#for the record this is obviously said with affection and amusement because he is clearly fine with his brother teasing him

[bikelock28]

Travis Kelce is the Tortured Poet we deserve. #upgrade

[queenshelby]

The Last Semester – Part 25

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 3,205

Warning: Angst, Smut

Whilst you had expected to meet Cillian’s children two weeks ago, just following your miscarriage, it never happened as, once again, Nadine withheld contact until Cillian’s son Charlie ran into trouble at school and the director called Cillian after he got nowhere with Nadine.

This all happened after Nadine went to the press about her relationship with Cillian, telling them lies and alleging an affair between him and their babysitter many years ago, causing their divorce.

In an attempt to prevent Nadine from sending in the alleged tape, Cillian didn’t comment on the rumours when asked by the reporter. The last thing he wanted was to draw this out and have his children exposed to such content on the internet.

During a parent teacher meeting requested by the director, the director advised Cillian that Charlie in particular wasn’t coping with current arrangements between him and Nadine and, according to him, he had requested on many occasions to live with his father.

He had access to media, the internet and a phone which made him more susceptible and aware of the situation and every article that had been published about Cillian had Nadine’s name on it.

The school director was far from impressed and Cillian confirmed that he was dealing with the situation through his lawyer.

Just as he did, Nadine finally agreed for his sons to stay with Cillian for a week after Charlie had been caught with an illicit substance at school just the day after Cillian’s meeting with the school director.

This was too much for her to deal with on her own especially since, according to her, Charlie refused to speak to her after he read an article about his father in a gossip magazine for which she was to blame.

***

‘Here is his phone. He is grounded. You can deal with it. They both need to be picked up at 4 o’clock as they have theatre practice’ Nadine growled as she barged into Cillian’s house and gave you a stern look.

Angrily, she dropped the boys’ bags onto the floor before looking at you again.

‘She better be gone when you pick up the boys’ Nadine then said, causing Cillian to sigh.

‘No, she will be here. It is time for the boys to meet her’ Cillian then said before showing Nadine the door.

‘You think this is a good idea after what Charlie has been through?’ Nadine growled.

‘After what you put him through? Well, I don’t know Nadine, you tell me because, surely, you could have expected that your little stunt would backfire on you and affect the boys’ Cillian said angrily and frustrated with Nadine’s actions.

‘If their welfare was so important to you, perhaps you would still be married to me, their mother, instead of fucking this slut’ Nadine then said somewhat upset.

‘You need to leave now Nadine, before I say something that I might regret’ Cillian growled angrily, biting his tongue as, knowing her, she might be sneaky enough to record their conversation.

‘I was about to’ she then said, walking towards the door.

‘I don’t understand why you would do this and why we cannot deal with each other like civilized adults for the sake of the boys’ Cillian then said just as she left.

***

Later that evening, when Cillian arrived at home with the boys, you greeted them in the kitchen where you had prepared dinner.

Charlie and Hendrix were quick to introduce themselves to you.

‘Want some help, I am good at this shit’ Charlie said as he enjoyed to cook.

‘Language!’ Cillian quickly shouted out, causing Charlie to apologise to you before walking over towards the fridge and grabbing himself a soft drink.

Cillian watched him closely and raised his eyebrow.

‘Fine, I put it back’ Charlie huffed out, knowing that Cillian was limiting their intake of sugary drinks. ‘Can I have my phone back though? I am seeing this girl and can’t text her now’ he was quick to ask and Cillian pulled him aside for a talk while you entertained his younger brother Hendrix with some talk about his favourite football team.

About ten minutes later, both Cillian and Charlie returned to the kitchen and Charlie seemed glad that Cillian returned his phone to him.

Without paying attention to anything else, Charlie sat at the kitchen table, typing away and surfing the internet. The phone made several strange sounds and noises and Charlie was laughing, obviously catching up with his friends.

‘What are you doing?’ Cillian chuckled, amused by Charlie’s facial expressions as he typed and typed and typed.

‘Snap Chat…and apparently there is this new thing on Tik Tok everyone is watching’ Charlie said as he continued on talking to his father about it but losing him halfway through.

‘What Chat?’ Cillian asked, causing you to laugh.

‘Snap Chat’ you said.

‘What is a Snap Chat?’ Cillian asked confused, causing his son to shake his head in disbelieve.

‘Oh, common dad…you know what Tik Tok is though, right?’ Charlie chuckled.

‘Of course’ Cillian said proudly and you were somewhat surprised.

‘You do?’ you giggled, teasing Cillian.

‘No…I have no idea’ he laughed, which is when Charlie and you took the time to explain it to him.

‘I am on Instagram now though’ Cillian then said proudly after he learned about Snap Chat and Tik Tok, causing your eyes to widen and look at your boyfriend with surprise.

‘Congratulations dad, you are just about ten years too late’ Charlie laughed and you asked Cillian to show him his Instagram account.

‘Uhm, that’s great babe’ you giggled as you observed that he followed one person and that was you. He had no profile picture, no description, no photos and no followers.

‘What I don’t understand is that I thought I would get a lot of follow requests, being an actor and all. But apparently not’ Cillian said somewhat disappointed.

‘Well, a profile picture and verifying your account might help with that’ you giggled as you logged on to Instagram on your phone and sent him a follow request and Charlie did the same.

***

Charlie and Hendrix both enjoyed the dinner you cooked and, after you all cleaned up, you sat down together and watched a movie.

You knew that, realistically, you were too young to ever be a mother figure to them. They have a mother and certainly don’t need another one. Nonetheless, you tried your best to get to know them and, after spending several hours with them, you were surprised by just how much they were like Cillian.

Even more so, you were impressed by how Cillian interacted with them, caring for them and listening to them. They clearly looked up to him and he was a fantastic and caring father.

Everything went smoothly and the boys seemed to like you and interact with you as they would with their father’s friends. They respected you but yet they tried to relate to you as you were much younger than their father.

But then, during the movie, an uncomfortable topic came up.

‘Dad, it’s not true right? With Laura?’ Hendrix then asked.

‘Of course it’s not true, dummie. Mum made it up’ Charlie was quick to say, causing Cillian to interfere.

‘No name calling Charlie’ Cillian said firmly before explaining to them both that it was not true. There was not much else he could tell them.

‘Why can’t we just live here with you? I am really sick of this dad. She is constantly saying crap about you’ Charlie huffed out and Cillian reminded him that it doesn’t work like that, causing Charlie to storm off into his room.

Cillian eventually followed him after ensuring that Hendrix was alright and it took him about twenty minutes to make an appearance again.

Eventually, at around 10 o’clock, the boys were getting ready for bed after Cillian nagged them several times to go and have a shower and brush their teeth.

He reminded them that, tomorrow, he would take them to the mall and for lunch which was something they enjoyed and they needed to be rested for it and not stay up and play games.

‘We are leaving at 9 o’clock so don’t stay up, eh’ Cillian said in a deep voice, reminding you of his role in Peaky Blinders.

***

At last, you were alone and it didn’t take you long to seek some intimacy. After all, the two weeks wait was up today and you were very needy.

‘We should really take this to the bedroom in case one of the boys walks in on us’ you giggled as Cillian was teasing you, touching your breasts and nibbling on your neck as you were both curled up on the lounge.

‘Good idea’ Cillian said and, just after he did, he scooped you up into his arms, eliciting a squeal of surprise from you as he propped you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist.

‘Eager are we Mr Murphy?’ you chuckled as he carried you to his bedroom.

‘It’s been two weeks, how could I not be’ Cillian chuckled as he placed you onto the bed and closed the door behind him.

When he returned to the bed, you had already gotten rid of your t-shirt and shorts and Cillian reached behind your back to undo the clasp on your bra after taking off his own t-shirt. At the same time, you undid the button and zipper on his jeans. As they fell from his hips, showing off his manhood, he pulled the bra straps from around your arms, revealing your smooth breasts.

‘Where are your briefs sir?’ you giggled as you noticed that Cillian wasn’t wearing any underwear.

‘I forgot’ he winked and, without losing any time, you pushed him beneath you and took his growing member into your mouth gently before running the length of your tongue over his shaft.

‘Fuck you are so good at this’ Cillian growled as he relaxed into the pillows and you licked up the length of his member from the base to the tip.

‘Am I?’ you smirked as you slowly started to bob your head, causing Cillian to groan.

‘Turn around and let me taste you while you continue’ Cillian then instructed and, you quickly pushed off your panties before complying with his request and swinging one of your legs over his face before dropping your head back down to pleasure Cillian with your tongue.

Cillian was quick to pull your already wet mound onto his lips, causing you to moan loudly against his cock.

In order to stay quiet, you took as much of his length into your mouth as possible. This way, his cock was almost acting like a gag.

At the same time, Cillian’s tongue had found your clit, circling it gently while he pressed your crotch down against your mouth, not allowing you to wiggle away.

‘Oh god’ you moaned against his cock as you sucked and licked it while, occasionally, taking it in all the way while Cillian began at the bottom point of your mound once again, the tip of his tongue leaving a trail as he licked up the dripping fluids that you secreted, going from the meeting point of your folds to the opening.

As he dipped his tongue inside, he felt your body tighten up as you sharply inhaled around his cock. He pulled out with a kiss to your lips, and continued upwards, enveloping your hood again with the entirety of his tongue before rubbing its flat surface sideways against your round tip.

You squealed again over his cock, bobbing your head up and down his long shaft as you did until, suddenly, he took it too far. He drew the tip of his tongue around your clit, diving his entire mouth around it before sliding two fingers into your steaming opening.

‘Oh god, Cillian’ you moaned after shooting up from his, tightening your thighs around Cillian's head.

‘Keep my cock in your mouth, that should keep you quiet’ Cillian instructed as he groaned and began to increase the speed at which his fingers entered your body.

Within time, the long strokes had turned into short upwards strokes as he touched your spot over and over, simultaneously assaulting your hood with his tongue, matching the speed of both to your ever-quickening heartbeat.

‘I can’t, fuck, oh god’ you moaned loudly and, just as you did, Cillian pushed you off and beneath him.

‘Cillian’ you pouted, causing Cillian to grin and kiss you passionately before sinking his fingers back into your aching wet pussy.  

‘Ohhhh god’ you cried out. ‘Oh shit... Cillian, I'm gonna...’ you moaned a little too loudly and, as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, Cillian covered your mouth with his hand to keep you from screaming out.

Cillian began to feel your muscles tighten around his fingers, and sped up, while sucking on your neck until, finally, a high scream came out of your mouth.

By this point, Cillian was grateful that his sons usually slept well and deep as his palm could not quieten you down significantly when you orgasmed.

As usual, when Cillian made you cum by massaging your g-spot, a good amount of fluid spurted out of you and onto the towel beneath you.  

Your body shuddered, tiny squeals coming every few seconds until, finally, Cillian removed his hand from your mouth. ‘Stop...’ you breathed out. ‘Oh god...’ you huffed.

‘So sensitive’ Cillian chuckled, teasing you with light kisses against the soaked flesh between your thighs before pulling the towel away from beneath you and throwing it into the laundry basked near the dresser.  

‘Yes’ you laughed, stroking Cillian’s hair just before he got up from his knees, kissing his way up your body, stopping just short of your lips before kissing you passionately.

You wrapped your arms under his and around his back while Cillian pushed you further back on the bed, climbing up onto his knees and lowering himself so he was almost level with you as you raised your pelvis into the air.

You reached down and gripped his manhood, gently stroking it before lowering it to align with your opening, grinding your drenched lips against his head. When he slid inside, you gasped, squealing as he gently allowed all of his length to enter you.

‘Oh god yes, fuck, I missed this’ you moaned as Cillian ground his hips in a circle before drawing back, delicately stroking in and out as you put one hand on his hip and the other on his chest, digging in and drawing your nails downwards, leaving red lines down his body. He smiled and kissed you, increasing the speed of his advance and thrusting upwards before pulling back, repeating the motion as his kisses stifled your moans.

‘I miss this too…you feel so fucking good’ Cillian groaned as you returned the favor, grinding your hips as he spread you open. You moved your hands to his back, scratching his back as he pulled his face away from you. You bit your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your moans which was a futile effort. Within seconds your lips spread open and you resumed the sounds that brought Cillian to the brink of orgasm as your own high hit you almost unexpectedly and hard.

‘Oh god yes, fuck Cillian’ you moaned as your orgasm washed over you and your legs began to quiver around him.

Cillian pulled his body up off of yours, positioning himself upright and sliding his knees forward. He grabbed your hands in the air, pushing forwards as you pushed against him, using the leverage to slam his erection into you, the sound of his ball slapping underneath drowned out by the lusty groans forcing themselves out from your throat.

Finally, between the warmth and moistness of your passage, the squeals, groans, and moans working their way through your mouth, and the pain from your nails on his back, Cillian couldn't take anymore.

‘Fuck, Y/N’ Cillian groaned as he withdrew from your opening, laying the weight of his member against your mound and you immediately gripped his cock with both hands, stroking almost as fast as he had been thrusting. It wasn't long before the orgasm ripped through his body, his sticky liquid spurting out in a strong burst across your stomach, up to just below your breasts.

He leaned down, kissing you as your body heaved in an effort to catch your breath. He remained stiff, however, and you slid him back inside of you, kissing him as he gently thrust until, finally, he was too flaccid to continue.

‘Y/N, fuck, I don’t think you should have…’ Cillian groaned, knowing that this entirely defeated the purpose of him pulling out. But, before he could finish his sentence, you pulled his mouth onto yours before pushing him beneath you.

‘Hmm’ you moaned while you began to slide up and down on his hard cock. His semen, which coated your stomach and breasts, glistened in the light from the bedside lamp and you placed a finger just above your mound as you rode him, slowly drawing upwards, catching the fluids that began to slowly slide down your body.

When you got the last of it, you placed your finger into your mouth, slowly drawing it out, sucking every drop of it before swallowing it.

‘Jesus Y/N, fuck’ Cillian groaned as he watched you lick his cum of your fingers.

‘I love tasting your cum’ you said seductively as you increased the speed of your movements until, after not too long, your third orgasm hit you and you moaned uncontrollably, causing Cillian to cover your mouth with his hand once again.

Once you came down from your high, you slid off Cillian and quickly disappeared with your head in between his legs.

‘I know there is more for me’ you smirked as you took his length into your mouth and began to suck him.

And, sure enough, there was. After less than ten minutes, you sent Cillian over the edge once again.

‘Fuck’ he groaned as he filled your mouth with rope after rope of his warm and sweet cum and, again, you didn’t waste a single drop, swallowing all of it.

***

The following morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes and, when you walked into the kitchen, Cillian was preparing breakfast while Hendrix waited hungrily at the kitchen table.

‘Coffee?’ Cillian asked and you yawned and nodded all at the same time.

‘Thank you’ you said as you sat down next to Hendrix, wondering where Charlie was.

Eventually, Charlie also joined you in the kitchen, yawning and asking for a coffee as well.

‘I told you not to stay up gaming, eh?’ Cillian chuckled.

‘I didn’t…I just couldn’t sleep’ Charlie then said as he sat down at the table while Cillian was serving up some pancakes.

‘Why is that?’ Cillian asked.

‘Because you guys are bloody noisy’ Charlie chuckled, shaking his head in disgust and causing you to choke on some of your coffee.

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[cybernaght]

Guardian rewatch: Episode 3

First of all, wow. When I decided to post those online, I was expecting that they would be read by two people, both of whom I personally know. It was in equal part surprising and terrifying that so many of you ventured here. Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it. 

Episode 3 is probably my favourite case. It’s not perfectly strung together, there is little actual investigative work in it, but it’s a beautiful story of boundless love and devotion, which echoes through the relationship between our protagonists

Professor Shen is looking at some materials that are looking suspiciously like research into something supernatural, when Zhang Ruonan makes an appearance at his office, claiming that she is absolutely fine, while clearly being very far away from fine. This is something Shen Wei can certainly relate to, because he is the king of hiding his ailments from others. 

Zhu Hong’s one-sided affection for Zhao Yunlan starts to show already in this episode:  while he has the cold, she nags him to take care of himself, shoves tissues into his hands, and presses him to drink his meds. It’s easy to imagine even this early on that she will be the woman drunk dialling him one day. 

I know this could be seen as straightbaiting, but I honestly thing that the actual purpose it serves in the show is the opposite; I’ll talk more about it when we get there.

Zhao Yunlan spends a lot of this episode in Shen Wei’s office, starting with this scene, in which is obviously flexing. Not only does he sneeze all over the office, he goes to eat Shen Wei’s cake after specifically being told not to eat it.  He also takes his opportunity to mix questioning with flirting, as is his usual way. He keeps eye contact while spooning cake into his mouth, as he explains, jovially, that another mysterious death on his campus cannot possibly be a coincidence. And, to be fair, he is not really wrong. We are meant to believe that this is all set in motion by Zhu Jiu, aka the least scary villain in the history of villainy, and an owner of your staple baby goth wig. I will not mention him again until the plot makes it impossible for me not to do so. 

Zhang Ruonan comes in, and Zhao Yunlan introduces himself as Shen Wei’s good friend. Which is half-way between a flex and an act of kindness. On one hand, he could have said he was from the police - which would be absolutely true - and risk tarnishing the professor’s good name. On the other hand, he could probably look less pleased with himself. Shen Wei, at the very least, looks neither grateful, nor amused. 

Zhao Yunlan asks her if she new the victim and she looks incredibly shifty as she flees. He is right to think that something is up, and he correctly assumes trauma, rather than guilt. We can now start to see that he is very very good at reading people. It must be equal parts thrilling and disconcerting for him to have met something who he decisively cannot read. Shen Wei vouches for the woman, partly, surely, because his Hei Pao Shi sense is tingling, letting him know that someone is eavesdropping. 

Despite feeling uneasy, Shen Wei still offers Guo Changcheng, who is left to collect various paperwork from his desk, a little smile. He has a reason to like Xiao Guo, of course: he was the one to see the young man’s kindness and understanding, and he is already growing protective of him, way before he will start seeing members of the special unit as his people. This reminds me of how many months later, he will subtly, but decisively stop a barrage of verbal abuse against Xiao Guo by dropping a pair of chopsticks. 

Zhao Yunlan is taking Xiao Guo with him on the case rather than anyone else, partly, supposedly, because of Guo Changcheng’s familial connections. The young man looks more sure of himself, asking correct questions, dutifully records answers. He also tries to look after his Chief by asking him to go home and rest. He does phrase it badly, but Zhao Yunlan has a thing against his own health and well-being, so he reacts extra poorly.

Soon after, Zhao Yunlan’s at Shen Wei’s office yet again, as Shen Wei tries his best to ignore him, in the hope that he… well, maybe not goes away, but does not ask him anything that will require him lying. Instead, Zhao Yunlan is asking Shen Wei why he is bad at reading people, which is a very strange thing to ask. Shen Wei answers his question with a question, “Will seeing through people really lessen the hurt and disappointment?” Adding, “Many tragedies were destined from the beginning”. He looks well.. like this as he says it. 

This is loaded. On first glance, it’s a pretty good set-up to the way this story will unfold, as a tragedy of two individuals who let their devotion to each other nearly ruin each other’s life. A fragile human and a dangerous powered Undergroundian: what else is that, but a tragedy, waiting to happen? But this story - this one right in front of us - will not end tragically, at least not for the two people it enters around. It could do so, but it will not. Maybe, this truly is the first hint that this entire narrative, so carefully set up from the very first time Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei meet, is destined to be a tragedy. Moreover, that it must be one, for some cosmic reason. 

(… I apologise while I go have a little cry in the corner. Damn you, Guardian, why do you make me hurt so much?)

Da Qing inexplicably morphs from black cat to a human in white t-shirt while doing night shadowing, and promptly falls asleep on patrol. Why is he being sent to stake anyone out? He is least suitable for it.  He is literally a cat. He sleeps 16 hours a day. 

Surprisingly, when pressed, Zhang Ruonan comes clean very easily, revealing that she was a victim of the three students she failed (two of which are already dead and one one standing right next to them), who lured her out at night, which left her vulnerable to be attacked. Zhao Yunlan listens to this story, and instead of… oh I don’t know, perhaps asking her the identity of the third student, leaves to go find that out for himself. It is heavily implied that he does it on purpose, which is definitely not okay.  

Moreover, he goes and... asks Shen Wei. This makes me suspect that he’s not really thinking with his head at this point. As he does so, he is brandishing a letter opener. 

Shen Wei is looking even less impressed with him than he did during their last few conversations. 

Zhao Yunlan is a little bit flippant when it comes to students’ lives this episode. And yes, they have done something really quite horrible to another human being, but that's not a very good excuse to let the last of them just die. As it happens, the situation Yunlan created - perhaps on purpose - did lure out Zhao Ruonan’s murder girlfriend, but it also cost a student his life. Which is far from ideal, but is somehow never even mentioned. Instead of being aghast, he sits on the table as he goes into full interrogation mode. (As he will continue to do a lot. Sometimes he crouches on tables instead. There is no further point here, apart from: I like this character quirk. It’s a nice character quirk.)

He brings some of his team in at this point, and asks Zhu Hong to continue interrogation. It would be a nice gesture is he did not interject two questions in. 

“How do you regard your relationship with Wang Yike?”

“We are family.”

They are definitely, decisively not going for sisterly bond here. Which is kind of incredible. This is one of the moments the amorphous being that show is looks at the censors, wiggles its battered low budget eyebrows at them, and then proceeds to flip them off. Well done, Guardian. 

Wang Yike calls Zhang Ruonan, saying there is one more victim she needs to take care of, and Lin Jing traces the call back to campus. Zhao Yunlan, who did not even bat an eyelid at a dead student earlier, now looks decisively worried  

“Oh no. Professor Shen.” 

The only reason Shen Wei is attacked is jealousy. Wang Yike does not know this of course, but trying to kill him is a bad move, because a) he has long ago given his heart away, and is definitely not interested; b) this is probably the only thing she could do to make the man on the case very very upset; c) Shen Wei’s immune to her powers. 

“Someone like you will never understand what she means to me!” Wang Yike shouts eventually. “As long as I can protect her, my life has worth!” And, even as Wang Yike has no way of knowing it, these are the words that ultimately save both her and her loved one. Because Shen Wei does in fact understand what Zhang Ruonan means to her. His own endless and ultimately self-destructive devotion is his main driving force.

Shen Wei pretends to be hurt, again, which earns him a half-hug from the object of his devotion. If Zhao Yunlan does notice that Shen Wei should really come out of this attack grey haired and dead, and not just mildly inconvenienced, he chooses not to say anything. 

Worried about her murder girlfriend, Zhang Ruonan rushes in and accidentally touches her. Zhao Yunlan Freaks The Hell Out. Shen Wei does, too, but in his own, reserved, way. They are both emotionally invested in those two people, although for very different reasons: Shen Wei is acutely feeling resonance of his own past in their story, and Zhao Yunlan, I think, wants to fix it, he wants to be able to make it better. Instead, Shen Wei fixes it for him, turning the tide on this tragedy, and giving it a happy ending. He heals Zhang Ruonan right in front of the officers of SID, albeit with much subtlety. (“Have someone saved her right under our noses?” Zhu Hong will snort the very same evening, and she will be 100% correct.)

Shen Wei also lets Wang Yike go despite the undeniable fact that she did kill three people. Here, he is looking at the picture of this human/Undergroundian couple, surviving despite all odds, and touches his only reminder that Kunlun really was in his life. 

He then burns the picture as the only evidence that Wang Yike was not punished by him for her crimes. 

In the end, Guo Chengcheng is making first of his many diary notes about the events, recounting a conversation between Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan we had not witnessed, in which Shen Wei mentioned a relationship based on devotion that can last a thousand years, and Zhao Yunlan called such a relationship “guarding”. Finally, Guo Changcheng hopes that he can become a guardian of all. 

And this is making me think that this absolutely should be a set-up for him becoming a wick of the guardian lantern, as per every single other decision that was made prior to the last two episodes. Right? This is a perfect foreshadowing, and mentioning it here, so early in the show would not make any sense if it were a deliberate subversion. So, was Guo Changcheng meant to become the wick after all before... what, some rewrites happened? What made the final episode be what it was in the end?

(This is a genuine question by that way, if anyone has any insight on the matter.)

The episode would end here, if this was a western show, with a familiar monster of the week structure, but it does not. At least, the way it ends is reminiscent of a cliffhanger, with Zhao Yunlan catching Shen Wei in a middle of a crime scene, and looking betrayed. 

Next episode: Lynchian Nightmare, aka people without faces. 

PS.

I did not have a seamless way to stick this in anywhere but... Shen Wei’s technological ineptness at the max: he does not know how to use a Polaroid camera. Help him, he is so lost.

——

Second point of housekeeping to say a few things: 

I don’t think I will be consistent with certain things being transliterated versus translated. I am more likely to use Hei Pao Shi rather than Black Cloak Envoy (because the later reminds me of Tuxedo Mask, which makes me inwardly giggle every time) but at the same time I am also more likely to use Underground/Undergroundian rather than Dixing/Dixingren. I am more likely to use Xiao rather than Little, but have called Chu Old rather than Lao before. I hope that’s not grating, but do tell me if it is

My recaps are Shen Wei-heavy. I have no real explanation for this, apart from.. I like Shen Wei. 

I realise that there will definitely be things here that are head canon and speculation rather than flat observations; this show is a work of fiction and a work of art, which cannot be interpreted objectively. If you have alternate takes on anything I write in the future, let me know! 

[ineffably-good]

Flufftober #7: Second Kiss (Good Omens)

I got nowhere on prompt 18, so I’m going back to pick off the last one I missed from the first week. Enjoy!

__

The angel and the demon were celebrating their second anniversary at their usual table at the Ritz, the gorgeous rich linens draped over their laps and candles twinkling on the table, the soft murmur of conversation flowing around them. Aziraphale took a swallow of his champagne, and looked at Crowley consideringly.

"What is it, angel?" Crowley said, leaning in with his chin in his hand and just drinking in the glow of his partner in the candlelight.

“I was just wondering, my dear -- do you remember our first kiss?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked affronted. “Of course I do, angel, it was only two years ago – I’m not mental.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, you’re wrong,” he said. “That was our second kiss.”

Crowley frowned. “I am absolutely certain I would remember if you had ever kissed me before.”

“Well it was quite some time ago.”

“You’re making this up,” Crowley said.

“And you were rather drunk,” Aziraphale said with a slight grin, obviously enjoying this.

“What? When?”

“Actually, you were extremely drunk.”

There’s no doubt about it, Crowley thought; the angel was toying with him. And what’s worse, he got the feeling that this story was actually true and not just some kind of twisted joke.  

“Aziraphale!” Crowley nearly shouted, attracting the disapproving attention of a number of other patrons. He quieted down and slumped in his seat. “What are you talking about?”

The angel was clearly reconsidering teasing his love in such a public setting. “Let’s go back home," he said apologetically, "and then I’ll tell you, all right? It’s hardly the place.”

“You brought it up,” the demon muttered, but he acquiesced. He also quickly brought the meal to a close, tossed down some money to pay the bill, and hurried them out of the restaurant. He then tucked an arm around Aziraphale and all but speed-walked them home, as if they were trying to set a world record.

++

They’d barely walked into the shop when Crowley snapped and locked the door, lowering the windows, and then threw himself down on the couch. Aziraphale, amused, watched him glower.

“Okay, angel,” he said, “I waited. Now tell me what you’re on about with us having kissed before.”

Aziraphale sat down near him and adjusted his waistcoat primly. “Do you remember the three day festival held in Rome in, oh what was it, something like 77AD? All Bacchus and nymphs and wine and strange little dishes with song birds in them?”

Crowley thought for a minute. “I think so – we were both there on work assignment? You were protecting someone who was going to be important someday and I was tempting a senator?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “That’s the one. Well, after the first day our missions were essentially completed, but we decided to stick around because the wine was so good and the people watching was extraordinary.” He got a faraway, distracted look in his eyes for a moment. “And they did have some truly excellent wine, I believe from the southern peninsula, possibly Pompeii.”

Crowley cleared his throat meaningfully and made a ‘get on with it’ gesture.

“We drank rather a lot of it, for rather a long time,” Aziraphale said, smiling fondly, “and we ended up lounging together on a – well on a lounge, I suppose, for most of the third evening. Everyone was very liberal with the touching and draping over each other and the expansive displays of affection then, and we were just trying to fit in of course and not draw too much attention. And, well, somewhere in that final evening, I believe I kissed you rather thoroughly.”

“You kissed me?” Crowley said.

“As I said, I’d had rather a lot to drink,” Aziraphale admitted. “And you were just being so charming and pleasant, and it was warm and dark and we were touching in ways we didn’t usually, and I just couldn’t stop myself.”

Crowley wracked his brain. He had a vague memory of lounging on a couch with the angel and feeling dizzy and happy – and then nothing. A big blank. “Why wouldn’t I remember this?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Because you were so drunk that you passed out completely. At first I thought I’d rendered you completely limp with passion – I was feeling rather proud of myself right in that moment – but then I realized you were half in an alcohol-fueled coma. Put somewhat of a damper on the proceedings.”

Crowley groaned. “I did not! Tell me that isn’t true!”

“Oh it’s true, I’m afraid. Quite a blow to my ego, that was.”

Crowley pouts. “You never said anything about it!”

Aziraphale had taken Crowley back to his rooms and made sure he made it safely to bed, miracling most of the alcohol out of his system. When he next saw him a day or two later, it was very obvious that Crowley didn’t remember. The angel thought about telling him what had happened but ultimately decided that perhaps it was best not to bring it up – his momentary foolishness could have a devastating effect on their growing friendship, and he suspected that perhaps the demon would be horrified if he’d remembered. The last thing he wanted was a century of awkwardness.

“I suppose I just thought it was for the best,” Aziraphale admitted. “Perhaps a divine favor, really, that you didn’t remember my indiscretion. I wasn't at all sure how you would have felt about it in the light of day.”

Crowley sighed. “I wish I remembered,” he said. “Even if I wouldn't have known what to do with the knowledge at the time.”

“I’m sorry, my dear.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Crowley said bitterly, “it was my stupid blackout.”

The angel laughed.

“Although,” Crowley said, “I am a little miffed at you.”

“For what?”

“Because!" Crowley sputtered. "You’re telling me that you snogged the daylights out of me in 79 AD when I was barely conscious enough to take part, and then you didn’t bother to do it again for another nineteen HUNDRED and forty one years?”

Aziraphale considered. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“You have some making up to do,” Crowley said, mock seriously. “Nineteen hundred and forty one times, by my count.”

Aziraphale leaned in for a kiss. He broke off a moment later and sat back, searching Crowley’s face. “Does this help?”

“That’s one,” Crowley said, long-sufferingly. “Only nineteen hundred and forty more.”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said with a hint of laughter in his voice. “I might need some chapstick before this is over.”

Crowley pulled him back in, and the angel set about making things right.

[seachanqe]

kiss the skin that crawls from you

Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate Identifying Marks ---- Martin/Elias (background Jon/Martin and unrequited Elias/Jon)

Rating: Gen (ish)

Link to AO3

Alone in his cell, Elias laughed bitterly, harshly, in disbelief. He had made a rare honest-to-god mistake, and now the universe had given him his reward. Though it was not entirely unexpected that he had been ousted from the Institute, he was still trying to wrap his mind around that the plan had originated from Martin. Martin, of all people, who knew Elias had completely underestimated him and, cunningly, used it against him. The Beholding help him, but Elias admired that. While he had been mulling over where he had erred, something in the unfathomable universe clicked, two strands of the Web’s thread intertwined, and a connection formed. Elias felt a searing pain on his wrist, enough to startle him out of his reverie in time to see “Martin Blackwood” in a dark black, messy scrawl burn into his skin, just under the neat, older “Jonathan Sims”. This was too much for Elias’ usually well-maintained self-control, and so he laughed. The way he saw it, on top of everything else that had happened, this might as well happen too.

---------

For most of his life, Elias had been apathetic towards the concept of soulmates; they were too closely associated with the Web for his comfort. And even when he had been young, popular opinion towards soulmates had been sickeningly romantic: star-crossed lovers, mythically perfect couples, doe-eyed sweethearts, all of which he viewed with overwhelming cynicism. Without taking into consideration the utter ridiculousness elevating a name on a wrist to finding the “one”, he fervently disliked the loss of control if assigned a soulmate. But the patience of the Web was unrivaled, except with perhaps the End, and it had been quietly weaving a web or two just for him.

When Jon put in his application to the Institute and Elias interviewed him, the immediacy and strength of the kinship he felt with the man had been jarring, like the ground had disappeared beneath his feet. However, he adjusted to the feeling, as disconcerting as it was, and found it was not unwelcome, especially because he had been increasingly… displeased with his current Archivist. And from his estimation, Jon was just as born serve the Eye as he himself was; he was perfect. After 200 years of waiting, Jon’s name etched on his wrist became a reassuring sign that Jon was the one Elias had been waiting for, in every way possible. Elias felt an aching weight in his heart, the fathomless, dark need to possess what was his: his Archivist and the Crown that would fall neatly in his lap as a result.

But this thing with Martin was something else entirely, a living example of what he had always hated about soulmates, and he couldn’t even begin to figure out how he felt about it or how it affected his plans. But thanks to Martin, Elias had plenty of time in HMP Belmarsh to think and Watch.

--------

If Elias thought the Web had acted with spite towards him, it had ravaged Martin, who had grown up hearing a siren song of love and being wanted that he thought a soulmate would offer him. Instead, Martin had silently endured Jon’s constant dismissal of his tentative efforts to connect, and now a mutual bond with the one man he hated. Elias Watched from afar as Martin despaired at Jon’s bedside, clutching Jon’s lifeless hand. He Watched Martin sit in document storage, alone, eyes fixed nearly unblinkingly at his wrist, where Elias’ name had fit neatly under Jon’s, before throwing himself into his work to push it out of his mind. He watched Martin move around the other Archival assistants with only a quiet word here or there, continuing to record and file as if his whole life didn’t suddenly feel meaningless.

Then the attack on his Institute and Martin agreeing to work for Peter. Martin foolishly wanted his life to mean something, even if the meaning came from a pointless sacrifice to stop Peter’s Extinction. The more Elias Watched, the more their connection worked its way under Elias’ skin; he could taste Martin’s desperation, bitter on his tongue, and felt the wisplike echo of Loneliness already clinging to his skin. He knew Peter would think he had already won. But what Peter didn’t factor in, and Elias had counted on when he made the bet, was that Jon would wake up. Of course, this changed everything. Elias had his Archivist, more powerful than ever, and Martin had his anchor.

It was embarrassing for someone who’s life revolved around Knowing to realize how little he truly had understood Martin. But as Elias Watched him, Elias saw himself reflected back. Under his anxious exterior, Martin was tenacious, cunning, calculating, and, although he might not even want to admit it to himself, quietly burned with a desire to know. Martin had proved himself more than able to deftly manage both Peter and his Institute. Watching it all unfold with a such a different frame of mind, Elias could hardly fight the growing feelings of pride and affection. He could see a future where together, he and Martin, could protect and care for his Institute and Jon. However, with his acceptance of his and Martin’s bond came a slight hiccup in his current plan.

When Elias had originally constructed his plan involving Peter, he obviously had not considered the possibility that he might be bonded to whomever Peter picked to bring into the Lonely. Despite Elias’ newfound appreciation for and belief in Martin’s abilities, he didn’t quite want to leave anything to chance. Soulmate connections and the Lonely don’t generally mix; the Archive had several statements describing the excruciating pain and subsequent severance of a connection if one was lost to the Lonely forever.

And, in all honesty, he and Martin were long overdue for a chat.

--------

Elias and Martin sat at opposite sides of the cold metal table, in a guard-less room, flanked by two security cameras. Although physically closer than they had been in months, Elias could feel the wrongness of the wide gulf of distance that separated them. He longed to reach out, to touch, to claim. Martin wasn’t meeting his gaze, so Elias took the time to study Martin’s appearance. He was thinner then when Elias had last saw him, and rather wan, his freckles standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. His reddish-brown hair had grown out some, making his previously slight curls more predominant. However, his expression, though currently not looking directly at Elias, was determined and, dare Elias say it, cold.

More than that though, Elias could smell brine and see fog wrapped lightly around Martin’s shoulders; the Lonely was tightening its hold on him, making it more difficult to experience their connection. But, although weakened, it remained. Elias brusquely pushed past the cold, the Lonely, to discover what Martin was feeling. Elias briefly felt a myriad of emotions: anxiety, resolve, irritation, and resentment. However, just as rapidly as they had washed over him, they disappeared behind a wall of fog. Martin’s eyes narrowed, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Elias silenced him with a hand, shaking his head.

“One second, Martin. I believe...” A tape recorder that had appeared on the table between them clicked on.

“There. Much better.” Elias folded his hands in front of himself.

“You know I don’t care if Jon hears this,” Martin said, crossing his arms.

Elias gave an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, Martin. Its been so long since I’ve seen you. Let’s not start with lies.”

Martin took a deep breath, finally looking Elias in the eye. “Fine.”

“I am very pleased to see you.”

Martin frowned, and raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Mhm. I’m sure you are,” he said sarcastically. “I bet this is a dream come true for you.”

Elias raised his cuffed hands and gestured mockingly around at their surroundings. “What? Being at her majesty’s pleasure? Separated from my Institute? Or,” Elias paused for dramatic effect, “sharing a soulbond you?”

To his credit, Martin didn’t flinch. “All three I imagine.”

“I want to see it.”

“See what?” Martin asked, bemused.

“My mark.”

Martin sputtered. “W—why would you want to do that? In denial?”

“Clearly not. I just wish to see it for myself. My name on your skin.”

The tips of Martin’s ears turned red, his cheeks burned. Elias could practically feel Martin’s nervous heartbeat fluttering in his own chest. If he wanted to, he could try to project calm back, but he found he quite enjoyed Martin like this.

“You cannot honestly say you’re happy about this. That you wanted this,” Martin said bitterly.

Elias pursed his lips. “Well, I’ll admit I was not pleased at first, but,” Elias said, pausing as Martin made a noise of dark amusement, “But it has grown on me.”

“Sure-” Martin began, but Elias slipped in to interrupt before Martin’s self-loathing could get the better of him.

“I have had plenty of time to think about it, to reflect, and I came to the conclusion that I welcome it,” Elias said, his eyes never once leaving Martin’s face, his tone conveying seriousness in every syllable. He did not wish for Martin to mistake the meaning of this; he knew how Martin excelled at twisting words until they reflected negatively on himself.

Martin narrowed his eyes. “For what purpose?”

“Excuse me?”

“What do you get out of it?”

“You. Now may I please see my mark?”

With confusion and perhaps some curiosity Martin pushed up the sleeve of his jumper to his elbow, holding out his wrist, palm up. “Fine, here. Happy?” Expecting just a glance or a curious perusal, Martin gave a slight jump when Elias gently took ahold of his arm, his eyes intently focused on the two neat inscriptions on his wrist. His right thumb smoothed a circle over his name, and then Jon’s, a smile playing at his lips. Martin’s breathing changed, becoming shakier, and his previously faint blush blossomed beautifully.

After half a minute, Martin cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and Elias graciously let go of his arm. Martin pushed the jumper sleeve back down, but Elias saw him fleetingly run his own hand over the marks.

Martin took a deep breath and, appearing to make up his mind, or perhaps going against his better judgment, he gestured for Elias’ arm. “An eye for an eye?” he said, causing Elias to smirk. “Shut up, its just an expression.”

Elias gladly gave Martin his arm, awkwardly trying to adjust the metal cuff so Martin could better see. Martin gave a slight intake of breath when he caught sight of Jon’s name. It quickly turned into a quiet, bitter laugh. “Of course, of fucking course,” he spat. “That explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

“Would it placate your own self-loathing and enmity towards me if I told you he most assuredly does not return the bond?”

Martin made an abortive attempt to push Elias’ arm away but he couldn’t quite seem to be able to do it. His eyes drifted down to his own name in its messy script, his own handwriting, which caught his breath slightly. It was as if Martin didn’t quite believe it until this second, in one stroke disproving that no one could ever have him as a soulmate. Those unfamiliar feelings he had been experiencing were not all in his head. He hesitantly brushed a finger across his name, as if expecting it to disappear or to prove to himself it wouldn’t. Elias closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation that was over too soon. Martin’s hands left his a few moments later, and Elias opened his eyes to see a Martin who was resolutely attempting to compose himself and failing miserably. Martin clenched his fists, fingernails digging into skin, and stood up, his chair pushed aside.

“This was a mistake. I just wanted information on...” Martin made a frustrated huff, pointedly avoiding Elias’ intent, smug gaze. “It—it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have come.”

As Martin made a motion to turn and leave, Elias stood quickly enough that his chair fell on its side with a clatter. Martin flinched, instinctively looking directly at Elias. Elias moved around the table, and then strode directly up to Martin. Martin, in turn, backed up just as quickly, until his heels and back hit a wall. Martin frantically glanced up at the two cameras in the room.

“Don’t worry, the cameras are off. They do that sometimes,” Elias said smoothly with a small shrug, his eyes gleaming. He stepped up into Martin’s space, willing the fog to dissipate under the shear force of his own god’s influence. The shear force of his own influence. You can’t feel alone if you are given a physical reminder that you’re not.

Martin appeared to waver for a moment on whether to attempt to shrink further back or push forward before inhaling quickly, and shoved Elias away with both hands on his shoulders. “What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Elias momentarily felt regret that Martin didn’t share Jon and his Beholding abilities. He missed the feeling of Jon trying to compel an answer out of him. However, Elias could honestly say that Martin demanding answers was a good look for him. Elias smiled wider.

“I already told you, Martin. You. You’re my soulmate, and I take care of what’s mine.”

“Oh like how you took care of Jon? Like when you didn’t tell anyone he had been kidnapped? When you let us be attacked by worms? Or when you let Jon run off to get his hand burned? When he died?”

Elias sighed, shaking his head. “Martin, what Jon did were his choices, and he’s more capable then you give him credit for. You may have noticed he’s still alive. Either way though, you and I both know that we can’t tell him everything we are aware of, for his own safety.” Martin scoffed, but before he could argue back, Elias easily brushed aside Martin’s hands, pushing Martin back against the wall with his own body.

Elias had no illusions that Martin would suddenly join his side, but he still knew how to sow a little uncertainty, especially considering Martin’s past (and if Elias had a guess, lingering) romanticism of soulmates.

This close to Martin, Elias had to look up at him. Martin was breathing rather quickly, his brow furrowed, still looking utterly bewildered, but Elias could see that he was trying to work out what was going on. Elias placed his hands lightly, gently, on Martin’s upper arms, before sliding them up, one hand around Martin’s neck, where he could feel his pulse, and another to his face, so that his palm rested on Martin’s cheek. Martin’s skin was smooth, soft. His pulse’s staccato beat was comforting to Elias; a slow pulse meant apathy. Martin jumped a little at his touch, as if given a small shock.

Martin’s eyes suddenly widened, clearly realizing something. “Oh. You’re worried, aren’t you? I’ve read the statements, heard Jon’s recordings. I know as well as you do that the Lonely breaks soulmate bonds. And for some bizarre reason you want to keep this—this connection that we share?” Martin shook his head, swallowing. “Or—or perhaps this is a just further manipulation to get me to push further away from you to join the Lonely because you really do hate our bond as much as me.”

Elias sighed, ever so slightly rolling his eyes. “Surely, with our proximity--”

“Is that what you’re calling this?” Martin cut in, and grabbed Elias’ hands so that they were no longer touching his face or neck.

Elias closed his hands around Martin’s instead so he couldn’t, at least easily, pull away. “Do you trust me?”

Martin gave a shaky huff, nearly a laugh, but laced with bitterness. “Absolutely not.”

“A pity. Very well then. You were just able to grasp a small thread of my emotions. I want you to follow that thread and tell me how I actually feel about our soulbond. Do this, and you can ask all your other questions.”

Elias could the feel Martin’s jittery indecision like static on his skin and his need for reassurance of his current path with Peter eating away at him. After his little slip-up, Elias just hoped he had pushed his own anxieties far enough out of his mind that Martin wouldn’t pick up on them anymore.

“Fine. But I want you to step away from me. And I want for us to have this discussion back at the table. Not like… this.”

Elias sighed. It was honestly rather disappointing. “As you wish.” He let go of Martin’s hands, pointedly stepped away from him, and gestured back to the table.

Once they were both sitting back down, Martin just shifted uncomfortably in his seat, staring at his hands.

“Well?” Elias prompted.

“I… I’m not sure how, really. With...” Martin flinched, just ever so slightly. “With Jon, it was as natural as breathing.”

“And it probably helped that you didn’t have to worry about him returning that connection.” Martin’s eyes flashed, now affixed on him with an angry glare. Before Martin could interrupt though, Elias continued. “It was the same for me. When you actually have to deal with a relationship, it complicates things. When you have to open up to others, it gets messy. Not everyone likes being seen. But now, we both have an opportunity to see and be seen. I don’t think I appreciated what I was missing enough before with Jon.” Martin didn’t say anything, but muttered under his breath something that sounded like “I bet you didn’t, you spooky motherfucker.”

Ignoring him, Elias continued, “All of that to say, I do have an idea of something that may help you.”

“What is it?” Martin asked, eyeing him skeptically.

Elias offered his hands. “Here. Direct contact is frankly the most efficient way to strengthen the connection. That’s what I was trying to say earlier.”

Martin buried his face in his hands, his fingers tangling into his hair. With a groan of disgust, or perhaps exasperation, Martin clenched his fists, tugging on his hair, before looking up, his hands raised in surrender. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine.” With a deep breath, Martin leaned forward, hands firmly grasping Elias’. Elias relished the sensation of the warm, soft hands that enclosed around his.

“Now what?” Martin demanded.

Elias shrugged. “Its up to you now. I can only do so much, Martin.” Giving Martin a critical look, Elias continued, “Although thinking about me may help.”

“Thinking about you… Yeah, I’ll think about you,” Martin muttered under his breath, glancing down at their joined hands where Elias had begun to brush his thumb over Martin’s knuckles. “I’ll—I’ll,” Martin stumbled, his voice slightly shaking, before barreling on, “I’ll think about how irritating and awful you are, how you won’t tell us fucking anything, how you force us to-- oh.” Martin’s eyes abruptly, briefly widened, before he exhaled. “Oh.”

The connection between them flared, finally; it burned through Elias stronger than ever, and he smiled, basking in its warmth as a cat would in a patch of sun. He drew in Martin’s feelings of anger, bemusement, tentative interest, and grudging admiration as easily as breathing. He knew without a doubt Martin could sense his pleasure.

“You… y—you do like this. This—having me as a soulmate?” Martin said, dazed. “This—this—our bond. Its—“ Martin shook his head in bewilderment, as if still trying to deny it. “You—you… But—you hated me. I know that. You forced me to see—to feel my mum’s--” Martin’s brow furrowed, his lower lip quivering. When he continued, his voice was markedly shakier. “Why would this bond change anything for you? You’re no romantic, I don’t feel any romantic--” Martin stopped, closing his eyes, and was breathing heavily by this point.

“Martin,” Elias said in a low, quiet voice, his thumbs still dragging across Martin’s skin in small, slow circles. “Its okay. You’re okay.” He gave a small sigh, and pursed his lips. “In my defense, you were acting out. But--”

Martin laughed, a high pitched, nearly hysterical sound. “Acting out? You’re still...” he managed, his voice still high, wavering. Martin’s hands now gripped Elias’ as if trying to hurt him and as if clinging to a lifeline all at once. “You’re defending that even after we’ve become soulmates? You’re a bastard, you know that, right? A psychopathic bastard, and—and my soulmate.” Martin gave another broken laugh.

“So what does that say about you?”

Martin’s red rimmed eyes narrowed as he glowered at Elias. “Oh fuck off.”

As usual with Martin, this conversation seemed to be getting away from him. “Damn it. Martin.”

“What?” Martin gritted out.

“I had underestimated you… I… Hm. This won’t do.” Instead of trying to convey his thoughts with words, Elias pushed his feelings of admiration, the gratification he got from seeing Martin, and his possessiveness to the forefront of his mind for Martin’s perusal. With abstract interest, Elias thought he could actually sense Martin’s consciousness in his mind turning over these feelings.

Martin blinked, and his hands, still holding Elias’, relaxed imperceptibly. His expression also softened, though not to how he usually looked at Jon. He looked at Elias like an abstract painting, trying discern the meaning behind the forms and colors and shapes, attempting to work out how he felt about it.

“And that,” Martin said, gesturing towards Elias’ head, “makes everything you’ve put me, and everyone I care about, through good and fine?”

“I cannot presume to tell you how to feel. But you need to know that my feelings have changed. We are soulmates, and that is no insignificant thing.”

“Fine,” Martin said shortly, a ghost of a waver still in his voice. “I accept it. I still strongly dislike this whole situation, to put it mildly, but I’ll accept you… like having me as a soulmate.”

“Thank you, Martin.” Elias said, with an approximation of gentleness, and pulled his hands away from Martin’s. “Well, on to business.”

With some distaste, he told Martin that what Peter had been telling him was (unfortunately) true. He described his original disbelief in the Extinction, and how he now had to admit it was real. It was rather unfortunate that as a condition of Peter and his bet he wasn’t allowed to lie, at least about anything on Peter’s side of things.

“As for why I’ve done so little about such a looming existential threat, to be blunt, I’ve been rather busy.”

Martin laughed humorlessly, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t forget, I’m here,” Elias said sanctimoniously, and gestured at the room again, “due in no small part to your actions. So by this point all I can do is confirm that everything Peter told you is true.”

Martin’s eyes flashed back to his suddenly, catching Elias by surprise. “I think he wants me to join the Lonely,” Martin said quietly, his head slightly cocked, his gaze inscrutable, but somehow still managing to look vulnerable. Without warning, Elias felt… choked with a nameless emotion, curling inside his chest, like smoke. Peter couldn’t have Martin, Martin was his, Peter didn’t deserve Martin.

He folded his hands together, hoping Martin wouldn’t notice their slight shaking. “Then it sounds like you have a decision to make,” he said tightly, with a cold smile. Damn this bet. He forced his tone and his expression to be as cool and detached as possible to hide his disgust at the thought of Peter’s hands on Martin, the Forsaken hollowing him out until there was nothing left, unmaking the bond they shared. He resented having doubts about this bet with Peter though, especially with so much on the line; his long held plans were so close to coming to fruition, but he had not planned for this absurd set of circumstances. He never imagined he would have a... personal interest. Internally, Elias pulled a face. Not for the last time, he silently cursed the Web.

“That’s all?” Martin asked, eyebrows raised. “Great. Great, great. So what you’re actually saying is that you’ll be-- no help whatsoever?”

Elias gave him a bitter smile. “Just like old times.”

“I don’t know what I expected.” Martin rubbed his temples and sighed. “Right, we’re done here.” Martin stood, and this time Elias didn’t try to physically stop Martin as he turned to unlock and open the door.

“One last thing Martin, something I don’t believe Jon’s shared with you.”

At the mention of Jon’s name, Martin visibly tensed. “What?”

“Your soulbond with Jon is mutual. Its a rather recent development, since his... accident with the Stranger. I don’t blame you for not noticing of course. With how you’re running headfirst into the Lonely and all. The Lonely does tend to obscure things.”

“You’re lying.” Martin’s face was stony, but Elias knew it was a facade.

“Martin, I would never, not to you. What could I possibly gain from lying about this? It benefits only you.”

Martin snorted. “Right. Well, like I said, we’re done here.”

“Don’t forget to keep in touch, Martin,” Elias called out, shackled hands raised. “There are so many people in here, but without one’s friends… It does get rather lonely.”

Without so much as a glance back, Martin shut the heavy door behind him with a resounding clang.

Martin was beautifully enigmatic, swinging wildly between wearing his heart on his sleeve and being nearly impossible to read. So he had no way of knowing for sure if he had done enough to sway Martin away from Peter, but he done all he could. There was nothing Elias could do now but wait and Watch how it all played out.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Baby’s First Revenge Part Six

Okay guys, getting close to the end of this story, maybe another part or two!

Read Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5  here!

Hope you enjoy!

The next morning when Edith arrived at work, the atmosphere was uncomfortably silent. As she walked in, the other cast and crew members glanced at her and looked away quickly, unsure of what to say. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the studio, adding to the disconcerting quiet.

Edith's parents clutched her hands tightly, looking down at her with worried expressions. It was clear they were worried about how she was handling the news stories and her coworkers' reaction.

Charlotte gave them all a reassuring smile.

Really, as if this would be enough to break me.

She felt slightly exasperated. Freezing cold, starvation, desperate fights with her life on the line had been her norm for almost ten years of her previous life. A little awkwardness? She could handle it.

"Mom, Dad, I'm going to get changed into my costume and get my makeup done, why don't you touch base with the director in the meantime and see if any of this drama will affect my schedule."

The two parents looked at each other, unsure. "But sweetie, are you sure...?"

"Guys, go, you're stressing me out." Charlotte gave them a little push and headed towards her dressing room with a smile. She knew they meant well, but their constant need for reassurance that she was okay was starting to grind on her nerves.

She changed into her tattered costume, sighing with relief of being freed from the frilly dress her mother had picked out for her, and sat down in the makeup room, letting the artist start her work.

The young woman did her makeup in silence, not chatting idly like normal.

Charlotte wanted to roll her eyes, but controlled her facial expressions.

All this over a freaking news article? Geez, who knew it was this easy to get adults so riled up?

"Hey freak, heard the internet hates you!" A cheerful voice broke the silence, causing her to smile.

"Hey bastard, at least the internet knows who I am."

Brandon stepped back, clutching his chest with a dramatic expression. "Oh, ouch, you got me there!" He sat in the chair next to her, checking his reflection with a satisfied smirk. "And I'll have you know that my parents were legally married at the time of my birth."

"..." Charlotte stared at him, confused. "Congrats?" He sighed. "So you'll have to think of a more accurate insult than 'bastard.'" He patted her shoulder. "You're clever for a little girl, I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"I should have just let that guy beat your face in." Charlotte grumbled.

His smile faltered briefly, as he studied the bruise only barely hidden by several layers of makeup on her cheek. "You probably should have." He answered so seriously that it made her feel uncomfortable. "I'm not worth getting hurt."

"Brandon..." Charlotte's voice trailed off. She was good at a lot of things, but emotions, comforting others? Not really her strong suit.

He didn't wait for her to say anything else. "Let's get to work." They jumped out of their chairs, thanking the makeup artist before opening the door to the main hallway, only to be greeted by multiple flashes of light.

The hall was packed with reporters, each trying to push the other out of the way to ask a more intrusive question than the last.

"CHARLOTTE, can you give us a comment on rumors that your parents paid for you to get the part?!"

"Fans are disappointed that you don't look like Edith, thoughts?"

"Have you ever even read the book?!"

Brandon shook his head. "Who let you guys back here?! You shouldn't be in the studio!!! Leave her alone!" He tried to step forward to protect her, but Charlotte stopped him with a gentle smile.

"It's okay." She stepped forward, her eyes looking forward at them, and for some reason, the reporters stepped back. There was an atmosphere around her, one that clearly telegraphed the desire and ability to cause pain and suffering. It clashed with her cute appearance and petite frame, but even that dissonance was enough to give the reporters pause.

"Hello friends." She smiled, her voice calm, but many around her swallowed uncomfortably, sweating and looking for the nearest exit. "I understand you want to ask me questions, but this time is inconvenient. Please leave now, before we disrupt the filming schedule."

It was all said calmly, quietly, politely. Nothing in the words themselves was threatening. But every single reporter felt her gaze like a knife at their throat, and as a group they nodded and turned to walk away, nearly running in their haste to put distance between them.

"Idiot." Brandon gently brought a fist down on her head, not hard enough to hurt, but to catch her attention. She clutched at her hair, wincing and glaring at him, but he only smiled. "If you just threaten them all the time, how are we supposed to set the record straight?"

Charlotte frowned. "Well, they were threatening me first, I was just returning the favor."

"Well congrats, you're the scariest five year old the world has ever seen." He chuckled, grabbing her hand and pulling towards the filming studio. "But next time, maybe I should do the talking, so we can take a more... diplomatic approach."

She sighed, a slight grin tugging at her features. "Fine, we'll try it your way next time."

Hearing about what happened, the director immediately held an emergency meeting.

"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!" Mark paced the room back and forth, glaring at random crew members. "You all know that reporters are NEVER to be allowed on set without my express permission and an escort, yet a whole HERD of them show up at Charlotte's dressing room? And you expect me to think this was a coincidence?"

"..." The room was silent, everyone looked around uncomfortably, but no one spoke up.

"No one? Really? Fine. I'll look into it. If I find out any of you were involved, though. You're fired. No exception." He glared, falling into his chair with a loud sigh.

"Now how are we going to deal with the rumors about Charlotte?"

Peter held up his hand with a greasy smile. "I think we should consider recasting..."

"SHUT UP!"

"Shut. Up."

"I'll kill him."

The director, Lacy the acting coach and Charlotte's dad all spoke at once. Out of the corner of her eye Charlotte saw her mom wrestle the aluminum bat out of her father's hands and set it aside.

How did he even get that in here?!

Charlotte sighed with a rueful grin.

The director cleared his throat. "We are NOT recasting the lead. Charlotte was born to play this part, and with her acting, this movie will be amazing... we just need to convince the public of that."

"No matter how 'amazing' you think her acting is." Peter broke in, his eyes shining with amusement. "She's tainted goods now. The public thinks she paid her way in, and now they'll never accept her."

Now someone was holding her mother back... it looked like she had picked up the bat...

"I have an idea." Brandon spoke up, his quiet voice eerily loud in the sudden silence that followed.

Lacy stepped closer to him, kneeling down until they were eye to eye. "What is it?" She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, obviously trying to encourage such a young boy to speak up in front of this large crowd.

If only she knew his true personality. Charlotte prevented herself from rolling her eyes, but just barely.

Brandon however, played right into it, nodding shyly before continuing. "Since the fans think that Charlotte paid to get the part, but we all know it's because she's actually amazing at it, why don't we just have a live broadcasted Q/A with the fans and allow them to see her in character as Edith?"

"Are you crazy?" One of the older actors spoke up, shaking his head. "She'd have to ad lib on the spot, answering questions as Edith, in front of a hostile crowd! They'll eat her alive!"

Brandon smiled. "I believe she can do it. And, after watching her work these past few weeks, can anyone else really say that she can't?"

"..." The room was silent.

Charlotte stepped forward, giving Brandon a grateful smile.

"Set up the Q&A."

"Charlotte," The director looked concerned. "Don't feel that you have to..."

"Don't worry." Her grin was confident. "I got this."

It didn't take the publicity team long to set it up. Given the furor on the internet around the "paid part scandal," it took only a few days to completely sell out tickets to a Q&A event that would be live streamed.

The room was crowded, filled with unfamiliar, unfriendly faces.

Charlotte sat on a chair on the stage, wearing her Edith costume and makeup, feeling at ease despite the tightly wound atmosphere.

This reminds me of when I went to confront Leonard's gang after Peter stole money from them.

She shuddered slightly at the thought. That fight had led to her accruing two gunshot wounds, breaking an arm and a long gash along her right thigh.

She had been afraid then. It was hard to be afraid now.

In the front row sat the director, Lacy and Brandon. Her parents were not in the crowd, held backstage by security after her father let it slip that if anyone were to be "less than nice" to his little girl that he wasn't afraid to "show them the error of their ways."

Brandon's face was pale, she could see he was regretting his idea to set up this Q&A. He tried to smile at her to reassure her, but wasn't able to completely hide his concerned expression.

Charlotte couldn't help but chuckle. When he acted like this, it was hard to remember that she didn't like him because he reminded her of Peter.

Because when he acted all protective and older brother-like... he reminded Charlotte of herself when she was his age.

It made her want to protect him instead of hating him.

And she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

Charlotte took a deep breath, faced the sea of hostile faces, and stood up and took her microphone with a smile.

"Hi everyone!" She greeted the crowd cheerfully.

"..." A tense silence was the only response. One fan muttered, "What a fake. She's nothing like Edith." Too which a general grumbling replied.

"I know you all have concerns about the rumors, about my parents buying a part and the author not liking me for my portrayal of Edith. But I can assure you, they didn't need to." The smile fell from her face, replaced by a determined expression and a threatening atmosphere. "I AM Edith."

The first fan stepped up to the microphone, a teenage boy with a disdainful look who pulled it off the stand with a angry jerk. "I don't want to hurt your feelings." He started off in a tone that indicated he very much wanted to do so. "But YOU don't look anything like what the book described."

"Really?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "And how is that?"

"The book describes edith as tall for her age, with a sharp gaze and a dangerous atmosphere." Looking her up and down, he snorted. "And we're supposed to believe that YOU were the best choice?"

"Ok. Let's start with that." Charlotte smiled stepping closer to the edge of the stage. Realizing that being nice wasn't getting her very far, she stopped pretending to be Charlotte the five year old girl. She also didn't pretend to be Edith, the fictional character

She was simply herself.

With a quick motion, she flipped off the stage, snatching the microphone from the startled boy's hand, leaping back up and tumbling with one hand to set herself right while sitting on the edge, her face only a few feet from her startled fan. She waved the microphone in the air, her stolen prize.

The whole scene had taken less than a few seconds.

"You see what I did there?" Her smile widened, her voice lowered, deeper, more threatening, at odd with her small frame. "I stole a microphone from your hands, while you were facing me. "

"You caught me by surprise..."

"How easy would it have been to cut your throat instead?"

"..." A stunned silence fell on the crowd. Charlotte laughed, a disturbing sound.

"If you ever come after me, or after Jordan?" She pointed at Brandon. "I'll destroy you. I'll make every worst nightmare you've ever had come true, and in the end you'll wish that I had just taken the easy way out. That I had just killed you."

She leaned forward, whispering into the microphone.

"Because it would just be that easy."

The fans stared at her with wide eyes.

"It's Edith."

"Holy crap, it's Edith in real life."

"The picture in the article was so misleading! Are they blind, she's totally the Edith from the book."

"I feel threatened just being in the same room as her! Too cool!"

The atmosphere of the room was changing, the anger quickly turning into excitement as they digested her performance. Even the boy who had accused her of looking nothing like the book approached her with a timid expression, holding out something in front of him.

It was a copy of "Searching for Silence" and a pen.

"Would you sign my book, Edith?"

Charlotte glared at him. "What's in it for me?"

Opposite to her reaction, his face split into a wide smile. "WOW you're so cool! Just like Edith!"

She finally conceded, signing his book, which led to the entire room lining up to get their book signed as well.

The event was on the right track when...

"What about the rumors that the author doesn't want you in the role?" An young man in his early twenties had grabbed the second microphone stand, spitting out the question with venom in his tone.

The crowd paused, clutching their signed goods and wavered.

"Maybe he knows something that we don't?"

"Crap, if the author's not happy..."

"What if she's only good at threatening people?"

"..." Charlotte sighed. What now? It didn't seem like she could just threaten them again. That was what she was good at though. Looking around the room of quickly shifting expressions, Charlotte racked her brain for a plan... and came up empty.

"YOU GUYS ARE IDIOTS!" A voice called out, breaking the awkward silence.

Charlotte turned in shock, just in time to see Brandon leap up on the stage.

"Aww that kid's so cute!"

"Cute? He just called us idiots!"

"So?"

"Shh! He's talking!"

Ignoring the murmurs, Brandon pointed at the crowd with a disdainful look. "How can you guys be so blind?! She's shown you a more realistic performance than most actors and actresses could only dream of, and you're still questioning whether she's right for the role?! HOW MANY FIVE YEAR OLDS DO YOU KNOW WHO COULD ACT THIS WELL?!" He threw up his hands with disgust.

"But..." The young man holding the microphone tried to speak up, but Brandon shouted him down.

"NO. No. This is ridiculous, and you want to know why?" He pointed at himself. "Because I'm the freaking son of the producers of this movie, and I got one of the lead parts. So let me ask you something..." He leaned down, glaring at the fan. "Why aren't there any rumors about me paying my way into my role?"

The young man backed away. "I- I don't..."

"Because this was never about 'a fair audition' or her 'being good enough.'" HE shook his head. "WAKE UP PEOPLE! Realize when you're being used by someone else! Being used to take down a talented little girl. You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

He grabbed Charlottes hand in his own and pulled her off the stage, throwing her mic on the ground as he left with her.

"Brandon...I'm sorry..."

"You shut up too!" He growled at her, upset. "You did nothing wrong! How dare they talk to you like that?!"

Charlotte followed behind him, unable to hide the smile that crossed her face.

When was the last time she had ever been protected, and not been the one protecting?

She had lived two lifetimes, but this was still a first for her.

"Brandon... Thanks."

He didn't turn to look at her, but the grip of his small hand tightened on her own. "Whatever."

His ears turned bright red and she laughed, feeling happy.

"DAMMIT!"

Peter threw his glass at the television in front of him, it struck the screen with a crash, splintered glass and sparks showered the ground. "HOW DID SHE ESCAPE AGAIN?!"

He had planned everything. Leaking the story to the press. Arranging to let the reporters back to her dressing room. Paying someone to pose as an annoyed fan, to try to rile them up after her first performance. It might have even worked, if that stupid little boy hadn't stepped in.

Why would he protect her?! Doesn't he know she'll only make him feel stupid, feel weak?!

He clenched his fists, wishing he could destroy the faces he had seen on the now broken screen.

Charlotte.

It was the same old Charlotte. He saw her during her "act." There was never a question in his mind during that moment. Her every action, her mannerisms, even her voice, were exactly like the girl in his memories.

He had lived by her side for more than ten years, spent every waking moment with her. He knew her better than anyone.

Peter had always had suspicions,watching the little girl. They seemed similar, but slightly different, and it seemed to impossible to even consider.

But the girl on his screen today. Her graceful movements when stealing the microphone, the triumphant smile when she threatened him... It was without a doubt the same girl. The Charlotte he had once knew.

The one he had murdered.

How had she come back?! Peter felt himself break out into a cold sweat. It should be impossible, something out of a fantasy.

Something needed to be done.

"So you came back to haunt me, huh Charlotte?" He whispered, thinking of her words when they first met. She had called him a liar, a fraud.

"But you underestimated me. Now that I know who you are, there's no holding back." He started to laugh, the mad sound echoing in his empty living room.

"I killed you once. And I can do it again."

[the-girl-from-number-4-blog]

My Very First Mistake (II)

Roger Taylor x Reader

On the subject of guilt

Word Count: 2,925

part one

part three

(whoops this took a while. school is busy. hope you like it!)

Keeping his feelings secret from the band, Roger found, was much more difficult in practice than in concept. 

Usually, he never bothered hiding anything from his friends; there was nothing about his life of which he was ashamed, or that he felt they shouldn't know. Roger was a naturally open and honest person, fully comfortable with himself and how he was presented to others - and this duplicity was unnatural and unfamiliar. 

He was afraid that it showed on his face. Ever since his midnight revelation, every sight of Brian and you together - or of just you - flooded his mind with strange new sensations. He felt a deluge of jealousy and betrayal. To protect himself against the turbulence of his alien emotions, he built up a dam against them. But, as he was not the most experienced at maintaining such a fortress around his heart, other areas of his life suffered. 

"Rog, you're off beat," Freddie stopped suddenly in the middle of a recording of "Dear Friends", jarring him from his stupor. "You've been slacking this entire session. What's the matter?"

Roger silenced his cymbal quickly and cut his eyes to Freddie. "What d'you mean? It was fine."

Freddie crossed his arms. "Yes, yes, it was fine, it was good, but it wasn't good enough. You're better than this. Why are you slipping?"

Quite defensive at his blatantly condescending tone, Roger huffed indignantly. "It's no different than it was yesterday!"

John stepped into the recording room, having heard the tensions rise from behind the glass. "Guys, guys," he said, looking sternly from Freddie to Roger, giving them a leveling motion with his hands. "Let's just start this again. Rog, you go a bit slower, and Freddie, cut him some slack, will you? He's obviously tired."

That irritated him even more. "No, I'm not! I'm fine! I don't know what your problem is; I'm playing fine, I look fine, I am fine."

All of his insistence otherwise could not alter the fact of the matter, that he really was tired. Exhausted, even. 

The truth was, he hadn't gotten much sleep, recently. He recognized it a hazard of being terminally in love - risky business, whether it's with his best friend's girlfriend or not. He found himself, night after night, lying still in bed, waiting for sweet oblivion to sweep him from the torrent of his imagination - but it came slowly, after giving him ample time to think of every single interaction he had with you or Brian today. It was wasting. 

Words no longer came so easily when he was around you. Always guarded, he was afraid to let the wrong thing slip. And the worst of it was, there was nobody around in whom to confide. Sure, if he were only keeping a secret from one or two people, then he could probably do it well; but he couldn't even tell Freddie or John. 

What scared him about it was the threat to the band. He could tell how deeply and completely Brian and you were in love with one another. Were he to intrude, a schism between himself and Brian would be inevitable, and that was something the band simply couldn't bear. 

But beyond the band, Roger didn't want to lose Brian. They'd been friends for so many years, and though it hardly did justice to the strength of his love for you, he really did love Brian in a different way. 

"Roger," Brian said, "we've been here long enough, and you do look tired. Maybe we should continue tomorrow."

Freddie, who wanted to finish up the recording of this song today, huffed and was about to protest, before John elbowed his side. 

Roger looked into Brian's eyes, and his guilt doubled. He had to look away. "Fine," he grumbled, swinging his legs around his seat and shoving the drumsticks into his pocket. 

He ducked out of the studio and hailed a cab, hating himself all the way back to his flat. 

One rainy Saturday afternoon, you had brought the boys lunch in their studio, and when you turned to leave, the rain began to pour quite hard. "Stay a while, dear," Freddie waved his hand. "You're never a bother, but you will be if you catch your death out there."

You eagerly accepted his offer to watch them record. You loved being there when they were playing, but never wanted to impose, so you hardly asked. You set down your coat and settled down on the couch, across from the glass, watching John nail the bass line to "Stone Cold Crazy". 

Freddie stood by the console, tapping his foot to the beat. Every time John paused for the assessment of his performance, Freddie buzzed in with his input - which was largely favorable, but still quite particular. Brian paced around for a while, until he decided that John would probably be in the booth for a while, so he sat down on the couch beside you and draped his arm over your shoulder. 

"Hey," you said softly. You grasped his hand, holding tightly, and hoped he didn't notice how overly-attentive you had been as of late. 

You were dreadfully afraid that you were letting your feelings show; you didn't want Brian to find out that you had fallen out of love with him. You loved him deeply, still, but in quite a different way now, but despite that, it would wound you to see him hurt by your actions. 

He just seemed to appreciate your affections. "Darling," he said softly to you.

“Hey, Bri,” you said, leaning appropriately into his touch. You hated how disingenuous you were.

“I spoke with mum last night,” he said. “She was interested in meeting you.”

“Yeah?” You tried not to sound too disappointed, but you also didn’t want to sound too eager.

“Hmm,” he said. “I’ve met your parents several times, after all, and since we’ve been serious for quite some time, mum and dad really want to get to know you.”

“We’ve spoken on the phone,” you say, as though it really matters.

“This is important to her, honey,” he used a pet name that used to fill you with warmth, but now just settled a rock in your stomach. “She’s invited you over next Saturday.”

There was nothing you could say to argue. “I’ll be free.”

Suddenly, the door on the adjacent wall flew open, and a sopping wet Roger stumbled in, huffing and dripping water onto the shag carpet. 

He shrugged off his jacket and hung it beside yours, probably getting it wet in the process, and shook out his hair like a hound. You watched in mild amusement, expecting him to turn to you and apologize, or explain, or something. He didn't. 

"Hey, Fred," he greeted the singer congenially, ignoring you and Brian. "Where are we at?"

"Very nearly done with John," he said. "You should give it a listen, put it over that track you did yesterday and compare it." Roger nodded. 

"What," Brian demanded in false affront, ruined by the grin on his face, "no 'hello' to us?"

Roger froze just so briefly. He turned stiffly back to him, and gave a quick, "Hey, Bri." It lacked the usual bravado with which he did almost everything; you and Brian shared a concerned glance. 

He just shook his head at you, a silent 'Just keep quiet'. 

You tried to put your disquiet out of your mind and enjoy your time with the band, but you couldn't. 

The following week, when you took a cab over to Freddie and Roger’s flat, it was for two very important reasons.

As you walked along the sidewalk at a steady pace, you swung by your side a large clothes bag, containing two dresses. That was the first reason for visiting the household: you needed Freddie’s expert opinion on fashion. In the following two weeks, were going to meet Brian’s parents, and you hadn’t a clue what to wear.

Most of that was the fact that you didn’t want to have to choose. Choosing would imply that it was an important decision to you – which it wasn’t, anymore. You no longer loved Brian.

The second reason was less conspicuous as the first. A part of your mind wanted to see Roger; you hadn’t heard a word from him since that day at the studio, and even then, the words weren’t directed to you. Your relationship with Roger was always very calm and comfortable, so you weren’t quite sure what brought on this odd change.

When you got to their flat and knocked the door, you expected Freddie to answer; he was usually the one to greet guests, after all, since they were usually his, not Roger’s.

You waited for a few moments, wondering if they weren’t home, when the door slid open, and you saw Roger.

Grinning as though nothing were wrong, you said, “Hey, Rog! Is Freddie home?”

He seemed frozen for a moment, then he gulped visibly and answered, “No, he’s out for drinks with Mary.” His voice was tense. You ignored this.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” you said, and you really were disappointed; you needed his advice. Then you took in Roger’s flamboyant colors, which would be obnoxious on most, but seemed to fit him. “Hey. You could help me instead.”

Because you feared that he would refuse (you weren’t sure on what grounds, but he just didn’t seem to be in a welcoming mood), you pushed past him into their familiar flat. It was dimly lit; only a lamp on the far side of the living room illuminated the furniture, and the curtains were drawn.

“Are you ill?” you asked him. You almost hoped that we was; it would be an easy explanation for his odd behavior.

“No, I’m not,” he said, “but I’m not really up for company, if you don’t mind –”

“Oh, I won’t be but a minute,” you set down your bag and unzipped it. You were being a terrible imposition upon someone who clearly didn’t want you there, but being around him was the only way you knew to glean what afflicted him, since the rest of the boys certainly didn’t know.

“Really, Y/N,” he said.

“Please, Rog, I need you,” you insisted. “I have to meet Brian’s mum and dad the weekend after next, and I need to look good, you know? I’m so bad with clothes, and –”

“Why don’t you just ask your boyfriend?” he almost spat the words.

“You know who I’m dating, right?” you laughed. “Brian’s even worse than I am. I wanted to ask Freddie to help me choose between dresses, but he’s not here, so . . .”

“Look,” Roger said imploringly. “I really can’t help you.”

You sniffed, disappointed that you hadn’t gotten anything out of him. “Fine,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Let Fred know I stopped by, all right?”

“Sure,” he said, trailing after you and closing the door as you left.

As you stared at the two dresses on your bed, your hands at your hips and yet another exasperated sigh in your chest, you seriously considered ending your relationship with Brian.

It wasn’t fair to him to give everything he has to a woman who doesn’t love him. Every time he held your hand, or kissed you, or even smiled – every single thing made you feel such immense guilt that being around him made you physically ill. 

One of the dresses, a pale coral that would hang loosely around your hips and shoulders, would suggest a light-hearted, kind personality. That would be the version of yourself you would present to his parents, but as you imagined greeting them and shaking their hands – and probably hugging his mum – the guilt grew. You couldn’t present yourself as the loving girlfriend of their only son; you’d not only lie to them, but you’d lie to Brian.

The other one was a more somber blue, showing seriousness, commitment. The problem was, you’d committed to Brian for years, and you couldn’t hold yourself to that. You weren’t comfortable even thinking of the next step, so acting like you did felt like a betrayal.

You swept the dresses from your bed with one frustrated stroke. They crumbled to the floor in a pathetic pile, the hangers clanging together in the silence of the flat.  

That was it.

That was it.

You went to your phone and rung off a number you knew by heart. The tone sounded for a few moments before Brian’s soft “Hello?” rang across the line.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said.

“Y/N! Are you okay? You sound off.”

“Er, well, I’m fine,” you said hesitantly. “Look, I need to talk to you.”

He was quiet a moment. “Well, you could come by the studio in the morning, I guess – ”

“No, I need to talk to you now. Can I come by your place, or is John there?”

“John’s at Roger and Freddie’s,” he sounded bewildered. “Y/N, is something the matter?”

“Just let me tell you,” your voice broke. Why were you nearly crying? Didn’t you want this? “I’ll be there in ten.”

“A-all right.”

You hung up the phone, grabbed your sweater, and left your apartment complex to hail a cab.

You took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. Brian was quick to answer, looking slightly disheveled and worried. Perhaps, if you weren’t in such a rush to get this done before you backed out, you could have told him slightly more tactfully.

But this was not the time for second guesses.

“Hey,” you said weekly.“Goodness, Y/N, you’re in a right state,” he said. He knew you very well; he could tell by your eyes that you were troubled. Letting him go would be hard.

You just nodded and pursed your lips.

“Would you like something to drink? I can put on tea,” he offered, turning to the kitchen.

You shook you head. “No! No. Don’t trouble yourself. Can we just – let’s just sit down, yeah?”

Brian kept a watchful eye on you as the two of you sat on the couch in the living room. You leaned away from him ever so slightly, because if he were too close, it would make your job infinitely more difficult.

“Talk to me,” he said, looking soulfully into your eyes.

You look down at your lap and fold your hands together nervously. “Brian, I don’t want to meet your mum and dad.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Is that all?” he asked. “If you really don’t want to, you should have just told me earlier. If this is going . . . too fast, or . . .”

You shook you head. “Bri, we’ve been dating for two years,” you chuckled humorlessly. “Now isn’t exactly the time to talk about taking it too fast.”

“Then what is it?”

“God, this is hard.” You had to swallow thickly before continuing. “You know that I love you, right?”

He didn’t like where this was going. “Y/N, of course,” he said softly.

“Well, it’s true, I love you,” you said.

“And I love you too.” He said it almost like a question, because he wasn’t sure where this was going.

“But –” your voice catches, and you feel hot tears welling in your eyes. “But I’m not in love with you anymore.”

Brian’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in concern, and his brows came together in distress. After a long, tense moment, he said, “What are you saying, Y/N?”

You didn’t want to have to repeat it, but you could tell he needed closure, confirmation. Perhaps you did, too. “I got that call from mum the other day, remember? She asked me – since you and I are so serious, you know – if anything . . . if . . . if you’d ask me to marry you. And it made me think that . . .” You trailed off, trying to find the easiest way to say this, without hurting him too much.

“Y/N,” he breathed out. You couldn’t quite tell what the emotions were behind it.

“I couldn’t imagine being happy married to you,” you said. He flinched and your stomach clenched. “I realized that I wasn’t in love with you anymore, Brian. And it’s been eating me from the inside out, knowing that I don’t love you.” You closed your eyes, so you didn’t have to see his. “And I know you deserve better than me. You deserve someone who loves you like you love them.”

He grasped your hand. “But, Y/N,” he pleaded, “I’m in love with you.”

You shook your head. “Maybe you are,” you reply. “But I can’t do that to you – let you love me when I don’t feel the same way. This guilt, it’ll destroy me. It already is.”

His hands around yours were squeezing tightly. Not so much to hurt – he was ever gentle – but the pressure went straight from your hands to your heart, and you found it hard to breath. “Is there any way that we could work?” he asked hesitantly.

You shook your head. “I care for you, I really do,” you try to console him. “But you’re not the one for me any more than I’m the one for you.”

He huffed. “You know I don’t subscribe to that destiny shit.”

“I know.”

For a while, after your reluctant break with Brian, all thoughts of Roger were far from your mind, but thoughts of you were forefront in his.

taglist: @crazyweirdocalledfriday @anita-e-taylor @iidontgiveafuckuniverse @onceuponadetectivedemigod

[harrisonstories]

Pattie Boyd and George Harrison - assumed to be from their honeymoon in Barbados (1966)

NOTE: This is the “Something in the Way She Moved” interview Ken Sharp did with Pattie Boyd in 2007. I’ve posted a couple of quotes before and wanted to share the whole thing for Pattie’s birthday. Originally this interview was available through Goldmine magazine, but it seems they’ve changed their website recently, so I used the version from Record Collector . Unfortunately they slightly edited parts of the interview, so what I’ve done is add in as much as I could find from the Goldmine version in brackets. Anyway, hope you enjoy and Happy Belated Birthday Pattie!

Share your memories of first meeting the Beatles on the set of A Hard Day’s Night...

I was working as a model and my agent called me one day to tell me that there was a casting audition to go to. When I arrived there I recognized the director because I’d done some TV commercials with him. Then I went home afterwards and I heard from my agent that I got a part in a Beatles film, which was A Hard Day’s Night. I was a bit stunned by this. I had no desire or ambition to be an actress. They said, “Oh don’t worry, it’s just a walk on part.”

In the film I had to be a schoolgirl. So I turned up at the appointed place, a train station, caught the train and then a little way out of Paddington Station the train stopped. I looked out and saw these four very recognizable people were standing on a platform. It was The Beatles. There was nobody else there. They jumped onto the train, came into our carriage and introduced themselves as if we didn’t know who they were (laughs). They were so charming. We shook their hands, then they went off and filming began. I just thought George was so unbelievably good looking and adorable. They were all so funny and humorous, and seemed to be mucking about all of the time. George and I just hit it off.

I don’t know whether it was by design or deliberation but we ended up sitting next to each other for lunch. I remember feeling so silly because I was still dressed in a stupid schoolgirl uniform. We were both really shy but we enjoyed sitting next to each other and talking a bit.

At the end of the day, the train was headed back to London and George looked at me and said, “Will you marry me?” Because they’d all been so amusing and funny throughout the day I just laughed as if he were joking. Then he said, “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?” I said, “Well, actually I’m going out with my boyfriend (Eric Swayne), but you can come along too.” He said, “No, that wasn’t the idea at all.”

What were the qualities about George that made you realize he was the one for you?

I think it was his absolute charm and endearment. [He was very endearing. He was very easy to be with. He was very soft and lovely.] He seemed to really love my family and got on very well with all my brothers and sisters. He was just eternally sweet to everybody.  When we first started going out together he was very quiet. As time went on he gained more confidence. And then there were times it was difficult to stop him from talking.

Did you get a chance to visit many Beatle recording sessions?

No, because really and truly we weren’t really allowed to. We weren’t encouraged to go to the studio. I remember once going through the studio to meet George Martin; I think they might have been doing recording with Mary Hopkin. But I never saw a Beatles recording session. When Yoko came on the scene, she was allowed to but otherwise none of the wives were. It was far better that there were no distractions from us. I mean, girls can be distracting, let’s face it. They wanted to totally focus on their work.

Bring us back to the first time you saw The Beatles in concert.

I saw them for the first time when they played at the Hammersmith Odeon London in 1964. George and I had met and it seemed this show must have happened a few months after that. I was given a few seats right near the front. The audience was screaming all of the time. To me, that was odd, because I didn’t realize that was what happened during their shows. The noise was huge, but the Beatles’ performance was really great.

Was it a different George onstage than off?

Absolutely. He was himself in his professional role of being a musician. Whereas I just knew him as my boyfriend, someone who was great to hang out with, loved my family and really enjoyed to hang out with my friends. So this was very clearly another role that I didn’t really recognize him in. 

[Did he feel more comfortable off stage?]

[Yes], I always felt he was never very comfortable onstage. I think it made him nervous. He was much more comfortable being in the company of friends and family and people that he loved.

Through the years, George expressed how he grew tired of Beatlemania fairly early on in the band’s career.

After he and I met, we would have such a great time together. I don’t want to be boastful about it but I think he really preferred hanging out with me and actually enjoying life. Touring got in the way and he didn’t really enjoy it. He didn’t really see the point of touring because just as soon as they walked toward the stage the people would start screaming so loudly. When they started playing the screaming got even louder to the point where nobody possibly could have heard anything. He saw it all as a bit of a waste of time.

But when you watch The Beatles film showing them performing at Shea Stadium, it does seem like they’re having a blast.

Yeah. With Shea Stadium, of course, that was one of their big conquests in America. I remember George saying he couldn’t believe how enormous it was and how many people were there. He was overawed by that [and did enjoy playing that show]. 

You write in your book that The Beatles were “fearful” of their fans.

Obviously they couldn’t exist without their fans but their fans followed them everywhere they went. Before we had a gate put up outside of our house in Esher, fans would come to the house all the time. On a couple of occasions some of my things were stolen. Depending on his mood, more often than not if fans came to the door he would shoo them away. But if he was in a good mood and they were nice people he would be charming, sign autographs and have a few words with them. But it was an intrusion. He’d rather be getting on with his life than dealing with that.

Unlike many groups of today, there was a real bond of friendship and camaraderie among the Beatles.

[The Beatles were very close and tight and would hang out together.] They all grew up in the same area of Liverpool. Automatically when you grow up with somebody from the same sort of background and experiences, you have a bond. At a very young age they were sent to Germany to work in Hamburg for [very], very long hours, little sleep and little money. They took loads of pills to keep them up all night. That unites people. [It’s very bonding.] Their language to each other was so fast, almost encoded. It was almost a secret language. They were very tight, [very tight].

In the book you state that “The Beatles lived an unreal life and never had to grow up”.

Everything was always taken care of for them. I think they realized they had to start growing up when Brian Epstein died. He was a father figure for them. He enjoyed looking after them and taking care of all their needs. He would anticipate what they would like, when they’d like to go on holidays. Brian taught them the niceties of life, introduced them to fine wines, to London and Theatre.

When he died there was a period where they felt lost but then I think after that they gained their feet and realized they had to take control of their lives. The boys had to disappear and put on long trousers.

After Beatles played their last show in San Francisco, George said that now he was no longer a Beatle. Did he express his relief that their touring days were over?

Yes, he was very happy he didn’t have to go on tour anymore. He really didn’t like it. He was happy that they’d now be able to solely concentrate on working in the studio, which he preferred. That’s where he was happiest.

Did he ever express his frustration about getting his songs recorded?

Yes, George was in a difficult position. In any three-way partnership there’s always going to be one person who feels left out. Ringo didn’t really come into the equation; he was mainly a drummer, not a songwriter. John and Paul wrote most of the songs and I know George felt frustrated that he wasn’t contributing as much as he felt he could and should.

With the magnificent love song Something, he proved himself on par with John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

I don’t think George knew it was a great song, but it was clearly a very beautiful song he’d written and he was very happy that it was going to be a single. He was thrilled.

Knowing it was written about you, how did that make you feel?

Oh, I thought it was the sweetest thing he could have done. I loved it. It’s a wonderful song.

There’s a funny story in your book about your cleaner, Margaret.

Margaret was so funny. She was almost like an older sister/mother figure for George and I. She was a bit radical as well. Whenever John came over she would ask him, “Oh John, can you give me one of those lovely pills?” They were uppers. I always knew when she got one from John (laughs) because she’d suddenly start vacuuming like mad and dusting everywhere. (laughs)

Bring us back to the dinner party where the dentist John Riley secretly dosed you, George, John and Cynthia with LSD.

At about nine or 10 o’clock at night we were dosed. We were furious! I thought I’d be like this for the rest of my life (laughing) and maybe I am. That trip lasted about eight hours. It was terribly surreal. People started looking like animals and they would grow 10 times their height. It was like being in a movie where things come in and out at you.

How did acid change George?

I think it affected him in a positive way. He enjoyed the mind expansion part of it, but then he grew out of it and didn’t want to do it anymore.

You were the one who pointed the way toward transcendental meditation.

I think they were on tour somewhere and a friend of mine, Marie-Lise, saw a little ad about learning how to meditate. We went to London and took these lessons in transcendental mediation. We had our mantra and now we were off meditating. When George came back I told him about it. Shortly after that I think it was Paul who suggested we all go see a lecture in London being done by the Maharishi. I was thrilled because it was his form of meditation that I’d been studying.

The Maharishi couldn’t figure out why suddenly after he’d been coming to England for years doing his lectures that all the press were there. He couldn’t think what had happened because he’d never heard of The Beatles. He quickly realized that The Beatles were important people. So he invited us all to go to Wales where he could teach us privately about meditation.

Ironically, it was in Wales where the Beatles heard that their manager, Brian Epstein had died.

Strangely enough, isn’t life so amazing that Brian would die at a time that they would all learn spirituality from the Maharishi? It was like they were replacing a father figure with a spiritual father figure in a way. That’s how I saw it. It was the saddest day. All of them were just ashen with shock with the news of Brian dying. The Maharishi helped them cope with it. At least we all had the comfort of him to help us deal with our grief.

What are your memories of the trip to India to study with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi?

It was very nice to be a part of that enclosed life. There were probably about 80 people living there. George was very serious about meditation, as was John. But Paul and Ringo not so much. Ringo had a bad time there, especially with Maureen because she couldn’t stand flies. But for us, every day was glorious. There was nothing nicer than being in a very nice and calm environment.

John, Paul and George would play the guitar and write songs. It was absolutely the most lovely atmosphere. We’d meditate for hours on end. The food was delicious. It was lovely to go down to the Ganges when it started getting warmer. It was just a very nice time.

When George returned from India, there was a change in his personality.

Yes, he became more serious. After he returned from India the reality for George and the rest of The Beatles was that they now had to be businessmen and handle everything to do with The Beatles’ slowly growing empire. With Apple, they had to find business partners and then they were all arguing over who should handle them. From being musicians they had to wear the hat of being businessmen as well, and intrinsically that’s not in their nature. They’re artists. They’re creators.

George didn’t like to have to make these business decisions and play that kind of role. So then he started staying in the office or in the studio quite a lot and recording various artists like Billy Preston, Doris Troy and Jackie Lomax. After a few years, George and I grew apart. He wanted to hang onto his spirituality. He started chanting a lot. I think he was desperately trying to reach a nice calm space in his head. On top of everything else The Beatles all started arguing with each other on creative levels as well.

During the recording of Let It Be, George left the Beatles. What did he share with you about his disenchantment?

He came home and told me how he’d left the band. He was in a really bad mood. He said the vibes were so ghastly and that The Beatles were going to split up. I think in a way it was a slow breakup. They all saw it as divorcing each other. Gradually they all let go of being in the band. It was too difficult to sustain.

[Discuss the duality of George. ] On one hand, George was a seeker of enlightenment and spirituality, but on the other he was having affairs on the side.

[George was a human being.] He was human, terribly good looking and very famous. He had his ups and down. Temptations were thrown at him continually. If you’re gonna decide that you’re gonna be a priest it’s very difficult. I think George was far more aware than other people of the continual battle of one’s demons. [We all have demons inside of us. We’re all full of black and white.] He struggled with it. He always wanted to be a good man and do the right thing.

It was surprising to read in your book that George had an affair with Ringo’s wife. How did Ringo react?

Obviously, Ringo was seriously pissed off. But I don’t know whether his anger was directed more to Maureen than to George. Remember, I was going through my own hell at the time. I wasn’t really noting everyone’s pain and anguish. I was going through my own struggles.

Bring us back to when you and George visited Frank Sinatra for the My Way recording session.

We were in LA. I think George was finishing an album. Then we got a message that Frank Sinatra invited us to a recording session. So we turned up with Mal Evans and we were led into the control room. From there we could look through the glass panel and see this very large studio with a full orchestra. Then Frank walked into the studio and I was riveted. Here’s the famous Frank Sinatra. He took the mic and he sang My Way. He was absolutely stunning. All of us in the control room were silenced. Then Frank came into the control room, heard it back again and said, “That’s it!” He did it in one take. Then he said, “Let’s all go out for dinner.”

All these limos appeared and we all went to some restaurant on Sunset Boulevard. There was this huge table and everybody sat down. George and I tried to sit next to Frank but his best friends had to sit next to him, so we were shoved down the table (laughs). George and Frank had a good conversation in the control room and spoke at dinner as well. I think Frank was probably quite curious and wanted to hear about The Beatles.

In 1972, you and George met another legend, Elvis Presley, backstage at Madison Square Garden.

George had total respect for Elvis, he loved him. We were sitting in the audience; suddenly someone came up and said, “Elvis wants to meet you.” We obeyed like little lambs and went down into his dressing room. We went in and asked where Elvis was and they said, “He’s in the bathroom.” Then he came out and he was wearing his white suit. In my mind’s eye he was about 10 feet tall (laughs). He shook George’s hand and they spoke a few words and that was it.

I later met Elvis again with Eric (Clapton). We were in Memphis and Elvis invited us to the cinema to see a movie with him. We walked into the empty theatre and there was Elvis sitting a few rows from the front surrounded by a few people. So we said “Hi” and then we went to sit in the row behind him but his minders said, “No, no, no, you can’t sit there.” We had to sit a few rows back (laughs).

Being a muse for both George Harrison with Something and later with Eric Clapton for Layla and Wonderful Tonight, must have put tremendous pressure on you to be perfect.

You can’t help but think that people will look at you and go, “Oh my God, what is it about her that’s so special that a song is being written for her?” But what a great, great compliment. Maybe I never thought about the joys of it at the time because it was such a beautiful and flattering place to be in.

And you were at the kitchen table when George wrote My Sweet Lord.

I remember it very clearly. It’s a beautiful song and he was so proud of it. I know he wrote it. He didn’t copy it from The Chiffons. It was deeply upsetting and really hurtful when he was called into court in America for supposedly plagiarizing one of The Chiffons’ songs. That song became a bit tainted when we were told he’d have to go to court and defend himself with his guitar. George stopped listening to the radio after that so he wouldn’t be influenced by any music.

Can you remember when Eric first played you Layla?

Yes, of course. He played it for me on cassette. It was so beautiful. He kept looking at me for my reaction. He wanted me to realize that he had written it for me. It was inspired by a book that we’d both been given by a mutual friend called The Story Of Layla And Manjun. It was written by a Persian poet and it’s a beautiful love story. We were both very familiar with the book and story and the song was based on that story. I was totally mesmerized by the song. I still love it.

Eric pursued you for quite some time.

It may have been two or three years before we became involved. Things were going so bad at home, my relationship with George was collapsing. I thought it was best to go off and visit with my sister who was living in LA. I just wanted to get away and work out what I was going to do next. Eric phoned up and said, “Come join me on tour and see what it’s like.” I’d never been on a tour before. It’s really exhilarating and sexy. I thought, this is the life, this is wonderful. I think that was it. I’d made that choice. I was still not sure if I’d made the right decision.

Can you explain how George and Eric were able to maintain their friendship?

Their friendship was mainly based on music. There was a great respect for each other’s music. I suppose that was stronger than the other parts of their lives. I’m sure most people would think it’s surprising that they were civil about it. I mean, what can I say, that’s how it was.

Your wedding reception in 1979 featured Eric, three Beatles (George, Paul and Ringo), Mick Jagger, Robert Plant, Jeff Beck, Ronnie Wood, Jack Bruce, Bill Wyman and others jamming.

It was fantastic. It was an all-star band. It was a moving feast. The lineup kept changing. Everyone you mentioned played and more. There was a constant turnover of players. If a drummer left someone else was waiting in the wings to pick up the drumsticks.

You met with George at your cottage a few months before his death – had he come terms with his imminent passing?

I don’t know if George fully realized that. But on reflection I think maybe that was why he did come over to visit me. He brought me two little gifts and a plant. He had initially gone to see Ringo who lives near me and then just on the off chance phoned to see if I was in too. We had a lovely time.

You say that George’s near-fatal stabbing in 1999 may have weakened his defenses to the cancer that later claimed his life.

I think that is true. To have experienced that sort of seriously vicious attack would freak anybody out forever, and then your defenses are down and one can become vulnerable.

In describing your two husbands, you describe Eric as your “playmate” and George as your “soulmate”.

It was always great fun to hang out with Eric. It was always playtime. But this was when he was drinking and when someone is drinking they just think of the maddest things and the most childish things to do. We were in a lucky position because there were always people to pick up the pieces and look after us and cushion the fall. But then with George he was a true spiritual seeker. We had a very special friendship, a relationship that would last all our lives. [I knew that.] George was always there for me. He was a sweet and gentle person. [So what if he had demons. He'd been trying so hard to be good and spiritual.]

Lastly, apart from Something, Layla and Wonderful Tonight, can you select a favorite George and Eric song?

(Long pause) That’s a difficult question. For George, I have to say that I loved a lot of the stuff that he did with The Traveling Wilburys. I loved that music. And Eric? Oh gosh, that’s a hard one. (Long pause) How about Bell Bottom Blues?

Why that one?

(Laughing) Because I think it might have been about me.

[per-ineptia-ad-astra]

Star Trek Episode 1.6: Mudd’s Women

AKA: This Is Your Brain On Venus Drugs

CONTENT WARNING: This episode contains scenes depicting an emotionally abusive relationship (sort of a proto-relationship, technically), involving one person insulting and eventually screaming in the face of another, which is very briefly described in this recap.

Alright, you remember back in Where No Man Has Gone Before when I said that that script was one of three that NBC was presented with to choose from for the second pilot? Well, this is one of the other two. It was not chosen then because the executives didn’t really like the idea of kicking off their new sci-fi show with an episode about a space pimp. Sorry, that’s a bit of inaccurate language on my part. They phrased it as ‘intergalactic pimp.’ 

And really, who can blame them for not liking this one? If I’d been one of those executives back then, I would have thrown this episode out too. Out a window, preferably.

But Roddenberry was never one to be deterred by questions like “are you sure this is appropriate for television” or “are you sure this is appropriate for anything really” or “why, Gene, why” so once the show was underway he pulled out the script again and got to filming. The results...well, they’re not pretty. But here we are.

Our episode begins with the Enterprise chasing down some random tiny unidentified ship that's running away from them. I dunno if they have a reason for going after this ship or if they just saw it fleeing and instinctively chased after it like a cat. Anyway, the Enterprise isn't having any trouble (for once) but the other ship is overtaxing its engines to dangerous levels. They also aren't responding to any of Uhura's hails. Incidentally, Uhura's wearing gold this episode. The Doylist reason for this is that this was one of the first episodes filmed (only the second, following the pilots) and they were still working things out (I guess ‘who wears what uniform’ wasn’t a priority in the design stage). But I like to think that Uhura just showed up in a Command uniform one day and was like, “Aw yeah, I'm taking control of this operation.”

[ID: Uhura sitting at her console, wearing a gold Command uniform.]

Rockin' it.

The two ships enter an asteroid field. The Enterprise is okay, but the little ship isn't; it's finally blown out its engines and can't use its deflectors. In real life, the asteroid belt we know of is so incredibly spread out, and has such a low total mass, that you'd have to be trying to hit something while flying through it. But who has time for real life, eh? Kirk orders Farrell at navigation to cover the ship with the Enterprise's own deflectors, even though Scotty says that will overload their engines. Kirk has them do it anyway. Of course he does.

After the titles, sure enough, the (di)lithium crystals are going one after the other, because someone didn't listen to Scotty. Scotty and Spock are trying to beam the crew of the other vessel aboard, but they're having trouble, until the ship finally sends out a distress signal at the last minute and they're able to get locked onto something. They beam aboard a man who has what I can only describe as an extremely singular sense of fashion.

[ID: A man with a handlebar mustache, a cowboy hat, a single earring, beaded blue pants, a frilly orange shirt open to the navel with a black shirt under it and a giant belt with one enormous belt buckle.]

The man introduces himself as Leo Walsh, and says there are three remaining members of his crew. He's very casual about the fact that said crew is on a ship that is blowing up faster than a marshmallow in a microwave. Meanwhile, yet another crystal has blown, leaving them on battery power. Scotty's having trouble with the transporter. Can't imagine why.

The little ship that couldn't finally goes, first being hit by an asteroid and then blowing up, but Scotty gets the remaining crew onboard in time. They turn out to be three women: one in a red dress, one in a green dress, and one in a purple...sweater...thing. The women stare seductively at the men. McCoy and Scotty stare back, transfixed. Spock looks confused. I feel ya, Spock.

After several tries, Kirk finally gets through to Scotty, and tells him to send the captain to Kirk's quarters if he can walk, and if he can't walk, send him anyway. Spock leads Walsh and the women down the corridor, and along the way everyone stops and stares at them. In the turbolift, Walsh deduces that Spock is part Vulcanian (yes, Vulcanian, they hadn't figured that one out yet either). I dunno how he figured that out since Spock is physically indistinguishable from a full Vulcan (or Vulcanian) but he does. Maybe they originally planned for full Vulcans to look more alien, I dunno. Anyway, Walsh takes that to be the reason why Spock is the only one not affected by these stunningly seductive sirens. You know how it goes, you don’t show conventional attraction, someone goes “oh, you must be an alien” only in this case it’s literal. Unsurprisingly, the same does not turn out to be the case for Kirk, who is obviously extremely taken aback when the three women and their swelling background music walk into his cabin.

Kirk is introduced to Walsh and asks if the women are his crew. No, Walsh says. They're his cargo. Um.

After the break Kirk gives a captain's log about how seriously distracting these women are and sends them out of his cabin so he can concentrate. Spock, meanwhile, may not be affected by the strange “magnetic effect” the women have, but he is clearly highly amused by all this.

[ID: Spock leaning against a doorway with his arms crossed, head tilted, eyebrows raised, and generally just looking extremely sassy. Offscreen, Kirk is saying, “...on the male members of my crew...” ]

Walsh explains to Kirk that he only evaded the Enterprise because hey, you're flying a tiny little cargo ship, giant armed starship pulls up alongside you, what are you going to do. Not run away? That’s ridiculous. Kirk isn't interested in this explanation, though, and tells Walsh that he's convening a hearing on his actions and in the meantime he'll be confined to quarters. Although first we have to find some quarters, presumably.

On the bridge, Sulu and Farrell are going on about how compelling the women are, but Scotty's distracted by his one true love: the Enterprise. Specifically, that she's in pretty bad shape: they lost two crystals and the last remaining one is cracked, and they can't fix it because, uh, they broke something else. Honestly, the amount of times this happens, you'd think they'd start keeping spare crystals onboard.

Walsh meets up with the women in a briefing room, under the watchful eyes of two redshirts who are thankfully managing to still do their jobs, unlike most of the men in this episode. The women are freaking out, pointing out that they lost their ship, they're going in the wrong direction, and now they're on trial, and what are they going to do? Walsh tries to calm them down while clumsily trying to avoid saying anything too suspicious in earshot of the security guards. In particular he tells the women not to submit to any medical checks, and cuts one of them off when she asks, “But what about the--” Then another one calls him Harry. Whoops.

Scotty explains the dire engine situation to Kirk, bitterly bemoaning that Walsh not only destroyed his own ship but screwed up the Enterprise too. He even calls Walsh a jackass. Wow, language, Scotty. You can’t swear like that in the 60s. Even if it’s the Future 60s.

So with only one crystal left, and that one with a limited lifespan since it's channeling the entire ship's power on its own, they've got no choice but to go to a nearby mining facility and pick up some more crystals. Again. It's a good thing there are so many mining facilities scattered around the galaxy for the Enterprise to plunder. At least we don't have any irritating godlike beings that we have to abandon on this one. Although there’s an irritating regular being aboard that I’m sure Kirk would be pretty eager to abandon somewhere.

In the meantime, Kirk gets the hearing underway, though not before taking a moment to complain about the hypnotic effect the women are having on all the men. He doesn't do anything about it, though (you'd think he could put bags over their heads or something, I dunno), and naturally the hearing board is comprised entirely of men. Well, at least we've got Spock here.

Spock starts up the magic computer and tells Walsh to state his name for the record. But when he does, the computer says that's incorrect. See? I told you it was magic. Under pressure, Walsh finally reveals that his real full name is Harcourt Fenton Mudd. Which is pretty great, I dunno why you'd keep that hidden. Aside from all the criminal charges. Mudd insists he doesn't have any past offenses, but the computer says that's also incorrect, and brings up a police report. Apparently he's been convicted of smuggling, transport of stolen goods, and purchase of a vessel with counterfeit currency. And his sentence was...psychiatric treatment. Wow. I bet that went well.

Kirk says Mudd is charged with piloting a ship without a flight plan or identification beam and failing to answer a starship's signal, which makes him a menace to navigation. Also he was traveling without a license. Mudd says that the real Leo Walsh was going to be the captain of the ship, but he died suddenly (hmm) and Mudd was forced to take the ship out himself. And assumed Walsh's name as a courtesy to him. That's...a pretty weird way of paying your respects.

While all this is going on, the women are distracting the men by dialing up the seduction. This is one of those instances where the medium is kind of working against itself. It's an awful lot easier to write that a woman is supernaturally, hypnotically beautiful than to show that on screen with a regular human woman in some makeup. I mean, there's just only so much you can do with a soft focus.

Kirk asks Mudd what exactly it was that he was doing anyway, and Mudd reveals that he recruits wives for settlers. In other words, he's essentially running a mail-order bride company. Well, I doubt that it's any kind of legitimate company, but you get my drift.

The impetus for this whole thing is that Star Trek was conceived as a space western (wagon train to the stars!), and settlers in the wild west advertising for wives to come join them was a common thing, so they were playing off that. Apparently at no point did it occur to anybody that wholesale transplanting societal elements of the wild west into a space show taking place in the ENLIGHTENED FUTURE was not, perhaps, the best idea. So we get...this whole thing, and trust me, it only gets worse as the episode goes on.

No one really reacts to this revelation very much, although that's perhaps not surprising considering no one really reacted to Mudd referring to the women as his cargo earlier. Kirk asks the magic computer for information on the women. It doesn't have any, so he asks it to turn the sensor probe on them. The computer says it doesn't get anything from the women, but then it goes on to volunteer the information that the male crew members are all showing signs of, well, arousal. Seriously, it just says this entirely of its own volition. That is one passive-aggressive computer.

Kirk finally gets around to asking if the women are here voluntarily, and Mudd says of course they are—and this time the magic computer doesn't contradict him so he's probably telling the truth. We also finally get some names for them: Ruth in the green dress, Eve in the red dress, and Magda in the purple thing. Eve talks about how they all came from planets with no, or very few, men, and she personally had a miserable existence keeping house for her two brothers with little more than automated farm machines for company. And that does sound pretty rough! So instead, they're going to...go keep house for husbands on frontier planets with little more than automated machines for company. But that's better, because, uh...something. Eve at least does call the guys out on spending the entire episode ogling the three of them, but it's not going to get much better.

Kirk plans to hand Mudd over to the authorities for illegally operating a vessel. The women aren't being charged, but they're kinda stuck and not getting where they want to go. Eve begs Kirk to help them, but he puts her off (and addresses her by her last name, although that was never brought up—evidence grows for Kirk being able to read minds) and then gets distracted by the last crystal blowing out. So now they're running entirely on battery power. Great.

Mudd sees this as a golden opportunity, because now he has new husbands to offer the women: the miners that they're going to see on Rigel-12. The miners are lonely and isolated and, apparently, quite rich, so Mudd sees them as prime candidates. He exults to the women about how rich they're going to be, and says that he is going to be running the Enterprise and Kirk will soon be taking orders from him. I...don't know how he plans to accomplish that, but he seems pretty confident.

Kirk has Mudd confined to his quarters, but the women are free to roam around the ship seducing the men. Only men are mentioned: all of the men are affected, and none of the women are. Because here on the Enterprise we only have straight people, apparently.

Ruth stops by Sickbay to pester McCoy, not that he's real upset about this. As she walks by one of the scanners, it wigs out and starts beeping and flashing dots. Like Scotty and his warp engines, if there's one thing that can distract McCoy under any circumstances it's medicine, so his attention is quickly drawn to that and he asks Ruth to walk by it again. She does, and it does the same thing. McCoy says it's not supposed to do that. Well I would hope not, because it's not very helpful. He asks if she's wearing some weird perfume or anything radioactive. “Ah, yes, my uranium necklace, I forgot about that.”

With that mystery unresolved, Kirk walks into his quarters to find Eve stretched out on his bed. Seriously people, put some locks on your doors or something. Eve says she was taking a walk but had to find a place to duck into because all the men were staring at her. Which would make me want to hide too, but not in the captain's quarters. Anyway, Kirk and Eve have some typical Star Trek cheesy romantic dialogue, but it takes an unexpected turn when Eve suddenly pulls away and declares that she can't do this, no matter what Mudd says, and she hates the whole thing. Then she storms off, leaving Kirk looking pretty perplexed, since this is not how these things usually go for him.

Mudd is gathering intel from Magda and Ruth, who between them have found out that there are three miners on Rigel-12, that they're all young and healthy, and that their leader is named Ben Childress. Mudd's pretty happy with his plans so far, but then Eve comes in and starts to chew him out. She doesn't get very far, though, stricken with some sudden affliction that has her leaning against the wall and moaning about how it must be near the time. Oh my god, they're werewolves! Nah, probably not. That would actually be interesting.

Up on the bridge, Kirk is getting irritated at having to deal with his seriously distracted crew. He asks if McCoy examined Eve, but McCoy says she refused. Which surprises Kirk, because it's not like McCoy usually lets that stop him. The two of them have a conversation about the mysterious women, with McCoy wondering if they really are actually that beautiful or if there's something else going on. He briefly considers the possibility that they might be “alien illusions.” Keep in mind this was only the third episode filmed, so it's pretty impressive that the characters have already started to identify what will be running themes in their lives.

Anyway, for now McCoy doesn't manage to do anything but confuse both Kirk and himself. Meanwhile, Magda has acquired a communicator, which Mudd uses to contact Rigel-12. Speaking of Rigel-12, the Enterprise has finally reached it, but Spock says they can only sustain their orbit for three days. I feel like that's not how orbits work, but what do I know.

In Mudd's cabin, he's frantically searching for something in a chest of drawers, while the women look on desperately, for you see, they are becoming...less attractive. Well, kind of. Ruth looks a bit haggard, but Magda just kinda looks like her hair's a bit messed up, and Eve mostly looks tired. But they’re no longer in soft focus, a terrible fate for any TOS woman.

[ID: Ruth, a white woman with long, somewhat frizzled black hair and some shadows under her eyes, holding her hands up to her chin with an anguished expression and saying, “Look at my face.” ]

The women are demanding some kind of pills, which Mudd seems to have misplaced, although Eve calls them a cheat anyway. Eventually Mudd finds them under the mattress and gives a couple to Ruth and Magda. (They dry swallow them. Ew.) He has to talk Eve into taking one, though. Magda and Ruth are seeing the effects already: Ruth's complexion has cleared up and Magda's hair has magically done itself. Mostly, though, we know that they've gone from Unattractive to Attractive because their sultry background music is back. Eve looks at the pill in her hand unhappily, but we don't see her take it.

Spock, in a rare and rather bizarre case of sentimentalism, is looking over a spent crystal and musing that it's beautiful and it's a shame it had to be destroyed. Spock's not interested in superpowerfully beautiful women, but he appreciates a good shiny rock. Kirk points out that it was a choice between destroying the crystal or destroying Mudd's ship. Except his ship got destroyed anyway so that didn't work out real well all around.

The miners come in to chat with Kirk. He says he's authorized to pay them well for the crystals, but Childress, the head dude, says the miners might be looking to swap instead. What, is this a barter economy now? “Alright, I'll pay you ten chickens for each crystal.”

Actually, it turns out the miners want the women. But of course, they want to take a look at them first to see if they're to the miners' liking, so Childress tells Kirk to “trot them out.” Jesus fucking Christ, have we turned into a slave market over here? What is wrong with you people?

Oh, and Childress says that he's agreed to have the charges on Mudd dropped. How he has the authority to do this is not explained. I guess he has a lot of money, but that paints a depressing view of the enlightened future if people are still capable of just buying their way out of things. Kirk is so surprised and perplexed by all this that he bursts out laughing, while Spock just kind of sits down with a 'here we go' look on his face. Kirk says there's no deal, but Childress says without the women there'll be no crystals. Kirk starts to point out that not cooperating with the Federation could backfire pretty badly on the miners, but before he can get too far Mudd bursts in with all three women in tow. Kirk's desperate attempt to cut all this off is halted by the lights dimming, a sign that they're on half battery power now. Mudd points out that Kirk's got no choice: he needs those crystals or he's not going anywhere except into a rapidly decaying orbit and eventually the planet's surface.

After the break, Kirk, Spock and Mudd beam down to the planet to deal with the miners. It's a pleasant looking place, really the kind of planet you'd like to spend your whole life on.

[ID: A rocky, desolate, wind-blasted landscape, with a pinkish sky and three small domed buildings sticking up from the rocks, barely visible through air filled with dust. Offscreen, Kirk is saying, “Transporting down to surface of planet Rigel-12...” ]

Inside the nearby living unit, which looks bizarrely like a cave from the inside, Ruth and Magda are paired off with a couple miners, giggling and stroking their shoulders and doing that kind of thing, while Eve is sitting unhappily in a corner. Kirk admits to Childress that he's won, he'll make the deal, now can he please have some crystals. Childress smirks at him that he'll get the crystals when he has time, because they're busy now. Listen, you smug jackass, you want a half-mile long spaceship loaded with extremely explosive fuel to crash into your planet? That'd do your mining operation a whole lot of good, wouldn't it?

Childress tries to chat up Eve, to little avail. The other miners start to dance with Magda and Ruth, but Eve declines Childress's offer, causing him to stomp across the room and pull Ruth away from her partner. Which causes another miner to pull Magda away from her partner. Poor Eve, meanwhile, looks absolutely miserable, hunched over by the wall on the verge of tears. When a fight breaks out among the miners, Eve runs over to the door, screams, “Why don't you just hold a raffle and the loser gets me?!” and then runs outside. This is bad because Rigel-12 sucks at the best of times, but right now a magnetic storm's kicking up and the dust is even worse than usual. Childress yells at Kirk that if he goes outside he'll be killed but, come on, like that's ever stopped Kirk.

Kirk and Eve stumble dramatically through the rocks, and Childress comes out after them, gaping uselessly. You'd think the miners at least would have, like, goggles and breath masks, but nope. Anyway, they can't find Eve, and then Childress gets lost too, so Kirk goes back up to the Enterprise to try and find them with their scanners, but the magnetic storm is causing interference and they're not having much luck. Unfortunately this is draining the batteries even faster, so now they only have about five hours of power left. GEE, IF ONLY SOMEONE HAD DELIVERED THE CRYSTALS LIKE THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO.

Down on the planet, Childress has found Eve and carried her back inside. But the magnetic storm has caused communications to go down, so he can't tell the Enterprise that. Although he probably wouldn't anyway, cause he's a jerk. Eventually, with only about forty minutes of power left, they locate lifesigns in Childress's quarters and go to beam down.

Inside, Childress wakes up from an uncomfortable bench-nap to find Eve cooking. He complains that she moved stuff; she says that she did some chores for him. Then he complains that he does his own cooking. Then when he tastes it he says his cooking is better. Then, when Eve says his pan was super crusted and gross, he says he couldn't wash it because they don't have any decent water (what do they drink?) Eve finally gets him to shut up by saying he could hang the pans outside and get them sand-blasted clean. He rolls his eyes at this, but later we see him doing it. I dunno how well that would work since this world seems to be more dusty than sandy, but at least it made Childress stop talking.

Now, I’m only a struggling milennial myself, so forgive my naivete, but what in the goddamn hell is the point of being so rich if you’re living like this? All throughout the episode we’re told that the miners are incredibly wealthy, yet they’re living in absolutely hideous conditions that they clearly don’t enjoy. If they’re so rich, why not make some other people do all the work and suffering for them? That’s what rich people usually do, to my understanding.

Anyway, inside, Eve is playing Double Jack (whatever that is) with round cards, because this is THE FUTURE. Childress quickly goes back to his charming ways, first saying she's not even good company, then asking what happened to her looks, because oh my God, a woman who's been through a dust storm doesn't look astoundingly glamorous, how dare she. He gets right up in her face, screaming about how ugly she looks and how he's so rich he could buy queens, because I guess all women are for sale in this universe.

Thankfully, this display is interrupted by Kirk and Mudd coming in. Childress is quick to say that he didn't touch Eve. Well, that makes everything alright then. Emotional abuse, pshaw.

Kirk demands that Mudd tell Childress the truth about something called the Venus Drug. Mudd splutters that it's actually a relatively harmless drug, it just turns you into a toxic wasteland full of sulfuric acid. Oh no, sorry, Venus like the god, not Venus like the planet. Actually, Mudd says, the drug “gives you more of whatever you have.” Men get more aggressive and muscular, women get rounder and more feminine. I'm not making this up, that's literally what he says. I’m so sorry.

Childress is absolutely horrified to discover that all the women are naturally as shockingly hideous as Eve, and asks what happened to his partners, in a tone that suggests that he thinks the women ate them. Kirk says they've already gotten married by subspace radio, causing Childress to flip out and try to attack Mudd, but Kirk pulls him back and says that the marriages were frauds so the miners can get out of it. I guess no-fault divorce doesn’t exist in the enlightened future.

Childress splutters about the injustice of how he went out to rescue a woman who dares to look slightly less pretty than she did previously. And I mean, Eve looks pretty much exactly the same except her hair isn't brushed and she has less makeup on. That's it. That's literally it. This whole thing would be just as stupid no matter what she looked like, but Childress is acting like she grew horns and her skin fell off.

[ID: Eve, a white woman with long and slightly messy blonde hair and dressed in a sparkly pink sleeveless dress, looking tiredly at the camera.]

Eve's finally had enough and screams at Childress that he doesn't want a wife, he wants the perfect ideal of a woman exemplified by the Venus Drug. To prove this to him, she gulps down three of them at once, then, after a long pause, turns around. Gasp! Her makeup and coiffed hair and sultry background music are back. She asks if this is what Childress really wants—not a real wife to cook and sew for him (as all wives do) but someone who's “selfish, vain, useless.” Childress bitterly muses that such a woman is only “a fake, pumped up by a drug” but then Kirk reveals that actually, no—they replaced the real Venus Drug with a placebo. Believing that she had taken the drug was enough to make Eve beautiful, because confidence and self-esteem will do your hair and makeup for you.

At any rate, Kirk's tired of giving DARE programs to bit characters and tells Childress he better hand over the crystals before the Enterprise crashes into this lovely little domestic scene. Childress finally concedes the crystals and, when Spock asks how many people are beaming up, he says that Eve can stay with him. How generous. Eve agrees, although not terribly enthusiastically, so Kirk and Mudd head out, with a bit of snarking first.

Back on the ship they've finally got things working again, and Spock says he's glad this whole business is over, calling it “a most annoying emotional episode.” Yeah, you and me both, Spock.

There's so much awfulness going on in this episode I don't even know where to start. You have the constant objectification of the women by everyone from the cast to the camera. You have the way the women are treated like property to be traded, examined, and discarded for being faulty. You have immediate shock and horror if the women are ever anything but perfectly made-up and appealing. Even Eve's whole speech to Childress at the end is bad; first, when she accuses him of not really wanting a wife, she frames the idea of a wife not as being an equal partner but as being someone useful to their husband. Then, rather than pointing out that the effects of the Venus Drug only make for a fake, unrealistically idealized idea of a woman, she says that the problem is that any woman that beautiful would automatically be selfish, vain, and useless. It comes off less as “you should look at women as real people and not walking pinup girls meant only to fulfill your desires” and more “you should try to attain a woman that's useful to you rather than focusing on looks alone.”

And then you have the implicit assumption throughout the entire episode that every woman needs a man. The circumstances the women originally came from don't sound real great and you wouldn't blame them for wanting to get away from that, but the emphasis is not on them wanting to leave because the situation was lousy, it's them wanting to leave because there were no men. And what is a woman supposed to do without a man to marry? The women are so desperate to have husbands, any husbands, that they place themselves in the hands of a sleazy conman to get delivered to men they've never met—men whose identities are so inconsequential that the women don't care when they're replaced on the fly. At the end the women are all back to living in pretty shitty circumstances. No one would want to live on Rigel-12! It sucks! You're stuck in tiny, cave-like dwellings with few resources, not even enough water to do dishes, half the time you can't go outside and the other half the time you wouldn't want to! Oh, and to top it off, the episode ends with Eve staying with a man who was literally screaming emotional abuse into her ear ten minutes ago. Are we honestly supposed to believe this is a happy ending for anyone? But it's all okay now because they have husbands, so their roles as women are fulfilled. And I’m sure that Childress will go from being a horrible sexist jerk to a good partner now that he’s been shouted at for five minutes.

And the whole thing just...doesn't make sense. We're clearly supposed to believe that the Venus Drug has some kind of real, tangible effect. The women spend most of the episode having a siren-like effect on every man they encounter. And while Magda and Eve never went much beyond having messy hair, they at least put enough makeup on Ruth when she was off the drug to make a clear physical change take place. But at the end it turns out that it was just...self-confidence? Or something? Self-confidence so strong it can do your hair and makeup for you? Heck, what about Ruth setting off McCoy's medical scanner? That never gets explained. Or the fact that taking the Venus drug is apparently enough to qualify for fraud, judging by what Kirk said about those divorces.

The only thing this episode has going for it (aside from Spock's expressions) is Harry Mudd himself, in large part thanks to Roger C. Carmel's gleefully over the top acting. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to defend him as a person—but you don't have to be a great person to make for a great character. And in a weird, paradoxical kind of way, there's something I find enjoyably different about Mudd as a character. TOS tends to take place on a pretty large scale—its antagonists are usually serious threats, when they're not incomprehensibly powerful, while its protagonists are called upon to be heroes fighting for peace and life and human ideals. There's nothing wrong with that, it works for the show, but it's kind of nice to occasionally run into an antagonist who's not threatening entire planets, just doing small-time crime to make a quick buck. It makes the world feel more fleshed out, like things are still going on at other levels than we usually see. Our heroes may be dealing with godlike beings and scary monsters and philosophical quandaries, but out there in the galaxy people are still living their fairly normal lives. And some of those people suck, because they're people and that's how people work. I just wish they could have had him running a less incredibly cringe-inducing con.  

The other thing I like about Mudd is his interactions with Kirk. He really brings out Kirk's sarcastic, impatient side, and it's a lot of fun to watch. Kirk is immediately 100% done the moment Mudd walks into the room, but normally when Kirk gets fed up with a situation he has to rein it in to be diplomatic or captain-like or cool under pressure or whatever. He has no such need to hold it back with Mudd, so he just gets to be as snarky as he wants and it's wonderful.

TREK TROPE TALLY: None this time--crew death count for this episode is, once again, zero, unless someone died of embarrassment offscreen. Next time we'll get back onto firm pondering-the-nature-of-humanity ground with What Are Little Girls Made Of?

[blamsart]

No one’s POV

Gloria hung her head, wringing her hands as Cherry Blossom sighed.

There had been complaints. Gloria’s visits to Nathan’s old project had not gone unnoticed. The room had been entered several times according to records, and often the appointed scientist would enter the room and find Gloria on the floor talking to the subject.

Gloria was Cherry’s charge, and while the higher up was willing to dismiss her behavior as adolescence, it was still up to Cherry to establish some more discipline.

“You know you can’t go interfering with projects that you are no longer a part of. So why do you?” Cherry asked.

“I wasn’t interfering with the project, I just went to talk with Sala-”

“Oh you’re telling me you made friends with the girl? You’re making friends with subjects now?”

Gloria swallowed and shook her head. “No. Of course not-”

“Of course not! If you want friends, be friends with Doctor Svenson, or Alliade the janitor, I don’t mind.  But most certainly not subjects or elements of a project. Apart from the mere fact that you’re imposing yourself on things that no longer involve you, you’re putting yourself at risk. Reds are not people you can befriend. Do you understand?”

Gloria nodded quickly.

Cherry didn’t feel she’d convinced her.

“I’m going to have someone check the hallway tapes to make sure you don’t go again. As well I’m going to give you more projects, since clearly you have too much time on your hands. Don’t even think about shapeshifting to slip by the cameras. That will only force me to add magic sensors that will detect your specific magical presence. That’s equipment we could put elsewhere and that will just make me extremely unhappy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I wish you actually meant that. I don’t enjoy having to micromanage you.”  Cherry said. “Well go on, I’ll send you your new projects soon.”

***

Nikolas gripped his head as his entire body ached and pulsated.

“There doesn’t seem to be any residual magic from the tattoo you got, but…there’s something that doesn’t correlate so we’re going to keep you a little longer okay?” The man said, a fake smile in his voice. Without even turning to look at the teen, he left the room.

Niko’s only been here for a day and he’s already at his wit’s end.

They drugged him, dragged him out, and he’d wake up attached to the wall just before they used a machine on him. A device that sent intense and painful pulsating waves across his entire body. Waves that pushed him across the wall with physical force and ones that forcefully dug into his skin with magic.

After an hour or so, they knocked him out again and he’d wake up in the cell, exhausted and aching.

And he knew, he knew what he was going through right now was minimal. He’d heard them talking enough to know this was a standard kind of test. He could barely come to imagine the things everyone else in this building was going through.

He carefully laid down on the box forcing himself to try and think, despite the aching. How does he get out of this?

Does he?

Whatever happens he can’t stay here. Like Ashlynn said, there has to be a way out. No system is perfect.

To Niko’s mild surprise the scientist came in again. The event seemed a little strange to him, but maybe the man had just forgotten some papers. Either way Niko’s eyes were closed and he could care less. Just as long as the man wasn’t here to knock him out again.

A few moments passed before the scientist spoke. “Hey!”

Frowning Niko turned to look at him.

The man looked weird and expectant, but Nikolas really didn’t have the energy to indulge him, so he simply stared.

The man shook his head. “So you were bluffing. You can’t actually spot me from miles away.”

That got Niko’s interest.

“You know your comment struck a blow on my confidence.” The man mumbled.

Nikolas sat up. “…You! What the fuck is your name anyway?”

“Gloria.” She said as her disguise fell off.

Her idea of a good time was not checking in on the sometimes intimidating red head, but going to see Salandra had suddenly gotten too risky. She had gotten the idea to shapeshift as the scientist and slip into Sal’s room, even though Cherry had insisted she didn’t. Gloria wasn’t worried however. It was a matter of getting caught, and as long as she checked the man’s schedule she’d be fine.

However…just as she was about to enter the room, she remembered the artifact implanted in the doorway that would strip her disguise off. There weren’t any cameras in the rooms unless someone was recording something so she didn’t mind not having her disguise inside, but the cameras would have spotted her in the doorway.

So in a split second decision, she’d headed for the room right next door.

“Hey Gloria.” He said, leaning against the window in a suspiciously friendly manner. “How would you feel about helping me out of this place?”

“What?” Gloria asked with a laugh. “What makes you think I’d help you? I barely even know you.”

“That’s not true! We went to school together, we had math class together.”

“Oh was it math? I thought it was chemistry.” Gloria frowned.

“We both went to that experiment. We’re past the level of acquaintances.”

“You know I work here right? This is my home. Why would I help you? I’d just get in trouble – serious trouble.”

“Right, you’re right. What do you want in return?”

“What could you possibly give me that warrants an escape?”

“Well I’m a witch for one. I do know people.” He shrugged. “What do you want from life? Are you actually happy running around catching people so they can be tortured?”

“Oh, I suppose you could tell me more about Salandra.”

Nikolas stared blankly for a few seconds. “You do realize I’m a witch right?”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at. What does that bring to the table?”

He rolled his eyes. “Good point.”

“You were friends with her weren’t you? You two were always seen together.”

Nikolas eyed her suspiciously. “This is her talking right? What are you, her eyes and ears? What, is she expecting me to forgive her on the account of whatever friendship we used to have?”

“Actually-”

“Cause that’s really fucked up you know and I have no interest in being a pin cushion for her amusement.”

“Actually she doesn’t even want me to mention your name.” Gloria cut in.

“Oh she’s angry because of the message I gave you huh.” He said after a pause.

“You mean that REALLY rude message? No I didn’t tell her that. She just doesn’t want to talk to you – or well about you. It must be something else you did.”

“Something I did? She blew up my house!” He shouted, making Gloria back away.

“Right this seems like a sensitive subject for you.”

“Wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you.” He rapidly attempted to remediate.

“But you did.”

“I’m sorry. Did you actually mean it?” He asked. “About helping me?”

“Well…I’d consider it.”

“Just for some information on her?” He confirmed again, incredulously.

“I want to understand her better.”

There had to be a catch. There had to be something. It felt like too good of a deal. “Do you have a crush on her?”

“No.” Gloria said, then took a few moments to actually consider it. “Yeah, no.”

“There’s no shame in it, basically all the guys at school did.”

“Does that include you? This is a lover’s quarrel isn’t it? I can feel it now.” Gloria grinned as if she were talking about her favorite tv show.

“Is that what she told you?”

“Stop it, I told you she won’t talk about you.” Gloria sighed. “God what was I thinking, you don’t know anything. You’re probably going to make things up just so I help you.”

“No no wait, I’ll stop beating around the bush. If that’s all you want, it’s a simple task.”

“Ok good. Make it quick but detailed, I don’t have a lot of time. And don’t talk about the explosion I’ve heard that way too much lately.” She said, sitting down on the floor.

“Alright…anything in particular?” Nikolas asked.

“What happened to her? I remember she was a really sweet girl.”

“Her mom died.” Gloria raised her eyebrows at his short reply. “Well I…that might not be all of it. I don’t understand myself how we got here. But if there was anything that could be the starting point, it’d be her mom in the hospital.  Sal went on a quest to get money to help her mom. Took on a hundred jobs and then signed up for that skeevy as hell experiment because they were offering a grand. I followed to check on her and with good reason, the Hans are fucked up. Her mom died the day after.  I tried to be there for her, because this was obviously tearing her up, but…” Niko ruffled his own hair, bothered by the old emotions that were being brought back up.

“But what? That’s hardly enough for me to put my neck out on the line for you.”

“But I had my own shit happen, and I didn’t have the time or the opportunity to help her. I guess she spiraled, because the next time I saw her – once both our shits had calmed down – she was,” He gestured. “Trying to force herself on me as if that was the ultimate solution. She told me she loved me, that she’d always loved me, but…that’s not what that was. She wasn’t even there.”

“I think I get what you’re saying.”

“I rejected her and then next time I see her, she’s waltzing in my pa’s funeral and blowing everyone up.” He finished. He cast Gloria a side glance, mildly annoyed that she’d gotten him to spill all of this.

Along with that little feeling that maybe, it was his own fault in the end, what had happened. Maybe if he’d tried a little harder to be there for her…

But that was just a small feeling, in the end truth was, it was her goddamn decision to do that.

“She was going to blow up eventually anyway. The tattoo she got was unstable and she didn’t use its magic so it just got built up. It’s what happens to most of the people that we used to put back on the street before. Remember all those reports of teens causing fires or other drastic uncontrolled acts of magic?”

“I was told tattoos couldn’t affect someone like that.”

“Well it won’t force you to say things you wouldn’t, her actions are her own. But the blowing up part, that’s pretty normal if she doesn’t use her tattoo at all. You would know, it’s a bit like what your father’s known for.” Gloria said as he got up. “Ok I can’t actually break you out.”

Nikolas grimaced, seeming unsurprised.

“It’s too obvious if I just switch open the door! I don’t want to get caught, I already got a warning. But they have so many prisoners, they won’t miss you. Anyway, I can’t open the door, but I could get your rings through the food hatch. That’s about all I can do for you. Nothing else.”

“I’ll take it.” He said getting up as well. “This really doesn’t feel like a fair deal.” He hadn’t actually expected this to work.  “If there’s anything else you want-”

“Sounds good, see you later.”

Nikolas stared after her, annoyed. It didn’t matter how fine she was with it, it still felt like he was getting a lot more out of this – like he was abusing of her. He was still barely believing she was willing to help him out for so little.

He couldn’t think of anyone else who would’ve accepted this kind of deal.

That or in actuality she’s getting more out of it and he just can’t see it.

***

Salandra’s POV

“Running with all of my brothers, I always wondered how far we could go…”

1, 2 and 3 steps into the nether.

“If we could break through the ceiling above us, there’d be no point of us looking below…”

I’m falling, falling

Falling

“We could be free, we could be free…”

Fall

Fall

I’m not falling

“Finally we could be free.”

Oh I wish I remembered the rest of the lyrics. It’s all I have now, snippets of lyrics repeated in my rusty musty voice in an attempt to recreate the rhythm.

I’m so

Freaking

BORED

Always always always fucking BORED

There’s nothing to do

In this itty bitty sucky ass SPACE

A glorified lab rat left alone for HOURS WEEKS MONTHS on end

What am I supposed to do!?

It takes everything I have not to go INSANE

Hahahahahhaahahhahaha

“Hahahahahhaha!”

I held my sides flipping over at my own humor.

I’m going to have another birthday coming up in several months. Last year was amazing.

I giggled just remembering how a few well-placed words from various overheard conversations had gotten me a bloody fight right outside my cell.

Absolutely magical. Incredibly entertaining!

I don’t understand why they’re all so hesitant to talk personal to me now.

Except Gloria.

I wish she wasn’t as desperate for companionship as I am.

Even though I know that’s the only reason she even speaks to me.

Oh pardon, that and she was born retarded. Oh if she didn’t work for the Hans…we’d get along so much better. Sadly, that element is a real turn off.

I closed my eyes and relaxed into the floor.

Into the GRASS. Oh the sweet soft grass. I do remember it yes. I can feel it surrounding my entire body, I can smell it yes I can. I roll in it, feeling it glide across my skin.

I sit up, raising my face towards the sun. I can feel its heat, I can feel the wind in my hair, I can feel-

I shot to my feet, my daydream vanishing back to the small tight living space I’d been existing in for an eternity now.

“What a fucking plague.” I muttered.

Another reason to dislike Gloria.

I didn’t ask for more Niko.

Okay, no, I did, curiosity and boredom got the better of me. But I thought it was fake. Or that I was dreaming. Who CARES.

It’s real and I don’t want it.

I’m fucking scared of it.

Guilt guilt guilt pride shame

A reason to like Gloria. She’s so eager to feed me anything I want.

But not him. I don’t want him. He’s tainted already.

Why would I worsen it?

I let out a humorless chuckle. “Do you even listen to yourself think? Shameful nonsensical coward.” I muttered, slamming my head against the wall.

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  9.97 – We could be free No one’s POV Gloria hung her head, wringing her hands as Cherry Blossom sighed. There had been…

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, P5  Peter Parker x Reader

Author’s Note: Finally, the first Peter P.O.V. chapter! 

Thank you to everyone who liked the previous parts and to my new (and old) followers! I’m so excited to share the upcoming chapters where things get more intense. That being said, let me know what you guys think of this bit!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

And here it is,

Then Again, Part 5:

(Words: 2,381)

If I said that this was the worst week, and that yesterday was the worst day, of my life, I would be an absolute idiot. Of course it isn’t. But it does suck. It sucks a lot. A lot, a lot. The last few months have been pretty awful, but for some reason, this has been the worst week of them. 

Y/N is just so happy. It’s driving me nuts.

I blame it mostly on Halloween. If Halloween hadn’t happened the way it did, maybe everything would be different and the other things would matter less.

That night, Y/N and I were supposed to meet MJ and Ned at Ned’s apartment before going to Betty’s party. (Ned forced us into it, I didn’t really want to go in the first place.)

Anyway, Y/N came to my apartment first so we could walk to Ned’s together. Just as I answered the door, MJ sent something to our group snapchat. The little popcorn sound echoed between us as I let Y/N inside. I pulled out my phone.

“It’s from MJ,” I said, opening it.

MJ, dressed as someone from the 1700s judging by the bonnet, was perched on the back of Ned’s couch and holding a whip outside an open window; Ned was in the background, running toward her from the hallway. He was wearing an Indiana Jones costume and his signature Don’t you dare, MJ! face. 

I laughed.

“Look, MJ’s already tormenting Ned with his own costume,” I said, showing Y/N the picture before it disappeared.

“What?”

She looked at the screen and froze.

“It’s a costume party?”

I thought she knew, especially since Ned talked about it so much. I hadn’t planned a costume, but that’s because I was hoping if I showed up to Ned’s without one, he might tell me not to come at all. I guess it made sense though. I’d been wondering all week what she was planning to wear. I thought I even asked her at one point. Maybe not. Yeah. I wouldn’t have wanted her to think I was being weird.

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t have a costume either.”

She groaned.

“No, I should’ve paid more attention to Ned when he told me about it. I’ve been so… so out of it and distracted lately, and I can’t let him down like this. I know how much it means to him. I told him just an hour ago that I was completely ready for tonight. I can’t believe myself.”

I tried to console her a bit, make jokes and lighten the mood. But she was kind of right. Ned had been talking about it a lot and she had seemed pretty distracted the last couple weeks. Plus, we only had an hour before we needed to leave.

I remember wishing May were home. She would know how to help. But she must’ve been busy because she didn’t answer any of my texts.

As Y/N beat herself up for being unprepared, she kept pacing and wringing her hands. Then, she stopped.

“I always told myself I would never ask this,” she said slowly, “but Peter, can I... try on the suit?”

I always told myself I would never let my friends try the suit on. I didn’t want it to get complicated. I mean, once you get a hang of the suit, it’s kind of addicting.

In that moment though, I wanted to let her. She tends to get stressed when she isn’t one hundred percent on top of things and this was definitely one of those times. I thought it would help distract her while I came up with costume ideas. And maybe another reason I didn’t want to admit to myself yet.

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I let you try it out?”

She shrugged, the corners of her lips tugging upward. I smiled immediately, like a reflex. I could tell she was getting excited. Weirdly, I felt excited too. I told myself it was a reaction to feeling helpful.

“I just thought Ned said something about it once. Like you were overprotective of it or whatever.”

“Pff, no way.” I tried to be nonchalant. “Ned is always saying crazy things.”

That wasn’t true and we both knew it. Awkward things, occasionally. Crazy, not so much.

I dug the suit out of my bag and tossed it to her.

While I waited out in the living room for her to change, I heard a sharp thud from my room. I ran to the door.

“Uh, you okay in there?”

An oomf later, she replied, “Yeah. I just tripped a little. The suit’s fine! Hit my funny bone, that’s all.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Not for the suit, obviously. It can take a beating.

A minute later, she called my name. Her voice carried a distinct... reluctance.

Outside the door again, I offered up a, “Yeah?”

I know, I know. I’m an idiot.

“Um, how exactly does this work? I can’t figure out how to make it not so... baggy.”

“Hit the spider.”

“Hit... the spider?”

“Yeah. In the middle?”

She groaned and opened the door.

I had to shove down the laughter rising in my throat. She was in the suit and holding it up by the collar, clutching it to her chest. That was the first time I realized how short she is. I would notice it a lot more after this whenever she stood next to me, Ned, or better yet, MJ. Y/N is short enough to wear the suit and practically swim in it.

At that moment, Y/N was helpless.

“‘Hit the spider.’ Really? What does that even mean?”

Her confusion was amusing, but how could she not see the black spider symbol right under her hand?

“Ignoring how ridiculous you look, which, by the way, is off the charts ridiculous, it means,” I said, stepping forward. “Hit. The. Spider.”

I lightly punched the spider symbol, as if it was a fist bump.

Probably a stupid idea, seeing as it was situated sort of... right between her, um, breasts?

Makes sense that she screamed a bit.

“Jesus! Are you serious? More of a warning would have been nice!”

The suit can be shocking if you aren’t used to it snapping like that. I’ve gotta admit, I was not used to it snapping on her. On me, yeah. Of course. But on her... not at all. Luckily she was too engrossed in the suit to have noticed my expression. I remember thinking, it definitely doesn’t look so ridiculous on you anymore.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, looking at her arms as she turned them here and there. “This is so weird.”

She moved her shoulders a bit as if testing mobility, then her fingers, toes, legs.

“This is... the weirdest sensation. I can’t tell if I hate it or if I love it.”

Actually, that’s probably the best way to describe how I’ve been feeling since then.

That night, we never ended up going to the party. Y/N called Ned to explain that she didn’t have a costume and he immediately said it was alright if we didn’t make it. Something about, “MJ is already enough to handle at the moment.”

Instead, we stayed in and watched Lord of the Rings while Y/N kept experimenting with the suit. Testing different web shooters (she nearly destroyed my closet), watching Spider-Man Youtube videos in the mask and mocking my “poses” (for the record, I do not pose... as often as those videos suggest), and talking to Karen (they got on immediately). Once she started asking Karen personal questions, like her first one about me: “What does Peter talk to you about every day?” I decided it was time to end her Spider Time.

(Yes, I was worried Karen would tell her how often I talked about her - but to be fair, she is my friend. Obviously I talk to Karen about her a lot. I just couldn’t figure out why it was more than Ned or Aunt May or MJ. And Karen had plenty of ideas I knew she would love to tell Y/N about.)

“That’s enough! Karen, say goodbye now!” I hurried.

“Really, Peter? We just started a real conversation. You didn’t tell me the system was a person! I’ve been so rude - I’m so sorry, Karen, if I had known-”

“Come on,” I begged. “I’m being serious. I don’t want the suit to be a thing with everyone. Better to stop now, before you get... attached.”

“Attached?” The left eye of the mask widened to match her sarcasm. “Worried I’ll steal it and hide in a cave, stroking the fabric? My precious Spidey suit?”

“Very funny,” I said. “And you just said, ‘My,’ so clearly, you are being affected!”

I reached across, about to hit the spider, when I realized exactly what the suit would do if I did, and pulled back.

Not a good time to accidentally see her naked.

I swear, I didn’t mean to think that. But that idea - of one of my best friends, that way, in my room - took me off guard. Like a massive idiot, I jerked back too quickly. My ankle hit hers and she fell on top of me, simultaneously hitting the spider and setting off a series of awkward movements in which she tried to hold the suit together and I tried not to, well, see too much. (I saw a tiny bit, not going to lie.)

On the t.v., the Watcher in the Water began attacking Frodo, so the chaos of fiction and real life blended together in the worst way possible. The screaming from the movie made our own awkward grunts and “Sorry!”’s more intimate by contrast. Mostly it was just weird because she was practically drowning in the deflated Spider suit and as we moved against each other, trying to get off of each other, it wasn’t much of a barrier between us. Plus, the baggy mask on her face was a weird addition to the situation.

After untangling herself from me, she stood up gingerly and pulled the mask off. Her hair was a nest, a soft I-wish-I-could-reach-out-and-feel-it-moving-through-my-fingers kind of nest.

“D-do you mind if I change now?”

My mouth gaped. Here? Now?

“I mean, if I have to call May to escort you out, I do have her on speed dial.”

Without me here. Duh.

“Yeah. S-sorry. I’ll just, um, get up then.”

I must have looked like an idiot, staring at her from the flat of my back on the floor, practically spread eagle. Sliding past her to the door, I swear I noticed blush on her cheeks. Then again, my own face was burning. But then again, that was because I realized I liked her. Like really, really liked her. So maybe her blush meant she liked me too?

That was Halloween.

Six months later, that memory plays back almost every day. On top of six months worth of other memories. She’s there, in my head, all the time. Simple things, like her ridiculous victory dance when she wins Scrabble or her helping Aunt May make dinner (and when it comes to food, she helps a lot - in terms of taste and frequency) or even Karen telling me that she sent me a text, they all make my chest hammer. It’s the absolute worst, all variables considered.

I don’t know. This week has been weird. Seeing her so excited reminds me of how she looked trying on the suit which reminds me of everything else from that night and how I’ve never worked up the courage to just ask if it meant anything. Knowing that it’s way, way too late to ask now makes me a bundle of nerves and serious regret. Plus, her unguarded joy and enthusiasm itself.... It’s a lot to take in. Sensory overload or something. It’s like, I catch a glimpse of her teeth as she’s laughing and my brain spirals into One Hundred and One Ways I Could Make Her Laugh If She Was In Love With Me Instead or Ten Kissing Scenarios In Which She’s So Happy We Can’t Kiss Properly Because We’re Smiling Too Much. This week, these imaginary scenes keep getting out of control. It’s driving me nuts.

I need to stop thinking about her. It’s impossible when we’re always together, though. All of us. I can’t tell which is worse: when it’s just us, or when it’s us and MJ. And Ned, obviously.

So the last few days, I tried to keep a smidge of distance. Yesterday was particularly rough. Ned and MJ convinced her to skip a bunch of classes with them. They sent me dozens of snapchats, half trying to rope me in, half reporting on their adventures. (My favorite was when they nicknamed Flash an Ass-Hat Rich-Boy Bitch-Boy. Or maybe it was the video of Ned where he dissolved into a fit of laughter because he couldn’t say the phrase more than twice without messing it up.)

At the end of the day, because we all have Psych in seventh hour, I may have annoyed them by leaving that class early. I couldn’t help it. Y/N was so stupid crazy beautiful happy and it was agonizing to watch her scribble notes back and forth with MJ, her pen clicking in the almost dark as she did everything she could to not laugh and disrupt the episode of Mind Games playing on the screen. I had to get out of there before I got, like, a boner or something.

That was weird. And graphic.

God, it’s such a mess. I’m such a mess.

The point is, I need to stop thinking about her like that and just forget what happened yesterday and this morning and six months ago.

That being said, it’s not exactly easy when she’s been pissing me off the last few days. This stuff with MJ and Flash is starting to seriously eat away at me. Some of it isn’t her fault, and I’m trying to work through that on my own, but plenty of it is and I can’t tell if she even cares how I (or Ned) feel about it.

I hate these secrets.

Part 6

Next update: Friday, October 13

(Spooky. If anyone wants to be tagged in updates, let me know.)

If you liked this part, have any questions, or want to offer some constructive criticism, send me a message! My asks and messages are always open to anyone. I know I’ve only posted around 8k words so far, but I have upwards of 23k written and a few small notes of encouragement would help the writer’s block I’ve been struggling with lately.

Thank you to those who have reviewed! My beta, of course: fanboyswhereare-you, and tomhollandimangines - you guys are the best.

P.S. I’m still working on getting a AO3 account. Once I do, I’ll post each part on there as well and then post a link to the complete story here on Tumblr.

[radiostationman]

Group Mom-bro

Inspiration for this fic came from this as well as this.

Also because I love Nino, he is my son. He deserves OT4 love, yes he does.

Warning: Kinda NSFW-ish

---

If you had asked him, Nino wouldn’t have been able to tell you how it all started. Sure, he was their friend and it was his job to be there for them… but becoming the ultimate mother hen to four of Paris’ greatest heroes?

How was this his life?

“Come on, he is definitely the better blogger! Just look at his black and white pictures about-“

“Current models dressed as old timey people in old timey clothing? Al, those already exist and are definitely unoriginal.”

Alya grabbed at her chest in mock offense, “How dare you call this MASTER photographers art UNORIGINAL! I’ll have you know that he graduated the top of his class in the navy seals and-“

Nino was quick to cover her mouth with his hand, eyes wide and shoulders hunched in disgust. “That meme has finally died, please let it stay buried and at rest forever.”

He nearly shrieked when a gross warm and wet tongue sloppily licked a stripe up his palm, resulting in him pulling away and desperately scrubbing at his hand with a fistful of napkins. “ALYA!”

All he received was an amused smirk and an eyebrow waggle.

Groaning, he tossed the used napkins onto the café tables surface and cupped his hands around the ceramic mug before him, pointedly dropping his gaze into the tea’s swirling depths and not at the gorgeously powerful woman before him.

“Now now, Lahiffe, don’t give me the, ‘I’m pretending to ignore you but can’t because I’m too nice’ stance. I know you too well for you to get away with it and will tickle you into submission if need be!”

The twitching of his lips was a dead giveaway that her words had taken affect, yet he kept his eyes trained on his green tea.

Alya sighed in mock defeat, holding her hands up in an ‘oh well’ gesture.

“It seems like you have forced my hand. Prepare to be- “

The whole building suddenly quaked, hanging lights swinging and forcing many of the cafés occupants out of their seats, including Alya and Nino. When the shaking had stopped, all went silent, as though no one knew what to do with themselves.

Turning to the blogger next to him, Nino opened his mouth only for a car to smash through the window right next to their table. Alya tackled him to the ground and out of harm’s way just in time, covering him from the shower of glass and the screaming of civilians inside and outside of the building.

As the chaos around them continued, Alya pulled him to his feet and quickly checked him over before giving him an apologetic look. Before she could say anything, he gave her an encouraging smile and tipped his head in the direction of the latest akuma. “Go, and be careful.”

Grinning dangerously, she nodded and ran in the direction of the restrooms, calling over her should as she went.

“Rain check?”

“Rain check.” He confirmed with a warm smile.

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

When Nino had returned home later that night, he flipped his bedrooms light switch on and made his way inside only to stop with a look of surprise on his face. There, standing in the middle of his room, was Volpina. In her arms were an assortment of sweets and delights, as well as a small bouquet of his favorite flowers.

She placed the objects down on his bed before a feral look took over her face, sharp teeth glinting as she trained that look onto him. “Now, about that rain check?”

Nino closed his door just in time for the fox heroine to pin him the wooden surface, her clawed hands smoothing up his thighs to his waist, slipping beneath his t-shirt to turn him into a trembling red-faced mess.

“Yes p-please!”

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

After a week of no akuma’s, he really shouldn’t have been surprised when one showed up at school in the form of an angry janitor seeking justice against the school board. Specifically, their school.

After everyone fled, Nino managed to stay at a safe distance while also keeping an eye on the four heroes. Luckily, after only- he glanced down at his watch- forty-five minutes, the akuma had been dealt with and school was called back into session.

They had ten minutes to sort themselves out and Nino took it upon himself to drag them all to a secluded alley where he handed out the necessities to everyone. Food for the kwami-bros, an emergency makeup kit for Chloe, and some bandages and muscle-rub from the medkit for anyone in need of it.

“Alright guys, we have t-minus eight minutes and twenty seconds to freshen up and get back to class. So, let’s hustle!”

The DJ exclaimed while helping Chloe brush and retie her hair as she applied her makeup as quickly and efficiently as possible. He had two hairclips held between his teeth as he did so, too focused on the blonde’s hair to notice the lovesick looks the other three sent his way.

The four kwami munching on their individual snacks only some feet away shook their heads in bemusement. Their partners were such dorks.

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

“-and that’s why you should totally date all three of us!” Alya exclaimed, hands on her hips and as confident as ever.

Adrien and Marinette stood beside her, clearly nervous but standing strong.

Nino on the other hand felt as if he were dreaming… or about to faint? Probably both from how he swayed the slightest bit, a dazed look taking over his features. Of all the places to ask him out it was after he was already hyped and excited that his favorite album finally came out. He was on his way to get to the store before the crowds came in, only for his three best friends to stop him in the middle of the park and hand him not only said new album on vinyl but-

“Aaaaaand we broke him.”

“Shit!”

Was that Marinette?

Suddenly, petite yet strong arms caught him before he hit the ground.

“Nino! Are you alright?” She asked in a panic, pretty blue eyes staring down at him from above. Wait, above? He shook his head to ward off the dizziness, wondering why everything looked all fuzzy around the edges, before realizing the Mari was dipping him. As if they were dancing and she had taken the lead, that kind of dipping.

“Uhhh…” He blinked, eyes widening in amazement as he snapped out of his stupor.

Marinette, as if suddenly realizing their position, squeaked and turned red. Nino knew he must be matching her with how hot his face felt. Damn him and his thing for stronger women.

With a mental shake, he gave her a nervous smile and murmured a quiet thank you. She had saved him from the hard ground, after all.

Seeming to calm down a bit, she returned the smile and straightened them both.

“Well, that was a beautiful example of a heroine and damsel in distress, eh Adrien?” Nino and Marinette’s heads both snapped in the direction of Alya’s voice, balking at the phone in her hand that was obviously recording the entire scene. Adrien, looking relieved yet also amused, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the mischievous girl.

“Seems like it.”

Nino was thankful he wore his contacts that day, as well as his favorite hooded sweatshirt. Why, you ask? So he could become a literal turtle and hide from the world. He did just that by throwing his hood over his head, as well as his entire face, and making a frustrated (and definitely not a whining) sound.

“Aww, don’t be like that Nino.” A warm hand settled atop his hood covered head, before gripping the fabric and pulling it back down. Adrien’s face came into view and, oh wow he was super close! Noticing this, Nino felt his face heat up all over again, and could tell that his best bro knew just from the way his eyes tailed across his flushed cheeks.

“I can be anyway I want as long as it’s legal and not hurting anybody, bro.” Nino replied, smiling even though he was eyeing the ground as if it was the most interesting thing on the planet.

The model hummed before stepping closer and tipping Nino’s head up with his fingers. Green eyes locked with golden ones for a moment. Instead of feeling awkward, Nino felt comfortable. Sure, he was a little nervous with how close they were but…

Once their lips brushed against one another’s, his hands flew up in surprise to grip onto Adrien’s shirt. He considered pulling away until he felt the other male become more confident in his actions. Thinner lips pressed much more firmly against his own, hands sliding around his waist to pull their bodies together completely. Nino nearly melted at the experience of it all, similar yet completely different to Alya’s ministrations. Hands larger than hers but not any less strong and sure of their place on his body, only staying in one area instead of immediately conquering every inch on his person because this was Adrien; his best and most loyal friend- although the friend part was starting to shift into something more. Sure, he had always had a crush on him, as well as Mari, but he never thought they’d all feel the same.

Yep, he must be dreaming. That’s the only way this could be happening, but he’d be a complete idiot not to enjoy said dream. With a moan he slid his hands up from Adrien’s chest to around his neck and relaxed against him, somewhat deepening the kiss in the process.

The tightening of the arms around him made him shudder, his sole focus on the male before him. They most likely would have continued if it weren’t for the squeal beside them.

Pulling apart in shock, they turned to the currently embarrassed Marinette who had clearly made the noise, if her own hands covering her mouth was anything to go by. Alya, on the other hand, was once again holding up her phone with a victorious grin.

“So we can take that as a definite yes then?”

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

When Nino woke up he noticed it was warm, but not uncomfortably so. He struggled to open his eyes for a few minutes, nearly falling back asleep in the process several times, but was finally able to at least crack an eye open to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

In bright green numbers the electric clock flashed 11:00AM. That’s the earliest he’s gotten up in months, considering the fact that his career in the music industry involved a lot of traveling, late nights, parties and random meetings that his agent set up for him.

Sighing, he nuzzled his cheek into one of the many stupidly soft pillows littering the bed and tried to remember what he had to do for the day.

It was Saturday, he was in a large king sized bed (although it seemed bigger), he was alone and-

Wait, if it was Saturday then why was he alone?

With a frown, he racked his groggy brain for answers and after a moment he remembered. He was able to take the next two weeks off before meeting with his new producer in order to finally solidify his presence in the music business. His significant others, who were able to get weekends off depending on the season, mentioned something about a fashion event nearby that they had to attend. With Adrien taking on his father’s business and Marinette beside him as a lead fashion designer, both of them were a force to be reckoned with for sure, and it would be no surprise that they would be attending something so important. Alya was quick to work her way up as an editor to publisher and editor-in-chief of her own websites, magazines, and even channel on tv where she put E! news to shame. So, she would be there to get the latest scoop first hand, considering she wasn’t one to let her own workers have all the fun.

With a sigh he tried not to frown at the thought of his boyfriend and girlfriends being away from him. He was proud of them, and damn it all he would not admit to being the clingy one!

While his thoughts distracted him, Nino didn’t notice the bedroom door opening, nor the slight rustle of expensive sheets behind him. It wasn’t until a warm, toned body slid up against his that he snapped out of his thoughts and gasped, still too tired to react properly.

“Good morning~” Adrien purred into his neck, his hand sliding from the waistband of Nino’s boxerbriefs to his stomach.

With a sigh a relief, Nino relaxed and carefully flipped over to face his boyfriend. “You dork, you scared the heck outta me.” His actions betrayed his irritation as he wrapped his arms around Adrien’s torso and leaned forward to eskimo kiss him.

He nearly grinned when the affection-lover melted against him and tightened his grip around Nino’s waist. Adrien and Marinette were both romantics and went to great extremes to show it. If they loved you then they would make sure you knew it, by nearly any means possible.

“Uh oh, the bed goblin strikes again.”

Pulling back just enough to send Alya a playful glare over Adrien’s shoulder, Nino untangled his hand from his boyfriends torso to flip her off, only to have it grabbed and yanked on. He was stunned to find himself on his back in the middle of the bed, mentally cursing himself for forgetting how strong not only Alya was but his other significant others were as well.

“Really?” He deadpanned, feeling his eyebrow twitch at her growing smirk.

“Really.” She confirmed, pushing his legs up and open to slide in between them.

“Oh wow, I didn’t know we were having a party. I would have brought macaroons.” Marinette smirked as she walked in, untying her ponytail at the same time.

Alya turned to send her girlfriend a grin over her shoulder, “Didn’t you hear? Nino is going to let us do whatever we want to him in order to show how much we’ve missed him while he was away for all those lonely months. He was all alone, with no one to give him love or affection and he is starved! We must fix that at once!”

Nino felt his face heat up, “W-wait- “

“That’s a great idea, Al! We can’t let our boyfriend think he’s unloved and alone, now can we? Right Adrien?” It was Marinette’s turn to send a cheeky grin to their next partner in crime, who sat up with a matching grin and agreed, “Definitely not, my love~”

Suddenly, Nino found himself pinned down by three gorgeous super heroes and tickled mercilessly.

“OH MY GOSH, YOU GUYS ARE SUCH DORKS!”

[bffhreprise]

Entry 179

 “When you say ‘tenants’, do you mean these creatures actually pay rent?” asked James.

 The master was on the edge of the forest.  Just a few steps, and I would be unable to detect him.  I didn’t understand the nature of the field around that place, but there was something which blocked me.  Would his phone work in there?

 “The fey?  Not in money, but they do tend the forest for you.” she replied.

 :Fey still survive?: I asked.

 :You’ve seen them.: she replied.

 :I have them labeled as ‘unclassified life forms’, given the variety of creatures I’ve caught lurking at the edge of the forest.  The one disappears from all sensors at whim.: I explained.

 :Wow!  That’s amazing!: she exclaimed.

 :You say they’re tenants, but I don’t have any record of them as tenants.: I told her.

 :Oh!  You’re looking through the house records.  The forest records aren’t in the same place.: she replied.

 :Oh?  Where are they then?: I asked.

 :You know that storage area forty feet north of the ballroom’s first sublevel?  In there.: she replied, sending me a marker on the mansion’s layout.

 :Princess, that section is filled with paper files that you had said I don’t need to worry about.: I stated, trying to express my distress in my tone.

 :Why would you have to worry?: she inquired.

 :Having incomplete data might cause me to err and inconvenience the master!: I exclaimed, knowing my concerns to be perfectly legitimate.

 :Hmm…  Maybe you should start scanning those then.  They’re pretty old and might keep better digitally.: she admitted, sounding as if she were actually needing to consider the idea.

 I sighed and said, :You already have them scanned, don’t you.:

 :I do!?  That’s awesome!  I guess I could share that with you then!: she told me, sending the files.

 :I still don’t understand why you kept these from me.: I stated.  The most unusual part of the paperwork was that the tenant agreements all spoke of ‘service to the land’ as the sole means of payment, but even that was considered in Emma’s agreement once she became the official groundskeeper.  :You didn’t want me speaking to the master about the fey, did you.  Why not just inform me not to speak with him about them then?:

 :Good question.  I’ll have to think about it.: she told me.

 :Do the fey actually count as one species?: I asked.

 A massive file was uploaded onto my drive, containing an extraordinarily detailed analysis of their genetics.  I started perusing the data as the Princess and James stepped into the forest.  I didn’t like that my sensors weren’t penetrating the forest.  James’ phone, however, was still working perfectly fine.  I could hear their footsteps as well as those of others.  I resisted the urge to ask the Master to pull out his phone.  Inconveniencing him simply to satisfy my own curiosity was wrong.

 “Are the fey dangerous?” asked James.

 The Princess seemed amused as she said, “That would depend how you want to define ‘dangerous’, boss-man, sir.  If someone were to attack your land, they would learn how dangerous fey can be.  If you don’t harm them, they won’t intentionally harm you.”

 “Alma seemed to harm the land a bit with her fire.  Do they only guard the forest?” he asked.

 “They can feel her magic and recognize her as one of their own, albeit a scary one.” explained the Princess.

 The master then asked “If the fey can’t talk, how do you know all of this?”

 “I’m the daughter of a linguist, boss-man, sir.  Communication is easy for me.” she cheerfully replied.  “That being said, most people can communicate with the fey easily.  Very easily, in fact.  You’re just blocking them out.”

 Blocking them?

 “What?  How?” he asked.

 The silence seemed to stretch as I yearned to hear the reply.

 “She’s been sitting there, pouting, for months.” stated the Princess.  “They’re really emotional creatures.”

 That was no answer.  Was she not going to explain?

 “How do I communicate with them?” asked the master just before I asked her myself.

 “You tend to block everything out, ignoring the world as best as you can.  You need to stop.  The habit of yours has guided your magic to block out certain types of communication.” she told him, still not answering the question clearly.

 I could guess what she meant though, but I found the idea discouraging.

 “Are you saying the fey are telepathic?” he asked as if voicing my thought.

 “Not as most people think of it, but yes.” she answered.  “Just relax, boss-man, sir, and pay attention to this girl.  She wants to know you.  They all do.”

 How was I going to communicate with telepathic creatures?  Well, ones that didn’t communicate verbally at all.  The twins did seem telepathic.  I had no organic brain for them to read.  At least, I was fairly certain my mind wasn’t organic in any part.  I didn’t actually have full specs for my systems yet.

 “Hello.” stated James as if he too were troubled by this revelation.

 There was silence, save for the breathing of numerous creatures including the master and Princess.  Was he managing to communicate?  I wondered at what these strange creatures might say.

 “Stop fighting, boss-man, sir.  Just relax.  The flickering images in your head aren’t your own.” stated the Princess.

 Flickering images?  I easily could manage a poor video stream, struggling to unveil a movie.  Was that what he was experiencing?  Data streams were more intimate for me than for humans.  I was far more aware of what was happening at any given moment, though I couldn’t claim a greater knowledge of their functionality than all humans.  Jarod was quite remarkable.

 “Ouch!” exclaimed the Master.

 “Wrong sort of meditating, boss-man, sir.  Don’t look inward.  Look out.” commanded the Princess.

 I wished so much that I could see what was happening.  How had he been injured?  What were they seeing?

 The Princess explained :I pinched him to get his attention.:

 An image stream suddenly became available, and I found myself watching the master, surrounded by creatures.  The clarity was incredible.  There was so much to follow.  The master suddenly looked disturbed as if he didn’t like what was happening.

 “That one does like you a bit much I suppose.” stated the Princess.

 “You… you saw that too?” he asked.

 I realized I was seeing through the Princess’ own eyes as the image jerked.  She was nodding.  From the vantage point when she looked up at the master, I guessed that she was sitting on his lap.

 “Don’t worry, boss-man, sir.  She’s just like that.  Ever since she snuck into the house during the ghost hunt, she’s been crazy about you.” she explained.

 I recognized the one to which she referred.  She had been barely more than a sensor blip during the event, but I had detected her around the edge of the forest on multiple occasions.  She was one that frequently visited the pond outside of the forest as well.

 “How do you make sense of all that?” asked James.  “I felt so overwhelmed.”

 “You’ll be able to handle it much better with a bit of practice.” the Princess assured him.

 “Well, I’m glad the fey aren’t so overly affected by my magic.” he stated.

 “Actually, they are.” she replied.

 “What!?” he asked, looking quite startled.

 “There-there, boss-man, sir.  They don’t get emotionally overwhelmed, and they’ll always give you space when I’m around.” she assured him.

 “Why do they give you space?” he asked.

 “The fey see me differently than you do, boss-man, sir.” she teased.

 He stared at her for a while as if considering something.  Then he asked “Why did they all gather here on my land?”

 “They’ve been here for as many years as the ghost stories surrounding this place, boss-man, sir.  They stay here because they’re safe in these woods.  You literally have an enchanted forest in your backyard.  Pretty cool, huh!?” she exclaimed.

 After some more consideration, he asked “Does Alma know about this?”

 “You’d be surprised what that girl can miss, boss-man, sir.  Someone a bit more clever even than her placed the enchantment here.  No offense, but you could search for years and never notice it even now that you know about it, boss-man, sir.” she informed him.

 “Good thing I have a secretary far more clever than me.  How did you find out about it?” he inquired.

 I heard the sound of a yawn, and her eyes shut for a moment.

 Then she said, “I know who placed the enchantment.”

 “Any chance you’ll introduce me to this person some day?  I could obviously learn a thing or two from someone capable of this.” he declared.

 The image was starting to fade.  Was she falling asleep?  Well, pretending to fall asleep would be a more accurate assessment.  Even when the Princess appeared to be asleep, her mind was racing far beyond anything I could process.  As the data stream ended, I wondered at how much I still had to learn.