#darwin's line of sight or something

[hershelwidget]

working on so many projects

tag yourself i'm "swap auuu"

[bobfloydsbabe]

eccentric professor bob floyd (historical romance version) sneak peek

Encouraged by my wonderful friends @withahappyrefrain and @ryebecca, I present you a sneak peek at the historical romance AU fic I'm working on for Eccentric Professor Bob and Imogen. I shared the beginning of this for a tag game a couple of days ago, but I've added more to it since then. Enjoy ✨

“Who’s there?”

The flickering candle comes closer, and slowly, the holder’s dark doe eyes come into his line of sight, along with long wavy hair and soft-looking skin.

“Lady Imogen,” he says when she stops a few paces away. 

“Professor,” she greets, one brow quirked. “What brings you here at this time of night?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Her breathy chuckle fills the quiet library. “So you could,” she agrees. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get something to read.”

“I had the same thought,” he admits. He’s trying not to look at her state of undress, but his eyes travel down to her simple cotton nightgown, and his breath hitches. She’s not wearing a dressing gown.

Imogen seems unfazed by his wandering eye.

“Did you find something advanced enough to challenge your mind, Professor?”

He drags his gaze back to her face. “Not yet,” he says. “Perhaps you have a recommendation?”

In the candlelight, her mouth turns up in a smile that makes her keen eyes sparkle. Humming, she scans the shelves he’s standing in front of, inspecting the titles and writers, and he wonders, not for the first time, where she’s been hiding all his life.

Knowing of her is one thing, but knowing her is something else entirely. He longs to touch her. To feel her skin against his, the taste of her tongue, the sounds she’d make when he gives her pleasure. He wants all of it but is entitled to none of it.

He aches in a way he’s never done before.

“Ah,” she says, having spotted something interesting on the shelf. She reaches past him, her breast grazing his chest as she stands on her tiptoes to reach. Despite the fabric separating them, every cell in his body’s on fire, and the blood that first rushed to his head now travels south to his cock.

If her breast through cotton does this to him, he’s afraid of what would happen if he touched her bare skin.

Unaware of his internal crisis, Imogen grasps the book she’d spotted and settles back on her feet. She studies the leather-bound book for a moment. “I’m surprised the Countess even has a copy of this. She does not strike me as someone with a vested interest in the subject.”

“Perhaps the Earl added it to the library,” he says without knowing what book it is and takes a step away to put some distance between them.

“The Earl is a dear friend of my father’s, but he is not an intelligent man,” Imogen explains. “The Countess is a brilliant woman. I am quite certain it was she who acquired it.”

Imogen offers the book to him. He snatches it out of her hand quickly, hoping she won’t look at him too long and notice the extra limb throbbing in his trousers.

He opens to the title page, brow furrowing when he realizes the book she’s recommended to him. His head whips up.

“I’m sure you’ve already read it,” she says, looking uncertain for the first time since she joined him. “Darwin makes a compelling argument. I wrote him a letter with a list of questions, but never received a reply. I’m sure he thinks me a feebleminded woman who won’t understand the complexities of his theory.”

Robert closes the book. “If Darwin thinks you feebleminded, he is a fool.”

likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are golden

TAGLIST: @bobgasm, @attapullman, @kmc1989, @bluezraven, @seitmai, @roosterforme, @just-in-case-iloveyou, @sweetwhispersofchaos, @auroraseddie, @cherrycola27, @keyrani, @solo-pitstop-vibes, @sio-ina-bottle, @hangmanapologist, @bradshawsbaby, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @bcarolinablr, @xoxabs88xox

[willowwind78]

Annabel Lee Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - On the Origin of Species - Charles Darwin

I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent and omnipotent God would have designedly created parasitic wasps with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of Caterpillars.

              Perching in darkness, peering through a broken window on the third floor of a long-abandoned hotel, his fingers deftly removed a spider from the webbing before him. Gently plucking it from its web where it was obscuring his line if sight, he carefully replaced the eight-legged arachnid onto the crumbling architecture. Rain drizzled through the gloom of the late afternoon sky creating a miserable feeling of dampness that soaked through skin into bone. His eyes focused in on a girl. She huddled within a small group that seemed to believe they were hidden from view amongst the tombstones of the old cemetery. Laughing and giggling they took turns at their game.

              In the center of the group hunched a man buried within the fabric of a black hoodie. His black denims, far too big for his body, were held in place at the thighs by a thick leather belt. Red boxers puffed out between the gap of his hoodie and his pants, reminding the watcher of the back end of a Toco toucan he had once, long ago observed in Uraguay. The orange bill of a ball cap protruding from beneath his hood only enhanced his memory. Perhaps the youth of today were taking their mating rituals from exotic birds. His red bum obviously gave him prominence amongst the groupies as he was the center of attention, the leader of this game.

              The players circled their addiction, eager to shove their cash into the Toco’s hand in exchange for whatever he had to offer. The first contestant was a man aged well beyond his thirty years. His skin was marred with open wounds and blotches of red, matching the veins coursing through his eyes. His nose bent at an unusual angle no doubt suffered at the hand of a player from a previous game. Hair dotted his head in strange tufts as if a drunkard had cut it with a pair of rusty garden shears. The frisson caused him to bounce in anticipatory delight as he shoved a handful of wadded paper into the outstretched fingers of the Toco. In exchange, he was handed a small package. The first contestant skittered away into the darkness: a winner.

              Contestant number two eagerly took his place. She was the reason for the watcher’s stalking tonight. He had been following her for days. Not belonging here, she was new to this game, not quite sure of the rules. Long red hair tumbled in flames down her back. She shivered, poorly dressed for the cold damp weather of the evening. Her shoes, completely impractical, pink straps of leather attached to a high sharp pointed heel. Thin arms wrapped around her stylish designer jacket, her fashion sense prohibiting her from fastening the zipper to hold it in place. What brought her here manifested in her eyes. Streaked with red, slightly swollen, and marred by dark black rings they detracted from her natural beauty. She had not slept in over a week; the dreams were too much for her. The watcher trusted that in her sleep deprived state she would not notice any unusual behavior in the Toco.

              The watcher smiled as her delicate, perfectly, manicured fingers slipped a roll of bills into the Toco’s hand. The Toco grabbed hold of her wrist. The bill of his hat rose causing the girl to let out a small shriek at the sight of his face. There was something wrong with the man’s eyes. Filled with darkness so black they emanated a violet light. It was too late; she had already made her decision. The Toco twisted his wrist, forcing the girl to her knees to prevent her arm from breaking. Using his opposite hand, he deftly produced a syringe filled with white creamy liquid. In one smooth movement, the needle pierced a vein and the plunger was expunged. A hollow sound vociferated from her lips the cold fluid moved up her arm into her shoulder. She pulled free and ran, stumbling as the heels of her impractical shoes plunged deep into the wet soil with each step.

She ran from the cemetery into the darkness as fast as her legs could carry, pausing not for a moment when her leggings tore as her shin made contact with a disheveled headstone. Collapsing at the base of an old knotted oak, she gripped her arm in anguish. She had never felt such pain. She had never felt so alive! Her eyes burned with ecstasy as if the world had suddenly taken on a new form. Everything seemed so clear. She reached out to touch the raindrops. They fell so slowly, as if she could count each one before they hit the ground.

Out of the darkness emerged a man, the watcher. A man more handsome than she had ever seen. He was tall and lean, dressed to kill. His suit perfectly tailored to his form. Her thoughts wandered to who could have tailored such an exquisite masterpiece. The white pin-striping expertly aligned in every seam. She lost herself in her own thoughts; lost in the artistry of the tailoring.

His voice drew her back from hems and inseams. “Would you like to stay here Christina? Live forever in this peace and harmony?” Lifting her head from his suit to his emerald green eyes took more effort than she had expected. The thought of speaking seemed entirely too strenuous an activity so rather than replying she let her head just wobble downward using gravity as its driving force.

Warmth filled her body, emanating from his fingertips, as he lifted her head by her chin. She felt relieved as she did not have the energy to do so herself. “Would you give me your soul freely and openly?” She tried to let her head drop again in a nod but his warm fingers held her chin in place preventing gravity from doing its job. His perfect lips formed a soft kind smile revealing magnificently white teeth. “I am afraid I need you to respond with a definitive answer here dear. A yes or no will suffice. Do you give yourself to me? Freely, without coercion?”

She pulled in a deep breath. The air was filled with the scent of him, musty and alluring, a masculinity that had been lost to centuries past. Bracing her diaphragm, using every ounce of energy left in her, she pushed forth a single word. “Yes.”

There was no pain when his sharp pointed teeth sank into her neck. She relaxed into him allowing the blood to flow from her body. The dreams were gone, she could tell, they would not haunt her nights again. She didn’t need proof, she just knew.

Christina reveled in the peace, her soul trying to cling to it, despite the strength of the pull, yanking her away. Something cold and dark gripped at her, tearing with razor sharp claws. Agony ripped through serenity with a voracious appetite, shredding her soul, until it was nothing but glittering pieces of confetti in the air around her. What had she done? The tiny bits of her spirit drifted to the ground; their light squelched in the damp earth. She had glimpsed heaven only to watch it dissipate before her eyes.

Welcome to my world. I wrote a book many years ago that I never finished. I had dreams that someday I would complete it. This is at least the 3rd or 4th time I rewrote the first chapter. It is nothing but the latest beginning, an invitation, into the life of a woman I have called Annabel Lee, a fictitious version of... me.

[eolewyn1010]

Farewell, Darkover - part 4

I definitely had a much better opinion of her books then than I now think they deserve. There is knowing of MZB's crimes and how it makes her careless handling of consent and normalization of abuse sickeningly close to real life, yes, but there's also stuff that, in hindsight, makes me wonder how poor my reading comprehension actually was.

The racism, for one - racism was said to be an unknown concept on Darkover... because everyone there was blindingly white, to the point that no one even had dark eyes! When Terrans came to Darkover and some of them had brown eyes, the Darkovans described them as having animal eyes, and were surprised that said people could talk at all. Nah, that doesn't sound wrong, does it? They asked people with darker skin if they had gotten that way through illness. I remember it was set up as a curious innocence on part of the Darkovans - but MZB wrote this. She must have known how it sounded. No innocence on her part. It didn't crop up much, granted, as her protagonists in general didn't get darker than pantone 727. Oh, wait, I was wrong! Ysaye was dark-skinned! What happened to her again? Yeah, her asexuality was overwritten by a psychoactive drug so she wound up having sex with someone equally drugged, she was pregnant afterwards and couldn't even remember how she got that way, an abortion was performed on her against her will, and then she painfully burned to death because of the psychic power reflexes of someone telepathically stuck in her head at that time. Lovely, especially the bodily autonomy. Such feminism.

Additional to that, there was a specific kind of chauvinism that MZB introduced by way of her "special" groups - and that's something her narrative never attempted to excuse. It was presented as a plain fact that those with psychic gifts (on Darkover those with laran, in MoA those with the Sight) were superior to "normal" humans and had a claim to nobility by virtue of their abilities. Not even abilities they worked for, no; something they were born with. I remember one specific line from a Darkover book in which someone thought that, for him, having sex with a non-telepathic person would be like coupling with an animal. Yeah... how do I put that? That is vile. Putting other human beings down to the level of animals? I realize that telepathy would make a difference in how one perceives the people around oneself, but defending this as one's right to superiority? On the basis of an innate trait? Social Darwinism much? And remember that this kind of elitism was something MZB only ever presented as the natural order for her magic societies.

The acclaimed feminism is something else that isn't really there when you look at the books up close. A whole part of Darkovan society considered women as property to be sold, which no one really thought was an injustice to fight against. Darkovan women were mostly at their father's and husband's mercy. Similar to what The Mists of Avalon did, there was made a theoretical point of how virginity wasn't really that valued - except in practice, there was still a lot of slut-shaming over a damaged hymen (learn some anatomy, geez) and over how a pregnant girl was dishonored and couldn't marry well anymore, so there goes that.

For MZB's ideas on women having to serve as brood mares? I'll let her speak for herself: "Darkover Landfall stirred up a furor because some outraged feminists objected to the stand I took in the book, that the survival of the human race on Darkover could, and should, be allowed to supersede the personal convenience of any single woman in the group. [...] to those who refuse to accept the tenet that "Biology is Destiny", I have begun to ask them to show me a vegetarian lion or tiger before they debate the issue further." - quoted from here. TERFs must love her. But sure, have all the women in your colony raped into a dozen of pregnancies - with no say even to whose children they have to bear and birth. Why would humans have a claim to spread there in the first place? They weren't native to the world. I gotta say, I only found this particular quote in my most recent look at the subject. When I read Darkover Landfall, I was sure the whole point of it was that the beginnings of Darkovan society were rooted in a terrible crime against half of the population. I had no idea that MZB was defending this viewpoint extra-diegetically.

And then the more basic stuff. How every beautiful woman who chose a place in society away from sex and marriage was deemed a "waste", how the worth of a woman was, even thousands of years after said first colonization, measured by her fertility, to the point that it was considered subversive that the Renunciates vowed to only bear children whenever the fuck they want, how most marriages were arranged without consent, how women treated each other as competition to be bitched out instead of allies. There's nothing particularly progressive about this. Women's rights, in MZB's books, are only something for her "specials", for the few chosen individuals who are born with the right genes and / or stand in the center of the narrative. Everyone else can go hang.

[jiaxin-wu]

Time03 industrialization：

forest trees water green

Darwin, Voyage of the Beagle Round the World This barrenness had to our eyes a strange appearance, from having been so long accustomed to the sight of an almost universal forest of dark green trees.

Hugo, Les Miserables There is something indescribable there which exhales grace, a green meadow traversed by tightly stretched lines, from which flutter rags drying in the wind, and an old market gardener’s house, built in the time of Louis XIII., with its great roof oddly pierced with dormer windows, dilapidated palisades, a little water amid poplar trees, women, voices, laughter; on the horizon the Pantheon, the pole of the Deaf Mutes, the Val de Grace, black, squat, fantastic, amusing, magnificent, and in the background, the severe square crests of the towers of Notre Dame.

horse sheep tree grass

Serres, Hominescence In order to wander once again or to inhabit at leisure, we don’t return to the nomadic era since the reigns of the sheep and the horse are ending as are the reigns of wheat or green grass, since livestock farming is being practised in batteries and agriculture hydroponically outside the soil; we also don’t return to the era of hunting and gathering, in which we depended on the conditions for flowering and animal lovemaking.

group mythic

Forensic Architecture, Forensis The Architecture of Public Truth But it also refers to a mythical past time before the Fall from the Garden of Eden.

[booksandwords]

A Holiday By Gaslight by Mimi Matthews

Read time: 2 Days Rating: 4/5 stars

The quote: It hadn’t been love at first sight. That was too trite. Too simplistic. But something within him had recognized something in her. Had understood that she would be important to him. — Ned

A Holiday By Gaslight is honesty just an adorable second chance Victorian Christmas romance. Appreciate the characters. There is some brilliant forward-thinking that is well suited to the social revolution of the age and the technological changes of the industrial revolution are well represented. The protagonist Sophie is a female readers protagonist. Working to obligations but with a degree of freedom and much intelligence but still with flaws. She's remarkably feminist for the time, the whole book is. Also, she has great style. Many of these traits are suited to readers. They want to be her can relate to her on a level. As a reader, her thoughts on Darwin were unlike what I've seen in fiction but I feel like they suit and make sense, especially for a woman in her position.

Ned feels like a quite traditional historical romance lead. Until you learn his full disadvantages and he loses his shackles. He really is a good match for Sophie. All I will say is to hell with reputation. Give me all the illicit Victorian kisses. Having a male main character who is not only a lower class who has worked his way up but uses an interesting trade is great for me. Ned is the son of a draper and works with material he picks up material as an indicator of class and confidence easily. He is attracted to Sophie's confidence that belies her slightly lower class. Their relationship has something of a power balance in more than one way. Ned by far wealthier but Sophie is of a higher class. In the Victorian time period class trumps all. It does lead to an odd feeling in the ending. I do want to share a line. This is between Ned and his best friend/ business partner Walter Murrey. It's such a perfect exchange between friends, that feels perfect. “You’d like to punch me in the face, wouldn’t you?” “I’d like to disembowel you with a teaspoon.” Walter winced. “Ouch.”

The support cast is rather two dimensional but this is only a short novella it's limited to families and Ned's business partner Walter Murrey. But there are some differences. There are class and financial differences in play that are used to explain cooler personalities and some recklessness. That idea of Sophie and her mother keeping her family as financially stable as possible while Papa and Emmy are more frivolous is a good one. The responsibility of the oldest child. That drive to protect a younger sibling. I do want to say though Papa is a bit of a bastard. I was frustrated at him, he spent his daughter's doweries... just no. You absolute moron.

I will say one thing for new players, persevere through Ned and Sophie's early relationship, especially Ned it does get better after they arrive at Appersett House. Mimi Matthews works with tropes, as said Ned feels like an almost typical historical romance lead initially at least in the vein of a Mr Darcy mould, but there is also the marriage for money, on the shelf, unexpected intelligence and romance in the season. But what I love is the language used. This is just so lovely descriptively. Matthews writes evolving language well too. I like the differences in Sophie and Ned's attitudes. Their time in London vs after they free themselves of social propriety vs when they have to slip back into polite society while at the Christmas celebrations at Appersett House. He's charming and she's intelligent. All show well and all are quite different. Writing suits them both and they suit each other. Their styles differ enough that you can put it down and know exactly which character's pov you are in. Even with the tropey plot points, the writing and the characters just kept me reading from start to end.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

(Accidental 150 Follower Special) IOTA's Top 10 Worst Episodes of Miraculous Ladybug (Part 1)

If you saw one of my earlier posts, an anon asked what my favorite and least favorite episodes of Miraculous Ladybug were. So, I decided to make a little list explaining the best and worst this show has to offer.

A few quick ground rules here. I'm not going to list any episodes I had previously talked about in some of my other posts. This includes “Kung Food”, “Animaestro”, “Syren”, “Reflekdoll”, “Chameleon”, and most of the episodes relating to Chloe's “damnation arc” that Astruc planned since he first created the character (“Despair Bear”, “Queen Wasp”, “Malediktator” and “Battle of the Miraculous”). Also, I'm not counting the specials, mainly because aren't listed as episodes, and because I don't want to talk about them.

Other than that, anything goes, so let's get things started with the worst list.

These are the Top 10 Worst Episodes of Miraculous Ladybug (in my personal opinion because your opinion is also valid)

#10: Stormy Weather 2

“Stormy Weather” was the very first episode of the show, and it really made a good impression on new viewers. So naturally, when it was announced that Stormy Weather would return, fans were excited. Then when the episode aired, Hawkmoth gave her even more powers, including the power to create a volcano big enough to potentially knock the planet out of orbit when it erupts. So Ladybug and Cat Noir have no choice but to stop the villain once again.

What does this plot lead to?

Yep, this episode is nothing more than a clip show. I understand that clip shows and bottle episodes are a necessary evil, but why would you set up something this awesome with a fan-favorite Akuma like Stormy Weather, and then not even bother to show it?

This episode is yet another attempt at showing that the show totally has character development. The whole reason Aurore is Akumatized into Stormy Weather again is because Chloe says that people can't change because Astruc (who was one of the four people writing this episode) is determined to make you hate this teenage girl more than the main villain of the show.

So of course, everyone spends most of the episode talking about how much they've changed, which is represented through clips of past episodes that do a horrible job at actually conveying any development.

According to Marinette, Adrien has “become a friend she can talk to about anything, except when it comes to her feelings for him”. Ah yes, you can tell they're friends by the fact that they barely hang out together, much less share a conversation because the writers are going to drag out the whole “Marinette stammering in front of Adrien” until they get tired of it. So basically, never.

All Alya and Nino talk about is how Ladybug helped them become a couple, and become superheroes, even though neither of those are actually related to character development. Though that is a fitting metaphor for the way both of their personalities have basically devolved to “the couple”.

Chloe talks about how nicer she's gotten, while footage of her doing awful things is played. I wonder who wrote that part in...

Even Ladybug and Cat Noir talk about how much they've grown and how stronger they've gotten, as opposed to focusing on STOPPING ANOTHER ICE AGE FROM HAPPENING. How can Hawkmoth even think this will get him the Miraculous? Yeah, sure I guess he can get them from the frozen corpses of our heroes, but what then? He still doomed humanity, and I don't think he can reverse the damage like Ladybug.

Towards the end, the clip show becomes slightly interesting, as Adrien mentions an unsigned card he got for Valentine's Day in “Dark Cupid”, and how similar the handwriting looks to Marinette's.

Does this lead to Adrien figuring out Marinette has feelings for him? Is the sky bright red? Both of these questions have the same answer.

Yeah, out of nowhere, Adrien just mentions Luka, who wasn't mentioned at all in this episode, and immediately thinks Marinette is in love with him. And that's how the episode ends.

I put this at the bottom of the list because I don't think it's completely fair to judge clip shows, but even some clip shows at least try to put in some effort and justify the clips, like what The Legend of Korra and some seasons of Power Rangers did. And the fact that the whole point of the episode is a poor excuse to claim that there's character development in the show only makes it even more infuriating.

Oh my God, this is only Number 10...

#9: Oblivio

While I already talked about “Cat Blanc”, this episode shares a similar theme as that episode: Giving viewers what they've wanted for three seasons, Marinette and Adrien finally learning each other's identity and starting a romantic relationship... only for the reset button to be once again slammed, making the entire episode pointless.

The only difference is that unlike in “Cat Blanc”, where there was an actual love confession that made sense, here, Marinette and Adrien find out the other's identity when they get their memories wiped by the Akuma of the week, Oblivio.

From then on, it's just fanservice. Instead of actually developing the relationship between Marinette and Adrien, the writers just decide to cram an entire episode worth of Adrienette content into a single episode just to tide fans over. Marinette and Adrien seriously fall in love despite only knowing each other for like, an hour at most. And the fact that the writers undo all the romantic progress of the episode makes it come across as pointless.

But the ending is what really cements this episode's spot on the list. As soon as Oblivio is defeated, Alya takes a picture of Ladybug and Cat Noir kissing without their consent and then rubs it in Ladybug's face.

Even though Ladybug doesn't know the circumstances (she has no memory of the events of the episode), this was still an invasion of her privacy, and she looks horrified by the picture that Alya is obviously going to post on her blog.

And of course, Cat Noir is more than happy to see it, ignoring how Ladybug feels and claims that they'd make a great couple. Because everyone knows good couples are formed by someone gaslighting the other into going out with them.

But wait, it gets better! In the next scene, we learn that Alya and Nino were akumatized into Oblivio... because they were caught in an embarrassing situation by their peers.

Alya: Remember when we visited Montparnasse Tower? Well, we went and hid to play Super Penguino, but Ms. Bustier caught us, and...

Nino: And you guys made fun of us for playing that game, saying it wasn't our age and all.

Alya: We were totally embarrassed at getting caught.

This was my thought process when I first heard Alya and Nino's explanation.

How can Alya claim to take a compromising picture of Ladybug, ignore how she feels, and not realize the similarity from when she and Nino were akumatized? This is what completely killed Alya for me in canon. This was the point where I couldn't care less if Marinette was friends with her or not. Sure, there are still fanfics, but those actually portray her with some kind of conscious. So to summarize, Fanon Alya is awesome, but I hope Canon Alya's 4G plan runs out.

This episode is just forgettable, but the ending made things worse. Apart from, I guess the action scenes and some funny jokes, this episode has no redeeming qualities. Like, literally the best thing to come from this episode was @miraculouscontent​‘s LadyBugOut AU, as it actually addressed the hypocrisy of Alya's character, among other problematic aspects of the show.

#8: Oni-Chan

Just a heads up, most of the episodes on this list are from Season 3. Just want to give you an idea of what to expect.

This episode is about Lila tricking Adrien into helping with her homework, when she is only doing it to get closer to Adrien. Marinette tries to spy on the two and stop Lila from hurting Adrien... even though she knows Adrien is aware that Lila is a liar, and is visibly uncomfortable around her.

And because the episode spends so much time on Marinette following Adrien and Lila, the buildup to Kagami getting akumatized is incredibly rushed. Seriously, she gets a single line of dialogue before she gets akumatized, and the motive is ridiculous too. Lila sends a picture of her forcing a kiss on Adrien, and Kagami immediately bursts into tears at the sight of it.

But wait, it gets better! When Kagami is akumatized into Oni-Chan (the writers know that's a term used for males in Japan, right?), she turns into a psycho hellbent on killing Lila because “Adrien doesn't deserve her”. Most of her dialogue is her saying how much she loves Adrien, making her come across as, for lack of a better word, a yandere.

This episode just destroys Kagami's character, making her as unlikable as Katie Killjoy in the process. If it wasn't for “Ikari Gozen” actually treating her like a human being (obviously Astruc's planned character development from the beginning), I'd completely hate her.

It also shows how much of an evil genius Lila is, as she has the brilliant idea to convince Oni-Chan to kill the only person capable of saving her from the Akuma's wrath. And this somehow gives Hawkmoth the idea to forge an alliance with Lila. It's also another reason why I believe in Darwinism.

This episode is low on the list because it does have a few redeeming qualities, like Lila facing consequences for lying, however brief they may be, and it has a great character moment with Adrien realizing on his own how terrible Lila really is, a far cry from what he was like in “Chameleon”.

Other than that, it's pretty bad, and still deserves a spot on this list.

#7: Antibug

HA! I said MOST of the episodes involving Chloe's “Damnation Arc” wouldn't be on this list, but not ALL OF THEM, so this one counts! Take that, convoluted rules I made up for some reason!

What was I talking about again? Oh right, “Antibug”. Oh crap, “Antibug”...

This is one of of several episodes in Miraculous Ladybug that really should have been a two-parter. It tries to be daring and includes two Akumas in one episode, but both of them are poorly executed.

An invisibly entity starts harassing Chloe, so Ladybug and Cat Noir start an investigation. It turns out to be Chloe's lackey Sabrina, who was akumatized after a falling out between the two. Well, I say “falling out” lightly, because what actually happened was that Chloe and Sabrina were cosplaying as Ladybug and Cat Noir, Chloe pretended to be the real deal while crashing an interview with Jagged Stone before Sabrina accidentally blew her cover, causing Chloe to be humiliated on TV and end her “friendship” with Sabrina.

Ladybug learns this from Chloe's butler, while Chloe never mentions the incident. So when Ladybug and Cat Noir engage the Akuma, Ladybug ignores Chloe's advice on where the corrupted object, naturally not trusting her judgment. And this is portrayed as a bad thing.

This episode is the start of a long-running trend in Miraculous Ladybug: Marinette needing to learn a lesson, while Adrien/Cat Noir is the one to help teach that lesson.

Chloe did nothing to help, only made things worse, and lied about why Sabrina got akumatized. It's kind of obvious why Ladybug wouldn't trust her word. The whole point of The Boy Who Cried Wolf wasn't to trust the liar after all.

But if that was all the episode did, it wouldn't be on the list, because now, the narrative wants to make the audience feel bad for Chloe before she gets akumatized into Antibug... who is just a lazy palette swap because new character models are expensive.

This part of the episode isn't nearly as bad as the first half, but like “Oni-Chan”, Chloe's akumatization is incredibly rushed, and we don't really get a chance to sympathize with her before she goes full Antibug.

Even Antibug herself isn't that interesting of a villain. The whole idea of an evil doppelganger is that they're a perfect match for the hero, but we only see Ladybug and Antibug fight for a few seconds, while Cat Noir does most of the fighting with her while Marinette's Kwami recharges. I like that Ladybug and Cat Noir show their teamwork to defeat Antibug, but I feel it would have been more interesting to see Ladybug and Antibug duke it out before Cat Noir helps turn the tide.

Again, this episode really needed to be a two-parter to better expand on the story presented here, because it had a really interesting premise. I'd personally read the version of “Antibug” in @justanotherpersonsuniverse​‘s “The Adventures of Panthera Noire” (an AU fanfic where shy girl Juleka gets the Cat Miraculous instead of Adrien). Not only does it have two separate chapters for Vanisher and Antibug, it also does a good job of setting Chloe on an actual redemption arc, unlike Astruc's “damnation arc”.

#6: The Puppeteer 2

As much as I've ragged on Adrien/Cat Noir in some of my other posts (and will continue to do so in this list), that doesn't mean I think Marinette has problems too, and this episode is a prime example.

Marinette and Adrien go to a wax statue museum with their friends (and Manon), but because of a poor choice of words by Nino, Adrien thinks that Marinette hates him. So he does something that everyone loves, practical jokes.

Adrien seriously thinks that pranking Marinette will improve her opinion of him. Even the prank is ridiculous, pretending to be a wax statue to make her laugh. And it leads to... Oh God... This is easily the contender for one of the worst moments in the entire show. Marinette goes up to the statue and... gets close to it. Yes, we, the audience know that this isn't a statue, but putting that aside, just look at what Marinette does to the “statue” (AUTHOR’S NOTE: I made a gif from the episode, but it wouldn’t go through, so I recommend you check out the episode and watch the statue scene for yourself if you don’t value your sanity). Even Adrien, as dense as he can be, is a little unsettled by what Marinette does.

If the scene was about Marinette talking about her feelings for Adrien, I'd be more lenient on it, but this? This is just uncomfortable to watch.

Even the dialogue makes Marinette sound incredibly creepy.

Marinette: Wow... it looks so... real. The wax is nearly as hot as skin. It even smells exactly like him...! Oh, beautiful statue of Adrien, your wax is so soft! Your yak hair is silky. Your eyes are so green. Oh, shall I be a statue, too! Everything would be so much easier. Why haven't we been molded together in the plaster of destiny? Marble to marble, wax lips against wax lips, entwined for eternity...

I think Gilbert Gottfried said it best.

This scene alone put this episode on the list, and the Akuma doesn't make it better. I really liked “The Puppeteer”, and I thought her ability to control past Akuma victims was incredibly fun to watch. And when she returns to take control of the wax statues of past Akumas they... don't use their powers (with the exception), and serve as cannon fodder for Ladybug and Cat Noir to plow through, making the return of the villain very underwhelming.

Even the end where Adrien tells Marinette that he is in love with someone and only sees her as a friend. This should devastate Marinette, but in the next scene, thanks to some fortune cookie nonsense from Tikki, she's still unsure about her relationship with Adrien, and that's how the episode ends. Seriously. Because just need to keep the status quo consistent, right? It's not like Marinette doubting her crush on Adrien and worrying that she's just wasted her time would have been interesting to see, right? Play that happy ending theme already!

Of all the episodes on this list, this is the one I was dreading talking about the most because of some of the moments here. And yet, there are still episodes that are worse than this one...

Here’s Part 2

[introductions-are-a-spook]

Feedback appreciated!

Maxwell was busy at work in his study. He refused to be confused any longer. Andrew was a suspect, and there was good reason for it. It was high time Maxwell put aside his feelings and started acting like the detective he was.

Throughout the week following their date, Andrew had been seen in several suspicious locations. Apparently he had been walking around near Jennifer McAllen’s manor- the case’s prime suspect- while, oddly enough, being adamantly followed by a black cat.

Later that night Miss McAllen had reported an intruder that fled upon seeing her. Another man, Nikos Antigone, had said he was outright robbed, with force. Odd, ‘Blinker’ didn’t seem the violent type. Neither person had been left the classic note.

Most curiously, Maxwell had received an anonymous yet well written letter, telling him to run away from Andrew and never look back. It had been delivered to his personal mailbox. It isn’t necessarily related to the case, Maxwell thought. Could be a jealous ex-girlfriend.

Wait, jealous of who, him? He was doing it again! Still trying to make him and Andrew out to be something in his mind. Dammit.

There was a sudden knock at the door, startling Maxwell and causing him to drop his pen. His older brother- George's- voice came through the door, asking to come in.

“Oh, now you want permission?” Maxwell snarked at him.

The door opened. “Well, after last week's squirrel incident, I thought you might appreciate the extra privacy.”

“You admitted to having at least one camera in my room that morning. What do you mean, ‘privacy?’”

A second, lighter voice sounded from the doorway, interrupting them both. The second youngest, Casey. “Hey Maxwell! So, Darwin told us you had a second date today? That’s so exciting! Who are they, what do you have planned?”

Maxwell rubbed his eyes, minding the glasses, and huffed. “How did he find out?” he asked in exasperation. “No, it’s none of your business. Now if you all don’t mind-“

“Actually, what time is it? Aren’t you going to be late?”

Maxwell rolled his eyes at Casey and checked his watch. It was almost time, he decided. “Oh, fine, you all win this round,” he said, as he grabbed his coat, wallet, and keys while walking out the door.

~*~

Maxwell drove over to the bakery to find Andrew nowhere in sight. He strode in, where Isabella cleaned up after the last customer and closed up shop.

“Hello Isabella. Is Andrew here?”

“Hello again, Mr. Chapman. Why do you ask?” she gave him a look that could easily have been taken as a smirk.

He snickered. “You of all people should know why.”

She returned a chuckle. “He’s up in his apartment. I think he got a little frantic over his most recent piece.”

“I see,” Maxwell sniffed in amusement, going through the gate that led to the stairs. On the way, he heard the faint plucking of strings, playing the same motif again and again, a little different each time.

There the man sat, holding his violin like a guitar, pizzing away with an austere look on his face. Maxwell covered his smile with a hand and watched, unnoticed, a little longer. The tune was pretty, but it was missing something. And yet, Maxwell may have had just the thing to help.

He cleared his throat, and Andrew jumped up, stammering.

“Oh my god, Maxwell! I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about-”

“Oh shush,” Maxwell spoke, walking over to the upright piano in the corner and running a finger over the keys. “Do you mind if I try something?”

Maxwell noticed that Andrew had not yet looked him in the eye, instead choosing to avert his head. Nevertheless, he nodded, and Maxwell played the theme Andrew had been plucking. A few progression notes and a key change, and the piece was moving forward. He paused. “What do you think?”

“Huh, that was really good! And then maybe this?’ He played the theme, the transition, and the key change, followed by a bridge and then the theme again.

“That does sound nice. Though maybe put the key change toward the end, instead. Like…” He played the whole idea, frowning when he realized it was only half a minute long. “Add a few more phrases, perhaps?”

“Enough to write an entire piece? Well that could take-”

“Not terribly long, if we work together. Besides, this is far more enjoyable than whatever stuffy concert we had planned.” And so the work began. Andrew continued to turn away, and eye contact was still scarce. He had some kind of bandage over the bridge of his nose, but Maxwell couldn’t quite see why. And it was possible that Andrew was catching on to the staring.

So halfway through composing the ninth line, Maxwell leant forward, coarsely taking the man’s chin in his hand. Andrew put his hands up in protest as Maxwell turned his face.

“Good riddance, Andrew, you’ve been avoiding my- oh,” Maxwell stopped short. His tone went from exasperated to concerned in a moment. “Andrew, your nose, it’s broken! Why would you hide this?”

Andrew bashfully pulled away. “It doesn’t matter. I had Isabella look at it, anyway.”

Maxwell huffed. “I'd imagine you’re always terrible at lying under pressure, then. Why did this happen? Who did it?”

“It’s none of your business, quit worrying about it.”

“Andrew, this isn’t like you-“

“What would you know? We barely know each other.”

“Stop it.” Andrew shut up. “Now tell me what happened.”

Andrew took a deep breath and smirked. “Y’know I don’t wanna tell you. Why don’t you use your detective skills and figure it out?”

Maxwell sighed and returned the grin. “Perhaps I will.”

And so the music continued. Maxwell continued to interrogate Andrew about his injury, and had managed to weasel out of him that it had happened four days back. He also mentioned that he was alone when it happened, and Maxwell had a suspicion that there were two perpetrators.

The progress on the music continued, and the two gradually resumed a companionable silence. By nine at night, Andrew had played what he could on the violin, and both took turns on the piano. Still, it wasn’t right. The tune was both bright and whimsical, of which they could only play the first half.

“Perhaps I should mention- We both learned piano for the sake of it, but my true skill lies with the harp. We could arrange it as a duet, but we’d have to do it in my home. It’s simply too much effort to bring it here.”

Andrew laughed. “Show me.”

[robbyrobinson]

OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS: GODS AWAKEN (Pt. XV 

The next day, Hexside opened its doors to begin the school day. Willow was once again at her locker and was withdrawing some of her class books. Gus walked down the hallway and casually glared at the other students. Seeing Willow, he galloped over to her.  

“Morning, Willow,” he said.

Willow smiled. “Good morning.”  

Before he could say anything further, Gus glanced around as if looking for something. “Hey, where’s Luz?” He looked over at the popular clique of girls. “Come to think of it, where’s Amity?”  

“I think it was Eda who got into contact with me about some kind of experiment the two were doing. She said that they would be gone for at least a day or two at worse.”  

Gus’ eyebrow raised in curiosity. “The two of them doing an experiment together?”  

Given how he knew about Amity having feelings for the human girl, one side of him couldn’t help but wonder if she was perhaps experimenting around with chemicals to create the ultimate love potion to give to Luz. He quickly shook that idea from his mind. Sure, one could not deny that Amity was head over heels for Luz, but she wasn’t the type of witch who would play with someone’s free will in that fashion. Even if it pained her for Luz to be seemingly ignorant of her feelings, it would equally pain her to force her to love her.  

Skara and the popular girls caught sight of the two and walked over to them. Typically, seeing the popular kids approaching the “misfits” of the school’s social system would otherwise be a bad omen (befitting the Social Darwinism of the world), but Willow and Gus greeted them with little anxiety.

“Hey, guys,” Skara said, “you guys doing good?”  

“Yes, we are,” Willow said, “we saw your performance on Penstagram last night, it was really good.”  

“Aw, thanks!” Skara proclaimed. “The girls and I were going to go camping out and we thought if you’d like to come?”  

Willow scratched her chin in deep thought. “I could use the occasion to better my talents.”  

It was a bizarre sight. At best, the popular clique of girls would voluntarily grace the two with quick glances, but now, they were having civil conversations with them. It started shortly after the Banshees won against Luz and her friends, but they were graceful enough to compliment Luz and Willow for their teamwork. They would have loved having them on their team too, but Boscha, as the team leader, quickly shut that down. But with the three-eyed girl having been missing for roughly a few weeks, that created enough of a schism that they ingratiated themselves with Luz and the others. With Boscha out of the picture, the girls revealed themselves as not sharing the same malice. One could say that they would be total sweethearts to the trio of misfits if Boscha did not exist.  

“So, you will come?” Skara asked.  

“I will keep it mind,” Willow replied, “but I appreciate the offer.”  

Principal Bump sat at his desk troubled. He tapped his bony fingers on his desk in an effort of figuring out what he could do. He had broken out in a cold sweat with the hairs on his arms and legs sticking up. Starting a few weeks ago, Bump could sense something amiss in the Boiling Isles. An indescribable, inhumane calamity was about to happen, but he was uncertain when it would come. He found himself gawking at the clock on the wall in a daze.  

“Calm down, old man,” he said to himself, “maybe in the few hundred years I may’ve misinterpreted the signs.”  

He picked himself out of his chair and opened the door to his office. Goggling around, things continued to appear to be of order at the school. Relieved, Principal Bump stepped out of the door and trudged down the hall. He ended up seeing the Abomination Teacher talking with another teacher.  

“Aw, Principal Bump! What is the occasion?”  

“Oh, nothing,” Principal Bump answered, “I was actually on my way to the library.”  

Principal Bump turned to leave. “You seem to have a lot on your mind.”  

Principal Bump chuckled and placed his hand behind the back of his head. “Oh, it’s just about this year’s curriculum is all.”  

The Abomination Teacher glared at him. “What about it?”  

Principal Bump staggered for answers. “Uh...something about the...lunch choices?” He picked up the pace without staring at the teacher again. “I’ll announce it later.”  

The Abomination Teacher shrugged and head his way down the opposite side of the hall. Principal Bump arrived in the library already seeing that a few students were there to study or conduct research. He advanced towards the chief librarian’s desk. The librarian was an aged turtle with glasses and chains to keep them from falling down.  

“Ah, Principal Bump,” she said, “what brings you here?”  

He had a stern look on his face. “I am sure that you know why I am here.”  

As she was a turtle, the reptile took longer time to digest the brevity of the situation and slowly pushed herself out of her chair. “Follow me.”  

Principal Bump groaned to himself, but he decided to follow the ancient beast anyway. The librarian wobbled on her short, stubby legs and clutched her cane to keep herself from falling on the ground. One instance, she fell on her back and remained in that defenseless state for a whole day. “Is your week going good?”  

“Oh, it is,” Principal Bump lied, “just that I feel that some horrible force of evil is going to arrive at any minute as we speak.”  

“Right, I completely understand,” the turtle replied, “steamed roots gives me gas.”  

The turtle neared a book case and paused for a moment. Her heavy beak opened and closed. The loose skin on her arm vibrated when she reached for one of the books. Her claws withdrew a book, and she slid it out between two other books.  

“Oh, would you look at that?” she asked “it’s the story of Otabin. Have you ever read it?”  

Principal Bump face palmed. “Yes, I have; 65 years ago.” He stomped his foot impatiently. “Please, just hurry.”  

“I’m going as far as I can,” she interjected.  

Once the book was removed from its shelf, the ground shook. The middle of the case descended to reveal a secret door behind it. The turtle librarian lifted her finger in the air and swirled it. Fire formed above her finger to which she cast it into the entrance. The fire was that of a living creature with a mind of its own. It danced in the darkness of the secret room and jumped onto a series of torches. It gracefully plopped itself over the tops of the torches and lit them.  

“Oh, I remember that it was lunch time,” the turtle librarian announced, “I’m going to head back; if you need anything, call me.”  

“I will, thank you kindly,” Principal Bump replied. “Having steamed cabbage again?”  

The librarian chuckled. “It either eats me or I eat it.”  

She turned around to reveal the faded colors on the back of her shell. Much like Bump, she was an old soul in the Boiling Isles. So old enough, in fact, the library was built over her. The library was her home; she was familiar with every scrap of information native to the demon realm but ironically was unfamiliar with what happened outside of her sanctuary.  

Principal Bump followed the lit torches down the hidden room. Cobwebs lined the wall and floors of the ancient halls. Taking a left, Principal Bump came upon a room containing ancient objects and artifacts. Spears and clubs. Torture devices such as ones designed to rip off fingernails or iron maidens. Even the bones of prehistoric anomalies alongside cases of animals forever asleep in jars filled with an entombing substance. Claws and teeth on shelves and basilisks and bowls meant to collect the contaminated blood of the victims of the basilisk’s deadly bite.  

“I see that the turtle didn’t tidy this place up in years,” Principal Bump noted.  

He skewered the room for the item of his inquiry. In the right side of the room was a desk made out of a petrified wood. Curious, he walked over and sat down on the chair. The splinters were poking into Principal Bump’s rear. He bit his tongue to keep from hissing. He sat there for a few seconds to allow the pain to fizzle out. Opening a drawer, Principal Bump allowed a slight smirk. He reached his hand into the drawer to obtain the object.  

It was a book of indescribable size. The cover of the book possessed a bumpy, leather texture of some unknown material. Principal Bump held it with both of his hands and took a deep breath. “The Necronomicon; I never thought in my lifetime that I would face this book again.”  

The Necronomicon; an ancient, dreaded piece of literature detailing information that no one – not mankind, or witch kind – should know. Information of the gods of old and where they once trekked and where they will once more. Spells of how to raise the dead and of essential salts. This book, baptized in a dark, malevolent evil, was one of a few copies of the original iteration of the book that was made thousands of years ago by the savior of the Boiling Isles when she sensed that Nyarlathotep could likely return to the Isles to bring it back to its days of chaos.  

He slipped the book into his cloak’s pocket and turned to leave the macabre room. He had feared the worst: the very idea that someone or something managed to find his copy of the Necronomicon and intend on using it for their own nefarious purposes unsettled him greatly. As far as he was concerned, he could have sworn that other copies of the decrepit texts were purged during the time of the Savage Ages. The hooded figure had appointed several disciples with taking copies of the Necronomicon and distributing them to the furthest regions of the Boiling Isles. Generation after generation, witches passed down the task of protecting a copy of the book and taught the next generation of the dark magic.

As Principal Bump traversed down the hall, the school day was about to begin. Once more, everything seemed to be running smoothly, but something about it was growing unsettling. Everything was going too perfectly. Principal Bump’s trudging ceased to a stop.  

Voom. Voom...voom..

A tremor shook the foundations of the school threatening to collapse. Cracks formed on the ceiling. Powdery balls sprinkled down accompanied by larger chunks of the ceiling caving in. Debris fell from the ceiling in the direction of some of the students.  

“Look out!” Principal Bump yelled.  

He swirled his finger and a green aura came out of his fingertip. Before the debris could fall on a group of students, he caught it with a shield made of the same aura. “Get out from under it before I lose grip of it!”  

The students obeyed and fled. With them gone, Principal Bump dropped the piece of the ceiling, shattering it on the floor. At first relieved, from the corner of his eye, series of cracks formed on the ceiling. He repeated the magical spell, temporarily using it as a glue to hold the ceiling for as long as his elderly body could muster.  

“Where did that quake come from?” Gus yelled.

“I have no idea,” Willow replied, “we may have to evacuate the school to avoid being buried alive.”  

A blast of magic blew the entrance of the school off its hinges. The figure was initially unrecognizable from the thick smoke, but some students could vaguely make out who it was.”  

“Hello, all! Your star has arrived!”  

That voice. That bossy, demanding, condescending voice. The type of voice that would pierce your brain and throw you through the wringer. The smoke clearing away only made it more evident who it was.  

“Boscha?” Skara announced. “Girl, where have you been?”  

Boscha staggered herself into the school with her crutches. “Yeah, it’s me.”  

She locked her three eyes on Willow. “Hello again, half-a-witch.”  

Unnerved by the deathly coldness of her words, Willow spoke up. “Now Boscha, I want you to know that I had no intention of breaking your leg.”  

Boscha held one of her crutches up and pointed it at her. “I don’t need any explanation from the likes of you.”  

Willow noticed someone standing beside Boscha, a man she did not recognize. A tall man, roughly around six feet, and short black hair and a finely groomed mustache. He wore a classy uniform comprised of a dark black color. He had a vastness to him, most assuredly originating from his eyes. He struck Willow as a man who was always inquisitive and knowledgeable. He held out his hand to the three-eyed girl.  

“Wait, dear protégé, remember what I told you.”  

Boscha glared at him. “But you promised me that you’d help me get revenge on Willow.”  

“There will come a time for that, I assure you, but may I remind you that we are here for one thing in particular?”  

Boscha sighed. “Fine.”  

Principal Bump took out a whistle and blew it. Within minutes, the guards arrived to detain the two. Principal Bump then ran in the opposite direction to avoid confrontation. The tall man chuckled in his monotonous tone and walked forward. He moved around gracefully like a swan his feet barely touching the ground. He hummed a tune to himself when the first guard made a grab at him. The man lifted his finger to the ceiling and without the guard having time to respond, he levitated the man and held him in the air for a few seconds.  

“I apologize for the abruptness of my arrival, but I have an important date with your principal, so...”  

He snapped his fingers and pitched the guard towards the lockers. The lockers shifted and contorted by the time the guard hit them. Instead of a hard metal, they were replaced with a clay-like substance. He sank deeper into the wet, squishy goo until only his chest and face stuck out. The man snapped his fingers again and returned the texture of the lockers to their metallic selves. The guard grunted and pulled but he was deeply wedged in the lockers.  

He continued his uninterrupted waltz down the halls casually lifting the guards into the air and smashing them together to make them unconscious. The tall man continued to chuckle in the likeness of a hyena whilst carelessly pummeling legions of guards and tossing them into a pile. Making his way down the hall, he turned to look at his apprentice.  

“Make sure that no one leaves until I have received what I wanted.” He could see that Principal Bump boarded himself in his office. “This could take a while.”  

Boscha nodded and held her crutch out to direct the students. She forces them to huddle in the halls and demands them to sit. “I have been gone for a long time, you know.”  

She eyed her classmates to see if they would respond. “I cannot even begin to think this is the same school; I have been away for a long time, but with my mentor’s help, I can bring the school back to its glory days.”  

She noticed her rival and walked over to her to get down on her level. “Don’t think that the moment he allows me to enact my revenge that I will go easy on you.”  

“What is it that you are suggesting, Boscha?” Willow asked. The half-witch spoke in a tone of utter defiance mixed in with annoyance. In some ways, she practically celebrated when she first heard that Boscha was missing. In fact, rumors had spread claiming that she was eaten by some monster. She knew it was too good to be true, but at the least she was having a field day of believing that she was free from her harassment.  

“Much like how Amity did a duel with round eyes at that convention, I want to challenge you to a witches duel,” Boscha explained, “the loser becomes the punching bag for the rest of their lives.”  

Willow rolled her eyes clearly not wanting to humor Boscha’s challenge. “If I win, will you not only leave me and my friends alone, but be forced to accept defeat?”  

Boscha snickered in her typical superior way. “It’s not like you’d win, but if you want to die slower, it is a fair idea.”  

Willow extended her hand so they could finalize the deal, but Boscha pulled out her purple scroll and browsed it. “My teacher always complained that I am rotting by brain by looking at my account, but his old butt doesn’t know a thing about how the Isles changed.”  

She looked through the posts. “How is Amity?”  

“She is with Luz now,” Willow mentioned passively, “they are doing...some odd experiment.”  

“What does that human trash have that I don’t?” Boscha asked. She did not really anticipate an answer as it was more of a rhetorical rambling on her part. “Amity had gotten soft because of hanging out with you losers.”

Willow shrugged. “I don’t know...maybe because Luz is nice to her?”  

Boscha ignored her response and paused on a picture. She brought the scroll down to Willow’s eye level. It was a picture of Skara and the others attending Cat’s birthday party. Willow, Luz, and Gus were there. “How in Titan’s name did you lame-os get invited anyway?”  

“Skara invited us,” Gus said.  

The three-eyed girls looked at Skara with scorn. “You’re friends with these losers now?”  

Skara shook her head. “They’re not losers, they’re pretty cool.”  

Skara took her bag and slipped out a flower that had a face similar to hers. “Willow made this for me.”  

Boscha grabbed the flower and set it on fire. “You are sacrificing your social life for this nonsense!?” She face palmed and took a deep breath. “What else happened while I was away?”  

Principal Bump cowered behind his desk but he also had a vase in his hand. He held it firmly between his hands. “I order you to leave the school at once!”  

The man chuckled from outside the door. “So you are expelling me, old man?”  

“I am warning you, if you don’t leave, I’ll...I’ll...”  

The tall, lanky man was already standing in the room.  

“Now, enough tomfoolery and let’s get to business.”  

He sat in a chair paralleled with Principal Bump’s desk and held his hands up in a dipping motion. He intertwined his fingers before placing his chin on top. He stared at Principal Bump in a mockingly affectionate expression. “It’s been...how many years now, Mr. Bump?”  

Mr. Bump did not say anything at first due to the dread causing his stomach to churn loudly. “What do you want, Nyarlathotep?”  

Nyarlathotep chuckled in his deep voice. “My dear man, you of all people should have known already that I would be back.”  

“If it is the Necronomicon you are seeking,” Principal Bump started, “I will have you know that the one page detailing the incantation to release your powers – page 217 – had been removed from every copy of the Necronomicon including the one that I was assigned with protecting.”  

Nyarlathotep leaned back in his chair, gripping his chest. “You wound me immeasurably, old boy. But I must be the bearer of bad news.” He seized Principal Bump’s mug and drank the hot contents inside of it before speaking again. “I am well aware that you are hiding a secret from me.”  

Principal Bump leaned forward. “Oh? Pray tell me what it is.”  

“Since my return, I have been studying up on a few archives of the Isles,” Nyarlathotep explained, “and I discovered a lovely little monster.”  

“I don’t like where this is going,” Principal Bump stated.  

Nyarlathotep grinned. “Precisely; I am sure you are familiar with Grometheus the Fear Bringer?”  

Principal Bump tensed up. That terrible, blob abomination that every year they had to elect a Grom Queen to fight against it. An entity that could masquerade as the worst fears of its victims with the threat of its release spelling devastation for the denizens of the Boiling Isles. Months back, Grometheus was already bested. For Nyarlathotep to threaten to unleash this unholy beast, Bump shook his head.  

“You can’t be serious?”  

Nyarlathotep kept his grin pasted on his face. “I am afraid, old boy, that I am not bluffing.”  

Principal Bump stammered. “But that beast could probably kill everyone on the Isles if you do such a thing.”  

He clasped his hands together in a praying motion. “Please, Crawling Chaos, do not; please do not harm any of the students.”  

Nyarlathotep gasped. “Oh, you worry your silly little head there, good sir; not one hair on their precious little heads will be disheveled.”  

Principal Bump sighed in relief.  

“As I am sure you can see, I am a fairly busy man,” Nyarlathotep explained, “we are both men in this scenario; I have been around making deals, biding time and drinking apple blood, the usual rendezvous.”  

He leaned in again to stare at Principal Bump. “We are both reasonable; let me cut to the chase: I know that you have some ally on the Earth realm, and I would hope that you’d enlighten me on their whereabouts?”  

“But I have made an oath years ago to protect the Necronomicon.”  

Nyarlathotep raised an eyebrow. “I will present you with two events: either Grometheus is free to stretch his legs again and ravage and sow endless nightmares on you and your students; or subsequently, there lies a world where I receive the information I desire and you and your students will be safe and they will further their education unharmed.”  

Principal Bump scratched his chin. “And I can trust you at your word?”  

Nyarlathotep nodded. “Of course; shall we shake on it?”  

Wary, Principal Bump extended his right hand and shook Nyarlathotep’s. Unbeknownst to him, Nyarlathotep had crossed the fingers of his other hand.  

Boscha waited impatiently for her master’s return. He walked out with his smile even wider than before. She trudged towards him with her crutches. “What is the plan?”  

“Once Miss Blight arrives with the Necronomicon containing the incantation for my powers, everything will change on the Isles.”  

Boscha smiled. “So you’re going to rule the Isles again?”  

Boscha’s smile dropped when she heard what her mentor said next.  

“No; this world had grown ungrateful of the sacrifices I had given for them in order for them to perform magic. This world will be wiped clean and from there shall come a blank slate. From there, I will create a group of people who will have no inclination of resistance for they will not know about the insolence of the old generation. They shall become my people and I will become their god.”  

Boscha almost fell backward. “But what about me?”  

Nyarlathotep pet her shoulder. “You will be by my side as my acolyte. We shall watch together as this world dies and is blown away like dust in the wind.”  

Boscha looked down to think. “But you promised me that I could get my revenge.”  

Nyarlathotep held his hand up. “You can still have it; this world’s destruction will be imminent, but I do love a good duel.”  

As they existed through the gaping hole that used to be the entrance, Nyarlathotep turned to face his protégé. “Did you keep the debris from falling?”  

“Well, thanks to some of the power you gave me, sure,” Boscha replied, “but would it be better to just have it fall?”  

“Boscha, Boscha, that would be wasting time that you could have preparing for your fight. But, please, do create a mirror field around the school. We wouldn’t want to have anyone potentially foiling our plans.”  

The three-eyed girl nodded and held her hands out. Glass began to form around the outer portion of Hexside. Before long, the glass completely encased the school. One of the students ran towards the entrance only to bounce off the glass. “We’re stuck!”  

Nyarlathotep chuckled. “That is how it felt to be trapped in glass for thousands of years; it gives you such displeasure.”  

Boscha looked at the school. “Why this?”  

“Much like observing a mouse in a vivarium to study, the students and faculty will be trapped, desperately searching for a way out of their maze, but all points lead to a dead end.”  

With that, the two made a leave for Belos’ empire.

[greatworldwar2]

• Australian Volunteer Air Observers Corps

The Volunteer Air Observers Corps (VAOC) was an Australian air defence organisation of World War Two. The VAOC was formed to support the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) with its roles of sighting and observing aircraft over Australia.

The total Australian coastline is some 60000 km long and littered with no less than 8222 minor islands making it very vulnerable to attack from every point of the compass. The surprise attack on the US Fleet at Pearl Harbour with the simultaneous and rapid advancement of the Japanese Imperial Army across the South Pacific in late 1941 was a shock to Australian citizens. The Federal Government appointed the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) as responsible for developing an effective early warning system against attack. Prior to the War, the RAAF was small enough for all its elements to be directly controlled by Headquarters based in Melbourne with its main base at Point Cook. The Southern Area Command was one of several geographically based subdivisions raised during WW2.

Planning had commenced earlier but on Christmas Day 1941 the serving members of the Australian Air Board met to examine the current war situation. They sent a signal later that day instructing that the Volunteer Air Observers Corp (VAOC) was to be urgently organised with the objective of establishing Observation Posts (OP) manned by civilian volunteers. The VAOC were to maintain a 24-hour watch along the coast from Cairns in Queensland to Ceduna in South Australia and from Albany to Geraldton in Western Australia with rings of observations posts at a radius of 50 miles and 100 miles around Townsville, Brisbane, Newcastle, Sydney, Melbourne, Hobart, Adelaide and Perth. Observation Posts along the coast were also required to report shipping and submarine sightings as well as provide weather reports twice daily for the RAAF. There was every expectation that Australia would also be subject to air-raids of the intensity endured by Britain during the Blitz. By the time Darwin was bombed the VAOC was not yet operational, but by the time of the Japanese raids on Queensland targets like Cairns, Rockhampton and Townsville in 1942 thousands of VAOC volunteers were in place. These were in addition to Australian military Coastwatchers on small islands.

Australia had few fighters capable of intercepting the Japanese early in the war. In 1941 many Australians had never seen an aircraft or at least not close up. So the rapid establishment of a nationwide grid of Observation Posts involving thousands of civilian volunteers often in remote areas who needed to be enlisted and trained to recognise, identify and report and describe the activity of aircraft in flight was an outstanding achievement. The system was dependent on a dependable communications network, something that did not exist at the time. In 1941 the rudimentary telephone line operated by the Post Masters General (PMG) reached into population areas like major cities but not the outback or many areas of remote coast. The very first Operational Post opened at Bairnsdale in Victoria on December 26th, 1941, one day after the decision of the Air Board to operate a volunteer corp. Bairnsdale was already a busy RAAF operational training airfield at the time.

In Australian airspace by late 1943 there were thousands of aircraft movement every day with the combined USAAF and RAAF flights as well as civilian and commercial flights. All of this was tracked and plotted manually with the assistance of the VAOC in the field recording the numbers and aircraft type, speed, elevation and their direction. Flights could last several hours and transit two or more States and were tracked across borders. The air observers were unable to make direct contact with aircraft by radio but sometimes signalled using lights and lanterns.

Sufficient information was released to the media to encourage community members to attend meetings to hear of the VAOC. It was made clear that even though they were volunteers the commitment was for the duration of the War. Much of the work fell to Squadron Leader J. V. Gray who travelled extensively to not only establish the network but recruit and support the VAOC volunteers. The RAAF also approached universities and high schools to seek new recruits. Local councils played an important role in coordination with the townsfolk, identifying good Observation Post sites and often supplying facilities. Shortage of equipment such as binoculars was a perennial problem and owners were required to declare them to the Government under a National Security Order. Most of the cost of maintaining the Observation Posts fell to the volunteers. Significantly, the volunteers were mostly women from rural areas.

By May 1942 the VAOC was controlled by the Directorate of Pursuit, Fighter Sector Headquarters of Allied Command. There were four levels of the VAOC structure (2656 Observation Posts, 39 regional Zone Controls, 6 State Air Sectors based in each capitol city and the RAAF Air Defence HQ in Brisbane). The VAOC operated under the command of the RAAF as an auxiliary arm but unlike the Royal Observer Corp in Britain members of Australia's Volunteer Air Observer Corp were not required to wear a uniform. They only received a blue armband and later a small blue lapel pin for identification. In addition to permanent Observation Post (OP), there were a number of Reporting Posts (RP) on a station homestead or farm house where the occupant devoted as much time as they were able to the task of reporting aircraft movements. Each VAOC spotter had their own unique Code Name. Volunteers in Observation Posts reported aircraft movements to a Zone Control situated in a regional city or town. There were 39 Zone Controls centres across the Australia with differing numbers in each state depending on its size. Some Observation Posts were very busy, depending on their location. The one at Wamberal on the NSW coast near Gosford recorded 38,476 aircraft of 80 different types over a three-year period to February 1945.

Training required skills in aircraft identification, radio use, Morse code, map reading, weather reporting. All this had to be achieved rapidly for volunteers who in many cases have never seen a real aircraft before, at least not close up. The demand for scale models and silhouette identification cards for the increasing types of aircraft that flew the skies particularly after the USAAF arrived in great numbers could not keep up. State and national recognition competitions where prizes were awarded were popular to hone skills. Because of the nature of their work following the movements of allied aircraft VAOC members were often the first to know about forced landings and crashes.

Each 24-hour Observation Post ideally required about 100 observers to cover all the daily and night shifts. Records of volunteers were poorly kept and estimates range from 24000 to nearly 220000 people were involved at all levels by its peak in 1944. Volunteers worked across at all levels of the organisation from the 2656 Observation Posts, 39 Zone Controls through to six Air Sectors in the capital cities. After the end of the war, the VAOC was reduced to a cadre in December 1945 and was disbanded on April 10th, 1946. The true scope of the VAOC was never revealed to the Australian public and the organisation was hastily dismantled by the RAAF at the conclusion of the war. Of the thousands of VAOC Observation Posts there are only a few small memorials at Tallangatta, Lorne and Anglesea in Victoria, Wamberal near Gosford in NSW, Cleve in SA and Horn Island off Cape York in Queensland. The Volunteer Air Observers received a small blue lapel pin and a certificate of recognition and quietly went back to their lives leaving their amazing stories largely untold.

[shepardingthegalaxy]

Gimme 9, 16 and 26 :3

Finally getting to this (I’m so sorry ):<<<)

Vato

9)      What makes them, them?

It’s the little things, ultimately. On the surface, Vato is just like any other merc fresh from the streets. Wears a face that screams “fuck you,” knuckles pale from always being at the ready—always prepared to jump on the next target, and always a slight ache in the shoulders, right near the base of his neck—mind full and fixated on the possibility of something going awry.

Peel back the skin a layer though, and there’s more. That itch to get up and sway his hips at the drop of a beat, the warmth of the sun on his skin during those rare moments where the rays aren’t obscured by the concrete edifices surrounding him, and the way his heart sings when Kerry wraps himself around his waist when it’s just the two of them, with nothing better to do than spend the day in bed together. It’s the way silly dreams about ascending into the starry void of space makes his heart race with excitement—images of unknown worlds and beings flashing across his mind’s eye. It’s the way that his ambitions still flourish in a city where they are constantly being buried and denied. It’s that relentless determination to reach out—even when there is no hand in sight—that unbroken capacity for hope for better, one that any merc in their right mind would have maimed years ago. That’s what reveals itself, even in his most horrific of scars. That’s how the end of a cycle is born.

16)   Do they have a lot of expectations/pressure on them from family to do great?

In one respect, yes. His family is just waiting for the day that he becomes as merciless and cruel as they. That he falls into the exact same pit each and every generation has been systemically molded to fall into. The same viciousness that hold up the towering monuments that are the corporate powers of Night City exist within even the lowest trenches, and darkest holes of the streets. Doing “great” in their eyes is upholding working class Darwinism, to find every opportunity to screw someone over in order to take their advantages as their own. Redefining his identity has clashed with these expectations, however…

26)   Have they ever hurt a friend or lost one?

Yes. Too often to even want to think back on it. Fucking over friends is just about as integral to his line of work as breathing is to his survival—it’s unavoidable. Unfortunately being raised primarily by an unaffectionate parent has also extended this tendency to hurt others in order to get ahead to even his relatives from time to time. It is a behavior he’s actively trying to expel, but one that has garnered so much trauma in the process.

[seeksstaronmewni]

Cartoonber 2020 sketches I did for @cartoonnetwork ... apparently rejected for some reason (Too scary? Too good-looking? Posted too late? Not “woke” enough?)

At first, I assumed that they wanted something spooky from a certain episode of CN programming, but I tried to be more original or not as shot-accurate with some of ‘em. I remembered to tag #Cartoonber2020 ON PURPOSE, and they have little respect for the cartoon cartoons of the past.

Cartoon Network shows I drew for them to like/share:

Dexter’s Laboratory - “Monstory”, boarded by @donshank

Teen Titans GO! - “The Metric System vs. Freedom” (that was actually pretty hard to draw, given the graphic detail... always felt like that was kind of gross)

Regular Show - Muscle Man as Frankenstein’s monster (I always thought that he looked like him; you know?)

A Pup Named Scooby-Doo! - “The Story Stick” (This was the best Scooby-Doo series because they did the craziest wild takes back then)

The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack - “How The West was Fun” (What happens when you ingested too much seawater. Alt tweet)

The Powerpuff Girls - “Boogie Frights” (The Boogie Man is just too cool not to draw. I drew him the way @chrisbattleart would, though it might’ve been @andybialk​ . Boarded by Paul Rudish)

Looney Tunes/Merry Melodies - “The Old Grey Hare” (Graves are spooky sights. Right? Can’t believe that I couldn’t find this online in public domain. I tried drawing this like layout, as inspired by @kalikazoo’s art)

Chowder - “Cream Puff Hands” (As if anyone’s going to remember that hilarious visual gag)

The Amazing World of Gumball - Gumball as Samurai Jack (at least Samurai Jack: Battle for Time’s official game team liked it! I was going to add Darwin as Ashi, though Penny would make more sense.)

Tom and Jerry - “Kitty Foiled” (The exact same description for “The Old Grey Hare” aforementioned applies to this too. Again, I tried to draw it like a layout artist, being slightly more graphic on the design than the original to feel more like a Spumco layout man.)

Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends - “BLOOOO” (You remember how that episode ended. Don’t you?)

Here’s the pencil layout I did for my Regular Show drawing. I’d like to get less rough pencil lines/residue...

oh, and, in case you remember not that Foster’s episode I was talking about...

[saxxxology]

What Goes Bump in the Night - 4

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Series Masterlist

Read the entire series on Patreon for just $3

Sam takes you on a short tour of the house the following morning. The living room and dining room you’ve already seen, but he shows you the library, the writing room, and the kitchen. The basement door is large, wide enough to fit four Sam-sized men shoulder to shoulder. The same sigil Sam bears is carved at chest height, lined with red paint to make it all the more obvious that it’s a room not to be entered by any ordinary person. There’s a heavy chain and padlock on the door, evidently put there to keep any over-curious persons out. 

Sam tells you that he’ll be back by late afternoon and leaves you standing in the living room, still dressed in your nightgown. You’re alone with the entire house and grounds to yourself.

You spend most of the day in the library, poring over the books that you can reach. Most of them are science-related, and it takes a while for you to find something illustrated that you can follow. The title reads On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, written by Charles Darwin. 

By the time the sun dips below the horizon, you’re starting to grow tired. All you’ve eaten is a slice of bread and an apple, and you’re longing for some of the perfectly cooked meat you’d enjoyed the night before. Sleep is quick to take over, however, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep, Darwin’s book open on your stomach.

Sam, Dean, and John get home just before dinnertime. The first place Sam checks for you is the library. John and Dean stop dead in their tracks when they see you stretched out on the couch, fast asleep with one of the most complex books of the century open on your lap. Sam, on the other hand, feels his heart warm at the sight. It’s a strange feeling he’s not sure he’s comfortable with.

“Ahh, the bitch can read,” John mutters.

Sam bristles at the insult, but replies with a level tone. “I wasn’t aware she could. Much less Darwin, at any rate.” He steps towards the couch, closing the book before lifting your sleeping body into his arms. “I’ll take her upstairs,” he says, “keep her out of our way while we work.”

***

You wake up in Sam’s bed. He’s sitting beside you, dressed in his usual nightshirt, newspaper open on his lap. He feels you move and looks down, smiling.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs. “It’s later. I’ve brought you something to eat.”

You stretch and look over at the table. It’s not much, just a bowl of what looks like soup, some bread, and a cup of tea. The same as the night he’d brought you home. “What time is it?”

Sam glances at the nightstand clock. “Nearly ten. You’ve been asleep since I got back a few hours ago. Did you have a good day?”

You shrug and sit up. “Just read, mostly. I didn’t think I’d fall asleep.” 

Sam chuckles and holds up the book as you climb out of bed. “I brought the book up, if you enjoyed reading it.”

You spoon soup into your mouth and chew slowly. “Thank you.”

His nostrils flare, and for a second, you see his eyes soften. “You’re welcome,” he replies. “How did you learn to read in the first place? Most Omegas don’t get an education.”

“Had to,” you reply quietly, “living on the streets was hard, but I didn’t have much to do. Sometimes I’d sneak copies of the newspaper and practice, and I knew enough from when my mother used to read to me.”

Sam notices your eyes grow foggy at the mention of your mother. “When did she die?”

“When I was five. She got sick with a fever and died two days later.” you swallow thickly and look down at your hands. “I haven’t thought about her in a long time.”

Sam sighs heavily. “My mother died too. I was six months old, I don’t remember her. I don’t even have a picture.” He issues a soft chuckle. “Guess I have more in common with you than I thought.”

You silently finish eating and retreat to the bathroom to clean your teeth. Sam follows, stepping into your place after you’ve washed your face and twisted your hair into a braid. He comes back to bed and climbs in beside you, reaching for the book. 

“Where did you leave off?” he asks, “I can read to you, if you’d like.”

You’re slightly taken aback by the sudden kindness. It’s strange, you’re used to him being rough and callous, more of a bully than a caring mate. Nevertheless, you slip the covers over your shoulders and give a short nod. “Yes, please.”

He opens the book to where you’d left off and begins reading. His voice is soothing, and you close your eyes, listening for several minutes as he reads slowly and clearly.

Sam only gets five pages in before you’re asleep again. He marks the page, sets the book on the nightstand, and turns out the light before lying down. Slowly, so as not to wake you, he shifts closer, laying his head on your pillow. You instinctively snuggle close in your sleep, and he chuckles softly through his nose. 

“Sleep well, Omega,” he whispers. 

***

You adjust to life at the Winchester house rather quickly. Sam and his family work a lot, more often than not late into the night, but Sam always makes time for you before you go to sleep. You find that Sam reading to you is more comforting than anything, and it becomes a routing for you to wake alone, spend your day reading or walking in the gardens (which happen to be quite full of fragrant herbs and fruit trees), and be with Sam for a brief, tense time after the sun goes down. 

On the fifth night of your stay, you’re woken by the sound of a gate creaking open. Sam’s not in bed, and his spot is cold. Voices echo from the courtyard, and you slip out of bed and go to the window, peering down into the back garden. 

All three men are awake and fully dressed. Two other men stand with them, conversing urgently in low voices. There’s a horse-drawn cart in the middle of the lane, and something in the back is covered in a thick, black blanket. John steps forward, lifts a corner of the blanket, and peers inside. It’s too dark to see the expression on his face, but you know the situation is urgent. 

He motions for the boys to lift what lies underneath the blanket onto a large stretcher. It takes both of them, plus the two other men, to lift it. They disappear under the terrace, and you hear the back door open, the sound of feet shuffling, and then the door closing. 

Suddenly afraid, you slip back into bed. Sam’s told you that the family dwells in the darker areas of science, but what had lain underneath the cart was large, evidently bigger than Sam, who stands several inches above almost everybody else you’ve ever seen. 

You draw the covers up as the voices rise, then fall. The back door closes, and minutes later, you hear the sound of the cart rolling down the gravel path, and the screech of the iron gates as they close.

Sam doesn’t come back to bed.

***

Two weeks after you come to stay at the Winchester house, the three men are set to go to a party. Sam tries to explain what it is, and you eventually gather that it's more of a dinner for fellow scientists than an actual party. He warns that he’ll be back late and not to wait up for him. The sun’s already down by the time the trio leaves, and there’s not much else to do than eat a quick dinner, take a bath, and go to sleep. You leave the oil lamp on; you always do if Sam’s not there with you.

You’re awoken in the early hours of the morning by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Footsteps hit heavy on the stairs, and moments later, the door swings open. Sam stumbles in, his shirt half untucked, one shoulder of his jacket ripped. His lower lip is split, too. He’s been fighting.

“‘Mega.” He’s drunk. You can smell the liquor on him.

“Sam.” You tense as he approaches the bed. “D-did you have a good time?”

He grumbles and crawls onto the mattress, watching you like a tiger stalking its prey. Without warning, he pulls the covers off your body, grabs your ankles, and drags you down underneath him. His hands slide up under your nightdress, brazenly grabbing handfuls of your ass as he ruts himself between your legs. He’s half-hard, you can feel the line of his half-hard dick pressing through his pants.

“Sam,” you try to struggle out from underneath him, “don’t, please...”

“Shut… up…” his voice is a slurred mess; he’s probably so far gone he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. 

He lets out a groan and settles over you, one leg between your thighs. His hips push against your belly, grinding in unsteady, lust-driven movements. The sounds leaving his throat are more like an animal’s, and you close your eyes, letting him take control. 

Fortunately, Sam’s inebriation takes over, and with a final shove of his hips against your body, he goes still, snores filling the room mere seconds later.

He’s passed out.

You slide out of the bed, trying to keep your sobs quiet. You need to get out, to get somewhere where Sam can never find you again. Racing down the staircase, you head straight towards the front door, not caring if you’re barefoot. You grab hold of the handle and yank. 

Locked. 

“Well, well, well…”

Dean’s deep purr of a voice echoes behind you. You whirl around to see him slowly sauntering towards you. He’s got a bruised cheekbone and a small cut on the bridge of his nose. He’s obviously been fighting as well. 

“Dean,” you choke his name, “please, don’t—”

“Don’t… what?” He bites his lower lip, smirking as he draws closer. “Why’re you tryin’ to sneak out, pretty ‘mega?”

“I—” you choke as he cups your cheek with one hand, “I was j-just—”

“‘J-j-just.’” Dean mocks you, his mouth curving into a pout. You blink more tears out of your eyes, and he smirks wickedly, brushing your disheveled hair out of your face to expose the column of your neck. He wraps his hand around the back, his fingers curling into the hair at the base of your skull. “What,” he says again, “were you doin’? Hopefully not tryin’ to sneak out.”

“Sa-Sam, he…” you weep, suddenly aware of how badly you’re shaking, “he t-tried to… I don’t know...”

Dean clicks his tongue in mock sympathy. “Just a boy tryin’ to make his claim, ‘mega… it’s takin’ him a goddamn long time to make you his, it’s startin’ to make me wonder…”

You swallow, trying to keep yourself from emptying your stomach. “W-what?”

“If he’s not gonna do it,” Dean growls, “he’s leavin’ you up for me… or even our father.” He grips your hair, hard, and you can’t stop the loud whimper that leaves your lips. “My brother may have bought you, but as long as you don’t have that pretty little claim mark, you belong to all of us. Do you understand?”

You nod rapidly. You don’t know what’s scaring you more, the threat of rape from three Alphas or the lack of instinctual sympathy that Dean’s supposed to be having to your tears. “P-please… let me go, you’re hurting me.”

Dean smirks. “Just… one little thing, before I do.” He leans in and scents the the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He tips his head back, blowing air through his lips, and then releases you. “Go,” he orders, “don’t let me catch you tryin’ to sneak out again, pretty girl.”

You scamper back towards the stairs, tripping through the darkness as you head back to the room where Sam may or may not still be unconscious. 

He’s still spread out on the bed, snoring. You slide back under the covers, muffling your sobs with a pillow. You thought Sam was done being mean. You’ve gotten so caught up in his careful treatment of you over the last few days that you’ve forgotten what he is at his core: an Alpha male who has yet to claim you as a mate. If he’d been less intoxicated, he might have succeeded in his primal drive.

You don’t know how long it takes for you to fall asleep. All you remember is taking one last shuddering breath before passing out, curled up against the headboard.

***

You wake the following morning to the sound of Sam groaning in apparent discomfort. Opening one eye, you see Sam stumbling around the room, trying to get his clothes off. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, and his jaw is slack. He sees you stir and lets out a short grunt. 

“Morning,” he grumbles, “did you sleep well?”

You nod, hoping he’s too hungover to notice your hesitance. “Yes.”

“Good.” He sits down on the end of the bed and rubs his face. “God, my head…”

You’re too skittish to offer any form of comfort. The memory of his hands on you, his heavy weight as he rutted his cock against you, is still too close for you to be okay touching him. “Did you get in a fight?”

He nods. “Yeah… happens every year, ‘s nothin’ new.”

You swallow, pulling your knees up to your chest. Your eyes are puffy and sting when you blink. “Do you remember coming back?”

Sam shakes his head. “No… I just remember Dean pullin’ me off some guy and then nothing.” He turns to look at you and notices the dark circles under your eyes. His brow furrows with concern. “Why? What happened?”

You shrug. “You just… when you came back, you, um… you got physical w-with me.”

His jaw sets. “How physical?”

“Um…” now that you actually have to talk about it, you don’t know how to phrase his actions. “You pulled me underneath you and… y-you rutted on me. It didn’t last long,” you cover, trying not to faint with embarrassment at having to describe Sam’s actions, “you passed out.”

Sam looks at his knees. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been drinking so much, I didn’t realize… I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I don’t think so,” you reply quietly, “just scared. I was afraid that if I tried to fight, you’d get angry.”

He swallows thickly and stands up. “It won’t happen again.” He makes to head into the bathroom, but stops at the door. “I promise that I’ll never force myself on you like that again. Do you understand?”

You nod, keeping your eyes on the bed. “Yes.”

He lets out a soft sigh and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

***

By the time you finally make it downstairs for breakfast, Sam’s sobered up. Dean and John sit at the table in their usual places, and you briefly make eye contact with Dean as Sam pulls your chair out for you, but says nothing, only sips his coffee like nothing’s happened.

You don’t feel like eating more than a slice of toast. Sam tries to get you to eat more, but doesn’t press the issue. You look like a wreck, even after washing your face and brushing your hair, and John points your appearance out on more than one occasion, much to Sam’s displeasure. 

The rest of the day passes with minimal event. Sam and Dean retreat to the basement after John takes the carriage into town to catch a train to Boston, and you set a blanket out underneath the shade of the large apple tree to read another chapter of Darwin’s book. 

Around midday, Sam brings out a tray of food and sits with you. It’s nothing special, just cheese, bread, and a bowl of strawberries. It’s an apologetic gesture more than anything, but you accept it with kindness. Barely any words are spoken before the tray is cleared and Sam returns inside, leaving you in the gardens alone.

The cook, who you’ve learned only comes at night, is given the night off, leaving you, Sam, and Dean alone in the house. You separate yourself from Sam and head up to the bedroom while the two men retreat to the library to begin a game of chess. 

Dean, unable to help himself, takes the opportunity to spill the events of the previous evening. 

“She tried to run away last night,” Dean mutters, claiming one of Sam’s pawns. “Caught her tryin’ to get out the front door.”

Sam stiffens. Anger wells up inside his chest, burning red behind his eyes. You tried to run from him. “She didn’t tell me.”

“Of course she didn’t, she knows what happens when Omegas try to run.” Dean smirks wickedly. “Doesn’t help that she doesn’t have a goddamn claim on her yet.”

Sam pushes his chair back, fists clenched by his sides as he storms out of the room.

[laurazepamwrites]

The chemicals between us ~ Ch.2

Darwin was a beautiful harbour city, sharing a tropical climate with the nearby south east Asia. Genji was thankful the monsoon season was over as he sat on a rooftop in an industrial area on the outskirts of the city, closely watching an abandoned warehouse. He stood up and stretched what muscles remained, he should head to the rendezvous point soon, but first he wanted to do a final sweep of the area. He silently jumped roof to roof stopping so often to scan for any movement. Talon were coming and that always meant bloodshed was to be had. Satisfied the area was for now clear he returned to the warehouse. The soft glow of a small fire through a broken window confirmed the two Junkers were still inside. Genji had his doubts on bringing them in but when Morrison was set on an idea hardly anyone could argue with him. Except for Reyes of course. Genji chuckled darkly to himself ‘And how well that turned out’ He thought. It was nearing ten in the evening when Genji saw the Orca come into view. It was invisible to normal eyes in stealth mode but with his cybernetic enhancements he could faintly make out the looming shape catching brief reflections of light and hear the low hum of its engines. It touched down on open land outside of the industrial estate, Genji was walking up to it as the door opened, slowly moving down to make gangway.

Morrison was the first to leave, wearing his mask as the Soldier 76 and carrying his Pulse rifle. He noticed Genji and greeted him, clasping his hand and giving it one firm shake.

‘Anything?’ He asked.

‘Nothing yet Commander’ Genji replied and then gestured over his shoulder ‘The objectives are in the warehouse over there, it's been long abandoned, no cctv or security droids but I've been watching Fawkes set up traps and explosive devices around the perimeter and at the entrances. No sightings of Talon, but that is not to say they are not close.’

Morrison gave a low hmm in reply, narrowing his eyes under the mask towards the standalone warehouse. He wondered if the Junkers knew they were being followed or if this was a common security measure wherever they ended up. Behind him McCree was walking down the gangway, immediately lighting a cigar. ‘Any chance of getting a coffee before we crack a few skulls?’ He asked to no one in particular. He took a drag. ‘Or a whiskey?’.

‘Aw you get no sleep Jesse? I slept like a log.’ Said Lena happily, adjusting the belts on her chronal accelerator. She winked at Genji, ‘It's good to see you.’

‘And you Lena.’

Winston was the last to leave the ship and greeted Genji warmly as Morrison turned towards his team and spoke; ‘Alright, this is how it's going to work. Myself, Tracer and McCree will position ourselves south of the warehouse, Genji I want you on that roof opposite on the northside. Winston you're backup. Remain with the Orca. Anything happens you can get to us quickly and likewise. If anything happens here I'll send Tracer to you. We keep vigil on that warehouse and wait for Talon to make their move.’

‘Make their move?’ asked McCree ‘Not just go in, grab them, get outta here?’

‘Do you think they’ll take to us charging up to them, physically forcing them into the ship and flying off into the night Jesse?’

‘Well, that's what you did to me’

Jack ignored him. ‘The last thing I need is fighting them and Talon. Let Talon go in first, let them set off whatever death traps that's been laid and then we go in and clean up.’

‘Erm, silly question but what if Talon kills them before we get in?’ Asked Tracer.

‘I think it's more likely Talon will be dead before we get there.’ Offered Genji. ‘This Roadhog is huge commander, I would not want to fight that beast’ ‘Hopefully we won't have to.’ Replied Jack. ‘Fawkes is a talker. I want to use that to my advantage.’ He took a definitive breath in and out. ‘C’mon, lets move out’.

The warehouse was large, desolate, cold and empty except for the large metal storage crates lining the floor. Their contents long removed, except for one crate filled with a new cargo hidden under a large plastic cover. A small oil puddle on the concrete nearby. Wind whistled through the smashed in windows gently swaying the long dead wire lighting. Over the years local youths had snuck in to partake in illegal activities and to graffiti the walls. Metal stairs led up to a platform, the end of which held the foreman's office. The office was bare inside apart from a desk, a metal filing cabinet - one of the draws taken out and put on the floor, a small fire burning steadily within - a small coffee table and a chair. Its occupant resting with his hands folded across his huge inked stomach. With each breath the chair creaked, threatening to break. A large rust spotted hook rested against one of the legs. The glass in the sinister black gas mask hid the owners eyes, the only indication that he was asleep was the loud rumbling snoring. A gust of wind blew through the broken window, rustling old files strewn across the office, but this did not disturb the sleeping giant.

Junkrat shot him a glare. He was used to Roadhogs snoring, what wound him up was how easily he fell asleep. He was feeling wired, lying on the hard floor resting his head on his living arm whilst he tossed a grenade shell up in the air and catching it with his prosthetic hand. His metal peg crossed over his living leg. The foot tapping incessantly. Frag launcher and a couple of mines within easy reach. He strained his ears to listen over the sound of his companion. He swore he heard something moving on the roof. For near two weeks he had been telling Hog they were being followed, and not by the authorities. This felt different. He was told he was being paranoid but Roadhog finally relented to leave themselves relatively open in hopes of confronting whoever was stalking them. Or to blow them up, either way. He wondered often to himself and outloud who was following him, maybe a bounty hunter? No, there was too many different faces and they tend to work alone. Was that stupid Suit some part of some Illuminati shit and they wanted revenge? No way had the Queen sent raiders out to bring them back in, Junkers don't do subtle..

He was distracted enough by his thoughts to misjudge his throw. Not catching the falling shell but knocking it so it bounced loudly across the floor awaking Roadhog from his slumber. Grumbling and cracking his neck he turned to his younger partner.

‘Would you get some fucking sleep already?’

‘Fuck off, someone's gotta keep a lookout. Your job really’.

He received what could have been a glare in return. He had to sometimes interpret the look he was getting.

Junkrat sighed, ‘Can’t fucking sleep can I?’

‘It's been three days Rat…’

Junkrat sat up, his bushy blonde eyebrows frowning. ‘I've been drinking coffee and had those pills from that skinhead in that bar, which made me feel better by the way until I started to-’

‘Paranoid.'

‘I'm not-!’

Roadhog pointed a large finger at him. ‘You’re paranoid and been on edge since we left Sydney, we’ve travelled for two weeks. After tonight we’re going back to the outback. I'm going back to my farm and If you piss me off anymore I'm going to-’

Both their heads whipped to the door as dull explosion sounded downstairs, signalling a trap going off. A second or so passed, they could hear sound of debris settling and muffled voices. Junkrat slowly turned to Roadhog who was making a point of not looking at him. Knowing damn well he had that shit eating grin on his face. He had no choice but to hear him however.

‘What did I FUCKING tell you mate?!’

            ----------------------------------------------------------------------

Genji had alerted them of the figures silently moving towards the warehouse, all heavily armed. They had safely crossed and cut the wire trap surrounding the perimeter and carefully dismantled the incendiary device on the entrance. Unfortunately for Talon this was a decoy, its disturbance triggering a bomb buried right under their feet. Jack had watched the scene play out from his vantage point. So far he counted eight Talon agents on the ground, not including the two now dead in a bloody heap. Three more were on the roof, grappling hooks being attached to belts to storm the windows.

‘Commander?’ Genji asked through Morrisons earpiece.

‘Deal with them. Quickly’.

Genji leapt from the roof towards the warehouse, moving with a stealth only a Shimada could know. His shurikens slit through the throat of two agents before the remaining one realized what was happening. The last thing he saw was the flash of green light and its reflection on the gleaming metal of Ryū ichimonji as it slashed through the air, cutting through armor, fabric, muscle and bone like paper. Morrison watched as one fell off the roof, landing with a sickening crunch. Dead. The ground troops had moved in setting off more traps, there was a shout of pain followed by another. Through the top window with the fire he saw a large shadow move. A large bang sounding like a shotgun followed by the distinctive sound of an assault rifle.

‘Advance now!’ Morrison ordered his team.

          --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roadhog dragged the desk with one hand to the middle of the room with ease and let it land on its side. He then grabbed the metal cabinet and wedged it against the door. It wouldn't hold but it would buy a couple of minutes. He then crouched as low as he could behind the desk, getting what little cover it would offer his huge frame.

‘Do I look smug Hog?’ Laughed Junkrat, grabbing his frag launcher. ‘Feeling pretty fucking smug right now.’

‘Get the fuck down!’ Yelled Roadhog, grabbing one of the straps across Junkrats chest and pulling him down behind the upturned desk just as the door violently banged against the metal cabinet. Immediately Roadhog fired his scrap gun, its wide shot smashing the window pane in the door and imbedding shards of metal deep into the wood.

‘Yep. Pretty smug.’

‘And shut the fuck up!’

Junkrat twisted to look over his shoulder and positioned the frag launcher. He fired two bombs through the window, laughing as he heard them explode. Maybe they hit home, maybe they didn't. It was still fun. He’d worry about the whys and whats once this was over. For now he was quite happy to ride the adrenalin wave.

‘We need to move I reckon mate.’

Roadhog grunted in reply. They had the advantage of bottlenecking the narrow stairs and doorway but they were trapped in here. His main concern was a smoke grenade or something more sinister being thrown in. If that happened he guessed he could always throw Rat out the window..it wouldn't be the worst thing to of happened to him. Roadhog left his cover and lined himself against the wall next to the door, trying to give himself a line of sight through the shattered panel. He moved forward slightly to chance a better view and received a barrage of bullets for doing so, turning his head just in time. A bullet grazing the tip of his pig mask.

‘Hog?’

‘M’fine.’ He huffed. ‘Got us trapped in.’

‘How many we talking ere?’ Junkrat asked, reloading.

‘Hmmm..ten? Give or take.’

Junkrat moved to a crouch from behind the desk, positioning the launcher on his shoulder. ‘Thats bloody rude is what that is.’

‘Wanna make it fair...?’

Junkrats golden eyes darkened and his grin took on a slight devilish turn. ‘Too fucking right I do!’ He fired every grenade the Launcher had through the door, shouting could be heard from the other side as there was a scramble to avoid the explosives now bouncing along the platform and down the stairs. In the chaos Roadhog kicked the cabinet out the way of the door and flung it open, immediately firing his scrap gun, it's unfortunate target now a bloody mess of metal, flesh and blood. A grenade had disposed of another judging from the mangled corpse. Roadhog walked forward towards the stairs, Junkrat close behind him. At the top of the stairs one of their assailants was screaming and writhing on the floor, clutching what was left of his leg. Junkrat smirked down at him. ‘Hurts like a bitch don't it cunt?’ as Roadhog stamped on his neck, shutting him up. Their attackers had fallen back and now positioned themselves behind the metal crates. Junkrat sent another volley of grenades for cover as he and Roadhog ran down the stairs and threw themselves behind a crate of their own as a shower of bullets passed over them. One of them ricocheted off the metal railing on the stairs and caught Junkrats prosthetic hand, shattering part of the casing. Junkrat gasped and dropped the launcher, holding his prosthetic with his living hand and quickly assessing the damage. He moved the metal digits, two of which weakly moved and twitched on their own accord. He tried holding the Launcher but it wouldn't hold steady in his grasp.

‘Fuck. FUCK! Fucking cunts!’

‘Least the hand is still there..’

‘No good when you can't grip a fucking thing though is it!?’ Junkrat snarled back through gritted teeth. The damaged synthetic nerve receptors sending pulsing waves of dull pain up his arm. He took a ragged deep breath, squeezing his upper arm to null the throbbing pain before straightening up and breathing out. ‘Sod it, it's fine!’

Roadhog looked at him. The same look on his face that he wore under his mask a hundred times before. He remained silent. Junkrat hated that look, hated how it made him feel. ‘Said i'm fucking fine Hog.’ He muttered, switching his weapon to his living hand. It felt strange and heavy in his living hand despite being able to use both. He turned to grin at Roadhog ‘See? All good. Now lets-!’

 Roadhogs hook struck out at force, passing his head by inches, it connected to its target, a flanking attacker, his fingers just shy of the trigger as the huge hook embedded deep in his flesh and pulled him forward with such strength he crashed into the hard concrete. The unfortunate target barely had time to gasp in pain before his head burst with the brute force of the scrap metal and gunpowder of Roadhogs gun. A second attacker quickly followed, aiming at Roadhog. He instantly pushed junkrat against the crate using his large frame to shield him. The bullets never hit however, despite hearing ammo firing. It sounded different to the gunfire they had already endured. Shouting accompanied the new sound. Their attacker yelled in surprise, twisting to aim at a new target, his head jerked violently and he landed dead on the ground.Then suddenly, in literally the blink of an eye, a woman was standing in front of Junkrat and Roadhog, holding dual pistols and wearing goggles with a strange glowing contraption strapped to her chest. She gave a cheeky grin toward the pair. ‘Hiya boys!’ she said in a friendly London accent. And just as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. The two junkers stared at the spot were the woman had stood. A second or so passed before Junkrat spoke; ‘Err…..Hog?’

‘I saw it.’ Roadhog replied, still staring at the space that was occupied seconds before.

‘Yeah but Hog..’

‘I saw it.’

‘What the fuck was that?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Am I high?’

No reply.

'Fucking ghost mate!'

Roadhog gave a low growl.

‘How would you fucking explain it then..?!’

Roadhog did not answer and let Junkrat continue his rambling, things were getting more complicated by the minute. He didn't know who these people were but he had soon realized that the bullets were meant for him. They wanted Junkrat and they wanted him alive. Now a third party were involved and he was getting really pissed off. He just wanted to go back to his quiet farm. More gunfire from yet another gun, more shouting. Roadhog signalled to Junkrat to follow him and both darted to the next crate, moving towards the large chopper and sidecar hidden at the end of the warehouse. They passed another dead body. Bullets had not killed him, his throat sliced open. A strange and bloody metal object embedded in the metal. Was that a throwing star? A loud explosion went off close by, another trap being detonated, Roadhog held Junkrat back until the debris had settled before pushing forward. They were so close now, just a few more yards..

..A flash of blinding light struck right in front of Roadhog, stunning him. He staggered backwards firing his Scrap gun blindly in front of him. He heard struggling and cursing behind him. Turning he watched at Junkrat fell against the crate, the Launcher now on the ground before it could fire. A man stood over him, wearing a visor and mask covering his face, his hair grey. He was pointing a large rifle at his partner and that was a fucking bad idea. Roadhog growled loudly raising his arm to aim at his new victim, he was so close to turning his targets head into a bloody puddle when something silver and neon green whooshed past him so fast he could not tell what it was, it took him a second to realize he had let go of his gun. A second more to realize a silver revolver was pointing at his head. Another second to realize blood was slowly dripping from his hand where something very sharp had sliced through leather and flesh. He side eyed the man pointing his gun at his head. He wore a cowboy hat, chewed an unlit cigar and wore an old dusty poncho. He noticed the prosthetic arm and the slack smug smile on his face which he instantly wished he could slam his fist into.

‘Y'all don't wanna make any sudden moves y’hear?’ He drawled in an American accent. A clang on the roof of the metal crate beside them made him glance up. Roadhog also looked at the sudden noise and was greeted with the sight of man adorned with silver armor, glowing green lights to suggest cybernetics, his face also obscured by a mask. He crouched over the scene, shurikens between his knuckles and leaning on a gleaming asian looking sword. Something whizzed past him and the woman from earlier appeared seemingly from thin air, also pointing pistols at both Junkers. They were well and truly surrounded. Roadhogs attention was now on Junkrat, who was breathing heavily, eyes locked and glaring at the man in the visor, his mouth twisted into a snarl. His eyes darted to his launcher which still held a full cartridge of grenades. Roadhog grunted, getting his attention. The last thing he needed was for Junkrat to panic and do something stupid and get them both killed. He slowly shook his head. Junkrat narrowed his eyes at him, weighing the decision to attack or surrender. Eventually he sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.

‘Arite ya cunts, make it quick.’

The cowboy chuckled. ‘Not here for that kid.’ He slowly moved the scrap gun away from Roadhog, pushing it across the floor with his foot as the woman did the same with the Frag launcher. Neither lowering their guns at the pair. The older man however did, leaning it across his shoulder. He gave Roadhog a glance over before turning his attention to Junkrat. ‘We’re not here to kill you, unless of course you give us reason to. We dealt with your stalkers, a sophisticated terrorist group named Talon. Know that name?’

Junkrat shrugged. ‘Know a lotta things mate, don't know you though. I ain't answering shit.’

‘Sounds pretty fair..’ Said McCree, looking at his comrade.

Morrison regarded Junkrat for a moment before speaking. ‘My name Is Jack Morrison...I am the former Commander of Overwatch. You know what that is. You’ve been followed by Talon for sometime and they want you alive. I want to know why.’

Junkrat peered at Morrison as he processed the information. Suddenly he barked out a laugh and put his hands on his hips. ‘Fucking getta load of this drongo, Hog!’ He grinned, jabbing a thumb towards Morrison. Swagger quickly returning despite guns being aimed at him.

He smirked at Morrison. ‘Overwatch long gone mate, went up in a bloody big bang as I heard. You the top guy? I call bullshit. Don't know who you are, don't know who those dead fuckers are. So unless your gonna pop a bullet in me and me mate we’re just gonna fuck off outta here. So you can take your Captain America shit, Your Billy the kid there, stupid hat by the way mate. Your Casper the friendly ghost and your Naruto, and fuck right off!’

McCree and Tracer glanced at Morrison, awaiting his response. McCree would have bet on Jack adding a black eye to the kids face. Instead Morrison sighed, weighed up his answer and addressed the Junker. ‘You survived their first strike, but what about the next one? Or the next. They sent cannon fodder this time, they underestimated you, and they certainly did not expect us. Each time they’ll send worse before they get what they want. And whatever it is I cant let them have. It's important enough that they’ll spend time and resources hunting you down. So you have a choice Fawkes, you give up whatever it is to us and you walk out of here back to that hell hole. Or you come with us until you do.’

Whilst Morrison spoke the grin had slowly disappeared from Junkrat's face, gradually turning dark and threatening. When he spoke it was lower, quieter and menacing. ‘I got nothing I’m gonna give to you or this Talon. You could be the same for all I know and like fuck am I going anywhere with you less its my dead body mate..’

A muscle twitched under Morrisons mask, not that Junkrat could see. He was quickly losing patience with this hotheaded, crude and smug Junker..

‘Now you listen you little sh...., If you gave a damn about-’

‘Commander!’ Winstons alarmed voice cutting through the comms. Morrison immediately replied.

‘What have you got?’

‘Talon Heavy assault incoming on your position.’

As if on cue a dull distance thud could be heard, slowly becoming louder. Morrison began to order his team, aiming his gun once again on Junkrat. ‘Genji, Tracer. Slow that thing up. Disable it if you can. Winston get here and cover us. We need a shield. And you two!’ He addressed the Junkers. ‘You help with this thing or take cover up there.’ He pointed over his shoulder toward the office. ‘Is that a choice you're willing to make?’

Junkrat and Roadhog looked at each other, seemingly to communicate silently. Eventually Roadhog gave a single nod of his head. The grin returned to Junkrat's face. ‘Right o mate. We can help blow up whatever needs blowing up.’ Morrison considered him a moment before making his mind up if this was a good idea. ‘Fine, get your weapons. McCree, get the high ground. You two, hold that choke point. If we can keep it outside the better. I don't want it throwing a crate at anyone.’

‘Yeah yeah and wadda you gonna do G.I Joe..?’

Morrison smirked under his mask. ‘I’m not letting you leave my sight.’

              ----------------------------------------------------------------------

The huge Juggernaut moved with purpose towards the warehouse, machine like in appearance but in fact the result of extensive genetic engineering. Its powerful exoskeleton, armour and stimulants making it a horrific killing machine. It carried two massive chainguns and had two large canisters on its back. Whatever trace of humanity it once had had gone due to extreme experimentation, it only knew one command now; to kill. It moved past the cut wire surrounding the perimeter, sighting the entrance to the warehouse, now a smouldering cavity thanks to one of Junkrats explosives. It took a step closer, dust unsettling under its heavy footfall, when suddenly a hail of bullets impacted against its heavy armor. It spun towards the direction of its target, and was struck once again from behind. Spinning to locate its adversary , it raised its twin chainguns and wildly began to fire in all directions. A sound or ricochet and its own bullets deflected right back toward it, hitting it hard and denting its armor, one bullet hitting a wire connecting from one of the canisters to a chaingun. Steam escaped the wire, dispersing into the cool night air. It caught a glimpse of one of its targets, a young woman rapidly firing twin pistols. She darted around him, like an annoying buzzing fly, firing at weak points in its exoskeleton. It timed her movements, letting her strike it and waited, it would take her a long time to breach its armor. Suddenly at the right moment it swung its huge arm out, striking home and colliding with its pest hard into her shoulder. The impact sent Tracer flying towards a huge truck parked up for the night, the collision certainly bound to crush her thin frame. Tracer flew through the air, her shoulder screaming in pain. She braced herself and suddenly she was thrown back, the truck moving further away, the pain disappearing in her shoulder with time flowing backwards all around her. She appeared once again close to the heavy assault, this time dropping to her knees as its huge arm swung over her head, emptying both pistols in the weakly armored point of its joints.

‘Oi big boy! Think you missed!’ Tracer laughed as she darted back to a safer distance. Genji landed softly beside her, ‘That was too close..’ He warned her. Tracer grinned back at him. ‘Dont tell dad!’ She disappeared once again, soon dancing rings around the Colossus, Genji joining in on her assault. If they could keep it distracted long enough Winston could help cover their escape. As if reading his thoughts the Heavy assault continued its march towards the warehouse and its target. It opened fire on on Genji and Tracer, forcing them to cease their attack and dodge the hail of bullets, when suddenly it propelled itself forward, twin rockets firing on its back.

It charged, hurtling towards the warehouse and passing through the cavity when suddenly something clamped hard on its leg. It lurched forward hard, and crashed heavily into the concrete. It raised its head, and was greeted with the sight of a crudely made concussion mine. It heard a giggle from above, a soft click, and the mine exploded in its face.   From a safe distance Junkrat surveyed the damage and the now motionless Heavy assault lying on the ground. He turned on his metal peg toward Morrison.

‘You're welcome.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Right so now that's done with, we’re off. Places to be, people to avoid. Good luck with fighting Cobra or whatever you call it..’

‘Ya wanna make sure that things dead Morrison..’ called McCree from his high point.

Junkrat scoffed ‘Yeah nah mate, cunt took a big spill and got a blast to the face. Pretty sure it-fucking christ!’

Morrison fired every round of his Pulse rifle into the heavy assault, bullets bouncing off its thick armour, slowly being chipped away. A canister on its back shattered open, fuel splashing in all directions. Just like McCree had warned the heavy assault began to move, the huge gun arms pushing itself up to stand. Morrison fired the Pulse rifles helix rockets, breaking the armor on one of its guns. The impact causing the fuel drenched across its exoskeleton to ignite. Armor breaching and ablaze, it roared, lifting both guns and opening fire. A dome of blue light suddenly surrounded it, absorbing the rapid fire of bullets. The Heavy assault had no chance to be confused for now it was suddenly wracked with electricity coursing through its massive body. Under great strain it fired what ammo it had left in all directions. The barrier broke, a huge form leapt over it and landed heavily on the crates nearby. Still stunned and with great strain it weakly lifted its arm in a last attempt to kill. The response it got was a huge rain of overbearing damage; Bullets, scrap metal, grenades, a mine, shurikens and electricity. Broken and mangled, It roared loudly as it fell to its knees, still aflame, blood and fuel dripping slowly off its body before finally collapsing to the ground. Morrisons team eyed the creature, the flames slowly smouldering. The last barely intact canister on its back cracked and black from heat and smoke. They waited for any sign of life which it did not give. Satisfied, Morrison turned to the Junkers and found them both staring at Winston. Morrison cleared his throat, realizing that a huge genetically modified Gorilla maybe a shock to some.

‘This is Winston, head of Science within Overwatch…’

‘Its a fucking monkey mate…’

Winston frowned at him and growled, ‘A Gorilla to be more accurate...’

‘Ah yeah right, it talks don't it? See Hog, I know they got up to some weird shit in Overwatch. Never thought i’d ever see the space monkey up close.’

Winston flared his nostrils and deeply growled, teeth baring. It should of been threatening but the young Junker just laughed and looked to his partner.

‘Hey that's what you do mate!’

Morrison stepped between them as McCree, Tracer and Genji joined them, purposely surrounding the Junkers.

Junkrat put his hands on his hips and gave them all a glance. Eyebrows raising and mouth smirking. Roadhog stood next to him, he fingered the chain attached to the huge hook at his side. The atmosphere becoming tense.

‘Yeah, we’ll be off now.’ Said Junkrat casually to Morrison.

‘Are you actually oblivious to the situation you're in or do you just enjoy being difficult?’

‘Yeah..? No...? Maybe..? See now you don't know where I'm coming from!’ Junkrat laughed.

McCree smirked, he found this amusing. It reminded him of when he was picked up all those years ago. He was a little shit to authority too. And unfortunately for Jack he reeked of it. He holstered his gun, looking at Jack who gave a nod of reluctant approval, He also holsted his weapon and the rest of his team followed suit. Junkrat and Roadhog continued to hold theirs, despite an empty Launcher and a Scrap gun with only one shot left. McCree finally lit the cigar in his mouth. Taking a long drag and exhaling.‘You’ll be safer with us kid.’

He received a laugh with contempt in return, ‘Don't know what the fuck that means mate, never had the pleasure of feeling it.’

McCree shrugged. ‘Sure, you're free to leave. But Talon will get to you, be it a week, a month...but they’ll get you. Your partner there will be killed. You, you’ll probably be tortured, I know some in Talon who enjoy that kinda thing..now I think you been approached before. Maybe they said they were someone different since you claim not to know Talon. I think maybe they asked you to join them. Maybe they say they need someone who can topple buildings with a push of a button…maybe they ask about something else, offer money for whatever it is you have or know..?’

Junkrat wasn't smiling anymore, he chewed the inside of his lip and regarded McCree with slight suspicion and said nothing, he let McCree continue.

‘...You got something they want. That's obvious. It's important enough that you have to be alive, otherwise, and believe me, you would be done dead weeks ago. Is also important enough that You just didn't give it to them in the first place which suggests to me it's dangerous too. I’ve met some o’ your Junkertown bounty hunters. Know you bragged loudly bout some treasure in that omnium corpse. Don't think you counted word of it getting out o’ that place though right? You come with us now and you won't have to worry about Talon or whatever they send your way, and you won't be harmed by us less you give us good reason to. From there we all decide what to do with what you got. We won't force it out of you.'

‘You’re at a disadvantage here Fawkes, I suggest you just come quietly.’ Interjected Morrison.

‘Dammit Jack!’ McCree cursed at him.

‘We need to move before Talon sends backup if they haven't already. Tracer, get the Orca ready for flight.’

Tracer looked hesitant but eventually followed orders, dashing away. Junkrat folded his arms across his chest and gave Jack a sneering grin, looking him up and down before saying; ‘Nah mate. Not going anywhere with you.’

Tensions rising again, Roadhog placed his hand on Junkrats shoulder, pushing him slightly behind him. He made to move towards Jack, the team reaching for their weapons when suddenly a spark burst from the felled Heavy assault laying a few feet away from them, all heads turned to it. The remaining canister burst once again into life. It fuelled the barely working rocket on its back and charged it forward, forcing it along the concrete floor as it crashed towards them at speed. Genji, the first in its path immediately jumped out the way. Not everyone had the benefit of his speed however, leaving Junkrat right in its path. Before he could even react a huge arm struck him hard across the chest causing him to land heavily against the crate behind him, the heavy assault a second from killing him. It instead crashed full into Roadhog, hurtling him backwards at such force it left a crater of their combined weight into the metal crate they struck. Its rocket still ignited and the force crushing Roadhog.

‘Hog!’ Junkrat screamed, dropping the launcher and rushing to his partner. With one huge hand and with all his strength Roadhog pushed back against the Heavy assault, trying to lessen the damage it was causing him. His other hand had somehow remained hold of his Scrapgun. He lifted it, pushing the two massive barrels against its face and firing his last shot point blank. Blood and metal burst in a violent shower, the creature now certainly dead. However the rocket still propelled forward, using the last of its fuel. Genji jumped onto its back, stabbing his sword downward straight into the canister, smashing it. Slowly the creature began to slack, finally slumping and stopping for good. With a low growl Roadhog pushed its lifeless body off of him and in turn slid to the ground, breathing very heavily, gas mask rattling with each labored breath.

‘Hog! Hog mate, you alright? Gonna be alright!’ Junkrat had caught up and was frantically checking him over. ‘Ok it's fine alright, its fine. Bit o’ bruising maybe, just take it easy yeah mate..’ His voice catching slightly. Jack raised his eyebrows, making note of Junkrats concern. Roadhog slowly placed a hand on Junkrats shoulder, meeting his worried eyes and pointing toward the back of the warehouse. Junkrats eyes lit up in understanding ‘ Yeah mate, yeah I’ll get it’. He rushed away as fast as his metal peg would allow him towards the chopper. He ripped off the plastic covering, his riptire the first thing to greet his eyes. He quickly and carefully detached it and opened the boot, amidst the supplies and extra grenades which he ignored he found what he was looking for; A canister of Hogdrogen. He hurried back, helping Roadhog attach it to his mask. He watched with worry knitted on his face as his partner breathed in the chemical concoction. His breathing became less labored, but he was still clearly in pain. Jack was kneeling beside them, detaching a biotic emitter from his belt and planting it on the ground. Its energy projecting a soft light of yellow healing aura. Jack stood back up and looked at Junkrat. ‘Biotic emitter.’ He informed him. ‘Will help your friend some but he could have more serious injuries. Won't fix a punctured lung or broken ribs..’

Junkrat looked at him darkly. ‘Yeah, and what's your fucking point?’

‘We have a doctor at our base. And better equipment then out here, we can help him. Unless of course you want to go to a hospital, get yourself arrested and separated.’ replied Jack, matter of factly.

 Junkrat cursed under his breath, he looked at Hog hoping for some help as to what to do, but he knew already he was now left with only one choice. He heard a sound of something large landing outside. Morrison turned to Winston. ‘Get the first aid point ready, Genji I want you to do a final sweep of the area. Make sure no back up has been sent.’ Winston and Genji both left to their respective tasks as Morrison and McCree watched the young Junker make his decision. Slowly Junkrat stood up, folding his arms and sighing heavily. ‘Alright fine, but you fucking promise me this doc of yours is real and gonna help Hog otherwise you’ll have another base exploding. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’ said Morrison. ‘We’ll take your weapons of course, the bike stays here.’

Roadhog cursed loudly and tried standing up, pointing a large finger toward Morrison. ‘That bike comes with me or we go nowhere!’

‘For fucks sake…’ Muttered Jack. ‘Fine, Fawkes. You and me will get the bike. Jesse, get Rutledge on the orca. We need to leave now.’

                  -------------------------------------------------------------

Roadhog sat on the more comfortable chairs for his size on the Orca, a safety belt hardly stretching to cover his massive stomach. He breathed in the healing fumes of a small biotic tank and was seemingly asleep. The huge chopper, Riptire and their weapons stored safely in the cargo hold with Genji guarding them. Junkrat fishing out a hooded sweatshirt from the boot as he surrendered his explosives belt. They had been airborne for twenty minutes, and had hours of flight ahead of them. Junkrat sat on the floor next to Roadhog, glancing at him on occasion. He had rolled out his small tool kit, and was delicately working on his prosthetic hand. He tested the two malfunctioning digits, they moved slowly, the cybernetic nerves still exposed but no longer causing pain. He’d need more advanced tools to repair the casing. McCree was sat close by, feet up on the table in front of him,he watched the young junker concentrate on his work.

‘Need help with that..?

‘Yeah what do you know about prosthetics..’ Junkrat looked up at McCree who had raised his own prosthetic arm with an amused look on his face.

‘Ahhh shit. Sorry mate.’

McCree shrugged, ‘No harm done..’ He nodded to Junkrats metal arm, ‘Make that yourself..?’

‘Mostly..leg too. Not got any of your fancy cybernetic docs in Junkertown mate.’

‘I ain't criticizing kid..I’m impressed. Must a been hard forging new limbs in that environment..takes a lotta skill’

‘Yeah well, needs must.’

‘I'm guessing you lost them young..?'

Junkrat paused for a second, then continued his work. Ignoring McCree.

‘Sorry, im pushing. Y’know..Our doctor at base? She's highly skilled in cybernetic surgery. Probably the best in the world.’

‘And what mate? Not interested in seeing no doc. Just want Hog looked at.’

McCree looked at him for a few seconds him before shrugging. ‘Alright, your call. Id advice you get some shut eye soon though. We got a few hours before we touch land again.'

Two hours into the flight, Morrison walked down the stairs from the cockpit eyeing the two Junkers. Roadhog may have been out cold, it was near impossible to tell with the mask, Junkrat was leaning against him. Both legs stretched out over 2 chairs, his hood was up, apparently sleeping. He stopped by McCree, both feet still on the table, his cowboy hat covering his face. He cursed as Morrison gave him a kick to his side.

‘Christ Jack, can't a man rest his eyes?’ He complained.

‘If we blew up mid air i’d blame you first..’ Jack replied.

‘Hell Jack, he aint gonna do nothing. You might wanna consider yourself lucky Rutledge got hurt. I don't think he’d do anything to jeopardize getting Angela to help him.’

‘I still think we should of restrained them.’

‘I still think that's a dumb idea.’

‘Hmm…’ Morrison did not want to argue that point so he changed the subject. ‘What you said Jesse? He seemed to listen, even though it was exactly what I had said to him.’

‘Was it now?’ McCree replied, smiling slightly. ‘Maybe I saw myself all those years ago being spoken to like I was in god damn school. It don’t work. Shame you had to butt in.’

‘We needed to leave before civilians arrived. In hindsight my interrupt was very beneficial’

‘That may be, but I dont think your approach with him is gonna work. Not if you want him to cooperate. He’s got a criminal career sticking it to guys like you.’

‘Is that why you seem to like him?’

‘Hell it's obvious he dont like you much.’ McCree replied, smirking. He tipped his hat back over his face and said no more. Morrison sighed, regarding the two criminal Junkers in his airship, hunted by Talon and enroute to his base. He momentarily wondered if he was making a mistake, but quickly dismissed it. He had made much worse mistakes for him to dwell on. He sat nearby, pulse rifle resting on his lap, mask still covering his face. He kept watch.

[your-anxious-nightmare]

Adventures In Dad-ing (14)

Summary: The aftermath of Patton leaving. (This one's a little jumpy, so the beginning is obvi a little later than the bulk of the chapter sorry, I didn’t like the way it looked around the other way and wanted to preface where Virge is at first.) (Darwin is my Deceit btw) Word Count: 3365 Relationships: All platonic stuff, kinda parental analogical.  Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen,  (because I know this has problems, look up the tag ‘adventures in dading’ or ‘dad Virgil’ on my blog archive and you’ll find all of them) Tags:  @katatles-the-fish   @karma-the-tax-collector    @analogical-mess   @rebeyerfdog  @msu82       (ask to be tagged xoxoxo) Warnings: Kinda neglectful parenting, lemme know if there's other stuff Ao3

Three days.

There was no patter of feet in the hallway. No giggles from the kitchen as cookies were stolen. There were no cartoons or musicals or singing. The house was quiet, and so was Virgil’s heart. 

On the first day, Virgil spent the vast majority of time curled up on the couch cradling a teary-eyed Logan as he himself was held against Roman’s chest. 

On the second day, Roman had gone back to work, dropping Virgil off on his way in. Remy was nice enough to put him on cleaning, keeping him away from the harsh gazes of customers. Emile had even come in to bring him a cooked lunch, offering a hug and a shoulder when he began to cry. 

On the third day, Virgil was silent. His workday was slow, only spent clearing up old plates and wiping down tables. He ignored Roman’s texts asking if he wanted him over for dinner. By the time he got home, he was too tired to kick off his shoes before falling face-first onto the couch. 

That was where Logan found him hours later. 

The young boy had tried to stay home, knowing that his being around might not help Virgil cope with the temporary loss of his son. But unfortunately, his step-father had noticed his presence was more apparent and kicked him out. With nowhere else to go, he shuffles down to the Casey residence and knocks lightly before letting himself in with the spare key under the mat. 

It was after 7 pm, Logan had expected to walk into Virgil eating alone at the table or watching something on the tv, not sobbing loudly into the couch holding a cushion as though his life depended on it. 

“Mr Pa-um, Mr Virgil?” Perhaps calling him Mr Patton’s Dad isn’t the best of ideas right about now, Logan thinks, stepping closer to the couch where Virgil lay. 

“Logan?” The man sits up, wiping away his tears to look at the boy. “Are you alright?” His blue eyes scan the boy’s face, taking note of the scratch on his jaw and the small drops of blood still falling from his nose onto his shirt.

“Are you?” Virgil snorts, standing to usher the boy into the bathroom and pulling out the first aid kit. He quickly cleans up the cut, instructing Logan to hold a tissue to his nose until the bleeding stops. 

“Have you had dinner yet?” Logan shakes his head, blinking up at the man through his still broken glasses. “Okay, how do sausages and chips sound?” He nods slightly, tilting his head so Virgil can put a bandaid over the mark and removes the tissue from his face, wiping any mess and disposing of it quickly. 

“Come on, you can help me cook. I’ll teach you.” 

**

It was safe to say Patton was scared from the moment he climbed into the back seat of the car. He watched his dad fade from sight, hands and face pressed against the window and tears pooling in his cool blue eyes. 

“Um, it’s nice to meet you. What’s-”

“Shut it, this is my favourite song.” Meghann’s hand raises to hush the boy before turning up the stereo far above what a sane person could withstand. 

“Ow. Can it be quieter, please? It’s hurting my ears.” Whether she hears or not is a mystery as she sings along to the pop ballad, turning just slightly dangerously through the streets. 

The drive to her house isn’t too long, but with all the red lights and close calls, it feels like a lifetime to the young boy in the back. 

Meghann pulls into an underground carpark, slamming on the brakes and stopping before Patton's eyes can adjust to the new lighting. She’s out of the car quickly, slamming her door shut and wandering off to the elevator, turning to look expectantly at the boy who was pulling his backpack off the seat next to him. 

“Come on then, we don’t have all day.” Patton jumps out of the vehicle, closing the door nicely and running to catch up, ducking into the elevator seconds before the doors closed and watching as she swipes a card and presses the button labelled 9. 

“What’s your name?” He tries again, adjusting the straps of his bag and holding out his hand like he’d seen the adults do. 

“Ew, no contact. It’s Meghann.” She grimaces at his hand, stepping away slightly and staring at the door. 

“Would you like me to call you Meghann? Or maybe Mum or Mama or-”

“Stop. Talking. Just call me Meghann, no Mum or Mother or whatever bullshit like that.” The door slides open and she saunters out into the hall, Patton running to keep up and meeting her at a door at the end of the hall. 

She opens the door to a modern living room, all the furniture in matching blue and white, all neatly situated in nice squares and perfect lines. The room opens out into the kitchen where a solid white bar separates the space and a set of blue stools sit in front. The only thing that makes the room pop are the clothes littering the floor and the various takeaway boxes piled on the counter, dishes sit in the sink, undone. It looks like a very lived-in room.

“This is a very nice home.” Patton pipes up, following her down the hall and awing at a cute picture of a cat on the wall. She doesn’t answer, just huffs and pushes open the last door in the hall. 

Inside is a small, beaten bed that looks a little older than Patton, pressed up against the back wall and a desk about the same size as the ones he uses at school. The room is barely big enough for both objects, with maybe half a metre between the end of the bed and the wall and a metre between it and the door. 

“This is your room, make yourself at home, I guess.” She turns on her heel and walks back down the hall, opening another door and vanishing inside. Patton sighs and puts his bag on the bed, coughing at the dust it kicks up before remembering he hadn’t grabbed the boxes from the boot of the car. Leaving the room and pulling the door over, he wanders down towards where Meghann vanished, finding her in a large bedroom full of books and knick-knacks. 

“Meghann? My toys and clothes are still in your car.” He knocks lightly on the door, choosing to look at his feet instead of her as she spins to face him

“Go get them then? It’s unlocked.” 

Patton looks up, eyes wide with confusion. “By myself?” Virgil never let him go out alone, mainly because the last time he did he got lost and ended up crying in a park. Meghann just nods and turns back to her dresser, adjusting her hair. 

Patton turns and leaves, stopping by his room to pick up his dinosaur for protection and heading out the front door. Taking a deep breath, he sets off down the hall, reaching the elevator and getting in. He presses the button with a car drawing and waits, watching the doors sit open. He presses the button again, and again, before looking up to the swipe pad next to it. 

Wandering back to the apartment, he counts the doors, one, two three, stopping at the fifth and trying to open it, finding it had locked behind him. He knocks lightly, waiting patiently for Meghann to open it. 

“The elevator didn’t work without your card. May I borrow it?” She looks down at him with distaste, pulling her cell phone from her ear to talk to him. 

“There are stairs for a reason, kid.” She laughs loudly, slamming the door shut, just barely missing his fingers on the wall. Patton jumps, not used to the loud noise and steps back, tripping on his laces and falling to the ground in the hall. 

“I don’t think I like it here, Fluffy.” He mumbles, picking up the plush dinosaur before heading back towards the elevator, finding the staircase to the left and starting his descent. 

By the time he reaches the bottom, his legs hurt and he’s out of breath, so Patton takes a seat on the bottom stair and catches his breath. After a few moments, he steps towards the car park, staying close to the cars like his dad taught him and searching for the car amongst the others. 

When Patton finally finds the right car- he recognized a sticker that had a bad word in the back window- he tugs on the boot, pulling at it roughly in an attempt to get it open. 

“Hey, kid!” A voice shouts, Patton dropping his toy and spinning around to see an older man stalking over. “What do you think you're doing?” His hair is long and tied up in a bun like Virgil’s often is, but far greasier and untidy. A scruffy beard lines his jaw, and his dark eyes glare down at the small boy like a starved wild animal.

“I just moved here with my Mum, but my clothes are in the boot. Can you help me open it?” 

“Oh, Paddy right? You’re Meghann’s brat?” He laughs loudly, the sound like nails to a chalkboard. “I’ll see you ‘round kid. Don’t scratch the car, it costs more than you’ll make in a decade.” 

“Sir? Could you please help?” The man just cackles again and wanders off to the elevator, disappearing inside as quickly as he appeared in the first place. 

Patton stares at the door to the elevator for several moments, slowly thinking through all the things he could’ve done wrong to deserve being left out here all alone. 

Was it that time he didn’t hold the door open for Mr Phillips? He had his arms full of books but Patton was carrying his show and tell project and couldn’t get a free hand. Was it the time he didn’t let Archie borrow his orange crayon? The boy had shoved his green one up his nose the week earlier so it was probably justified. 

Turning and kicking the car once, Patton sits on the ground against the wheel, Fluffy the Dinosaur sat in his lap. Why would you leave a child to collect his things from your car without telling him how to do so? Without warning, tears start to stream down his cheeks. 

“I want to go home!” He cries loudly, furiously scrubbing at his cheeks. 

“Hello? Is someone there?” A voice calls through the parking garage. Patton sniffs loudly, curling up in a ball around his toy and waiting for the person to leave. 

“Hello?” They call again, footsteps echoing across the concrete. “I know you’re there, I heard you crying. My guess is you’re only a kid too. I promise I’m not gonna hurt you, ah, wait that sounds bad. Hang on, I didn’t mean it like I would and I’m tryna trap you but, um, dammit. This isn’t working.” Patton sits up, leaning his head around the edge of the car to find a familiar teen with bright orange hair and a studded jacket shuffling his feet between the rows of cars. 

“Toby?” Patton calls, standing slowly and watching his babysitter look up. 

“Patton? What are you doing here? Where’s Mr C?” Another sob leaves the boy’s mouth and, before he can step any closer, Tobias catches an arm full of sobbing child. 

“Hey, little man, it’s okay. What happened?” The boy simply shakes his head, wrapping his arms tighter around the teen's waist. They stand there for several minutes, Tobias awkwardly smiling at passing cars as Patton clings to him for dear life. 

“Pat? Can you tell me why you’re here alone?” He asks, crouching down to the boy’s height despite the stabbing of the spikes on the back of his boots. 

“I live with my mum now.” He whispers, clinging tightly to Tobias’s jacket with one hand and Fluffy with the other. 

“Okay, and why are you down here by yourself? I know you're a big kid but it’s not safe to be here this late alone.” 

“Meghann, my Mum, didn’t bring my stuff up so I had to come to get it but I can’t get the car open and I just want Papa back.” Patton sniffs, rubbing at his eyes as the fatigue sets in. 

“Which car? I can help you.” Patton takes the punk’s hand and leads him over. Tobias reaches inside the front seat, tugging on a lever insistently before returning to Patton’s side, tugging on the boot as well. 

“It needs the key. Don’t tell anyone I did this okay?” Patton nods as he watches his babysitter pull a small pouch out of his jacket pocket, taking two metal objects and poking at the keyhole until the boot pops open. 

“You’re a magician.” Patton awes, smiling as Tobias pushes the boot open further. 

“Not a magician, sadly, just been in a few situations myself.” Together the two pull out the few boxes Patton had brought, stacking them at the bottom of the stairs. Tobias’s phone starts to ring, the boy sighing deeply before answering. 

“Hey, yeah I know something came up. Can’t I just come later? Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay, I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists a few times before crouching back beside Patton. 

“Do you have someone to help you take these up?” Patton shakes his head and Tobias sighs again. “Okay. Let’s get these in the elevator.” 

“But it needs a card.” He pipes up, pushing the box of clothes across the floor. Tobias pulled the remaining three on top, pulling out his own swipe card from his wallet. “Wait, do you live here too?” 

“I do. What floor’s your Mum’s place?” 

“Nine. She doesn’t want me to call her Mum.” Patton hugs his dinosaur tightly as the elevator rises, ignoring Tobias’s concerned look. When they reach the ninth floor, Tobias's phone rings again, this time with a loud bell ringtone that makes his eyes blow wide. 

“Shit, Pat, I’m really sorry but I can't help you get these down there. This is my number- if you need anything, call me. I’ll come to check on you in when I can, okay?” Tobias gives him a tight hug, pressing a piece of paper into his hand and helping him get the boxes out of the elevator before saying goodbye again. 

“Bye Toby.” Patton waves sadly as the doors close, leaving him alone in the hall again. He tucks the paper into his pocket, pushing the first box down the hall noisy and leaving it by the door, returning to find a child poking at the box of books like it’s a new type of animal. 

“Oh, hello. My name is Patton.” The child looks up, startled, and scampers behind a pot plant, hiding almost successfully due to their small size. 

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna be mean. What’s your name?” Patton steps closer, trying to get the child to come out but receiving a small hiss in response. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk to me. I have to take this box down to my new house so I’m gonna leave my dinosaur here to keep you company okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

True to his word, Patton places the dinosaur on the ground around the other side of the pot, where the child can see it, before pushing another box down the hall. This one takes a bit longer than the first because of the weight, books and toys aren’t light. 

When he returns, the child is back next to the remaining two boxes, playing with the dinosaur like it’s an aeroplane. 

“His name is Fluffy. He’s a steg-o-saw-rus.” Patton sounds out the word, remembering how Mr Phillips had pointed to each part in class. The child looks up, mismatched gold and brown eyes staring up at him with curiosity. They have messy auburn hair falling over their eyes, long enough to reach their shoulders, and freckles dusted over their face and neck. 

“What’s your name?” The child shakes their head, looking back down at the dinosaur in their hands. 

“Can you not talk?” Patton asks carefully, gaining a small nod as their response. “That’s okay, I’ve been told I talk enough for me and my friend so I can talk for you too. Can you spell your name?” 

The child looks up slowly, pulling a face before nodding. Patton steps up to the box nearest to him, pulling open the top and taking out his letter board. It’s made from a whiteboard and has a little basket of letter magnets attached to the side.

"My Papa got me this to learn to spell. You can use it to talk to me if you'd like?" He watches the child think a little, setting the dinosaur aside and taking the whiteboard, using a pen to write in shaky letters. 

"Darwin? That's a nice name." Darwin smiles a little, looking down at the ground and playing with a pulled thread. "How old are you? I'm 9." Darwin slowly uncaps the pen again and draws a number 8, looking up through his fringe at Patton, who smiles softly down at him. 

"We can have play dates then. My friend Logan and I do that all the time, we go to the park and he comes and watches movies with us, would you like that?" Darwin nods again, shyly playing with the dinosaur again. Patton smiles triumphantly, moving to the other side of the boxes and starting to push them down the hall. 

After only a few metres, he's out of breath and tired, Darwin still watching silently with Fluffy in his hands. He stands slowly, shuffling over and putting his hands on the boxes, grunting a little as he pushes them forward. 

"Oh, thank you, you don't have to help." Darwin nods quickly, pushing the boxes again with all his might. Together, the boys get them down the hall and place them at the door, panting with exhaustion. 

"Thank you, Darwin, that would've taken me forever." Patton steps up to the door, trying the handle before knocking, just in case Meghann had been kind enough to unlock it for him. Only silence answers, so he knocks again a little louder, smiling nervously at Darwin behind his stuff. 

"What do you, oh, took you long enough." Meghann rips open the door, glancing down at Patton before spotting his new friend behind the boxes. "Did you multiply, who's this?" 

"This is Darwin, he's my new friend, can he come play?" Meghann looks between the two. Even with her cold, dead heart, she can't help but melt at the puppy eyes Patton gives her. 

"Not tonight, Paddy, it's late and you look like me after a night out. Tomorrow, if his parents agree." Patton thanks her loudly and starts to ramble to the boy about all the things they can do, earning a groan from the woman at the door. "Okay, too loud, enough sappy shit. Get your stuff inside, there's shit for a sandwich on the bench for dinner." She turns and walks back inside, ignoring the kids once again but this time with the door open. 

"I'll see you tomorrow? You can come over after lunch?" Darwin nods quickly, pointing at the boxes and then inside. "I can get them to my room from here, it's not nearly as far as the elevator." Patton holds open his arms for a hug, gaining a small shake from the boy as he holds up a hand. "High five then" Patton laughs, lightly hitting their hands against each other. 

Darwin smiles beneath his hair, patting the dinosaur in his arms and handing him back, waving as he wanders off down the hall again. 

With a smile on his face and his friend gone, Patton drags the boxes one by one into his new room, collapsing on his bed as soon as he's done and falling asleep instantly. 

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 54

Chapter Summary - Christmas day and there is good and bad at the Hiddleston's.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @lys-syl @youcantcatchafallingstar

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Tom sighed as he woke more and more until finally, he was looking around him, groaning as he rubbed his eyes before frowning. Usually, when he and Danielle slept in the same bed, he woke to a face full of brown hair, so when he realised there was none in front of him, he looked down to find her against his shoulder her arm draped onto him, her fingers twitching slightly on his stomach hair as she slept.

Danielle had crashed as soon as she was half force-fed the last of her meal the night before, but Tom had not slept for hours after. He thought of her words in the car, how she felt alone and isolated, realising that what his mother had said was true, she did not spend time making too many friends, and the one she had focused on was Emma, who was always jovial and who was never without people around her; instead, Danielle worked and studied, studied and worked. Then he thought of how she had added to her workload of late, wanting more duties, she felt more alone, yet she had him. He was also annoyed that she saw herself an intruder in his family. He did not want that. In his ideal world, Danielle was beside him, his partner, his other half, not an interloper; he needed to sort that, make her understand that. The words she had said regarding London came to him too, he had thought he was overbearing on her in her time there, but she had thought it the other way around, in one respect, he was slightly taken back at how little he had been able to read her, something that being in acting had taught him, but with Danielle, all sense seemed to go out the window, he loved her, and he knew, given the chance, they would last. When she had not told Paul about them, he thought it was because she was still perhaps thinking back to the doctor, or perhaps ashamed of him, but seeing her reaction to Paul and his life changes, he realised it was because she was not the least bit bothered by his life. Thinking back to the summer, and certain articles and comments he had heard, he had to remember for a moment, that though alike in age, there were stark differences in Danielle and other women her age; Danielle was far more mature.

As Danielle's hand moved slightly, Tom realised he needed the bathroom, but when he tried to move, Danielle's faint movements on his lower abdomen suddenly became that of a scared cat, nails almost digging painfully into his flesh. "Elle..."

"No." he looked down to see her brows knitted together, but her eyes still shut.

"Elle, darling, I need you to let go."

"Please, no, Tom, I'm sorry, don't." he stopped trying to get her to release him. "I promise, not again."

"Elle," he shook her lightly. "Darling, you need to wake up."

"No."

"Elle, wake up, I am right here, I am not leaving you." Danielle's nose crinkled as she woke, something Tom tried to see every time, he adored the way she looked as she woke when she looked up at him, he smiled. "Merry Christmas, Danielle." he smiled kindly down at her, kissing her. "Did you sleep well?"

"I..." she bit her lips together. "Merry Christmas." she gave a small smile.

"What happened?"

"I dreamt that I rang you, from the hospital, about my arm, and you...well you didn't care." he looked sadly at her. "I know you do, but it felt so real."

Tom pulled her to his chest, her head over his heart. "I would never not care about you, Elle. I love you." he kissed her again. "You're stuck with me now."

"Really?"

"We'll talk about it all properly tomorrow, but I want you to know you are stuck with me now, I am not leaving you." he smiled. "Except for now, because I want to go to the bathroom," he stated, slowly moving out of the bed, smiling at her as she grinned up at him. "I will return."

"Promise?"

"I swear it."

"Good, the bed doesn't smell enough of you yet."

"Well now," he leant down and kissed her. "That just will not do."

"Indeed it will not." She leant up and kissed him. "Go to the bathroom before I drag you back in."

"That sounds enticing."

"Get to the bathroom, city mouse." she grinned.

"You know the city mouse and country mouse could not adapt to the other's life."

"Does that worry you?"

"It does not worry you?"

"No, I am incredibly adaptable. I should be called Darwin." she smiled, looking at him happily as he walked to the bathroom. As soon as the door closed over, she rolled over to the bedside locker on the side of the bed Tom had commandeered and looked for something.

"What are you doing?" She heard his voice from behind her a few moments later.

"Nothing, go back into the bathroom." she giggled.

"Now I am very intrigued." he grinned, walking over to the bed and getting on where she had been sleeping.

"No, go away."

"Elle?"

"What?"

"Is that, by any chance, my present?"

She did not answer for a moment. "Maybe."

As soon as she closed the door of the locker, he pulled her back to him. "It was right next to me all along? you are devious. What is it?"

"I got you this, and one other thing, but I wanted to give this to you first." she smiled, handing him an envelope.

"I have your presents in mums," he stated, looking at the manila envelope. "Maybe I should wait until later to open this." he looked longingly at it.

Danielle extended her hand with the present in it. "It's sort of a weird thing, but I thought you would want it, you deserve it, it is for the few days after the Golden Globes, for when you come home carrying that big award." she smiled.

Frowning, Tom took the envelope and looked at her for a moment as he opened it. when he read the letter inside, he looked at her again. "Elle, this is ridiculous." he pushed it back towards her. "I cannot take this from you, darling."

"Yes, you can." she smiled. "Please." She pushed it back to him. "A spa weekend in a country house, loosen you up again after everything."

"This...you must have spent..."

"Don't mention money, please Tom, I wanted to get you this, you deserve it." she smiled, playing with his hair.

"It's a weekend away?"

"Yes."

"You’ve paid for the room, right?"

"Obviously."

"So, perhaps you should join me."

Danielle chewed her lip for a moment. "Perhaps I should." She grinned in the end.

"And if we are spotted?" He asked.

"Then I guess I better wear something that makes me look taller, slimmer and prettier."

"Elle," Tom warned.

"I'm thinking a six-foot or more, auburn-haired English gentleman should do the trick, happen to know if Ben is free that weekend? AH, TOM!" she erupted in giggles as Tom tickled her. "I'm joking."

"I am going to get you back for that." he grinned cheekily, biting his lip as he realised her top had ridden up as he had been tickling her, leaving the underneath of her breasts in his line of sight. "You are so sexy."

"Tom." her voice was a gasp, but she pulled him up for a kiss, leaning up as he held himself above her, preventing himself from hurting her many scratches and bruises.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered against her lips.

"Then I suggest we go back to day one." she grinned, pushing him to the side slightly so he would fall to the bed and straddle him. "Now this is a Christmas morning." she grinned as she leant down to kiss him.

*

When Diana saw Danielle walk into her sitting room sheepishly, the older woman dropped the wrapping paper she had tidied up to the floor and rushed over to her. "Don't you dare go out again without telling people, do you hear me?" she stated with tears flowing from her eyes, her arms immediately going around Danielle's neck.

"I promise," Danielle stated as she hugged her back. "I'm sorry I scared you all, and I am sorry I did not call from the hospital, though my phone was broken by the fall."

"I'll get you my old one, it's in my room. Yakov got me a new one for Christmas." Sarah stated as she came over and hugged Danielle as well, "You gave everyone a heart attack."

"I know, Tom told me. I'm sorry."

"Well, whatever caused that, don't you dare ever do that again," she warned.

As though it was some form of divine intervention, Emma came into Danielle's view after that, Danielle froze as she stared at the other woman. "So," Tom immediately intervened, giving Emma a warning glance. "Who gets what?" He held the bag of presents he had brought for her, refusing to allow her to carry it with her arm.

"Yes." she rushed back to him. "Everyone's names are on them." She smiled, taking different gifts that Tom handed her and giving them to everyone. When she held the last one, she looked over to Emma, wary of approaching her, but she forced herself forward and held out the box for her to take. Emma stared at her as though shocked Danielle would even consider such a thing as getting her a gift, but sheepishly, she too extended her hands and took it. "I had to assume you didn't half starve yourself like the director wanted you to," she stated with a small smile and walked back over to Tom, who said nothing but placed his arm around her. "Shouldn't you go get yours?" She whispered.

"After they open yours, by the way, where is the Duchess?" Tom looked around, noting the severe lack of a niece.

"She is in your room, she has commandeered it," Sarah informed him.

"Wait, I've been kicked out?" Tom looked around indignantly. "You spawn and I get kicked out of my room, how is that fair?"

"You spend way too much time with me," Danielle sniggered at Tom saying 'spawn' her usual way of jesting at people having children. "I have a present for her too, is she up there now?"

"Yes, she got a kindle for Christmas so, since Tom's over at yours, she has decided that is her space now and is loading every book she can find for free onto it," Yakov stated.

"Are you sure they're free?" Diana asked worriedly. Sarah and Yakov both looked at one another for a moment before bolting to ensure their daughter had not racked up a couple hundred pounds in books.

"I am going to get my presents for everyone." Tom kissed the side of Danielle's head, "If you feel dizzy..."

"Dress in drag and do a hula?" she grinned back sarcastically.

"You are a woman, it wouldn't be drag."

"True, saw the DVD over there and it was the first thing I thought of, though I never understood the drag part when I first saw it, but then again, I was only seven." She smiled. "Go get that, I'll help your mum and get breakfast, I can smell the food from here."

"Get in there so and give me a hand, I bet you had barely anything yesterday."

"The hospital only gave me a ham sandwich, seriously the NHS is screwed," Danielle stated as she left the room, Diana's arm around her as they made their way to the kitchen.

"What?" Tom had not left the room yet to get his presents, knowing there was something Emma wanted to say to him. "What is it?"

"She got me this."

"Of course she did, unlike you, she actually considers you her friend, her best friend, so she scoured high and low for that, in the end, she had to get someone she knows in Germany to get it and get it couriered over." He growled back. "I bet you got her nothing." Emma bit her lips together. "Of course not, you aren't exactly putting yourself in a good light here Emma." He turned and walked away.

Emma inhaled deeply as Jack rubbed her shoulders. "It'll be alright," He kissed the side of her head. Emma said nothing, knowing that had Jack heard what she said to Danielle, he would not be so sure.

"Stop eating it like that," Diana slapped Danielle's hand lightly as she threw another grape into her mouth while they cooked. "Three slices of toast, a rasher and what is that; the sixth grape, you will give yourself a stomach ache."

"But I am starving." Danielle moaned as she eyed the already cooked sausages.

"Then put them on a plate and eat them, good lord child, you are almost as bad as Thomas today."

"Hey, I'm not that bad." Danielle held up a part of the crust of the bread and was about to toss it at Diana when she turned and silently dared her to, Danielle just threw it into her mouth immediately. "I..."

"Don't speak with food in your mouth, you think I don't know what you are up to missy." Diana grinned, showing Danielle she was only jesting before the smile became smaller, but her eyes filled with something else. "I am so glad whatever silliness you thought over the past few days is gone, I have missed you so much, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry I left," she stated back, looking at the towel she was after using to clean her hands. "I'm sorry I didn't come straight back."

"Don't say that love, look at how happy you are, you and Tom, you cannot apologise for that." Diana smiled, cupping Danielle's face in her hands. "I am so glad it is you," Danielle frowned. "Of all the women, I cannot tell you how relieved I am that it is you that Tom has finally noticed."

"Was that your plan all along?" Danielle asked.

"Not all along, the past two years, I have been a little...encouraging."

"Diana Hiddleston, you are terrible. Is that two of your three children you have interfered in the love lives of?"

"I would have worked on Sarah too if she and Yakov had been here, and it is technically four since I have considered you part of the family for so long."

"That makes things sound a little weird then, considering me and Tom."

"Oh no sweetheart, it makes it better, because who knows, in the future perhaps you will be a proper Hiddleston.”

“Mum!” Tom happened to walk in on the last part of the conversation. “Seriously, are you trying to get her to run away, do not talk like that.” He warned.

“Don’t tell me mum is trying to impose marriage already.” Sarah asked, coming to the kitchen door, “No mum, you scare people with that.”

“It didn’t scare Jack and Yakov.”

“We were dating them for nearly a year beforehand, Tom and Elle are only together a couple of months.”

“They know each other longer, though.”

“We are going to get nowhere with you, come on Elle, you need to get your presents from everyone.”

“After food, seriously, I would endure hell to eat right now, I am starved.” She grabbed the food and gave a plate load to Tom too. “Are you okay?” She looked at him worriedly as he looked at her with a peculiar look on his face.

“Yes, I...you are eating a big breakfast.” he smiled, his eyes showing his delight.

“Seriously, how did you date Taylor, I can’t imagine you being happy as she eats like two lettuce leaves and a glass of ‘low-fat’ water.” Danielle joked. “I’m hungry, and I am going to eat all of this, and anything you leave behind, so eat fast Hiddles.” she grinned following Tom back to the living room.

“Oh my God, are these real?” Sarah asked, having finally opened her presents. “Mum, Tom got me those earrings.” She jumped up and down happily.

“Good call on that,” Tom whispered into Danielle’s ear.

“I know right, aren’t you glad I texted you to tell you what she wanted?”

“Elated.” he grinned back. Diana smiled at her son, knowing that he had Danielle get her to distract her older daughter while Danielle got them on his behalf. “Have you opened Elles?”

“No, I’m about to, what...AH!” Sarah ran over to Elle, “Thank you so much.”

“For what part?” Danielle laughed as Sarah hugged her.

“Both!”

“Both?” Tom asked.

“There is a convention on in Manchester next month, it will have some guy that Sarah did part of her degree on talking, so I got her tickets, and put in a little letter saying that I would mind the Duchess so she and Yakov can both go.”

“I see, well, what date is it, perhaps we can mind said Duchess here or in London?”

“You’ll be working on Early Man.”

“During the day, not in the evenings, it won’t be a twenty-four seven job.” he smiled. “Sarah, we’ll collect her and you can make a whole weekend of it.” Tom smiled.

Sarah made a squeaking noise and hugged her brother. “You don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t.” Tom smiled. “She’ll have a great time, we'll bring her to the zoo, get her some ice-cream, and now, so will the both of you.”

“You’re the best Tom.” she smiled, going to find her daughter to tell her that Tom and Danielle would be taking her for a weekend.

“We can handle this, can’t we?” Tom asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

Before Danielle could answer, there was a shriek of delight before the sound of feet on the stairs and a chant of “thank you, thank you, thank you” before Tom was effectively assaulted by his niece leaping into his arms.

“We can.” she smiled, as she was then dragged into a hug by the excited child. “Hopefully.”