an eyebrow at that. “Damian? I barely know him.”

Bruce was looking down at the file, like he was thinking of what to say. “He’s a good kid,” he said, finally. “He’s hard to get used to, initially,and a little… volatile, but he’s a good kid. Good fighter.”

“Pretty sure that’s what you tell everyone about me,” Jason joked, and Bruce’s face took on a pained expression.

Things between him and Bruce were still…  delicate. They hadn’t had any fights in a while, and he’d even come over for Christmas two months back. Things were going okay. They moved around each other carefully, like they were walking on thin sheets of ice and waiting to hear it crack.

What Jason had said just now had definitely been a misstep. A crack in the ice.

Jason bit his lip. Shit.

“He just wants to belong,” Bruce said, quietly. “He only gets along with me and Dick. Tim is– well. They don’t gel together. I was hoping you could… spend some time with him. He’d like you.”

“I don’t know, Bruce,” Jason said, slowly, “maybe I’m not the right kind of influence for him.”

Bruce was still studying the file keenly. Actually, he was pretty much looking anywhere except for at Jason.

“He wants to be part of the family. He just doesn’t let people in on it,” Bruce said.

Jason had a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about Damian.

So he took Damian with him. And now they were camping right next to a cliff face.

Jason rolled out their sleeping bags. Damian was sitting almost at the very edge of the cliff. His back was to Jason, so he couldn’t see his face.

“I hope you don’t roll around in your sleep,” Jason joked. They weren’t actually camped that close to the cliff, but Damian visibly stiffened anyway.

“I’m not an idiot,” he snapped.

Jason frowned. “I didn’t even say that.”

“Whatever,” Damian said, getting up and dusting himself off. “I’m going to go look for wood for the fire.”

He stalked off.

Jason sighed, and went back to setting up camp. “Talking to you is fucking work,” he muttered.

They ate dinner sitting in the thin grass, while watching the sunset. At least, Jason watched it. Damian frowned at some dirt, while stabbing idly at his stew.

“The view’s nice, huh? I heard that the mountains meet the ocean here. Imagine that. Mountains on a beach.” Jason said. The sun had painted the sky in brilliant streaks of pink and crimson, and the snowy peaks in the distance seemed to almost glow.

“I don’t care,” Damian said.

Jason raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Bruce had not been kidding when he’d said that. Damian was hard to get used to.

They ate in silence for a while.

Damian poked at his stew some more, frowning.

“This is terrible,” he said.

“Yeah, well maybe you should’ve let me grill you some sausages instead. Stew is the best vegetarian thing I could do,” Jason said, stuffing some sausage in his mouth.

“I hate it,” Damian declared. “I don’t want any of it.”

“Fine,” Jason said, getting up. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to fucking eat it.” he said, snatching up Damian’s bowl of stew. He emptied its contents into the fire, which roared up for a brief second. “You don’t have to eat dinner at all.”

Damian’s eyes went wide for a second, almost as though he was scared. Which made Jason realise that he was almost twice as big as the kid, and he was looming over him with a fire roaring in the back, and he probably looked

Jason frowned. He thought for a second about his own father, and what he’d done to Jason. It had been shit exactly like this.

So he drew back, ready to apologize, when Damian began to scowl again. He got to his feet quickly. “I hate you,” he said, darkly, and stalked off, towards the tent.

Jason sat back down, and sighed. He started eating his sausages again.

Okay. So maybe he’d lost his shit a little bit then. But could you blame him, really? The kid had been an asshole to him ever since they’d started the hike. He’d tried to play nice. It wasn’t his fault that the kid was being insufferable.

Jason frowned to himself. That sounded a lot like a justification, even to himself.

He watched the last of the sunset and then put out the fire. He went into the tent after a while, and Damian was already out, curled up his sleeping bag. Jason switched off the electric lantern, took off his jacket and sweater, and climbed into his own sleeping bag.  

He stared at the roof of the tent. Maybe it was him, and not Damian. Maybe he was the one that wasn’t good at family stuff.

He was the one that just couldn’t belong.

He heard the crying in the middle of the night, and it woke him up slowly at first, and then quickly all at once.

“What’s wrong?” he said, blinking hard, trying to see Damian in the dark.

A sniffle. No answer.

“Damian,” Jason said. He was freaking out. This was Damian. Damian didn’t cry.

A silence, and a muffled sound of cloth being brushed against skin, and suddenly there was a blast of cold air. Damian had zipped open the door of the tent.

“Hey, where are you–” The tent was zipped back up. Damian had left.

Jason blinked a few more times, trying to process things. Then he climbed out of his own sleeping bag, and went after Damian.

Damian was sitting where he’d been sitting earlier, at the very edge of the cliff. It was pitch dark.

“Damian, I can’t see a thing. You need to stay away from that edge,” Jason said, very carefully. He tried to remember what Bruce would say to him when he’d had nightmares. He couldn’t remember.

“I want you to throw me down this cliff,” Damian said.

Jason hesitated. “What?” he said.

“I want you to throw me off this cliff,” Damian said again, very matter of factly. “It’s not very high, and I could take the hit without getting injured too badly.”

Jason scrubbed at his face. He came and sat down next to Damian. There was a little sliver of moonlight illuminating his face. Damian’s face was serene. He wasn’t crying anymore, though there were still tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Okay. Is there anything I need to know about here?” Jason said.

Damian was looking at the bottom of the cliff. “My mother,” he said slowly, “she had these training exercises. They’d throw you off a cliff and you’d have to scale it back up. You must be familiar with them.”

Jason looked down to the bottom of the cliff. And then all of a sudden, it hit him.

He looked at Damian, who was staring at his hands.

Shit.

“You’re scared of the mountains.” Jason said quietly. “Does Bruce know?”

“I’m not scared,” Damian snapped. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Yeah? Then how come you want me to push you off a goddamn mountain?” Jason said. He wasn’t gentle or warm, like Dick. If someone snapped at him, he was going to snap right back. Damian glared at him. “I’m not scared. I’m just… uncomfortable. It’s a problem I need to get over. Something I have to conquer. Like Father did, with the bats. If you push me off and I tuck and roll, I can get off with maybe just a sprained ankle. A bruised rib, at most.”

Jason looked down at the sheer drop. Looked like six hundred feet, minimum. Maybe more. He couldn’t see too well in the dark. “You’re going to break every fucking bone in your body.”

“Are you doubting my ability to–”

“Jesus Christ, kid, why does everything I say have to be a personal insult against your abilities as a fighter? Batman could get pushed off this cliff and he’d break every bone in his goddamn body. If you do this the only thing you’re going to conquer is a six square foot area at the bottom of that ravine, full of smashed Damian bits. There’s a fine line between brave and stupid. Even I know that. Now let’s get away from the edge before we break our necks, okay? I’m going back into the tent, and you should probably come too. It’s cold as balls out here.”

Damian looked stunned into silence.

“Are you coming or what?” Jason said, getting up.

After a brief hesitation, Damian stood up too, and followed him into the tent.  

Jason zipped up the flap.

“Get into your sleeping bag,” he said.

Damian got into his bag, and Jason zipped it up halfway, so he could at least get a little warm. Jason sat next to it.  

“I’m going to tell you something. You’re going to listen to me, okay? And you’re not going tell Bruce about it.” Jason said.

Damian looked up. Jason could see that he’d caught his interest.

“After I– you know. After. I was in the League,  training with Talia. And Talia, she had a network of spies. She’d make me work with them, sometimes. Most of them were these incredible assassins, capable of any sort of disguise. They could blend in anywhere, talk any language, adapt to anything. I watched them work for a long time, and I watched them slit people’s throats, and interrogate people, and torture them, and mutilate the friends and families of their targets.”

Damian was watching him, his eyes intent.

Jason leaned a little closer. “And then I came back to Gotham. And Gotham, it’s a big city right? We’ve got what, seven million people living here? There’s people everywhere. The roads and pavements and parks are crawling with them. Like insects. So I started to think that those spies were following me around. Everywhere I went, someone was watching me. Following me. Their eyes on my back. It was– I don’t even know. It was insane. My heart was pounding all the time, and this one time I yelled at a stranger on the road to leave me the fuck alone, for once. Almost beat him up. I started carrying my gun everywhere. I carried a grenade with me once, on the bus, with my finger on the pin the whole time. I told myself it was just in case of an emergency. I stopped going to crowded places. Then after a while, I stopped going out at all. I just sat at home, staring at the door, waiting for someone to come in and murder me.”

“And then what?” Damian whispered.

Jason smoothed a small section of the sleeping bag with an idle hand. He could feel Damian’s thin shoulders under it. The kid was still so small.  “And then one day Dick barged into my apartment. I’d missed the last three dinners Alfred had invited me to, in the manor. Dick thought it was because I’d been fighting with Bruce again, so he wanted to come over and yell at me, I guess. Then he saw me. He left and came back forty five minutes later, with Leslie.”

They were still in the dark. Both he and Damian had forgotten to switch the electric lantern back on, Jason realised.  

“It was hard, Damian. It was really hard. She put me on medication, and then I had to do some counselling, which was maybe the most uncomfortable thing ever, and there was a whole support group thing, but look at me now, huh? I’m in a mountain range in Colombia. And I’m not even sweating.” Jason grinned.

“That’s because it’s so cold,” Damian said, and Jason laughed.

“Well. Yeah. But I feel fine, is the thing. I feel good. I just needed some help. And that was okay.”

Damian was silent for a while.

“I’m hungry,” he said, finally. “You threw my dinner into the fire.”

Jason shook his head. “I thought we were having a moment, here.”

“We can have a moment after I’ve eaten,” Damian said, and Jason smiled a little.

“I’ll look for some trail mix, demonspawn,” he said, ruffling Damian’s hair. Damian batted the hand away, but only half-heartedly.

Baby steps.

By early morning the next day, they’d made it halfway up to the lab. They were on a winding dirt trail, with a few inches of snow on each side, when they stopped.

“Hey, Damian,” Jason said, looking at the map, “wanna see something cool?”

“What for?” Damian said. He was wearing the bright orange jacket again.

Jason shook his head. “There’s just no pleasing you, is there,” he said.  “Come on, keep walking. You’re gonna see it in a sec.”

Damian shrugged, and they kept walking. Fifteen minutes later, he stopped.

“That’s the ocean,” he said. Far off, several peaks beyond them, near the horizon, there was an unmistakable glisten of water. A line of silver before the sky started.

“Yeah,” Jason said.  

Damian just kept looking. “The mountains meet the ocean.” He said.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Jason said. The sun was just beginning to come up, and the clouds looked like they were on fire. The whole sky was beginning to lighten into dawn.

They stood there for a long moment, looking at where the mountains met the ocean, and Damian leaned closer, towards Jason.

Jason put an arm around him.

“You’ve gotta tell your Dad,” he said quietly. “He worries about you a lot, you know.”

“I know,” Damian said.  

A silence. The sun was rising, inch by inch.

“You always call him my father,” Damian said, suddenly, “but he’s yours too.”

Jason looked at him. “What?”

Damian blushed. “Father. He’s your dad too.”

Jason tilted his head, thinking. “Yeah. You’re right, I guess. It’s just that he hadn’t been, for a long while.”

“He can’t just stop being your dad.” Damian said,  stubborn.

“No,” Jason said, feeling the wind ruffle through his hair. “I guess not.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Alright. He’s my dad too.”

Damian nodded, like he’d won an argument or something. It made Jason smile, a little. Maybe they were the volatile ones. The hard to like ones. The ones that had trouble belonging. But they could still look out for each other.

They could still at least do that.

He hiked his rucksack up his back by a few inches.  

“C’mon, squirt. Let’s go. At this rate, we won’t reach the labs till next year.”

Damian grinned at that.

They walked on.

[storyunrelated]

George & The Dragon - Princess Capability

The primary idea of this remains thus:

We have two people, George and Jessica. George is human, Jessica is a dragon. As a dragon, Jessica is not very friendly. George, her only friend, feels that she would benefit from maybe having more friends just in case he’s not available.

Therefore, while they go on a little holiday primarily just to have fun, his ulterior motive is to try and find new friends. And they do!

Enter Blossom - a dryad, which is to say the mobile, person-shaped extension of a sprawling tree - and Billy, who is an elf princess, because I like princesses.

Anyway!

This is something from the bit where Princess Capability - aka Billy - first appears. Elf princesses, to point out, are distinct from the bulk of the elf population by A) Having wings B) Exclusively being female and C) Being taller. And being of a more independant turn of mind, I suppose.

You don’t care at all, do you?

“Princess Capability! But everyone calls me Billy, darlings - just easier,” Princess Capability - or Billy - said, giving a regal little bow and flourish. They taught Princesses that sort of thing before they went out into the world.

“Billie?” Blossom asked. 

Only they got that particular joke, and only they enjoyed it.

“Yes, Billy,” said Billy, blissfully unaware, nodding happily.

For his part George was delighted. He’d already halfway guessed that she had to be a Princess what with her being an elf and all - what with the ears and that very particular elfin look - but also being approximately human-sized and also, you know, the wings. Kind of a giveaway. 

But he’d hate to have assumed. 

“You’re a Princess?” He asked, trying not to sound too excited. Billy gave him a smile.

“I am.”

“A Superfluous Princess?” Blossom asked, cutting back in.

“...yes,” Billy said, with the tone of one who knows where this is going.

“Where are you parked?” Blossom followed up with.

Billy glared, and got very close to stamping her foot, too.

“I am not a cab driver!”

As was known, most Superfluous Princesses found work as taxi drivers. 

Or so ran the joke at least. Where it had come from was unclear, especially as you’re far more likely to find a Superfluous Princesses doing anything other than being a taxi driver. Presumably this joke had to have come from somewhere, but it’s one of those things where everyone knows the joke but no-one knows the why of the joke.

Kind of stupid, really.

“My mistake, sorry. You know what they say about Superfluous Princesses,” Blossom said, shrugging.

“It’s a stereotype!”

“Or a joke. Although, come to think of it, I’ve met six Superfluous Princesses here and they’ve all been cab drivers,” Blossom said.

“You’re holding up five fingers,” Billy pointed out. Blossom looked at their hands, one of which was indeed shy a finger.

“I am? Oh yeah, whoops, forgot I pulled one of those off - good catch, I almost looked like an idiot,” they said.

“I am not a cab driver,” Billy huffed, giving a frustrated flutter, muttering to herself about how there weren’t even that many Princesses in town anyway.

“I like your wings,” said George, hoping maybe to move the conversation in a more pleasant direction and also hoping this wasn’t something horribly forward to say. He honestly did like them, too. They were shiny.

Billy blinked and turned a little, bringing the wings in question more into view. They did catch the light in a rather pleasing way. Iridescent, George thought the word was. He would be right.

“You do? They’re nothing special,” she said, glancing back. Honestly, being the owner of wings the novelty of them had worn off somewhat. Or hadn’t ever been there to start with. It’d be like being amazed at having a nose. Assuming you had one to start with, obviously. 

Jessica thought her wings were very impressive, but then she thought she was very impressive from nose to tail so she didn’t really count. 

“They’re nice though, I think. I don’t have any,” George said.

This was obvious, but George pointed it out anyway, sticking a thumb over his shoulder and fighting down the rising feeling that what he was saying was grossly inappropriate.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Chapters 13-23

by Dan H

Wednesday, 01 August 2007In which Dan continues to self-harm with the final Harry Potter book.

Previously: I'm doing a chapter-by-chapter reaction to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

So far we've had a wedding, Harry has sat in Grimmauld place doing nothing and ... umm ... that's it.

Chapter Thirteen: The Muggle-Born Registration Commission

In which we have yet more of the Ministry pretending to be Nazis.

Let's face it: Harry Potter is an RPG with a crappy GM. This would explain why the Troika spend this chapter, and the next couple, acting like a stereotypical bunch of clueless player characters.

They've got into the Ministry, and they've realised that they have no fucking clue what to do once they get in, so they bugger about stumbling into subplots, and wind up having to fight their way out.

They also get the Horcrux, and rescue a bunch of people from the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.

It strikes me, incidentally, that much as I hate the chapters in which nothing happens at all, the chapters in which things actually do happen are in many ways worse. At least the event-free chapters have an excuse for being as boring as all hell. This chapter, which includes Dementors, show trials, and a running battle in the Ministry, is so tedious I can't even find a noteworthy quote.

I'll leave you with this, then, from Harry's brief glimpse at a copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore (okay, we get it, there's Dumbledore backplot, please stop now).

The boy who roared in silent amusement beside Dumbledore had a gleeful, wild look about him. His golden hair fell in curls to his shoulders.

I quote this not because I have anything to say about it, but so that you can join me in my disbelief when next chapter Harry has a vision of a familiar looking blonde man with a gleeful wild look, and hasn't got a clue where he's seen him before.

Chapter Fourteen: The Thief

In which the Potterites hide in a tent.

Our intrepid heroes can't go back to Grimmauld Place, because somebody was holding on to Hermione when she Apparated, and we all know that when you hold on to somebody who's teleporting, you teleport with them. It's, like, the rules.

So they go and sit in a tent. A magic tent. In some woods. And the realise that they don't know how to destroy the Horcrux. So tell us something we don't know.

Very, very little happens in this chapter. Most of it is taken up with Harry having a vision of Lord Voldemort finally killing that wand-maker he's been hunting down. Harry expresses surprise that Voldemort didn't grill the guy for wand-lore first. Because once again Harry Potter readers are too dumb to decide for themselves how they should react to plot twists and revelations.

Voldemort is looking for something, and he thinks Gregorovitch has it, but he doesn't because it was stolen from him. In a shocking display of convenience, Harry manages not only to read Voldemort's mind, but also the mind of the wandmaker, which presumably Voldemort was reading when their connection was open. So he gets a good look at the "thief".

Harry could still see the blond-haired youth's face, it was merry, wild.

Harry thinks it sounds familiar, but can't think from where.

Clue: it begins with "P" and ends with "Revious Chapter".

Chapter Fifteen: The Goblin's Revenge

In which we get yet another plot dump from some highly convenient Goblins.

Another thing you have to love about JK Rowling is the fact that she's not afraid to overhype her chapter titles. We constantly wind up with titles like "The Massively Significant Thing That Happens In A Huge And Important Way" and wind up with some guy breaking his spectacles. A fine example of this phenomenon was, of course, the first chapter of this very book: "The Dark Lord Ascending".

Indeed, one might almost suggest that the best way to appreciate JK Rolwing is to take her chapter titles and imagine for yourself what actually happens in them. Hmm ... I wonder if any fanfic communities have tried that: re-imagine Potter based only on the chapter headings.

I'm digressing again, but since this chapter is yet another useless waste of space with the protagonists sitting in a tent, I don't feel too bad about that.

Anyway, this chapter is called "The Goblin's Revenge" but could more accurately be called "The Goblin Didn't Mention That The Sword of Gryffindor That Got Put Into Gringotts Was Actually A Fake When He Possibly Could Have." As revenge goes, that's pretty lame.

So the Potteristas, safely ensconced in the Tent of Magically Protected Arse Sitting overhear Ted Tonks and a couple of Gringotts Goblins having a long, laboured discussion in which they painstakingly explain whatever bits of the plot Harry needs to know about next.

Which leads to this awful expository conversation between the Potteroids:

"The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthens them - Harry, that sword's impregnated with Basilisk venom!" "Dumbledore didn't give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket -" "- and he must have realised they wouldn't let you have it if he put it in his will -" "- so he made a copy -" "- and put a fake in the glass case -" "- and put the real one ... where?"

Okay, fine, so you've answered the "Why didn't Dumbeldore give them all this shit earlier" question, and guess what: it's a stupid answer. Why not say "Harry, in case anything happens to me, I want you to take the sword of Gryffindor. Keep it safe, because it can destroy Horcruxes on account of how it's impregnated with Basilisk venom. By the way, we'll need it to destroy that locket we're going after."

Furthermore, the whole reason for the sword being able to destroy Horcruxes rubs me up the wrong way. It's an artefact of one of the founders of Hogwarts: it's a puissant magical weapon of ancient goblin craftsmanship. Do we really need that tat about its being "impregnated with basilisk venom"? Hell, do we really need basilisk venom to be the thing that destroys Horcruxes.

I'm not saying it doesn't make sense, but it makes the wrong kind of sense. It makes the kind of juvenile sense you get amongst seventeen year old roleplayers who will argue your leg off about how a vampire's clothes should reflect in a mirror, even if the vampire doesn't. The Sword can't destroy the Horcruxes because it's a Symbolic Ultimate Good to defeat their Symbolic Ultimate Evil. It can destroy Horcruxes because it's soaked in Horcrux Destroying Juice. This presumably is manufactured by the same people who made the Dumbledore Killing Juice that featured in the final chapters of book six.

In the next part of the chapter, Ron scores major points with me, as he assumes the mantle of Voice of the Reader, and points out what a hopelessly, stupidly, unbearably pointless situation they are now in. They have one Horcrux, they have no idea where the others are. They found out purely by chance that the Sword of Gryffindor can destroy Horcruxes, but they don't know where it is or how to get it. In short, the only thing they can do is sit around like morons hoping to get a lucky break.

I always hate it when this sort of thing happens. You had exactly the same situation in the seventh season of Buffy. The Hero clearly hasn't got a fucking clue what they are doing, and one of their companions finally snaps (often as a result of having seen half their friends die, or having been forced to hide in a tent eating wild mushrooms as a result of the hero's blatant incompetence) and calls them on it. Then the hero is all "you've got to have faith, you've got to believe in what we're doing!" and the friend is all "but this is completely and totally stupid, the only hope we have is to be saved by authorial fiat." And then the hero says "well if you feel like that you'd better leave", then the friend leaves. Then authorial fiat comes along and presents the hero with all the answers which they were manifestly incapable of acquiring of their own accord, and the friend has to slink back and admit that the hero was right all along.

It's awful, and it's always awful. It's bad writers trying to excuse bad writing by pretending that their failure to give their characters adequate motivation to undertake a course of action is really their character having Faith in something Greater Than Themselves.

So Ron Disapparates out of the Tent Of Pointlessness, and I sincerely wish I could go with him.

Chapter Sixteen: Godric's Hollow

In which Potter very briefly gets off his arse.

Ron has left. Harry is all cut up about this. Hermione is even more cut up about it because she is worried that if he doesn't get back they won't be able to get married and give their children stupid names.

Early on in this chapter, I had to wonder whether JK was actually taking the piss, when I stumbled across the following:

He was staggered, now, to think of his own presumption in accepting his friends' offers to accompany him on this meandering, pointless journey.

I mean, seriously. That's a joke, right. That's JK Rowling tacitly admitting that the first two hundred and fifty seven pages of her book have been a complete waste of everybody's time and energy.

Finally, they seize on the nearest thing they have to a clue, which is to go to Godric's Hollow in the hope that they can meet somebody who can point them in the right direction.

They spend approximately a month planning this little jaunt, collecting the hair of random strangers so that they can Polyjuice themselves again, and learning to Apparate together under the invisibility cloak. Much as I appreciate these little details, I'd be completely happy to take them as read.

So they piffle around looking at graves, and we finally get to see where James and Lily are buried. There's also an honest-to-God Potter statue in the middle of the square, and we find that the former Potter residence has been preserved as a shrine for all eternity so that nobody forgets what happened there.

I really wanted to find those scenes touching. Honestly I did. But it's book seven for crying out loud, and Harry has only just gone back to Godric's Hollow? On top of this, the whole thing contributes to the massively mixed messages we get about the Wizarding World's attitude towards Harry. We've spent the past three books having pretty much the whole of wizarding society shun Harry on a variety of ropey pretexts (the latest being "the Daily Prophet says he killed Dumbledore"), so to have this vast memorial to his triumph and his parents' sacrifice is actually rather jarring.

Anyway, the ... well Duo, I suppose they are now ... dick around in Godric's hollow for a bit. In the next chapter they meet Bathilda Bagshot.

Chapter Seventeen: Bathilda's Secret

In which we find out no information of any importance.

The title of this chapter is "Bathilda's Secret". Now I had vainly hoped that "Bathilda's Secret" would be some of this goddamned Dumbledore backplot which JK has been waving in my face for the past two hundred and seventy pages. No such luck.

Bathilda's Secret, in case you were wondering is "she's dead, and there's a gigantic fucking snake living in her animated corpse."

There's actually precious little to say about this chapter. H&H meet Bathilda Bagshot, she acts really, really, really creepy. Like she's an animated corpse with a giant snake inside her, in fact. She lures them into her home, which smells of piss and dead women with snakes inside them. Then she lures Harry upstairs, where she turns into Nagini and tries to kill him.

Or rather, not to kill him, but to hold him until Voldemort shows up, so that the Dark Lord can kill him personally.

I'm going to go off on another tangent now, and rant for a bit about how utterly fucking annoying this is. Voldemort would have won his war in eight seconds flat, bent the Wizarding world to his will, triumphed over all resistance, danced on the grave of Albus Dumbledore, achieved immortality and subjugated mugglekind with ease if he had just been willing to let go of the whole "I have to be the one to kill Harry Potter" thing.

I wouldn't mind so much, but there is absolutely no reason given for Voldemort's stubborn insistence that he "has to be the one" to kill Potter or, for that matter, Potter's stubborn insistence that he "has to be the one" to defeat Voldemort. Everybody just seems to take it for granted that only Harry can beat Voldemort, only Voldemort can beat Harry. And I know that there's the "prophecy" but for fuck's sake. Prophecies are cool when people hear them, set out to defy them, and fail. They are not cool when people hear the prophecy and say: "Oh my god! A Prophecy! I must immediately and unthinkingly do exactly what it says! Which also just happens to be the thing which most directly furthers the hackneyed plot of the quest the author has decided I'm supposed to be on."

Voldemort gets closer, and Harry starts seeing into his mind again, but now Voldemort is reliving his murder of Harry's parents. This flashback takes three pages and tells us literally nothing that we do not already know. It does, however, give us some insights into Voldemort's mono-dimensional non-personality, with lines like:

...how stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their secret lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments...

Do you see. Because Voldemort can't understand love. Because he's completely incapable of any human feeling whatsoever. Another thing that hacks me off about Voldemort is the fact that JK seems on the one hand to want us to view him as something utterly inhuman, a creature devoid of compassion or emotion, a heartless monster that kills at random, but on the other hand wants us to view him as somehow similar to Harry, the hero with whom we are supposed to sympathise. She shows us that he and Harry have vaguely similar personal histories, that they are connected on a variety of levels, and keeps having Dumbledore say things like "It is our choices, Harry, which define us". But Voldemort never makes a "choice" to do evil, or at least not a meaningful choice. Voldemort does evil because if he did not, there would be no book. He walks on stage a psychopath, and he dies a psychopath. His actions gain him nothing, and cost him everything. He plays the villain because Rowling wants him to. He has no personality, no identity, no goals beyond those dictated by the plot. All the effort Rowling puts into "developing" his "character" in books six and seven only highlights this fact.

So Voldemort shows up and fails to kill Harry Potter. Again.

Shoot me. Shoot me now.

Chapter Eighteen: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore

In which we are expected to give a shit about Dumbledore's lame-ass backstory.

While Godric's Hollow turned out to be a bust, Hermione did manage to swipe a copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, Rita-Skeeter's tell-all biography of the lovable old plot device.

Blah blah dark past blah blah Grindelwald blah blah world conquest blah blah greater good.

Long story short: Dumbledore spent approximately three months on good terms with the Dark Wizard Grindelwald, during which time they concocted some typically teenage plans about how it would ... like ... be totally radical if ... like ... Wizards took over the world because ... like ... look at how fake and commercial everything was. Or something. It's cheap and unconvincing and really not that shocking at all. It's sort of like discovering that Churchill once met Hitler at a party in 1921.

What makes all of this even more risible is the timeline involved. According to the information provided by JK Rowling, Dumbledore is about 150 when the books take place. Given that he met Grindelwald when they were both eighteen, this puts their Summer O' Evil at around eighteen fifty-something. Dumbledore, of course, eventually defeated Grindelwald in nineteen forty-five. Nearly a hundred years later. Either Grindelwald was in power for a really long time, or else he didn't come to power for nearly a century after he met old Albus. Either way, it seems a bit pointless to hold Dumbledore responsible for the actions taken in 1940 by a man he met in 1860.

Harry, of course goes off the deep end, and Hermione, of course, tries to point out that things aren't as awful as they seem.

"He changed, Harry, he changed! It's as simple as that! Maybe he did believe those things when he was seventeen, but the whole of the rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts!"

Harry doesn't seem to be able to get his head around this idea, and for once I can't entirely blame him for it. After all, there isn't one single character in the entire Harry Potter series who has shown any meaningful development between their arrival at Hogwarts and their death. Riddle was always a psycho, Sirius was always a wild card, Lily was always an angel and so on. So Harry can, in fact, be entirely forgiven for assuming that Dumbledore's personality was set in stone by the age of eighteen.

I wish I could say that we had now finally got the Dumbledore backstory out of the way. But no.

Chapter Nineteen: The Silver Doe

In which it turns out that Ron's attack of sanity was really black magic.

For some reason, we are supposed to associate the "Silver Doe" with Lily Potter. I'm not sure why. Okay, so James was a stag. Does Lily have no identity of her own?

Oh wait. Never mind then.

Anyway, Harry and Hermione are still sitting in the Procrastination Tent. Harry, keeping watch, thinks he hears something outside. Then he catches a glimpse of the Silver Doe of the title, and decides to dash off into the dark after it.

Now even JK Rowling, who usually doesn't bother to justify her characters' moronic decisions, seems to have realised that dashing out into the night, away from their magically protected tent and into an unknown darkness where absolutely anything could be waiting for them, so she gives us another one of her trademark "no this totally makes sense" lines:

Caution murmured: it could be a trick, a lure, a trap. But instinct, overwhelming instinct, told him that this was not Dark Magic.

So that's okay then. If you know something might be a trap, it's okay to walk blindly into it.

The Silver Doe (which we are supposed to associate with Lily Potter because she was nothing more than James Potter's woman) leads Harry to a lake, which has the Sword of Gryffindor at the bottom. I shit you not.

I've seen people on the internet actually praising Rowling for the "symbolism" of this scene. Newsflash kids: ripping scenes off from famous myths isn't symbolism, it's just lazy. It's a sword in a lake, which is only there because somebody sent it to Harry, because the little fucktard would otherwise be completely incapable of destroying any of the damned Horcruxes.

So Harry takes off all of his clothes and dives into the frozen lake, but the Horcrux around his neck tries to strangle him (which it should really have done earlier, thinking about it). He is rescued by the timely re-arrival of Ron, who saves Harry, retrieves the Sword of Gryffindor, and then explains that he was only making consistent, cogent points about how completely fucked they all were, and how Harry didn't know what the hell he was doing, because the Horcrux was doing a One Ring on him.

So they're all reconciled, and Harry tells Ron that he is supposed to be the one to destroy the locket. Seriously, everybody in this entire book should just get the hell over all the "supposed to be" shit. Voldemort won't let his minions kill Harry, because he's "supposed" to do it, Harry can't ask for help defeating Voldemort because he's "supposed" to do it himself, and now apparently Ron is "supposed" to destroy the locket. What. The. Fuck?

So Harry opens the locket by speaking Parseltongue, and in one of the book's three moments of almost possessing merit, we see that Tom Riddle's original eyes are staring out of the two halves of the locket (I like to think that the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff contains his original nose).

Then the locket starts pulling a bunch of annoying "Hermione doesn't love you" shit to freak Ron out, which would be somewhat more effective if JK Rowling had made Ron/Hermione (or indeed any romantic relationship, or indeed any relationship at all) remotely convincing. Ron stabs the locket in they eyes, and they all go home.

They get back to the Inactivity Tent, and Hermione's all like "Ron, you absolute bastard, I'm going to kick the shit out of you and then bang your brains out." Then Ron explains that he managed to find them because the Deluminator, as well as being able to switch lights out, also lets you find your way back to your friends after you ditch them in the middle of their epic quest.

Say it with me now: What the fuck?

You see, it's shit like this that led a small number of people to believe that Dumbledore had to be from the future. I mean foresight is one thing, but are you seriously telling me that when he created the Deluminator, however many decades ago that was, he thought to himself "hey, I'd better install a 'be able to find your way back to your friends for no readily explicable reason' function as well, because one day in the next century, three young wizards might be on a quest to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes, and one of them might leave, and need to find his way back."

And it's shit like this that makes me really hate JKR's attempt to make Dumbledore into a "complex" character in this book. You simply can't have it both ways. Either he's a real human person who makes mistakes, or he's the infallible plot god who is so wise, so possessed of absolute foresight, that he manages to predict correctly that Ron will fall under the influence of the Locket Horcrux, leave the quest, want to return, and be unable to do so because Harry and Hermione are travelling the country in a magically protected tent.

Seriously, if the guy is smart enough to do that, why the hell wasn't he smart enough to - say - track down Voldemort's Horcruxes during the ten years in which he was incorporeal, or to twig much sooner that Grindelwald was probably evil, or to not get horribly cursed trying to use the Resurrection Stone (of which more later).

Dumbledore is infallible when he needs to do something amazing to advance the plot, but All Too Human when Rowling wants to impress us with how layered and complex her characters are.

I've used the phrase "fucking hack" before, haven't I.

Chapter Twenty: Xenophilius Lovegood

In which we miss Luna Lovegood like crazy.

Here Hermione basically turns into a D&D player again, and spins out a line of logic which boils down to "hey, when we were at the wedding, the GM told us that Xenophilius Lovegood was wearing this symbol on his chest. He wouldn't have told us that if it wasn't important, right, we should totally go investigate this Xeno guy."

So they do.

They arrive at Chez Lovegood, and Ron is all "oh no, I am near my home but am not going there" and Harry is all "oh no, I am near Ginny but have no chance of getting a decent blow job".

It takes them fucking ages to ask Xenophilus about the symbol on his chest, and then Rowling does that gimmicky "end the chapter on the sentence you should probably have started the damned thing on" trick with:

"Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?"

We're on page 328. For comparative purposes, the original Philosopher's Stone (UK Edition) ended on page 223, Chamber of Secrets on 251, and Prisoner of Azkaban on page 317. So you could read the whole of the first book and half of the second in the time it's taken us to get to the goddamned title of this one.

Chapter Twenty-One: The Tale of the Three Brothers

In which JK apes fairy-tales and fails.

So there are these three brothers who meet Death, and he offers each of them a gift, but really he's trying to fuck them over. So the first one asks for an unbeatable wand, and gets himself killed. The second one asks for a stone that can raise the dead, and drives himself to suicide. The third one, realising that Death is probably a fuck, asks for a way to get the hell out of there without Death following him, so he gets an invisibility cloak.

That's the story of the three brothers, and the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak together comprise the Deathly Hallows. Which is a stupid, stupid, stupid name for them. I mean seriously: "Hallows"? It's almost as bad as the "younglings" in Revenge of the Sith.

So anyway, Harry is all "these things totally exist, we should totally ditch our current quest to go look for them" and Hermione is all "these things totally don't exist, we should totally not ditch our current quest to go look for them" and Ron is all "these things might or might not exist, and I don't know whether we should ditch our current quest to go look for them or not."

Bets on the Hallows being real, everybody?

Anyway, the story of the Three Brothers is quite nice stylistically, but the actual content bugs me. As ever, my new favourite character Ron says it best:

"Nah, that story's just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn't it? 'Don't go looking for trouble, don't pick fights, don't go messing around with stuff that's best left alone! Just keep your head down and mind your own business and you'll be OK."

In the "Tale of the Three Brothers," the ones who wind up dead are the ones who try to actually achieve something with their "Hallows". The last brother, the one who makes it through, the one we are supposed to admire, is the one who spends his entire life sitting under an invisibility cloak doing nothing.

I've already pointed out how passive Harry is, how he just reacts to things, how he doesn't have a consistent plan. I've complained about the fact that he's basically spent this entire book sitting in a tent doing nothing, but it becomes increasingly apparent through the book that JK Rowling views inactivity as a virtue and ambition as a sin. The implied morality of all this makes me genuinely uncomfortable, but I think I'll come back to that after I've finished the main article.

Anyway, having had the plot dump, it transpires that the Death Eaters have captured Luna, and that her father has bargained Potter to them for her return. Everybody panics, but our happy band manage to escape because - as Xeno seems to have failed to realise - they can fucking teleport.

The final thing I want to mention in this chapter touches on JK Rowling's dubious morality once again.

During the getaway, they make a big thing about how Hermione puts Ron under the invisibility cloak, not Harry. The idea here is that she wants the Death Eaters to see that Harry really was there, so that they don't think Xeno Lovegood was betraying them.

That's actually really nice, but it's spoiled by this little sequence:

Xenophilius' paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard. "Obliviate!" cried Hermione.

So she's gone to all that trouble to stop the Death Eaters hurting him, only to erase his brain anyway. Nice.

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Deathly Hallows

In which we are: Still. Sitting. In. A. Fucking. Tent.

Abso-fucking-lutely nothing-at-fucking-all happens in this chapter.

Seriously.

Harry gets obsessed with the Hallows, he realises that Voldemort is probably after the Elder wand, and they listen to a completely pointless radio broadcast.

They have no plan, no idea what to do or where to go.

Gee, wouldn't it be convenient if they got captured so that the Death Eaters could accidentally let slip the location of one of the Horcruxes.

What's that you say, JK? Harry said Voldemort's name, even though he knows that it will bring the wrath of the Dark Lord down upon him? And they've been captured? And they're going to Malfoy Manor?

No shit.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Malfoy Manor

In which Harry survives by dumb luck yet again.

So after Harry totally fucked up for about the millionth time in his career, and the Trio get captured by a band of "snatchers", one of which is Fenrir Greyback.

Hermione, in a flash of competence otherwise unheard of in this series, blasts Harry with a spell to make his face swell up so the Snatchers won't recognise him. Shame about that massively distinctive scar really, isn't it.

Incidentally, part of me wonders why the Voldemort-Taboo spell, supposedly implemented by Death Eater Central, is alerting random bands of snatchers instead of genuine Death Eaters. Fenrir might wear the robes, but he isn't allowed the Mark, because he's a filthy half-breed, so they have to haul Harry and Co back to Malfoy Manor in order to deliver him to the Dark Lord personally. Of course the Dark Lord isn't there, he's in - like - Albania or somewhere looking for the Elder Wang.

So our heroes, such as they are, get taken back to Malfoy Manor, and introduced to the Malfoy family, in the various persons of Narcissa, Bellatrix, and Draco (who shows a rather touching moment of being not-totally-evil when he is reluctant to formally identify Team Potter).

Bellatrix - again proving herself to be the only Death Eater with half a brain or any balls - recognises the Sword of Gryffindor, which she of course believes to be still in her family Vault. She totally freaks out at this, and thereby tips off Harry to the possibility of one of the other Horcruxes being in the vault. This is actually well done. Bellatrix reacts reasonably and sensibly, and Harry draws a logical conclusion, without having somebody else spell things out for him.

Anyway, Bellatrix decides to torture Hermione to find out what the Potterites know (again, the only Death Eater with any balls or half a brain), then she throws Harry into the World's Most Pathetic Dungeon.

In the World's Most Pathetic Dungeon we find Luna, Ollivander, and some other minor characters who I'm too bored to mention right now. Harry is tied up, but fortunately they have an old piece of nail, which makes short work of any pesky ropes you might happen to have lying around.

So while Hermione is being tortured (incidentally: bets on this hideous torment having any influence on her personality whatsoever? Bingo) Harry escapes his bonds through Luna's broken-nail-fu. He digs through the mokeskin bag which Hagrid gave him (it was a birthday present, nobody can take things out of it except the owner. Why nobody just took it off him I don't know). Fortunately, he remembered to pack the sliver of broken glass from that mirror thing that Sirius gave him. Good thing that. He has a flash of Dumbledore's eye, and calls for help.

He's a man of action, that Harry Potter.

So Dobby the house-elf shows up to rescue him. It really is a fucking curtain-call isn't it. Dobby Appartes out with Luna, Ollivander, and some other minor character, but the commotion caused by all this has attracted the attention of the Death Eaters, who send Peter Pettigrew (who for some reason everybody now calls by his boyhood nickname of "Wormtail") down to investigate).

Ron and Harry jump Pettigrew, who fights back like a good'un, using his Evil Silver Hand to throttle the life out of Harry. Harry reminds Peter that he (Harry) saved his (Pettigrew's) life back in book three, and wasn't it time for some payback. So, in a sequence that makes no sense, Wormtail's silver hand releases Harry, and then turns on its owner, choking him to death. Now I think the implication here is that the Silver Hand, being Totally Evil, was punishing Pettigrew for showing mercy, but that seems a little harsh, since the Death Eaters are all under explicit instructions not to kill Potter anyway.

So Ron and Harry burst upstairs to rescue Hermione. The battle goes exactly the same way as every other fight between hardened Dark Wizards and underage schoolchildren.

During this scuffle, Harry yanks a bunch of wands out of Draco's hand. This is an act of Profound Mystical Significance, for reasons which will be explained later.

Anyway, they fight, they bite, they fight they fight they bite, and then Dobby shows up for the final rescue. Now he should have been able to manage that in about eight seconds flat. He's a house elf, he can teleport even inside Hogwarts. He's got magic the like of which the Death Eaters cannot comprehend.

But this is the final book, and JK Rowling is a serious author who is sending a real message about death and the importance of being a passive whiny bitch, so of course Dobby can't do that. Instead he has to stand around making a speech for exactly long enough for Bellatrix to shove her dagger through his skinny little chest.

This would have been kind of touching, but seriously, all Dobby had to do was to get in, get out, and not bother with the big "you must not hurt Harry Potter" routine and he would have been fine.

So Dobby dies. His actual death is one of the most godawfully crappy bits of writing I've read since, well, since last chapter I suppose.

The elf's eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words. "Harry ... Potter ..." And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

Get your Great Glassy Orbs off me you damn dirty house elf!

On a side note, deaths so far: Charity Burbage, Hedwig, Mad-Eye, Dobby, Ted Tonks.

So of five fatalities, that's two completely unimportant characters, and three utter cheap shots. Way to go you cold, callous killer you.

Next: The exciting conclusion. The fucking awful epilogue.

Themes:

J.K. Rowling

,

Books

,

Young Adult / Children

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Arthur B

at 15:03 on 2007-08-01She's gone on record as saying that the fairy tale is based on the Pardoner's Tale, hasn't she?

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http://carojen.livejournal.com/

at 16:42 on 2009-07-10I agree with most of what you have written; pointing out the few instances of good writing really makes the rest look bad in comparision.

it becomes increasingly apparent through the book that JK Rowling views inactivity as a virtue and ambition as a sin.

Not to mention that it is Slytherin, the house of _ambition_, that is portrayed as evil throughout the series. At least she doesn't give us conflicting messages. :meh

By the way, Dumbledore was born in 1881, according to Word of God, but that revelation was probably after this was written.

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Dan H

at 22:51 on 2009-07-10At time of writing, I'm pretty sure the WoG on Dumbledore's age was "about a hundred and fifty".

Assuming he was hanging out with Grindelwald in his school days, that still puts his Nazi era more than a hundred years before the present day of the Potterverse, and a clear forty-year gap between the Grindelwald Reich and the Summer of Evil.

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https://me.yahoo.com/a/tjLTVHEducFb4rKDHU5DukBHtQcCbTVMEEq55v0CxV4-#5e156

at 20:24 on 2009-07-29Very good idea about fanfiction challenges, especially with regards to chapter one. Why does JKR through Ron draw meticulous attention to how badly written the book is? I suppose because her fortune had already been made. And she does send out some massively mixed messages doesn't she? So it's OK by her to zombify your parents and friend's parents without a second thought...

[mcwriting]

The Marriage Project (1)

Omg I can’t believe it’s taken me THIS long to post this. I wrote this chapter probably in like April or May and it freaks me out to finally post but here it is!

My slow burn (American) High School AU with Tom Holland!

All the general info for this series is on the story masterlist, but I’ll list warnings and word counts on every chapter. Chapters will be much longer than my typical 2000 or less babies

Warnings: This will become a mature story in the future (no smut; more info on masterlist). Some profanity in this chapter

Word Count: 4140 (I told you!)

% approximately the 2nd week of August %

Ah, senior year. One last year of high school, one last year of seeing the people you’ve grown up with every day.

You’ve been told it’s easy. The best year ever. And yeah, maybe it will be. It’s not like you’re taking too many hard classes or overloading yourself with extracurriculars, aside from volleyball, soccer, the National Honors Society, and quiz bowl.

(Okay maybe it was a little much, but you loved it anyways)

The only real problem was the certified thorn in your side, Tom Holland. 

He’d essentially been your mortal enemy since the sixth grade when he beat your mile time by only a few seconds. 

Now, it’s not that he was a bully or anything, he was just so insufferable to be around. And yes, everyone always says boys pick on girls when they like them, but rest assured that wasn’t the case. You’d both always hated each other, nothing more. 

You were always competing, and because of that ended up in the same place a lot.

He was in all your honors classes, in NHS, played boys soccer, and did quiz bowl. The only thing you had to yourself was volleyball except, oh wait, his younger brother’s girlfriend was on the team and Tom was his ride home every day.

All these thoughts raced through your head as you walked in on the first day, sitting down in AP calculus as soon as you finished up at your locker. 

Everyone did the “how was your summer?” and “long time no see!” as students filed in. Eventually walked in Tom, and you shot each other a glare as he sat down right next to you.

“Holland.”

“Y/l/n.”

Everyone around you groaned. They all knew you two were forces to be reckoned with and probably dreaded spending another year listening to the two of you bicker everyday.

Though you were often in close proximity, you never really talked much, except to argue. Rarely did you agree unless it was on basic facts, and even then was it hard to admit sometimes.

Because of this, you typically resigned yourselves to only speaking when it came to grades so you could keep a mental tally of who was in the lead. You were both in the running for valedictorian at the end of the year, and you were not about to let Tom win.

%

The week was almost over and things had gone smoothly for the most part. 

Sure, you and Tom had had a couple of spats, but nothing that wasn’t handled quickly. 

He’d been to all of your volleyball games so far, even the summer ones, which meant he was forced to watch you dominate the court as both a setter and right side hitter.

It was a nice little satisfaction. 

Especially because you’d watched him throw some horrendous passes in the preseason football game last week that led to a loss by one touchdown. (Okay, he’d had some good passes too, but they were lucky shots).

You settled into your seat in senior home economics Friday before lunch. The class was your school’s attempt at teaching some life skills for rising adults. For the most part however, it was a glorified cooking and sewing class. You didn’t mind per say, since you could cook up a pre-snack lunch sometimes.

Most of your friends were in there, including your best friend Alexis, whom you hadn’t seen all morning.

You, Alexis, and two other girls stood around a mixing bowl with the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies since it was a Friday, which Mrs. Flynn called “dessert day.”

“Oh! Before I forget,” your teacher, Mrs. Flynn, started getting everyone’s attention. “This year we’re doing something new for this class! Next week I’ll have you all split into pairs for a semester long marriage project! I will be drawing names out of a hat, so don’t get too comfortable yet. Anyways, be thinking on what kinds of careers you might want and things of that nature! Okay, now get back to your desserts!”

The whole room broke out into chatter the last part of the hour-and-a-half class, people speculating who might end up with who and what jobs they’ll get.

“Oh my God, wouldn’t it be funny if y/n got Tom?” Alexis stated as you stirred chocolate chips into the dough. The other girls laughed as you just snorted.

“Yeah, I’d rather lick the inside of the microwave than be paired up with him for a semester,” you replied, earning more laughter from your friends.

You assumed Tom’s friends were saying the same however, because when you looked over to see how bad their dough looked, he was rolling his eyes as his group pointed in your direction.

%

The next week came and went, and it was once again Friday. Or, as Mrs. Flynn was calling it, Wedding Day.

Every time she’d pull a couple’s name, she was going to make you both come to the front of the class and exchange plastic wedding rings and sign a fake marriage license.

Yay.

Everyone chattered excitedly as she tore up the strips with your names and mixed them around. Finally the time came for her to start the drawing.

“Okay, friends. First up we have...” she drew the first name. “Katherine and... drumroll please?” 

The class drummed their hands over their thighs.

“Chris! Come on down folks, let’s get this marriage on!”

She “married” the first couple, and then continued to draw. You had to admit that you were a little nervous, but still eager to see who you’d get.

Two couples later, she pulled Tom’s name.

You shot him an eyebrow raise to which he returned a discreet middle finger. You rolled your eyes as you prepared a drumroll for Mrs. Flynn.

“And his lucky partner is... y/n!”

“What!” you both exclaimed simultaneously.

Almost the entire class burst into laughter.

“Mrs. Flynn, this has to be a mistake,” you said.

“Yeah, can’t we have a redraw?” Tom asked. 

You hated that he was agreeing with you.

“Nope! You get who you get and you don’t throw a fit! And if it doesn’t work out in a few weeks we can discuss divorce plans.”

“How about annulments,” you stated dryly, earning a chuckle from her.

“That… kinda depends on if you have kids,” she trailed awkwardly before perking back up. “Now come on down! They always say your first marriage is the most memorable!”

“Who has ever said that?” Tom asked.

“You know. They. Now just get up here and do the ring thing!” she commanded.

You both sulked up to the front of the room.

“Okay, now stand here facing each other and hold hands.”

“Do we have to?” Tom whined.

“Yes, now do it and it’ll be over with faster.”

He groaned, rolled his eyes, and grabbed your hands, holding them loosely.

“May I have the rings please!” Mrs. Flynn asked Caroline, the girl whose desk was closest that she’d asked to be designated ring bearer. She handed over the basket to let you both choose from the mix.

You took a silver colored ring with a faux white diamond in the shape of a star. Tom chose one with an oval “ruby.” You couldn’t help but notice how every single person was on edge watching the two of you.

“Okay now Tom, repeat after me. I, Tom Holland, take thee, y/n y/l/n, to be my wedded wife to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

He mumbled through the vow, avoiding eye contact, and slipped your star ring onto your finger. You were surprised at how gentle he was, carefully caressing your hand and making sure the ring faced straight up once it was on your finger.

You, too, said the lines and placed the ring onto his left hand.

“Alright. It is with the power vested in me by this very school that I am proud to now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now air kiss!”

You took a deep sigh and pretended to kiss each other's cheeks. 

“Class, I’d like to introduce you all to Mr. and Mrs. Holland!”

They began to cheer and clap and laugh when you interjected.

“Uh, no. It’s Mr. and Mrs. y/l/n.”

Tom began to argue with you when Mrs. Flynn stopped you both.

“Alright fine, we’ll do a combined name. How’s the y/l/n-Holland family sound?” she asked, writing your names on the fake marriage certificate.

With reluctance, Tom agreed to having your name first and you both signed the paper.

Finally you were able to sit back down where your friends were waiting.

“So what was that about licking the microwave?” Alexis asked.

“Oh shut up.”

%

After your volleyball game (another win!), you and Alexis conversed over cheese fries at your favorite diner.

“Still not ready to talk about today?” she asked. You shook your head.

Alexis had been paired up with Caroline. They were both straight, but you had both been friends with her since freshman year and they got along well.

Today had just been the marriages, and next week you’d be learning more about your family dynamics.

“I’m just so pissed at him. This afternoon in senior art he told all the guys in there that he was going to make it as hard as possible for me. I mean jokes on him, he’s going to want to get an A too, but he was just so smug about it. He also strung his stupid ring on that necklace he’s always wearing. What’s that all about?”

“I mean you’re still wearing your ring. But yeah, that is a little weird.”

“I’m wearing mine because compared to some of the others, the star is actually cute.”

“True. I got unlucky with the selection,” Alexis admitted, digging hers out of her purse to show you a big square blue gem.

“I just wish there was a way to get back at him after all these years. I mean, we’ve been at each other’s throats for almost six years but nothing has ever seemed to really hit hard. This is the last year I’ve got to really make it count.”

Alexis gave you a look, one you knew to be quite mischievous. 

“You know what’s the best way to get revenge on a guy?” Alexis asked.

“Uh, no, but by the look you’re giving me it seems to fall under Carrie Underwood ’before he cheats’ directive.”

“No, dumbass. You make his family fall in love with you.”

It took a second to process what she said before you could give a decent reply.

“You’re kidding right? His family already knows who I am because of all the stuff we’re in together. They probably also know about our rivalry. I mean, he’s told his brothers to never become friends with me.”

“And you know that, how?”

“The libero is Sam’s girlfriend. She’s been spilling tea for me for the past year.”

There was a break in the conversation as the waiter brought your meals out. Once he was gone, you spoke up again.

“Look, do you really think that would work? I mean sure I’d get under his skin, but it doesn’t really constitute revenge, does it?”

“Look at it this way,” Alexis put down her burger so she could splay her hands out in front of her. “If you can get on everyone else's good side, they’ll all talk about how much they love you and he’ll be forced to listen. If he really hates you, it’ll drive him crazy.”

You thought on it for a minute as you chomped on a chicken tender. 

“Alright, I’m in. If it doesn’t end up working, I still have all of next semester to mess with him anyways. Now if I can just figure out how to really get to know his family…”

%

By the time Monday rolled around, you and Alexis had done some more scheming, but your plan wouldn’t even begin to be put in action until your volleyball games Wednesday and Friday, when you’d try to talk to Sam.

You sat down in home ec, where today you’d be picking careers. The catch, however, was that your family unit would have a set income, so each couple had to decide how it would be split up.

“Y/l/n-Holland family, you’ll be making $200k a year,” Mrs. Flynn announced, handing you the slip of paper. “Get together and decide who’s getting what jobs.”

“At least we’ll be rich,” you thought as Tom plopped into the seat next to you unhappily.

“So I’ll be the doctor and you’ll be the trophy wife, right?” he asked immediately.

“Hah, good one. I think we all know that I’m the smarter one here and wayyyy more likely to get into med school than you. And don’t call me trophy wife. I mean, what, you think I’m hot now? Can’t wait to tell everyone that little number.”

His ears turned beet red and he balled a fist.

“I don’t think you’re hot, except maybe hot shit. It’s a figure of speech.” he spat.

“Oh get over yourself. I know I’m hot anyways. Let’s just both pick jobs that earn $100k so we can be equal. How’s that sound?” 

“Fine.”

He played with the plastic ring on his necklace as you looked up jobs on the computer. After a half hour of searching, Tom and you decided that to be fully equal, you’d both take the same job as physician’s assistants.

“Just so you know, I’ll never actually be anyone’s assistant,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Ten years time if you’re lucky I’ll hire you as mine.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“Hey everyone, since class is almost over, we’re gonna wait to draw how many kids you’ll have and other financial things Wednesday. See you then!” Mrs. Flynn called out as students packed their things.

“We have to have kids, too?” Tom asked incredulously.

“Good thing it’s fake. I’d hate to see you as a parent,” you shot smugly, earning another middle finger from him that left you laughing.

%

Wednesday came kids, and thankfully all you got were twin girls, age 9. The project didn’t make you carry around flour babies or anything like that, you just had to account for them in your weekly budgets. 

There goes the annulment plan, though.

Each week, Mrs. Flynn would be drawing something new for you all that would either be good or bad for your budgets, and it was up to you to figure out what to with the funding, or lack thereof. You also had to come up with a story each week that explained why money was put somewhere or what your “family” did that week. 

 She would also be doing progress checks, so you couldn’t wait until the end of the semester to do all the work. By the end, each couple would have to give a presentation over what they did and learned.

“Okay, so we each get to name one. That’s pretty equal,” you stated, thinking up baby names.

“Well I like Elizabeth,” he almost immediately replied, writing it down on one of the “birth certificates” you’d been handed by Mrs. Flynn.

“That’s… surprisingly good. I’ll go with Francesca. What about middle names? I like Rose.”

“Hm. How about Opal? Then they’ll have the same number of letters in their names.”

You were surprised at how much though he put into this, but let it go as you wrote your child’s name down.

“By the way, we need to plan time to get together and write a budget and find a house this weekend. I have a volleyball game Friday so how about Saturday?”

“I have football practice Saturday.”

“Well yeah but only until like 10 right? We could just meet at like 1. We’re doing construction at my house right now so could we do it at yours?” 

You spoke sweetly in an attempt to receive a yes and put your plan into motion. Tom sighed and thought about it.

“I mean I guess. But you’re only going to be there to work on the project and then leave right?”

“Uh, duh. The less time with you the better.”

“Likewise.”

%

Tom and Sam weren’t at the volleyball game Wednesday, so you had to wait until Friday’s.

Friday was muffin day in home ec, so you thankfully didn’t have to talk to Tom. Instead, you and Alexis discussed the plan of getting Tom’s family on your side as you mixed up batter.

Later that afternoon, you watched from afar as Sam and his girlfriend, Julia, sat on the bleachers speaking. It was still an hour until game time and coach had asked you to round up the girls for stretching.

“Hey, Jules!” you called, jogging over to where she was. “Oh, hey Sam!” He looked at you like you were crazy before responding.

“Uh, hey y/n.” He gave a slight head nod.

“Anyways, coach wants us to start warming up. Wanna be my partner today?” 

“Um yeah. Sure. See ya later babe,” she said, giving Sam a quick peck on the cheek before standing up to follow you.

After another win, you were helping take down the net and noticed Julia once again talking to Sam while Tom stood a few feet away looking bored. 

“Hey, could you wrap up the net? I need to do something real quick,” you said to another teammate as you headed over.

“Hey, Jules! Solid digs today! You were making my job way too easy,” you joked.

You could see from the corner of your eye Tom look up at you in annoyance.

“Ahaha thanks girl. But I can’t take all the credit. You were on fire tonight. What was that like 15 aces? And your hits? Incredible,” she replied.

“Yeah, you were amazing tonight,” Sam added. 

“Ohhhkay we can stop the compliment parade on y/n now. We need to go anyways, Sam, mom wants us home,” Tom interjected, putting an arm out in front of his brother, who was rolling his eyes.

“Alright fine. We still on for dinner tomorrow?” Sam asked his girlfriend. She nodded and they exchanged a quick hug and kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow too, Tom,” you said. “I’ll bring my laptop.” 

Sam looked at him in confusion.

“Yeah whatever,” was all Tom could say to you as you strutted off to the locker room.

%

You stood nervously on the front porch of Tom’s suburban home. You had texted him when you parked but now dreaded actually going inside. 

After shifting back and forth for a minute, you finally rang the doorbell. 

It was only a few seconds later that the door opened, revealing Sam’s twin Harry. He looked confused.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” 

“Hey Harry. Tom and I are supposed to be working on a school project today and he said to come over at this time so...” You awkwardly shifted your backpack straps and looked down.

“Tom! Someone’s here to see you!” he yelled out, making you snort.

He appeared shirtless in the doorway and looked at you blankly.

“Oh. It’s just you.”

“Just me? What did you just forget that we have to work on our project today,” you replied, holding up your left hand to point to the plastic ring on it.

“You’re still wearing that? Why?”

“Firstly, the little star is cute. And secondly, you don’t have a lot of room to speak, Tom. Yours is still on your necklace,” you pointed to the chain around his neck, to which he instinctively reached up and grabbed the ring, twisting it between his fingers. 

“Touche. Now come on, let’s just get this over with.” He opened the door wider and let you in, locking it behind you. 

As he led you down a hall covered in photos towards the stairs, his mom stepped out, almost running into her son.

“Oh, sorry.” she looked at you, “Y/n? What are you doing here? It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Holland. Tom and I have to work on our home ec project and we couldn’t do it at my house.”

“Oh dear just call me Nikki. And I do remember him mentioning something about a project. Are you the one he’s married to? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Tom tensed up and clenched his jaw while you gave a light chuckle, holding up your left hand again.

“I hate to say it, but yeah. You’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me throughout the semester.”

“Well you kids have fun. And Tom, honey, would it kill you to put on a shirt?”

He went red again and you had to stifle your laughter.

“I was just on my way to do that, mom. Come on y/n,” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist and dragging you up the stairs.

You turned and waved at Nikki one last time as she called up behind him,

“And make sure to keep the door open!”

He was totally embarrassed by that, and made it a point to shut the door behind him once you made it to his room. Finally you could let out a hearty laugh at his expense as he dug through his drawers and pulled out a simple black t-shirt.

“Finally. I was getting tired of looking at your man boobs,” you quipped, looking around the room.

“Ha ha. Good one,” he shot back dryly. 

You were surprised at what his room looked like, though you didn’t know what you’d expected. It was very neat with sleek grey walls. His blue and grey bedding was made up with decorative pillows laid out. On his desk were a few random school papers and a computer, and one shelf held some Spider-Man paraphernalia while another contained medals and ribbons and trophies. 

You dropped your backpack to the ground and pointed up at one figurine.

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” you said sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think so,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Uh, no. I’m serious. It’s actually really dope.” 

He looked taken aback at your compliment, and even to you it felt weird to be saying that out loud about Tom of all people.

“Oh. Well uh. Thanks. Spider-Man was my favorite growing up. But let’s just get to work.”

After an hour of sitting on his carpet searching for a house and arguing over general money allocations,

“Yes Tom, tampons actually cost like $7 for 30 of them and most girls need at least one box a month. And that’s just one factor of personal hygiene. Do you even condition your hair?”

“I’ll have you know my hair is well moisturized. I just don’t ever have to pay for it.”

You finally came to an agreement on the week’s budget. 

Packing up your things, you looked up at Tom who was now sitting on the side of his bed scrolling through social media.

“So next week. Your first game of the season, yeah?” you said, remembering that September was already almost here. 

“Oh yeah. You coming? I’d hate for you to see just how incredible I am.”

“Psh whatever. I saw your throws at preseason. But yeah, I’ll probably just rinse off after my volleyball game and head to the field. Gotta see what cuties they’ve got on the other team.”

“Ugh gross. You know you’ll regret saying that when half the school is swooning over me in the stands.”

“The only thing you’d ever see me swoon from is dehydration. And that’s a pretty weak excuse already.”

You stood and Tom got up to lead you back out.

“Oh, I think I know the way. You don’t have to take me.”

“Yeah I do. Gotta keep my eyes on those grubby little fingers of yours. Who knows what you’d do unsupervised.”

Before you reached the door, Nikki spotted you from the living room.

“Done so soon? Wow, good job guys. Come back any time y/n!”

“Thanks, Nikki,” you called back to her, then turned to Tom. “So same time next week? We can do it at my place if you want.”

“Nah let’s just do it here. I’m always exhausted the day after a game and I don’t really want to get up.”

Okay then

“Well, see ya Monday then. Bye.”

You were halfway down the sidewalk when Tom called out, “Be safe,” before shutting the door. You stopped in your tracks in shock, but eventually got into your car.

What really mattered, though, was that you were already on Nikki’s good side.

1 down, 4 to go.

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Yay! It’s finished! I really hope you guys enjoy this new series because I’m so excited to share it with you all! Once again, future chapters will have some mature content (s*xual harassment and mentions of assault; underaged alcohol consumption) but those chapters will be explicitly labeled with warnings.

Anyways, thanks for reading and please send an ask or message if you’d like to join my story or permanent tag list!

Tag List: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl,