#his Smokey hand is pretty handy

[blitzy-blitzwing]

Is it bad that I want even Alastor to join in on the-

*looks at Lockdown, very confused* "What are you?"

joke?

He gets asked soooo many times. 😩

[innocentlymacabre]

NOW THEY CALL ME THE PLAGUE ⤳ 7 snippets, 7 tags

I'm so sorry to whoever originally tagged me in 7 Snippets, 7 Tags, but I cannot find your post (gonna just deflect blame to tumblr here 🙃)

They say time slows down when you’re in the eye of the storm. When you’re seconds away from making a decision that could change your entire life in one fell swoop, the world starts to move more slowly around you, and you begin to see every tiny detail with previously unimagined clarity. Or maybe you start to move faster, whizzing around at speeds high enough to give you the time to stop and overturn each stone – either way, the world presents itself to you in the most convenient way it can; a quiet act of compassion, allowing you the luxury of altering the course of your life with conviction.

“Hello there, Trance,” Eda said, punctuating it with an elaborate mocking bow. “Still high then?” “Darling, when am I not?” he said, putting the blunt out in deference to Eda’s dislike for the smoke. “Not as much of a brag as you think it is, T.” “Please, if you worked normal hours like moi, you’d be right here with me.” “While we both know that’s not true, that is half a good point – why are you here? Your shift ended.” “Yes, but Dee and all her lovely rum is here. Why would I be anywhere else?” “Hmm, in case you missed it, that there is cannabis, not rum. Two very different things, I assure you.” “Ah, but this,” Trance said, raising the blunt from the cushion and waving it about, “is not one of her’s. A rather handsome man in a manbun sold me this just outside.” Leather Jacket, Eda thought, smirking inwardly. “Smoke before Smokey’s?” Trance said, affecting a voice much smoother and thicker than his own. “That was his pitch. How could I possibly turn down a pun as awful as that?”

Maya stared at Eda silently for a while, her lips flowing between variations of a playful smirk Eda couldn’t quite fully decode. She raised a hand to Eda’s face, brushing back the hair that had fallen forwards in all her bustle. “You have pretty eyes,” she said in her slow voice that Eda was beginning to like very much. She smiled by way of reply. She didn’t trust herself to speak while she could feel Maya’s skin on hers.

I’ve been in this realm for a long time. I drifted from port to town to port for a long time, but eventually chanced upon Thredfrost and saw immediately that it would be a fitting place to wait out the rest of my days. For one, it’s far less boring than those under the control of some ruler or monarch or man-child or the other. Two, Thredfrost takes care of its own. We don’t much care for laws or lawmen here, but we don’t take kindly to threats. And three – perhaps most importantly – no one asked questions. Asking the wrong people the wrong kind of questions could get you killed here. I wouldn’t, of course, but most others wouldn’t hesitate. And when you have the same face for several human lifespans that can come in handy.

There are many tales about the seas of the world, all chronicling a new and terrifying monster of the deep. Some of them were indeed thought up by the minds of landlocked poets and weary parents, but there is truth to every claim. Sailing on the open waters taught Eda that the hard way, and while she too had initially hunted down comfort at the bottom of endless bottles, it only worked while the rum was flowing and her throat was on fire. The moment the heat died down, everything they had stared down – or run away from – plagued her every moment again.

There have been no shortage of situations in Trance’s life where the prudent course of action was abundantly clear – in this case, mind your own business and go back to bed. Unfortunately, they had never been good at taking these courses or minding their own business, so their course of action was just as clear: grab a dagger off the cabinet inside, then scramble back down the stairs and scurry over to the dock to investigate this strange, glowing, phantom ship. All in all, not the worst decision they’ve ever made.

“Just when I was beginning to wrap my head around one crazy thing, another crazy thing rams into it, throwing it all into a crazy tizzy once again! Typical!” he complained. “Oh, I really need to work on my impulse control. I shouldn’t be outsourcing something like that to Eda. Although, it could be argued that she only has that impulse control because of her time at sea, so in a way, I’m just training myself like she did. Momentary moment of self-doubt crushed!” As Trance watched with renewed – but not entirely earned – confidence, the choppy seas morphed. They twisted and lapped over each other until the waters of the seas turned into landscapes of deserts, forests, mountains, beaches, and geological formations that he couldn’t even name. They continued to cut through it all as if it was still water, speeding along rolling dunes, endlessly growing trees, and plains stretching to the depths of the ocean bed before coming to a mercifully balanced halt at a port thrown into ravaging disuse. It waited there for a moment, as if the ship itself was surveying the scene below. Seemingly having made whatever decision it needed to, it rocked forward slightly and made a sharp nosedive.

no pressure tags! @ajnata @junypr-camus @ellafoxglove @sourrcandy @enchanted-lightning-aes @authoralexharvey @lexiklecksi

[honeykngdom]

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢 | 𝚎. 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 | 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

Pairing: Embry Call x Original Character Summary: Join Ainsley and Embry as they embark on a journey where they are forced to question everything they thought they knew, and embrace the pain that is inevitable to avoid in love. An imprint story. Self-discovery. Angst and romance. Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: angst, tw drinking, tw abduction Taglist: @leilaniers - message / comment if you’d like to be tagged in new chapters (or for Embry content in general)!

It had been just over a month since Embry and I broke up, and nearly two weeks since we had last seen each other.

On the morning of February thirteenth, I stumbled in late to the small hotel room the girls had booked for the morning to assist Kim on the finishing touches for her big day. Being as handy as I was with a makeup brush, Kim had all but insisted that I work my magic on everyone’s face. There were many things I admired about Kim - her big round eyes, her full pouty lips and beautifully square jaw. Carving her cheekbones and highlighting her face were easy - filling her eyes with a subtle smokey look was what proved to be most difficult. 

After forty-five minutes of collective giggles and perfecting her eyeliner, I had just secured the inner corner of the false lashes to Kim’s lash line and stepped back with a proud smile. “You look seriously hot.” I declared, turning Kim to face the gigantic mirror in the bathroom. “He’s gonna lose it.” 

Kim leaned forward in awe, gently touching her cheek so that she wouldn’t smudge her blush. “I feel like I’m wearing face paint.” 

“You are,” I said, then tilted my head to the side as I twirled a loose curl around my finger to reposition the ringlet, “kind of. It always feels too cakey, but I promise it looks completely natural.”

“And you swear I look good?”

“You definitely take the cake.” 

We shared smiles in the mirror, and I leaned forward to hug my small arms around Kim’s shoulder as Emily snapped a photo from behind us. As Emily helped re-curl fallen strands of hair, I put in work on my face. I tried to die it down, opting for less glitter and more brown to help bring my eyes out. As much as I might have wanted to glam up, I couldn’t find the heart to take away from the effort I had put into Kim’s look. Once I was finished, I pulled my hair from its twisted bun, letting the strands fall in loose curls, and pinned the sides together in the back with a cream rose clip. 

“Do you need help?” Emily asked quietly, offering to slip the strap over my arm to rest on my shoulder. “Does it still hurt?” 

I shook my head, smiling up at Emily in the mirror. “Not so much. My mom said it was pretty much healed, just to take it easy for a while.” 

“That’s good.” She smiled, rubbing her smooth hands over my arms. “Are you going to be okay for today? With Embry and the wedding?” 

I already considered that this particular event was going to be difficult for the two of us. We originally planned to go together, we were part of the wedding party, so naturally it had made sense for us to walk down the aisle together, to stand next to each other in the photos. Embry previously mentioned to me how he wouldn’t be able to look at anyone but me during the ceremony, had sworn that the entire time he’d be picturing me in a white dress – to which I had responded that he was completely insane, but kissed him regardless. 

“Yeah,” I forced a smile, nodding my head deliberately, “it’ll be fine.” 

“It better be fine - no drama today please and thank you.” Kim’s voice travelled in from the main room, causing Emily and I to roll our eyes in unison. “I love y’all to bits and pieces, but if either of you pull any shit, I swear to god I’ll remove you.” 

𝙴𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚢

Seth and Embry exited the elevator when the doors opened, their eyes glancing around the main entrance to the hall as guests piled in from the rain outside. His eyes scanned the crowd, landing on Ainsley’s siblings standing with their father and her mother, next to Billy and Sue. Trent looked over his shoulder at Embry, and offered a limp smile as he wrapped a single arm around Leah’s shoulders. 

“Is she wearing a dress?” Quil asked from the other side of Embry, trying to keep his voice hushed. 

Seth rolled his eyes. “Just because she’s a pain in the ass doesn’t mean she isn’t allowed to be feminine, jackass.” He grumbled. 

Embry didn’t really need to stand on his tip toes, or crane his neck – he already towered over most of the crowd, being one of the tallest in his set of brother’s definitely came with a few perks. He never had issues with people at movies (so long as no one sat directly behind him), he was always able to see the stages at concerts and festivals in the area and usually had zero problems finding people in crowds.

Unless you were Ainsley, and happened to be five foot flat while everyone else towered over you, in which case it was damn near impossible. 

“Dammit,” he growled, returning his eyes to the main foyer for the sixth time. 

“Ease up,” Seth demanded quietly, placing a firm hand on Embry’s shoulder, “she’s here.” 

“It’s been two weeks.”

“And you’ll see her, dude.” 

Embry pressed his lips in a firm line, letting the breath he had been holding out slowly. “Do you know which one’s Kira?” He asked absently. 

Quil looked at Seth and shrugged. “Not a clue – although I hear she looks almost exactly like Ainsley, only taller and with brown eyes.” Kira was the last minute maid of honor for Kim – they hadn’t spoken in years, and Jared had insisted that Kim do right by their loyalty and family to put her in the wedding party. Which meant Embry would be walking with Kira instead of Ainsley, like they originally planned. 

“Lookin’ good, fellas.” Jacob smirked, patting Quil on the back roughly as he joined the group near the elevators. “Anyone seen Sam?” 

“He’s probably still upstairs with Jared.” Quil mumbled, fidgeting with his tie.

“Jared’s having a meltdown, dude.” Seth snickered, shoving his hands into his pockets lazily. “Sweating balls and everything.” 

Embry shot him a glare, returning his eyes to the crowd in another last-ditch effort to find a pretty girl in a pale pink dress. “He’s looking for Ainsley.” Seth explained to Jacob. 

“She hasn’t talked to you yet?”

“No, asshat, she hasn’t.” 

Jacob held his hands up, raising his brows. “Woah – I didn’t know.” He said quickly, his eyes following Embry’s to scan through the guests filing into the main hall. “It’s been a month – have you tried going to see her?” 

“She’s never home.” He mumbled quietly. “And Travis slams the door in my face instead of actually answering any of my questions.”

“What about Trent?”

“They’re on the outs, too. Says he barely sees her anymore since they had an argument. She comes home late, leaves early – should I be worried? Do you think she’s okay?” 

“Maybe you could just try establishing a friendship?” Jacob grimaced, adjusting the tie around his neck. “I don’t know. She’s being ridiculous.”

“That’s your opinion.” A small voice came from behind the group; simultaneously, the boys turned to look down to where Emily and Ainsley stood, arms linked together as they moved out of the elevator. Embry’s throat tightened, eyes fixated on her face as he swallowed and felt his body reignite with a warmth he hadn’t felt in weeks. “You clean up well,” she mused, her big blue eyes scanning their tight-fitted suits.

“Ains -” He tried, his voice cracking just the slightest. He cleared his throat, internally screaming at his lack of ability to speak. She was there – right in front of him, and he couldn’t find a voice. At all.

Dammit.

“I see your mother over there – let’s go say hello before the procession begins.” Emily suggested, glancing between Ainsley and Embry slowly. He wanted to stop her from leaving, wanted to wrap his arms around her shoulders and compress her to his body. 

“Hey -” just as Ainsley slipped past him, he reached out and caught her wrist gently, using his fingers to turn her slightly, “you look beautiful.” He said quietly, offering her a big smile. 

He half expected her to recoil, or flinch, or even get upset with him. Instead, she smiled thankfully and flipped her hand to grab his, giving his digits a tight squeeze as she smiled. “You too.” She teased lightly, turning to follow Emily to where her parents stood. 

It took Embry an unbelievable amount of willpower to let her hand go. He watched her mother give a large gasp, holding her daughter out at arm’s length before she pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her head. 

“That seemed promising.” Seth mused quietly, nudging Embry with his elbow. 

“Switch spots with me.” He demanded, turning to his brother with a small smile.

Seth’s brows pulled together, “What?”

“Switch spots with me - in the procession.”

“What? Dude, no – we can’t just switch spots.”

“But you’re walking with Ainsley.” He nearly whined, looking back over to where she stood with Travis, awkwardly avoiding Trenton and Leah. “C’mon, do me a solid.”

Quil laughed from beside Embry as he shook his head, “Kim wouldn’t let you out of here alive if you mess with her arrangements.” He pointed out, “And you kinda need to be alive if you plan on getting back into her good graces.” Quil tilted his head towards Ainsley. “Besides - Kira’s kinda hot.” 

Embry deadpanned, narrowing his eyes at Quil, “That’s not even funny - first of all, she’s a Black cousin, which means she’s Ainsley’s cousin. Second of all - fuck you.” 

“Be nice.” Sam chided from behind the group, his hand automatically reaching up to smack Embry upside his head lightly. “Jacob and I are going inside - can I trust you three to behave yourselves for five minutes?” Jacob smirked, following Sam as he linked arms with Emily and brought her into the main hall. The guests were settling into their respective seats, the bridesmaids were beginning to line up outside of the doors to the aisle. 

The elevator doors opened, revealing a very white, very glitzed Kim. Her doe eyes were wide and focused on the boys, giving them a curt nod in approval. “No visible stains, no tears - well done, boys.” She teased, picking the front of her strapless ballgown up as she moved towards them. 

Embry leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek with a genuine smile. “You’re gonna break his damn heart, you know that?” 

Kim lifted her chin, her smile breaking across her pink-painted lips in complete confidence. “I know.” 

“It’s showtime boys,” Seth said excitedly, rubbing his hands together. Embry looked over to where Kira stood and tried to keep any visible disappointment from his face; he joined her at her side, and offered her his arm. She did look nearly identical to Ainsley; but from what Embry could tell, she wasn’t nearly as beautiful. In fact, he thought she was trying too hard.

From somewhere behind him, he heard Leah groan. “Don’t be gross, Quil.” 

He narrowed his hearing, focusing on the quiet murmurs of Seth and Ainsley behind him, “You look nervous - are you nervous?”

“No? Why?”

“Your heart’s beating really fast.” 

Her heart stuttered. “Just trying not to think about falling on my face, that’s all.” She lied. Embry tried to keep a smile off his face regardless - it was cute that she still tried. 

The next hour dragged by -  Embry stood at the front of the hall behind Paul, his eyes secured on Ainsley so intently that he almost missed his cue to provide the pastor with the rings. She looked absolutely gorgeous. Her eyes would glisten ever so often, watching the way Jared and Kim quietly joked with each other in between their turns to speak. Jared’s vows brought her into straight tears, to which she didn’t even bother trying to conceal or wipe her eyes free of them. When the bride and groom finally said their ‘I do’s’ and kissed, the hall erupted in cheers and applause.

The group up front followed the newlyweds out of the hall into a side room where the photographer had been set up. Kim’s parents had paid good money to have professional wedding portraits done of the wedding party - and Embry’s palms were sweating as he began to think about having every photo taken with Kira - and having to watch Seth pose with Ainsley. 

He jogged up to where Jared and Kim stood, “Can we make a slight change in some of the photos?”

Kim’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Don’t push it, Emb.” 

“I’m not - it’s just -” he sighed heavily, dropping his voice into a whisper, “these photos are sort of permanent and are likely going to be plastered all over your apartment and online. I’d prefer not to have to look at Ainsley and Seth wrapped up in each other all the time -”

“Okay, your jealousy is literally the last thing on my list of priorities right now.” Kim growled, pointing her finger at Embry’s chest. When his face fell visibly, and Jared tugged on her wrist lightly and offered her a concerned look on behalf of his friend, she sighed angrily and dropped her hand. “Fine. But if she gets pissed, I’m throwing you under the bus.” 

“Thanks Kim.” He beamed, crushing her to his chest in a tight hug. 

One by one they had their portraits taken individually. Most of the photos started with the bride and groom, which turned into all the groomsmen with Jared, and then all of the bridesmaids with Kim. Embry watched Ainsley laugh with Kim, the pair looking very different than the other girls in the group. There was a certain level of maturity in their stance, their eyes careful and warm. When the groups had to merge together for photos, Kim turned to her friend quickly, whispered something in her ear and watched Ainsley glance at him. 

“Oh really?” She asked wearily; Embry’s face lit up with heat. 

She hadn’t completely objected. They took most of their photos the way the photographer planned - maid of honor and best man together beside the newlyweds, and every other member of the wedding party would follow on either side. Seth and Ainsley fit comfortably together next to Embry and Kira - Embry begrudgingly wrapped his arms around Kira’s waist and forced a smile.

Three photos later, Kira backed a little closer into Embry’s frame. 

It wasn’t until the photographer mentioned something about free shots that he broke away from Kira with an impish smile and turned to Ainsley, cocking his head towards the set up. “Would you mind?” 

Ainsley hesitated, chewing on her lower lip as she looked past his frame towards the photographer. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Do you really not want to take a photo with me?” He asked, trying to keep the disappointment from his face. The more he pushed to be near her, the more glaringly aware he became that Ainsley simply wasn’t interested in reconciling with him. Guess the whole soulmate thing really is a load of crap. “One photo - and I promise I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

“Fine,” she sighed, standing from her chair, leaving her glass of wine at the table, “we can show up Quil and Leah.” 

Embry pulled her onto the set, unsure of exactly what he was supposed to do. When the photographer looked up from his camera with Kim, he smiled excitedly and nodded, “Yes. You two,” He clapped, moving forward quickly, “Are a stunning pair - stand here,” he instructed, pulling Embry into the center, “and you, here.” He pushed Ainsley into Embry’s chest. They stared at each other, their faces resembling very similar confusion. “Now, if you two could look a little less mortified - that would be great.”

Ainsley laughed quietly, placing her hands on Embry’s chest slowly as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to his frame. “Emb.” She warned quietly, turning her head towards the photographer.

He leaned down into her ear. “I get to hold you for about sixty seconds - I’m gonna take full advantage of it.” Embry squeezed her sides before he secured his hands behind her back and stood up straight. The pair shifted into various different poses, mentioning something to Kim about letting her choose whichever she wanted to be printed and added to the CD he would send her. 

As soon as they were finished, Embry reluctantly released his grip and took a step back, smiling down at Ainsley sheepishly. “Thank you.” He mouthed as she shook her head slightly. He turned to Quil, who had handed him his glass of wine. Embry took it, tilted his head back and downed the contents of the tall glass quickly before he pried Jared’s glass from his fingertips and drank his as well.

“Woah,” Jacob mumbled, watching Embry carefully, “I take it things are going well?”

“Nope.” Embry grumbled, setting both empty glasses down on the table. “But we don’t care.” He stated. 

“Right.” Jacob nodded, following Embry and Quil out of the room towards the main hall - which had been shifted into the dining area in their time away from the rest of the guests. 

Embry beelined for the bar - leaving his brothers to watch him with slight concern from their table across the room. 

𝙰𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢

I sat at the table next to Travis, the two of us picking between desserts we had pulled onto plates from the buffet. 

“Try the chocolate one.” He said around a mouthful, leaning back in his seat with a quiet moan, “Fucking delicious.” 

I reached forward for his plate, fingers gently pulling the bite-size brownie to my lips. I popped it into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully, nodding when my teeth slid through the creamy center. “Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff.” I mumbled. 

We went on like that for an hour, both unwilling to dance or drink as we had driven ourselves. This was the first time in our lives that we were stuck to the hip – typically Trent and I spent most of our time together, but it was very clear that he was making an effort to keep distance. 

“Are you gonna stop being mad at him?” Travis asked suddenly, following my eyes to where our brother twirled Leah. 

“Eventually.” I promised, taking another sip of my sparkling water. “I’m just kind of over the whole happy couple thing – it’s bad enough dealing with Kim and Jared and this god forsaken wedding.” 

Travis sneered, his eyes following a pretty blonde as she passed. “Hey, sis –”

“Just go.” I waved, shaking my head when he smiled devilishly and sprang from his chair to follow the girl. 

I spent a lot of my night seated alone at the table, watching the boys crack jokes and laugh together. Embry’s suit fit him perfectly, gripping onto the muscle just enough to give the general public an idea of what kind of body he hid under all of the clothing. I admired the way his smile seemed to light up his whole face, his neck flushed slightly with the amount of alcohol he had consumed. 

Maybe I should apologize , I thought to myself, folding my legs at the ankles. The longer I stared at him, the more my chest tightened. It was overwhelming – being in the same room without being able to touch him, to kiss him. God, how I wanted to kiss him – I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, I wanted to taste him on my tongue. I missed his heat. 

I started thinking about all the reasons why I had fallen in love with Embry to begin with – apart from the obvious. He always made an effort to take the time to learn what I loved - like my schooling. He tried his best to make sure I was safe and comfortable. Embry had fallen in love with the little things about me that I seemed to hate – the scars on my stomach from my incident seemed to be his favourite untold story. He never pressed or asked questions, simply kissed them and reminded me that I was beautiful. 

And he made me believe that. On any given day, I did not consider myself to be a particularly beautiful person. Pretty, sure. I had admirable traits I was sure made me pretty. My eyes were always nice, people had constantly complimented me on them. I had clear skin – never experienced any horrible acne. My weight fluctuated, but was mainly consistent. My curves weren’t insane, my breasts weren’t very large - for the most part, I was very girl next door. But Embry had a way of looking at me that made me feel like I was literally a Goddess. It didn’t matter if I was bloated, or covered in food. Didn’t matter if I was crying or overly happy – to Embry, I was always more beautiful than the day before and I loved how beautiful I felt when I was with him.

He gave me confidence, and because of him, I loved myself better. 

I contemplated walking over to where he sat, thought about grabbing his hand and pulling him onto the dancefloor. I thought about interrupting his words with my lips, thought about pulling him down to me by the tie - which led me to think about bringing him home to have him use the tie for ulterior motives. 

I watched Embry stand, his eyes slightly glazed over as he glanced in my general direction. I smiled. 

My heart swelled in my chest as he made his way across the room, making visible effort to keep upright and straight faced as he swaggered towards me; his smile was coy, his shoulders were thrown back, and he resembled more of Paul than he did himself. Perhaps he had been thinking the same as I, maybe Embry was sick of giving me space. In the last few days, I wished he had made more of an effort to talk to me. For the most part, he had given up completely – he stopped trying to contact me, stopped having Emily bring me messages on his behalf, stopped coming by the house. 

I had started to move, unfolding my legs so that I could stand when he finally reached me but stopped short as I watched him pause at the table next to me; he leaned down behind one of the girls that had been seated all night, in her ear talking briefly before she stood to follow him towards the dance floor. My heart sunk. 

I averted my eyes quickly, pulling them back to the empty plate in front of me as I recrossed my legs and leaned forward on my elbows, using my hands to casually rub my neck. I tried very hard not to look up to see where they were; Embry and I hadn’t ever shared a dance, and truthfully, despite the falling out, I had been looking forward to be thwarted into at least one. I pressed my lips together, feeling the sadness overwhelm my chest and throat. The burning sensation forced my eyes shut, my head falling into my palms. 

There was a part of me that told me to be angry. To get angry. To rekindle the reasons why I had decided he wasn’t good for me - why we were better apart. That the fear he would leave me for someone more beautiful, someone more his type was not for nothing. That I should kick and scream. Then, the part of me that wanted me to be small pulled her in; I lifted my head, trying to keep any emotion off my face as I sat upright and back in my seat. My shoulders squared, my chin lifted and I drew in a deep breath. 

My eyes fixated on the pair. Despite how miserable I felt, despite how often I believed everyone when they said Embry was just as heartbroken as I was, I couldn’t see it. Not with his loose hips, not with his friendly smile, not with the laugh that broke over the music. 

Guess the whole soulmate thing really was a load of crap. 

Song after song, I watched couples dance. I had almost given up for the evening – I started to stand, forcing my feet to move when I heard the voice behind me. “Leaving already?” Seth asked, gripping the back of my chair. 

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and shrugged. “I open at Shaker’s tomorrow,” I looked over my shoulder quickly and then sighed, “it’s better if I just go now.” 

The familiar voice that belonged to one of Embry’s favourite artists quietly streamed through the speakers – Seth offered me a smile and held out his hand, “C’mon. You can’t leave until you have danced at least once.”

“I don’t dance, Seth.”

“Neither do I,” he replied, grabbing my hand to pull me towards the dancefloor, “but I know you can lead better than anyone.” 

I laughed once, wiping under my eyes with my free hand as I trailed along behind Seth lazily. My feet hurt from the heels, and my body was tired and sore. He pulled us past the circle of his brothers, bypassing their confused stares. He settled on one of the outter corners, away from the majority of the guests and their swaying bodies; when he turned, he wrapped an easy arm around my waist, the other pulling my hand up in his.

“One dance?” I asked, gripping his hand a little tighter as my arm came up to rest on his shoulder.

“One dance.” He promised, twirling me quickly. I laughed again, settling against his body heat comfortably. We moved in easy, slow circles. Seth asked about Maddox – small things, like what his progress had been like, if the Cullen’s felt confident with where he was, things like that. I appreciated that Seth was less like the others – less driven by whatever animal part of him existed. 

“They were human, too.” He said, his face pulling into a frown. “Not all of them made that choice, you know? It’s hard to think that sometimes we kill people that didn’t ask for that kind of life. We just assume.” 

I appreciated everything each of Embry’s brothers had offered – but I loved Seth the most. He had a genuine heart, much like Emily, but was still a beautiful mix of attitude and fierce passion like the remainder of his brothers. Well balanced, well rounded – an outstanding individual all around. Under different circumstances, I might’ve seen myself developing a rather large, obvious crush on him. 

In this moment, I merely appreciated how much of a friend he was. Being one of the few people that preferred to not inquire about Embry, went out of his way to make me feel comfortable, I could safely say that Seth was one of my closest friends since my run in with the boys. 

When the song ended, and several couples returned to their seats, I looked up at his towering frame with a sad smile and shrugged. “That’s your one.” 

“Drive safe, okay?” He asked, hugging my body to his large frame. 

I nodded against his stomach, squeezing his body in my arms as tightly as I could before I released him and stepped around him towards the door. I glanced over her shoulder once to where Kim danced with Jared, the pair completely oblivious to the world around them; the pack danced around them, the group looked completely at ease. Everyone they needed surrounded the happy couple. 

That feeling returned – the one where I felt as though I never really belonged. The one where I felt as though I were intruding on a family – a family that didn’t need my presence to be complete. I clenched my jaw tightly, grabbing my jacket from the main entrance before pushing through the doors out into the whirling snow. I bounced towards the Jeep, pulling my coat tightly around my frame as I unlocked the door and slipped inside, cranking the heat as high as it would go. 

The rain had covered the roads in slick ice; I drove as carefully as I could. Icicles hung off my side mirrors, and each time I could see the trees bend visibly in the wind, I would shiver involuntarily. “I hate the winter.” I muttered to myself, watching the gas light on my car blink angrily in the dark cab. I sighed, watching each passing sign on my way through the streets of Seattle, hoping to pass a gas station before I hit the highway towards the reservation. 

The light suddenly disappeared; I felt the heat instantly shut off, which was followed by the slow descent in speed. 

“No,” I said quietly, hitting the dashboard as I pulled the wheel to the right to bring the car to the curb. I turned the key, listening to the engine rev but the car never restarted. “No!” I cried, banging my fists on the wheel. 

I zipped my coat up to my neck, pulling my phone out of the clutch I had brought with me to the wedding; no service. “Are you kidding me?” I hissed to myself, looking around the road. There were no visible lights from what I could see, mainly just darkness and the trees blowing in the wind. I locked the doors and returned my phone to the glove compartment. 

Someone would pass - I wasn’t too far out of the way. 

Nearly half an hour had gone by; no one had yet come down the road. The warmth in the vehicle was no longer existent - which meant my small frame began to shiver uncontrollably as I waited in the front seat for someone to come along. I stared straight forward, tired eyes determined to catch the slightest glimpse of any sort of light. It was nearly eleven –  which meant the outside temperature was likely hitting below ten degrees. I rocked back and forth slowly, pulling my arms through the sleeves of my jacket. 

“Think warm things.” I muttered to myself, closing my eyes tightly. Warm things. 

A sunny beach I had yet had the pleasure of experiencing – although I had imagined a thousand times how hot the sand would be under my feet, how wonderful the sun would feel against my skin. I imagined sipping on a steaming cup of coffee first thing in the morning. I imagined Embry’s warmth – the searing heat that never seemed to burn me, no matter how warm I was. No matter how painful it should’ve been. 

“You’re gonna be okay.” I mumbled to myself. “Someone will find you.” 

After what felt like an eternity later, I heard a faint tap on my window. I jumped slightly, pressing my hand to my heart under my coat. I sighed loudly, looking through the glass at the gentleman that held a phone up. The light illuminated his face enough; his dark eyes complimented the blonde hair on his head, and he knocked on the glass again. 

I rolled the window down. “Thank god.”

“Broke down?” He asked, looking around the Jeep’s cab. 

I nodded, laughing slightly. “Yeah, I don’t really know what happened.” I admitted, slipping my arms through the sleeves on my jacket as I unfastened my seatbelt. “I’ve been here for an hour.” 

“No kidding,” he raised his brows, “would you like a lift into town? Get you out of the cold?”

I felt a breath of relief, and nodded. “Yes please.” I nodded again, pulling the window up on my Jeep. I exited the car, shoving my hands into my pockets as I followed the man to the silver Honda parked behind me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I mused finally, settling into his passenger seat, “I’m Ainsley.” 

“Garrett.” 

I froze, my eyes glued to my lap as I slowly let the seat belt click. 

“Garrett.” I repeated quietly, rearing my thoughts back through my previous conversations. The odds were slim – but I was in Seattle, and it would be just my luck –

A cloth pressed to my mouth quickly then, hands collapsing around either side of my head to hold it in place when I attempted to reach up to try and pry his hand away from my face. The scream built in my throat, muffled around the fabric as the stench filled my nostrils: my lungs burned. I reached for the door, pushing it open for the slightest second before it was pulled shut again. This time when I met Garrett’s eyes, I saw the red hue underlying in the darkness. 

My limbs began to go numb, the nausea in my stomach wrenching. Desperate for air, I inhaled as much as I could; the spinning made my eyes weary, and eventually I fell limp, praying that someone would find me sooner rather than later.

[pickledpascal]

Red Carpet Realness

Relationship: Benoit Blanc x Ezra Wayne

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Ezra is nominated for Best Actor in a Leading Role and brings his whole family along to watch the awards.

The fucking Oscars huh? Who would want to go to those? 

All those shimmering lights coming from all over the place and you can’t exactly pinpoint where they’re coming from because they’re so goddamn bright. Well, Ezra’s been going to the Oscars for the last five years after being nominated each year. This time, instead of being nominated for a supporting actor role, he was nominated for a leading actor role for a movie Ezra was surprised would even be nominated. It was a small indie film he helped to produce and starred in called ‘Your Mom Is Dead.’ About a life fairly similar to his own; the story of a father who had transitioned just about when his child was able to comprehend multiplication tables. It’s far more dramatic than Ezra’s real experience, Elle was quite expecting and even handled exchanging her mother for a father with a small level of indifference. 

Ezra walked down the red carpet with Elle and Benoit behind him, a roar of cheers emerging from the ‘fan box’ as well as pleas from the paparazzi to simply look their way so they could get a good picture of him. They were right to do so. Ezra wore a black suit with a corset and black, glittery pasties on his pectorals. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. The suit and corset were lined with small, silver rhinestones. Ezra also had a smokey eye look on his lids as well as matching black lipstick on. 

He tried to go all out for nights like these. He’d eventually have these clothes reworked into something else anyway… ethical consumption and all that. 

Speaking of, Elle was wearing a dress reworked from something Ezra had previously worn. It was a long-sleeve pale blue dress with a slit that went just above her knee. Modest but pretty. She didn’t like high slits anyways. Benoit quite literally stole the bright red velvet blazer he was wearing from Ezra, not that the actor would ever complain about such a thing, along with his signature orange glasses. 

As he did for the many years he’s gone to the Oscars, he had Elle with him not only because she was his daughter but because she knew sign language. Handy for live television when they didn’t have captions.

Ezra made his way along the carpet, posing with his family a few times until he felt it right to pose on his own. Elle hated the lights anyways so she and Benoit quickly ducked around to hang out with some of the people in the ‘fan box.’ Ezra hummed when he spotted a woman in a bright yellow dress. Drew Afualo, was it? Elle had told him the day before that he better talk with her. Why? He didn’t have the time to ask before Elle disappeared to grab a snack. So he made his way over to Drew with Elle right behind him.

“Holy–” Drew’s eyes widened as she realized Ezra appeared right next to her. “Hi. How are you?” She asked, a sincere smile forming on her face. She seemed genuine, which was hard to find in interviewers these days. Unless you were Sean Evans or Graham Norton.

Ezra pushed a hand in his pocket and returned the smile as Drew pointed the microphone in her hand towrds him. “I’m hungry.” He admitted with a laugh, “But it’s okay, my daughter is pretty good at sniffing out the snack bar so I don’t think that’ll last. But, um, otherwise, I’m good. How are you?” He returned the phrase, genuinely interested as he glanced from Elle back to Drew. 

Elle signed the words right next to her father, slightly irritated by being called out like that. National television… and Ezra would still find a way to make fun of his kid somehow.

“I’m just happy to be here, y’know?” Drew chuckled into the mic. “So this year’s been a big year for representation in film, how important is that to you to continue representing people like you in film?” She asked. A good question, not one Ezra got a lot. Or ever. Usually he’s get questions like ‘what’s your favorite coffee order,’ ‘how did you prep for this movie,’ ‘dating anyone new.’ 

Ezra pursed his lips in thought for a moment before he said his answer. “Well, I think we should be looking for different kinds of trans men to put in film besides just me and maybe Elliot Page. We come in all shapes, sizes, colors and I feel like the fact that I’m the only openly trans man here tonight is very telling. I just hope some people realize that other types of people are talented and have the potential to create wonderful things just like everyone else here tonight.” He explained while Elle signed, narrowing his eyes for a moment before he looked back at Drew.

She was listening to every word, nodding along. Ezra could tell she agreed by her eyes. She truly agreed. Not the usual type of nodding or ‘I’m gonna agree or I’ll lose my job’ type of look most interviewers would have.

“What would you say is the best piece of advice for someone who might want to break into the industry or maybe is feeling discouraged at this point in their career?” Next question. Very relevant since both Brendan Fraser and Ke Huy Quan were there.

Ezra let out a small laugh, “That’s such a great question.” Drew smiled at the camera with a shrug. “I don’t know, it depends. Sometimes you might feel like you can’t do anything and that you’re at a standstill but I think you just gotta keep pushing on because sometimes there’ll be that golden opportunity you just gotta take advantage of.” He shrugged then continued. “I mean, when I just started out, I didn’t think I’d get any roles let alone getting nominated and winning an Oscar just a few years later.” It sounded corny, Ezra knew it. But sometimes something corny was the truth.

“Well, I’m sure you got other people begging to talk to you, it was nice to meet you!” Drew hummed happily, holding out her hand to shake.

Ezra nodded at her in thanks, shaking her hand with a smile. “Nice to meet you too. And I just have to say, my daughter really loves you and is part of the reason I came over her in the first place.” He said before he walked over to a different part of the carpet. Elle quickly ran off after signing Ezra’s last few words. 

“Didn’t know Ezra Wayne’s daughter knew who I was but it makes sense. She’s a woman lover, I’m a woman.” Drew said, the tail end of it faded as Ezra walked away. Well…. She is right.

The Awards started shortly after that. Ezra zoned out most of it until it was time for him to present. Yeah, they’d asked Ezra Wayne to present the award for Best Supporting Actor since he practically owned the award after winning twice in a row. It also helped that he wasn’t the one nominated in that category. Oh, and also Elle would be presenting with him. She would be translating everything Ezra said in sign language in real time… and Ezra thought learning French was hard.

Ezra rubbed Elle’s shoulder before they walked onstage, quickly spotting Benoit. He stood out quite easilt among all the black suits surrounding him. He then looked down the middle of the camera lens in front of him. “I guess they thought I’d be the best to present this award since I won it twice already.” He chuckled softly into the mic that was a little too short for his height, “But it’s okay because doing this is far better than sitting in those seats for an uninterrupted two hours. Anyways… here are the nominees for Best Actor in a Supporting Role.” He announced while Elle signed right before the prepared footage started playing for those at home.

While it played, a production assistant quickly went over to him and gave Ezra the envelope. He inspected it to make sure it was the right one. He wouldn’t want to have another 2016 Oscars scandal on his hands. Ezra looked at the crowd to observe the different Nominees. Judd Hirsch, The Fablemans. Who was that again? He knew of the movie, though he never got around to watching it. Barry Keoghan, The Banshees of Inisherin. Oh, that guy from Eternals. Brian Tyree Henry, Causeway. Another Eternal. The gay one? Brendan Gleeson, The Banshees of Inisherin. Ezra never thought you could have two nominees from the same movie in the same category, it never happened while he was there. Huh. Ke Huy Quan, Everything Everywhere All at Once. Ah, the people's princess. Ezra had to admit, it would suck to see him not win. 

The footage ended and suddenly it was Ezra’s cue. “And the Oscar goes to…” Ezra looked down at the envelope and began to open it. Ke Huy Quan. Written in bold lettering. He showed it to Elle who lifted a hand to her lips as tears began to form in her eyes. She loved that movie and she loved his part in it. “Ke Huy Quan!” He yelled with a wide grin as Elle signed his name with a similar smile.

The crowd erupted into cheers as Ke made his way up the stage, tears already running down his face as he hugged Ezra and Elle before he finally accepted his first ever Oscar. As the pair went to walk away, Ke stopped them. “Do you mind signing my speech too?” He asked softly.

Elle glanced at her father only for him to give her a simple nod. And so she did as Ezra watched her with a proud smile. He was glad to have a small hand in history being made. 

The pair made their way backstage, Ezra had planned to do a quick change into other clothes once he presented simply because he wanted to. He changed into a stark white outfit, an over the shoulder top with sleeves that turned into gloves while his pants were loose and pleated to maximize movement. His makeup changed into some simple eyeliner while he kept the black lipstick.

He didn't think that no more than 20 minutes later, while his makeup was just about finished, his name would be called to announce he won Best Actor in a Leading Role. Elle's eyes widened, patting at Ezra to get the hell out there. She quickly followed after him cause, right, she needed to sign whatever he was going to say.

Ezra quickly hugged the two actresses who presented the award as the crowd cheered. Halle Berry and Jessica Chastain… that had to be the highlight of his career, far better than winning an Oscar. But that was fun too. He took the golden award in his hand, a familiar weight since he had two at home already. 

"I honestly didn't expect this." Ezra laughed softly, glancing at Elle who nodded at him as she signed his words then to Benoit. His eyes were gleaming with pride. Ezra, on the other hand, was a bit nervous. "I… not a lot of people like me get to tell their own story and I'm incredibly happy that I did. And that so many people liked it. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the audience and those who came before me. Those who fought for my right to even stand here. In honor of them…" Ezra took a breath. He had this platform for a reason, he might as well use it. "I will be donating to ten thousand different black trans women to get the gender affirming care they need and I encourage the others here to do the same, even if it's just a few. Too many black trans women are being killed every day." As he finished speaking, a roaring applause started. Ezra could clearly see Angela Bassett standing before him as she clapped. 

He had a feeling more than half of this room would never donate a single cent to Ezra's cause. It was depressing, honestly, but simply spreading the word was important too. 

Ezra and Elle went backstage only for Benoit to tackle the pair in a hug. He cupped Ezra's cheek while he set a hand on Elle's shoulder. "You were both so amazin'! Especially you, darlin'." He pressed a kiss to Ezra's cheek with a grin.

The actor laughed softly and nodded, "Thank you, honey." He hummed softly.

"I thought we were gonna get that gold guy engraved or something and then go to the after-party." Elle pouted softly, crossing her arms. "Not whatever this is."

"Shhhh, sweetheart, I barely interacted with your dad tonight." Ezra shushed her, handing Elle his award as he wrapped his arms around Benoit's neck. 

Elle let out a sigh and took the award with her as she let the pair be for a second. He didn't need Benoit. Not like that, at least. But he needed to be with him. It was hard, not seeing Benoit for so long, especially since he was filming. He just wanted to be home again to hear the detective and Elle laugh together. Or to see Benoit's stack of books that he never quite got rid of when Ezra asked him to that sat on the end table at his side of the bed. 

Benoit chuckled, an adoring look in his eyes. "Missed me?" He asked softly. Oh, he already knew the answer. He just liked hearing Ezra say it.

"Every day." Ezra admitted as he pressed a chaste kiss to Benoit's lips. Then, he took a breath. "I have an award I need to get engraved…. And then the after-party." He added after a moment.

"Hmmm, then we should go find Elle, don't you think?" Benoit cocked his eyebrow playfully. 

—---

The after-party mostly consisted of Elle convincing Ezra to take pictures with practically every celebrity in sight. This project consisted of, but was not limited to, Pedro Pascal, Megan Thee Stallion, Ke Huy Quan (with their Oscars), Michelle Yeoh, Daniel Brühl, Alfred Molina, Andrew Garfield, Florence Pugh, Angela Bassett, and a whole bunch more. The biggest reaction, or the one Elle wanted to have a picture of her father with the most, was Pedro Pascal. She adored him in the Mandalorian and… well, she just about consumed every piece of media he was in. It was hard to choose which one was her favorite.

After the picture, Ezra and Pedro talked for a little while about trans issues since he had a trans sister. Elle had gone off to try and shoot her shot with Florence Pugh, ultimately deciding that Paul Mescal might have been her best option. She had a thing for Irish accents… Benoit was also mingling, partly because so many people wanted to know about the "murder" of Harlan Thrombey or that one ballerina thing or perhaps even the one with the yellow hair brush. 

"I'll definitely be donating, I mean…. We have money and I think some people forget we can use it to help others." Pedro shrugged, a drink in his hand. He might have been a bit tipsy…. And regularly made unhinged comments but Pedro was quite the intellect. Why were all his interviews about people online calling him 'daddy?' Weird.

Ezra nodded with a sad smile. It was unfortunate, just how greedy some people could be. "Yeah. I, personally, go to a lot of events that deal with these issues. Monetary support helps but I think it also helps to see someone the public knows support these kinds of things." He shrugged. 

"Hm, you should let me know if anything's coming up soon. I'd love to attend if you are." Pedro winked, nudging Ezra's shoulder. They already acted like good friends in a matter of seconds. Or maybe that was just how Pedro Pascal interacted with anyone.

"Of course." Ezra laughed. 

Benoit made his way over to Ezra as Pedro walked away to talk with his sister. He was exhausted already from answering so many questions. Was that how Ezra felt after each interview? 

"Time to go home?" Ezra asked softly, wrapping an arm around Benoit's waist. He could tell the detective wanted to collapse in bed.

Benoit nodded with a small groan, "I need our goddamned bed." It was comfortable, Ezra couldn't blame him.

[braindeadmaggot]

[REQUESTS STILL OPEN]

I'LL DO BOTH

SFW version (get the template here)

NOTE: Ara, ara, ara~ Someone's getting a little antsy now hmmm? 😗😗😗 Send me all the ships you want. You can't break me again 😈😈😈 @vergina-spva

1. Who is the grumpiest in the morning?

SMOKER - I mean c'mon. When isn't he a grumpy grump?

2. Who worries more when the other is sick/hurt?

IZOU - Izou worries more because Smoker doesn't care at all. He trusts Izou can take care of himself, which he does, but also Izou takes care of Smoker, how can he worry about Izou when he can't even take care of himself 🙄

3. Who plays pranks on the other?

NEITHER - Izou teases Smoker sometimes, and Smoker will tickle Izou when he's busy (because he's just so damned cute) but they don't prank each other.

…

Well… I can think of one prank~

4. Who is always the first to suggest cuddling on the sofa?

IZOU - Busy or not, Izou will drag Smoker's ass to the sofa and make him cuddle with him. It is Izou time meaning it's cuddle time. No excuses.

5. Who insists on creating nicknames for the other?

NEITHER - they just use they're names or the short versions of their names Iz and Smo (but the way Izou pronounces Smo it sounds like 'Sumo'. Sometimes they'll say Izzy and Smokey.

6. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

IZOU - From the moment Izou saw them lasting forever, the moment he knew Smoker was the one, the one he'd grow old with, he told him. That was the first time Smoker ever blushed. Izou has many photos of it.

7. Who’s the messiest one?

IZOU - clothes, makeup, fabric, sewing supplies, combs and brushes, hair products, loose hair, all his fluffy slippers, multi silk robes, chocolate bars and candy wrappers. EVERYWHERE

8. Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA?

SMOKER - Izou will straight up m*lest Smoker in public - rubbing his pecs, pinching his butt, sliding his fingers up his shirt to caress his abs. Izou is a freak! And Smoker hates it because it's often in front of his co-workers.

9. Who’s the funniest drunk?

BOTH - or neither. They're quiet even when it comes to their drunken states. Izou does laugh more but he doesn't necessarily do anything that's funny. However, they both become much sexier, incredibily sexy - the both of them, once they get a little tipsy. They're fun drunks but not funny drunks.

10. Who texts the most?

IZOU - Smoker is a busy man, he can't be on his phone all day texting. Izou is a homebody and works from home so he has plenty of free time but he spends more of it dancing or crafting. When he finishes a project or outfit, he'll send Smoker a photo or quick video of his progress. Smoker really likes the dance videos but only 👍 reacted to the blanket Izou made for Marco and Ace (hohoho see what I did there?)

11. Who has the most embarrassing taste in music?

NEITHER - Izou has impecable taste in music, thank you very much! Smoker doesn't really listen to music.

12. Who reads the most?

SMOKER - He reads lots and lots and lots of reports and news articles. He is always doing research. Izou prefers movies to books (loves the HP and Narnia films, has never read any of the books. Same with twilight. All his friends hate him for it)

13. Who’s better with kids?

SMOKER - Izou is harsh with kids. He had cruel teachers growing up so he doesn't know what a gentle rearing hand is like, so he treats children like tiny adults (think Sanji strangling Momonosuke during Punk Hazard). Smoker is amazing with kids. He looks scary but he will treat them with respect and kindness (remember Loguetown?)

14. Who’s the one that fixes things around the house?

IZOU - Izou is always home so he pretty much takes care of everything. He's very handy and can fix almost anything but if it's out of his depth he'll shoot a text to Ace and he'll come over and fix it.

15. Who cooks and who cleans up?

IZOU - Again, he's in charge of the home, expenses too, so he's in charge of grocery shopping and whatnot. He usually cooks but on Smoker's days off, Smoker sometimes cooks if he feels like it or they do it together. But more often than not on Smoker's off days they go out to eat. When they have company over for dinner (family or some people from Smoker's work), Izou will cook the main part of the meal but buy the sides from the supermarket or from a restaurant (pasta salads, stir fries, etc) it makes clean up much easier and he can still say he made dinner (all compliments with only half of the work 😆😆😆)

EDIT: I forgot to paste #8 in. (I write these on notepad first. I've learned my lesson after having to rewrite this, BartoDish and Bepopper because the site glitched. Never again.)

[emilieautumnarchives]

ARCH ENEMY & MURDER!

Posted: November 23, 2005 Archived from The BonnyTymePyrate LiveJournal Archived from BonnyTymePyrate's Journal Archive

Where the hell were you all last night???

I was at ARCH ENEMY, female fronted DEATHMETAL band that came highly recommended by Brethlock, Lords of Chaos. I was supposed to be recording at MVS but just had to see me some growling Swedish, so I skipped like a bad catholic girl with a cigarette in the bathroom stall with the broken door. You know that door. Yeah, that’s right, I knew you did.

Still in said catholic uniform, we (I took GK because I knew he was the only person who can dance as uninhibitedly as I can with knives in his pockets and 4 pieces of gum) spent an hour prior to showtime in the kitchen with the pears and pita chips. Finding an antique shoe shining box

full of brushes and other toys

we set to work polishing our boots, a thing I hadn’t done since my equestrian days because I didn’t realize you could polish vegan leather. I’ve never been more wrong in my life. Behold the glory of my blackened footwear, and bow to me.

I realized after pulling this one off the cam that I’ve managed the same pose here as can be seen in many Obsession ads, shampoo billboards, and cheap pornish mags, second only to holding one’s own breasts. I am such a classy lady.

In a reenactment of The Dark Crystal, I threw all the knives on the floor and waited until one glowed purple and made a shrill ringing sound. That’s how I knew it was the one.

The one to cut the hem off my too long boy’s XL undershirt. I mean, do I look like a boy’s XL? Fuck you, Victoria’s Secret saleslady.

Then I got right to work on the parts of my stockings that the dog didn’t tear when he jumped on me in the usual greeting. I am an impressionist painter with tears. You won’t know what it is up close, but step off and you’ll see the Eiffel tower.

I’m really curious why people do this thing with their mouths, and by people, I of course mean me. It’s not hot, no one thinks it is. It’s Trump, that’s all. It’s just that there’s no legal penalty for bad pictures. If there was, we’d all stop it.

Ok now, here’s another classy move, the need to put everything in my mouth once the camera comes out. Don’t think I don’t realize I do this. I don’t know where this repulsive behavior comes from, but it’s always been this way. Oh, yes, I think they taught us this at the Von Murdertits School of Modeling. I failed runway (apparently, they’re not into skipping), but got honors for putting things in my mouth.

Off and out into the chilly twilight, we get to the theater, a massive trek, right by my house, and spot my new car waiting right outside.

After licking the side of the tour bus and thereby marking my territory for all of eternity, we went inside. Pretty offended at not having received the quite intimate pat down the rest of my company got, I assumed the position and dared the guards to bring it on. But what’s that in my shoe?

That’s right bitches! Pat this down! I knew these things would come in handy someday…

Logan Square Aud. is a very cool place, a cross between a high school gym and a victorian theater. Perfect for mayhem and moshing.

Something about the crowd is absolutely adorable to me. The sincerity with which the puddle of testosterone flings its devil hands into the smokey air as if to say, “I am but your wildflower, but I have curfew, so letteth me rock but one more moment with thee!”.

Letteth us ALL rock, my friends.

With devil cakes, EA

~

[chiseler]

Hero of Our Nation

I first encountered Roger Ramjet on a Chicago public access station in 1983. It was part of an early morning show apparently aimed at stoner insomniacs. The show came on at five and also included episodes of Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp, that awful Beatles cartoon, and a weather report clarified by some appropriate pop song (“Here Comes the Sun” or “Here Comes the Rain Again”). I was usually up and around that early for some godforsaken reason, and originally started watching on account of Lancelot Link. Always did love that Lancelot Link. But Roger Ramjet was, well, let’s just say it was a revelation.

Roger Ramjet, “ that All-American good guy and devil may care flying fool” (as he compulsively introduces himself) was a none too bright and none too coordinated drug-dependent space age superhero in an ongoing battle against the assorted forces of evil (or more specifically, N.A.S.T.Y.) to preserve the American Way of Life. He was square-jawed, straight-laced, straight-faced, and True Blue if little else, so hyper-patriotic that nearly every time his name is spoken aloud an American flag, a bald eagle, or a rotating ring of stars appears on the screen. After catching one or two episodes, I forgot all about Lancelot Link.

The show was easy to overlook, especially when squeezed between the Beatles and some secret agent chimps with a psychedelic band. The episodes were only five minutes long (maybe seven with the abrasive theme song filling out the opening and closing credits), and were so crudely drawn and animated it might at a glance seem like something a couple of junior high school kids threw together in their basement one weekend. The shows were so primitive they hardly bothered with niceties like “backgrounds” satisfied instead to settle for rudimentary suggestions of a setting. But the writing was so sharp and the voice talent so good what it really felt like, if you paid attention, was a spoof of a ‘40s radio serial like Sky King or Gangbusters, complete with a soap opera organ and illustrated by a handful of jerky drawings scratched out by someone’s kid. People who thought Jay Ward’s Bullwinkle and Dudley Do-Right were crude when compared with the output from Disney or Warner Brothers had no idea what “crude” meant. 

Looking at it today what it reminds me of more than anything are the paper cutout animations of the earliest episodes of South Park, before they upgraded to Flash. Along with the lo-fi stylistics, the humor was clearly aimed at an adult audience while pretending otherwise.  You may not find any child molestation jokes or crass religious cracks in Roger Ramjet, but for 1965 the lightning-fast humor was pretty hepcat and sophisticated, with undisguised satirical references to the Cold War, Central American turmoil, and the  Vietnam War (“Hey kids, this is Roger Ramjet,” demanding that you stay tuned to this station to see my next adventure,” Roger announces in his commanding superhero baritone. “Or I’ll see to it that all you little rascals are drafted.”) . Mixed in with the topical jokes we also get some highly unlikely name drops, from Noel Coward and Henry Cabot Lodge to James Joyce and bawdy nightclub performer Rusty Warren, as well as film parodies and  literary nods to the likes of Catch-22 and Catcher in the Rye.  It’s also a little less than what you might call racially sensitive by modern standards (consider Mexican revolutionaries The Enchilada Brothers, Beef and Chicken).

While a lot of the more timely jokes might be lost in the murk of the over 50 years since it first aired, there’s plenty of rapid-fire absurdity that’s timeless, from the misspelled title cards punctuating the narration to the self-consciously dumb coked-up adventures.

Bullwinkle aired from ‘61 to ‘64. Roger Ramjet came along a year later and Jay Ward’s influence is undeniable. The difference was Roger Ramjet crammed the equivalent number of bad jokes, references, and plot twists of a typical 8-part Bullwinkle serial into each five-minute episode, both mirroring the rapid-fire screwball dialogue of the ‘30s and the frenetic quick-cut comedy to come along a year or two later in shows like The Monkees and Laugh-In.

The episodes were produced with essentially no budget and were cranked out very quickly by a small team of writers, voiceover artists and animators with solid day jobs in radio and TV. They were all seasoned pros, some dating back to the days of classic radio, who worked on the show after hours as a way of letting off a little steam and tossing around a few cynical, subversive  cultural jabs their day jobs wouldn’t allow. The show was created originally by animator Fred Crippen  (who went on to work on some pretty dreadful crap like the Extreme Ghostbusters  and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) and Ken Snyder, an ad exec who moved over into producing cartoons. They brought in a remarkable team of voice talent and comedy writers, including Gene Moss (the voice of Smokey the Bear) Jim Thurmam (who did a lot of kids shows including Sesame Street), Dick Beals (the original voice of Gumby), and the great Gary Owens, a drive-time deejay in LA who would get national recognition soon enough as the on-screen announcer for Laugh-In. Although they would all get specific credits in the end (Crippen as director, Moss as a writer) it was a communal effort, in which everyone contributed to the writing, and everyone, even the executive producer, did a few of the voices. Apart from the regular crew, careful listeners might also catch a few uncredited guest appearances by some surprisingly big names (I’m told Sinatra and Dean Martin appear in an episode, but I’m still looking for that one). Owens was the star, though, as his ability to read the most ridiculous lines in a dramatic deadpan made him the perfect Roger Ramjet. Together they made 156 episodes (about 150 still exist), which were sold directly into syndication in ‘65 as half hour shows, each containing three unconnected adventures. I can’t say as I’m exactly sure who they thought their target audience was at the time, except maybe each other.

Much like William Conrad in Bullwinkle, each show opened with our narrator, Steve Allen alum Dave Ketchum, setting the mood and the scene (“In today’s depressing episode,” he’d begin with dramatic enthusiasm, or maybe it was an “existentialist episode,” “phlegmatic episode,” “rickety episode,”  “hairy episode,” or “ethnic episode”). Then we’re out of the gate at a breakneck pace, with a flurry of gags coming from every direction. “Ramjet rode into Boot Hill,” we’re told,  “where the men were men and the women were men, which can get pretty old after awhile.”

While none of the shows are connected, there are a few recurring characters and locations worth remembering: Roger hails from Lompoc, an actual California town (“where nothing ever happens, and seldom does”) and  takes his orders from General G.I. Brassbottom, a no nonsense military man who “hadn’t had an original idea since he was a civilian.” He’s also assisted by Yank, Doodle, Dan, and Dee, the unusually chubby  kids who make up the American Eagle squadron. Like Roger, all the members of the squadron wear their white jumpsuits and flight helmets at all times (Roger even wears his helmet on dates), and in true superhero sidekick fashion, their primary job is to get Roger out of scrapes and make sure his drugs are handy. 

That’s one little detail more than a few casual viewers have taken umbrage with. Roger, see, is a pretty hapless character most of the time, but he repeatedly saves the world thanks to a little help from his Proton Energy Pills (PEP), which take five seconds to kick in, then give him the strength of 20 A-Bombs for 20 seconds. Modern viewers seem a little uncomfortable with the idea of a superhero gulping amphetamines in order to function, but all I can say is, well, it was a different time, and hey, it worked for Roger and Elvis both.

The proton energy pills come in handy when dealing with his arch-nemesis Noodles Romanoff, the short, trench coat and fedora wearing head of N.A.S.T.Y. (the National Association of Spies, Traitors, and Yahoos). Romanoff may not have a Natasha, but he does have a gang of cronies and thugs who all mumble in unison (save for one, who can’t seem to get the rhythm). 

Along with Romanoff and his gang, Roger also has to contend with some lanky alien robots, the Solenoids (voiced by executive priducer Ken Snyder), and their repeated efforts to invade the planet in assorted ridiculous ways (in one episode, they begin kidnapping all the Miss America contestants, who “were disappearing faster than co-eds at a Dartmouth weekend.”)

When not saving the world, Roger found himself competing with the smarmy hotshot test pilot Lance Crossfire (who sounds an awful lot like burt Lancaster) for the affections of Lotta Love, the fickle Southern belle with a taste for the finer things in life.

Then there are the adventures themselves. Some seem standard superhero fare, but only to a point. Earth is besieged by flying saucer attacks (sort of). Roger’s hometown is terrorized by a werewolf (sort of). Roger plays tennis with a kangaroo, or becomes the first man to surf in space,  or, in a personal favorite, attempts to stop the flow of bootleg comic books into America’s drug stores.

Actually, there’s an interesting moment in that one that revealed just how subtle you could be even with animation this unsophisticated. Okay, so Noodles Romanoff, see, is replacing real comics in drug store racks with bootlegs in which popular superheroes are humiliated, all in an effort to destroy the morale of America’s children. After Brassbottom shows Roger a few examples (the issues include “Superman Gets Beat Up by a Chicken!” and “Ratman Stubs His Toe!”) he explains that if this sort of thing continues, “America’s kids won’t have anyone to look up to except YOU, Ramjet.” Then, for just an instant in that crude and jerky style, Roger cuts his eyes toward the camera, revealing in that moment everything we needed to know, namely that it’s what he’s always wanted.

Thirty years on and that still sticks with me.

In the end, though, the characters and storylines are secondary at best In Roger Ramjet. At heart it’s  a matter of trying to keep up with all the lightning-quick  jokes and wordplay, the non-sequiturs and references. In the five minute span of one cowboy-themed episode I counted nods to at least seven classic Western films, from High Noon to She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, and I suspect I missed a few. It really is such a dizzying blur of dialogue and bad puns and cultural references, sometimes, christ, even just references to old jokes that take the form of bad puns (“Waiter, there’s a spy in my soup” or “how many angels can swim in the head of a beer?”), that absurd as it all is, repeated viewings are a necessity to catch everything. It’s a bit like having the complete contents of an issue of MAD magazine jammed onto a single page. It can make your head hurt after a while, but it’s worth it. Whether the density and the pace make it better or worse for stoner viewing is something, I guess, each stoner will need to answer for him or herself. Lots of bright colors, though.

In 1965 there was nothing new about making cartoons with adult sensibilities in mind. Betty Boop and Bugs Bunny were made to be shown as short subjects to largely adult audiences. Jay Ward’s cartoons a few decades down the line were near-revolutionary for smuggling hip, subversive political humor into what had become an exclusively child-friendly format. What made Roger Ramjet so radical was it’s blend of ‘30s radio style with mid-’60s cynicism, as well as its foreshadowing of our shrinking attention spans, a hyper-condensed proton pill of comedy and commentary disguised as just another dumb, low-rent superhero cartoon. Although it’s barely remembered today, its influence is still evident in most any subversive animated show you can name, even if they’ve slowed things down a bit.

by Jim Knipfel

[killemwithkawaii]

Could you do some general nsfw hcs with yan! Larry if you haven't already? I didn't see any in the master list so I thought I'd ask.

I took this and turned it intoooo...

(Yan!)Larrys kinks-

Shibari- It pretty much goes without saying that Scary Larry likes being the one in control, but he would prefer that his darlings restraints are aesthetically pleasing, if he can help it. The carefully placed knots and loops of rope he ties around them accentuates the curves of his darlings body beautifully, as well as keeping them right where he wants them to be as his personal, perfect living piece of installation art. What he does with them in that state depends on his mood- he might take advantage of their immobility to get some figure drawing practice in, or he might just decide to fuck them while they're helpless to stop him. Either way, he'll make sure to give his darling plenty of attention while they’re in his handy-work. 🧶💓

Knife play- He likes to show off his knife to strangers to give them a scare, but he likes to show off his knife to his darling to give them a thrill. He'll sometimes drag the dull side of the blade along [darling]s inner thighs and other more sensitive areas, and likes to shred his darlings clothes while they're still wearing them so he can feel them up through the new holes in the fabric. If he pulls out his knife during sex, be rest assured that you're in good hands (you'll only feel like you're not). 🔪💦

Sensation play- Mostly with his paintbrushes and other art supplies. He knows the textures of his brushes pretty intimately and would like for his darling to get to know them, too~ 🎨🖌

Pyromania- Larry always has his dads zippo on him, and sometimes he just can't resist lighting something up. It's not necessarily a sex thing, but it's certainly a thrill! If you're Scary Larrys darling, you can expect to look out your window one night to find a heart traced in gasoline set ablaze on your lawn (he'll do his best to keep it contained to one area, but if your house does burn down, it just means you'll have to move in with him, and that's not so bad, right?). Once he and [darling] become intimate, he would waste no time in incorporating three of his favorite things (His darling, making art, and setting things on fire) to create a new series of multimedia pieces, dripping different colors of wax over his darlings body (and sometimes his own) to create silhouettes on the canvases below- its a fitting tribute to the fiery passion he and his darling share, and he just loves having them hang in his bedroom, though it does make him want to make another (and another, and another...) 🔥🧨💕

Intoxication- It's no secret that Larry is a stoner. He loves the creativity and relaxation smoking weed brings him, and finds the whole process of rolling a blunt pretty sexy (he makes sure to make eye contact with [darling] any time he's giving the seam of the wrap a thorough lick before sealing it). He would really enjoy getting high with his darling- sitting on the couch with his arm around them, listening to records and feeding each other snacks... he might insist on shotgunning their hits to each other, and it won't take long for that to just turn into smokey kisses with a good deal of groping on the side. This would be the instance where [darling] can take the reigns for a little while, they just have to mind their timing- if they can manage that perfect combination of riding him through the haze and moaning his name while they exhale a hit, he might just nut instantly and feel a little bad for cutting things short. "I'm sorry babe, that was just... really fucking hot, in so many ways..." 👉👈💓💨

[sxfterhearts]

4. [11:45am]

The car ride from the hotel you stayed overnight with your bridesmaids to the wedding venue seemed to stretch out for ages. Your mind tuned out the girls’ excited chatter as you stared out the backseat window, watching the tall skyscrapers of the city blend into suburban houses and well-manicured lawns. Soon, in another twenty minutes, you were about to lay your eyes on your future husband, dressed in his wedding tuxedo.

Your lips unconsciously formed a fond smile as you recalled the first time you saw him in formal dress.

Twelve years ago

“Well, what do you think? How do I look?” Jinyoung directed his question to the figure standing by his doorway while smoothing down an invisible crinkle on his left sleeve. He turned away from the full-length mirror to lock eyes with you.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that slipped past your lips. His hair was gelled and combed back neatly, a stark contrast to how he usually wore it down with no product. His black suit and matching trousers were impeccable, however the red tie that hang messily around his neck destroyed the entire look.

“Hey! Is it really that bad?” He whined. Never in a million years did you think it was possible for your best friend and next-door neighbour of five years to sound like a fussy five-year-old child. “You’re so mean, I don’t know why I asked for your opinion anyway.”

“No, it’s just,” You chuckled mid-sentence upon discovering his fiery red socks. You took a deep breath to compose yourself. “I didn’t mean it like that, I promise. Come here, let me fix it for you.”

Jinyoung reluctantly complied, standing in front of you and crouching down so you could help him with his tie. You adjusted your pink corsage out of the way before reaching out and redoing his tie with practiced, fluid motions, thanks to all the practice you had with your younger brother. The two of you were standing so close that a strong whiff of cologne with undertones of hair product entered your nostrils.

“Do you think she’ll like it?”

“Like what?”

“My appearance. I mean, is it enough to impress her? I still cannot believe that I’m going to the ball with the class president as my date. She’s smart, kind, athletic…”

“All done.” You cut him off, forcing a lump of envy down your throat. “Says you, Mr. Vice President. I’m sure she’ll think you look absolutely dashing.” You gave him the most genuine smile you could muster and two thumbs up to calm his nerves.

Six years ago

Honestly, Jinyoung had no shame admitting that he was always a hoodie and sweatpants sort of guy. Or jeans, if the occasion truly called for it. At most, he would swap out his hoodie for a button-up. He never owned any blazers.

That is, until he received his job offer at a top professional firm and you dragged him out shopping last weekend for a major wardrobe revamp.

So that’s how he found himself in a grey chequered blazer with a pristine white button up underneath and a pair of black slacks. He stared at his reflection while running his fingers through his unstyled hair. Something was amiss.

“Y/N!” His voice travelled throughout your shared apartment of nearly two years. The pair of you had moved out of college dorms midway through your university degrees and moved into the modest two-bedroom apartment in the city centre together. It was a natural transition for you two, from being neighbours since primary school, to living across the hall in college dorms, and now to being roommates. You wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up buying houses on the same street in the future.

You popped two slices of bread into the toaster before making your way to the bathroom. You peeked inside, satisfied at your masterful taste in office fashion. “Looking good, Mr. Junior Consultant. Your tie needs to be done up, though.” You pointed at the piece of black fabric laying abandoned on the counter top.

“That’s where you come in handy, roomie. Help me fix it? Pretty please? I’ll buy your favourite jjajangmyeon from the corner-shop-ahjumma for dinner on the way home tonight.” Jinyoung looked at you with pleading eyes.

“Throw in a bottle of soju and I’ll help you, kind sir.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Who were you kidding, though? You would’ve tied his tie for him even without anything in return. Oh, the woes of unrequited love, you thought to yourself while looping the black fabric around his lithe neck and fastening it securely. A final clean of his black-rimmed spectacles and a sweep of his fluffy hair later, you deemed his outfit presentable with a big thumbs up.

Two years ago

Jinyoung let out a sigh in frustration, just as you stepped into the backroom of the wedding hall. He had tried for the fifth time to get his tie to knot properly but to no avail and frankly, it did nothing to sooth his jittery nerves.

“Need some help?” You offered, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu from that night ten years ago.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without-” His words caught in his throat as he spun around and laid eyes on you. Your maroon chiffon dress hugged your curves in all the right places. He struggled to tear his gaze away from the side slit that exposed your long legs and the deep V-neckline. He cleared his throat in embarrassment. “My tie…”

“When will you ever learn how to tie a tie by yourself, Park Jinyoung?” You teased, nimble fingers already dancing across his broad chest.

“You know what they say, a man who doesn’t know how to tie his own tie is a lucky man.” He mentioned, entranced by the way your delicate eyelashes fluttered against your sparkly cheekbones. The smokey eyeshadow fit you very well, he decided.

“Yeah? Why is that?” You tightened the black tie gently towards his neck and brushed your hands over his shoulders to rid his black suit of any dust while simultaneously reassuring him.

“Because he has a great woman who does it for him.” Jinyoung sneaked in a quick peck on your flushed cheeks, grinning smugly to himself when you gave him a bashful shove.

“Good luck out there, Mr. Best Man. Don’t mess up the speech, okay?”

Present day

“Ready, sweetie?” Your father’s voice asked tenderly upon opening the car door, holding his elbow out for you to take as you stepped out gingerly.

“Yes, dad. Thank you.” You replied, trying your best to calm the fluttering butterflies in your stomach.

As you led your entourage of bridesmaids towards the aisle, you were filled with an overwhelming sense of contentedness. The periodic crashing of the waves was a perfect backdrop, soothing any residual nerves and bringing back happy memories of summer days spent on the beach, with the man who stood at the end of the flower path. You wriggled your toes as they sunk into the cool sand and scattered petals left by the flower girl, placing one foot in front of the other confidently, with your father by your side. The audience clapped and stood at their seats, while a group of six grown men (the groomsmen) wolf-whistled and whooped enthusiastically.

Each step brought you closer and closer towards the love of your life; the person whose presence was as calming to you as the ocean itself. Standing in front of Jinyoung, you knew that this was where you belonged – beside him.

“Y/N,” Your beauty left him breathless and for a moment, he was lost for words. “You’re the best view. The beach and the sea can’t compare.” He mouthed to you while the marriage celebrant began to speak.

“Not too bad yourself, Mr. Husband. I love the bowtie.” You whispered as the two of you exchanged a knowing look and loving smiles.

[blursed-ninjago-ideas]

I deliberately left some scenes out because I didn’t feel like writing them, and other things I just took shortcuts on cause I have a huge headache, but I want this done.

Hydra is Nya’s hero name with the dragon miraculous. 

--

He was debating what to name his latest Akuma. A jealous girl that resented her best friend’s boyfriend. The two were having a very explosive fight in the middle of the park by Collège Françoise Dupont.

Honestly Hawkmoth wasn’t sure which one he was going to get. They were both pretty upset. His little butterfly was heading straight for the fight, until it suddenly turned and changed course.

Sighing, Hawkmoth was pretty sure he knew what was happening, again.

Kai Smith happened to be walking past. The boy was a walking Akuma trap. It was a frustrating waste of his time and resources. If he could just figure out how to harness Kai’s emotions, the boy would be the most powerful weapon against the heroes. But Kai was too stubborn and spontaneous to control. He was so easy to akumatize. Hawkmoth didn’t have to do hardly any work to get him to surrender. He was just so set and focused on his own goals that Hawkmoth couldn’t get him to bother with the miraculous.

The Akuma settled itself into the pendant of a necklace Kai was wearing, and Hawkmoth was already calling the day a wash, but then the empathy link showed him something new.

It was a different than usual.

Kai felt…fragile. He wasn’t focused on any sort of goal. His emotions weren’t from worry or ambition, it was just raw and directionless.

It wasn’t like he had anything to lose, and it could turn out to be a worthy experiment.

-

Kai fiddled with his pendant again. It had become a handy fidget to have. Chloe had made it for him, it turned out she really loved making jewelry and seemed to have a knack for it. He was so proud of her and seeing how excited she got to show off a new piece made his heart melt a little. There was no pride or approval seeking, just pure excitement. She didn’t do it for attention, just to share the happiness she had for it.

It was a far cry from her old attempts at creative pursuits, only doing things she thought would impress, regardless of her own feelings.

Course all the growth on Chloe’s part came at a price, and Nya was the one that paid it. Kai hadn’t meant to neglect her. He just didn’t think she still needed him that much. Chloe was so young and in need of guidance, he had thought Nya was mature enough to not need him. But he should’ve really thought about how much it would hurt to not see him as much. Nya may’ve not needed his care or guidance, but she still needed his company. He was her big brother and the only constant she had growing up; it was cruel to take that away from her. Even if it wasn’t on purpose.

And Lloyd of course would always need Kai. That was his job. It was literally a written destiny that Kai would be there for Lloyd while he fought to protect others as the green ninja. Lloyd had suffered plenty and would probably always need Kai as an emotional crutch. He faced trauma and near-death experiences on the regular. If Kai and the others weren’t there to help him feel safe and loved, there was no way anyone, even Lloyd, could go through all that and not break.

But that left three people that needed Kai to be there for them, and there was only so much of him to go around.

He didn’t want to make that their problem. He toughed it out. He pushed himself. He could keep it up for a little longer. He could do a little more.

Nya had ideas for some new vehicles and wanted Kai’s help with them. It was a good way to spend some quality time and, her own confession, Kai was the better welder

Chloe wanted him to set up a challenge for her to test how far she’d come. It was a good idea, a concrete way to self-reflect and a tangible show of progress.

Lloyd had talked him into helping with a school project. It was nice to see Lloyd doing something that wasn’t life and death stakes.

He didn’t know how in the world he let Adrien talk him into modeling, but that was also on his plate.

It felt like there was a deadening static in his head that he had to force all his thoughts through, a buzzing not unlike an alarm. He had noticed his hands had started to spasm at random points. He wasn’t sure how concerned he should be about that.

Like many things, Kai ignored it. He had things he had to do and people that were depending on him. He had no time to deal with it. It could wait.

He was on his way to meet up with Lloyd, but he had to leave in time to make lunch with Nya, and he had to figure out what to do for Chloe, not to mention he had an early morning photoshoot the next day so he needed to get some sleep for that and probably should shower before it.

His hands found their way to his pendant again. He was pulling it back and forth on the chain, making a rhythmic zipping noise as it pulled on the chain links.

“I’M A PERSON! I DON’T HAVE TO BE AT YOUR BECK AND CALL!”

Kai cringed.

“IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL MAKING TIME FOR ME? ANY TIME! AT ALL? I’M SO SORRY IT’S SUCH A CHORE TO HANG OUT WITH ME.”

“Please don’t make an Akuma” Kai though to himself as he passed the fighting girls.

The shouting back and forth was not doing good things for his nerves. He was trying to take even breaths to counter it, but they just kept screaming.

Kai squeezed his eyes shut and pressed forward. He’d get away soon enough, go help Lloyd, maybe help the heroes if that fight attracted an Akuma, meet up with Nya, then head back to Le Grand Paris and brainstorm with Chloe, then hopefully go to bed, then get up, shower, go model for a while, he should probably take the opportunity to talk to Adrien about Chloe, the backstory someone that grew up with her would know might help him with her, and maybe ask about how Lloyd is doing while he’s there.

Probably should do a quick evaluation of Adrien’s mental health too. From what he’d heard from Lloyd, Adrien may need someone to be there for him too.

AND THE GUYS!

He had completely forgotten to check in with the others! Zane, Cole, and Jay! He needed to check on them too, plus he wanted to see them!

Kai was so busy planning out his tasks that he didn’t see the uneven sidewalk. He realized that he’d tripped as soon as he started to fall, but instead of catching himself, his brain decided that it wanted to do nothing instead. The wind got knocked out of him when he limply hit the ground.

Kai opened his eyes and started at the ground ahead of him. Normally he’d get up and brush himself off, and he would in a minute, but some reason he just kept staring ahead. The static stopping him from making any movements.

He felt like screaming, or even crying. He was in pain and he had just fallen down. It wasn’t a big deal, but it felt like Kai was fighting to keep himself in check and not have a full meltdown. The static in his head was blocking any attempts to steady himself.

He was gathering his courage to stand back up and keep going when a familiar butterfly flew to him.

Kai breathed rapidly, trying not to panic, or breakdown, or cry.

“A bit stressed are we?”

Kai didn’t respond, he just kept trying to breathe.

“Stretched too thin. Too many things you have to juggle. There’s nothing more to give is there?”

Kai felt like he was drowning already. Hawkmoth’s intrusion was pushing him passed his breaking point.

“You know who I am and what I want. I’ll give you the ability to make everything go away, all I ask for in return is Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous. What do you say, Burnout?”

Kai’s eye twitched at the name. Why did it feel right? Why did it feel right? He was drowning under his own emotions and Hawkmoth already seemed to have a handle on it all. There were two options. He could continue to fight and struggle, or he could just give up and have some relief.

There was nothing Kai could tell himself that would make the fight look worth the effort.

“Yes Hawkmoth.”

-

Adrien ducked behind another tree, hoping to get the opportunity to transform, but the tree vanished into smoke against his back, leaving a nasty scorch mark behind.

Adrien had barely got a look at the new Akuma, he couldn’t tell who it was yet, but they knew his name.

Black smudges came down from his eyes and stained his dark grey, ash colored skin. He was wearing a long smokey cloak that seemed to be made of the stuff at the end, a small gold pendant in the shape of a small flame clasped it closed at the neck. Fingerless gloves shot out black fiery blasts and he was slightly blurred with his edges ending in smoke trails.

He looked like the personification of the aftermath of a forest fire.

Adrien jumped behind a bench and coughed from the smoke.

“What’s your deal? Campfire go out?” Adrien tried to taunt, hoping to get the reason for the akumatization out of him.

“I’ve burned too bright for too long and given too much of myself. Well now I’m going to make everything go away.”

Adrien finally caught on to the fire symbolism. It was too strong, even for Hawkmoth. Something was wrong. One more look at the spikey hair Adrien had written off as part of the costume and it clicked.

Adrien knew he recognized the clasp on the cloak. It was the pendant he’d seen Chloe working on. Adrien knew exactly who she made it for.

“Kai.” Adrien said, dodging the next blackened blast.

“It’s Burnout now.”

Adrien tried to get out of sight a few more times, but Burnout just blasted every hiding place he found. He only could grab a few seconds out of sight, if he was lucky. Not enough to transform, but maybe enough to do something else.

“Plagg.” Adrien said, lifting his shirt to let the kwami out.

“What are-“

Adrien cut him off, taking his ring off.

“Find Lloyd. We need Ninja Noir for this.” Adrien said, handing the ring to his kwami.

Plagg almost argued but thought better of it.

“I guess he’d be better for this job anyways.” Plagg said, darting off.

-

Lloyd managed to get away from the panicking crowd, wondering if he needed to help out with this one, when Plagg floated right into his face.

“Plagg?”

“Ninja Noir.”

“What happened to Adrien?” Lloyd asked, reaching for the ring.

“Doesn’t matter. Lloyd, it’s Kai.”

Lloyd gently pushed the ring onto his finger.

“Then this should be pretty easy. Ladybug might not even need me.” Lloyd laughed.

Kai’s akumatization were almost always joke. Give him what he wanted, and he practically surrendered his akumatized object.

Plagg shook his head though.

“No, Kiddo, this is different.”

“What do you mean?” Lloyd asked, trying to not panic

“I mean this isn’t his usual stuff. I think Hawkmoth might’ve really gotten to hi this time.”

Lloyd’s eyes went wide.

“Plagg, Claws out!”

-

Chat Noir wasn’t showing up. She was pretty sure she knew what it was going to tell her, but she used her lucky charm just to be certain.

A painting she knew was in Fu’s home. She needed reinforcements.

She was on her way to go find wielders for the two miraculous she grabbed when she ran right into Ninja Noir.

“Ninja Noir!” she yelped, helping him stand back up. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s Kai again, but something is different this time.”

“So I’ve heard.” Ninja Noir said as he brushed himself off.

“Lucky Charm said we needed reinforcements. I grabbed the Bee and the Dragon. I’m thinking Chloe would be a good choice since she knows Kai and has used the Bee Miraculous before. For the Dragon I was thinking maybe Lloyd?”

Ninja Noir coughed.

“Um…No good with Lloyd. He’s caught up somewhere, saw him on the way over. How about we divide and conquer. I think I could get this to his sister.”

“That’s probably a good idea. She should know him pretty well.” Ladybug said, passing Ninja Noir the Dragon Miraculous.

-

“I don’t need another needy little brat hanging off me!” Burnout shouted as he flung Ninja Noir off of him.

Lloyd tried to not let it show how personal the remark was. Kai didn’t know it was him under the mask.

“We need a plan!” Hydra said.

“Now might be a good time for a Lucky Charm!” Beatrix said as she pulled Hydra out of the line of fire.

Ladybug jumped off the roof to dodge another blast, rolling when she hit the ground and flinging herself upright as she yelled

“LUCKY CHARM!”

A camera.

Ladybug started to look around for anything that stood out.

A gargoyle, an empty ledge across the street where another one used to be before Burnout got rid of it, Beatrix’s top, Ninja noir, Hydra, and the mirrored windows on the office building.

“Got it.” She said, shoving her teammates in the directions of where they needed to go, giving them a brief rundown of their parts as she did.

Burnout came flying around the corner just after Ladybug got her trap set.

“Water Dragon!” Hydra yelled, soaking Burnout before he could line up any shots.

“Say cheese!” Ladybug yelled, clicking the camera and blinding him with the flash.

While Burnout tried to clear his eyes and figure out how to attack again, Beatrix came swinging in from behind the gargoyle, holding Ninja Noir.

“Cataclysm!” he yelled as he swung by, taking out the pendant and freeing the Akuma.

Ladybug quickly caught it while Beatrix caught a now detransformed Kai on her swing back.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” Ladybug yelled, throwing the camera in the air.

The magic ladybugs swept across Paris, bringing back everything Burnout had made “go away”.

“What? What happened!?” Kai yelled, trying to stand up, only to fall down on his unsteady legs.

“You were akumatized.” Ladybug explained.

“KAI!” Jay yelled form down the street. “Are you ok?!?”

Cole and Zane were not far behind him and the three were running full speed towards their friend.

“Well I’d better get going.” Hydra said.

“Yeah, me too. I’ll take your miraculous.” Ninja Noir added.

The two jetted off in the same direction.

“I…That was…..what did I do?” Kai finally asked.

“Nothing that couldn’t be fixed.” Ladybug assured him.

Kai didn’t look comforted.

“What got you akumatized anyways?” Beatrix asked.

“I…um….”

“You stressed yourself out again didn’t you?” Zane snapped.

“What?” Kai said.

“Ugh! You Always do this Kai! You are allowed to tell people no, you know!” Jay ranted

“I know that! Besides that wasn’t like that at-“

“Do you? Because sometimes you’re determined to take on more than you can handle!” Cole scolded with a hint of concern.

A beep from Ladybug’s earring interrupted them.

“Um…”

Beatrix nodded to her.

“I didn’t use my ability. I can keep this under control here while you go recharge.”

Ladybug looked a little hesitant, but another beep from her earrings and she was running off with a promise to be back soon.

As she left, Nya came running around the corner.

“Kai!” she yelled, while she tackled him in a hug “I was so worried! Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” Kai said as he gently pushed her off.

“You’re not!” Jay snapped.

“You were akumatized!” Cole added.

“Everybody gets akumatized!” Kai huffed, crossing his arms.

“Yes, but that was significantly more destructive than usual, meaning you were feeling stronger negative emotions.” Zane said.

“Hey guys! Sorry I’m late, I got stuck. Is Kai ok?” Lloyd said, running to them from another street.

“I’m fine!” Kai yelled.

“Stop it!” Zane said.

“You don’t have to fix everything for everyone.” Cole begged.

“I told you guys I was fine!”

“Kai please.” Nya begged.

“I SAID I WAS FINE!”

Beatrix rolled her eyes and made a move.

“Venom!”

And Kai was frozen.

“What did you do that for!?” Jay yelled.

Beatrix put a hand on her hip.

“No you guys can lecture him about selfcare without him arguing. You’ve got five minutes, make the most of it.” She said.

“Oh.” Jay said in surprise.

Ladybug came back into the middle of an improv intervention.

“And I should’ve been a better sister. I was being selfish and demanding and I should know better than that. Sometimes it’s just hard to accept that I don’t have you all to myself anymore. You know I’ve never been great at sharing.” Nya laughed, with tears in her eyes “But you need to tell me ‘no’ sometimes! I need to hear it, Kai. You can’t just let me push you like this; you have to tell me when you’re hurting!”

“Um….” Ladybug muttered.

“We’re just about done.” Beatrix said.

“You can’t just hide ailments from us, and that includes mental and emotional fatigue.” Zane added.

“Alright, I think my work here is done. See you all next time I’m needed!” Beatrix said, grabbing Ladybug’s arm and leading her away.

-

“You may’ve won this time, Ladybug. But now I know something I didn’t know before.” Hawkmoth said to himself.

He’d finally figured out how to weaponize Kai Smith. That boy was going to deliver him the miraculous if he wanted to or not. It was only a matter of time before Hawkmoth got the perfect champion out of him.

“It will require a very precise touch, but this boy will be my greatest weapon!”

--

so yeah, that’s done.

-Ivy

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 11: The Rush]

Chapter summary: Queen and Y/N attend a party and experiment with hallucinogens.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, drugs, partying, injuries, sexual references, angst, some baby stuff.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“You’re trying to make us late, aren’t you?”

Roger looms in the doorway of the hotel bathroom, arms crossed, a baiting ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes—blue like a summer sky, like blooming delphiniums, like veins beneath skin—trace you from your black heels to your dangling diamond earrings, feasting, craving.

You smile back at him as you rearrange your hair for the fourth time. “The later we are, the drunker everyone else will be and the less agonizing small talk I’ll be forced to make with random music industry people.”

“I can assure you, they’re already drunk.”

“I don’t want to get there before the boys.” Freddie and Brian had left the hotel earlier to pregame in the bars of the French Quarter, and John is...actually, you don’t know where John is at the moment, which is unusual.

Roger chuckles, lights a cigarette, takes a deep drag as he gazes at you. “Come on, baby. You’re not getting any more stunning. It’s not possible. And you don’t want Deaks to be the first one to get there, do you? Can you imagine? He’ll end up telling his life story to the golden retriever or locking himself in a closet or something. We can’t abandon him.”

“No, of course not.” You give your reflection one final appraising glance. It’s not bad: sleek black dress, black Prada bag with a thin diamond-studded shoulder strap, smokey eyes, spritzes of Chanel No. 5. It’s pretty freaking great, actually.

Roger nods to your purse. “You got your kit, Nurse Nightingale?”

“Naturally. You think I trust eccentric and impaired musicians not to do gymnastics down a staircase or punch out misbehaving fellow guests? Oh no. Not a chance. I come well prepared.”

“Good.” Reflexively, unconsciously, he shakes his right arm a few times, stretches the hand, winces. It hurts him all the time, and you know that even if he’ll never say it. He drinks more or less constantly when Queen is on tour, and pops pills on top of that. You can’t ask him to stop; he can’t play without the booze and pills, and he can’t live without the band. He wouldn’t even want to try.

“Roger, is it—”

“I’m fine.” His eyes are on you again, everywhere, soaking up every curve and crevice like rain seeping through parched earth. Dusty ashes trickle from his cigarette onto the white tile floor.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, meditative in a way that is quiet and still and very unlike Roger. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “How much I love you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

New Orleans is cool and humid and the streetlights shine beneath the constellations of the night sky: Auriga, Cassiopeia, Ursa Minor, Orion, Perseus. The salt-tinged dampness in the air sticks to your bare forearms, your ankles, your collarbones, your cheeks; the chaotic ocean wind rolls in off the Gulf of Mexico. It’s February 14th of 1977, Valentine’s Day, a day you’ve always thought of as a sort of anniversary for you and Roger; not the day you told him yes, but the day you surrendered to the eventuality, the day you agreed to fall in love with the world he promised you.

Is surrender the right word? you wonder, because part of you doesn’t like it, part of you flinches like you’ve been hit. Yes, it is. Whether I like it or not.

You’ve never spoken of anniversaries to Roger. He’s never asked.

The mansion, a Southern-style manor with columns and fountains in the front yard, is raucous with music and trimmed with twinkling white lights; there are dozens of people—men in suits, women in gowns, strippers, drag queens, mistresses, wives, acrobats, magicians, drug dealers—mingling on the wrap-around porch, sipping drinks, shouting at each other over the music, snatching appetizers off platters that waiters balance on their shoulders as they weave from one end of the house to the other. You and Roger swim through the crowd towards Brian’s mass of dark curls and Freddie’s brash laughter that carries through the night air like smoke signals.

Some man in a lavender suit—a producer or manager or record company executive—is talking to Freddie and Brian with a cigar smoldering between his fingers. “...And it’s extraordinary, really, this new album, everyone’s talking about what a success the tour has been so far. What’s it called again?”

“A Day At The Races,” Brian offers matter-of-factly, as if he’s in a business meeting.

“Ah, that’s it!”

“What’s so interesting,” Bri continues, “is that this time around the audience has started really getting into it, singing along to almost every song, sometimes we can’t even hear ourselves! And at first we were a bit annoyed by it—”

Freddie adds: “We were thinking, ‘shut up, bitches, you paid to hear us sing!’”

“—But then we realized that we should be appreciating that enthusiasm, that maybe we could even figure out a way to harness that energy and write songs with the audience’s participation in mind.”

“Fascinating!” Lavender Suit Guy replies.

“Good evening, everyone!” Roger announces as he sails into the middle of the conversation. “Hey man, how are you? Enjoying yourself? Have you met Y/N? Yes, she’s a Yankee just like you, from Boston originally, and she can cure hangovers like nobody’s business so she’s incredibly handy to have around. Have you heard the new Eagles record yet? Jesus christ, it’s bloody brilliant...”

As they chatter, you scan the pulsing throng of strangers for John. After a moment—as Freddie is recounting the band’s escapades in Miami last week—he appears wearing a black leather jacket and hair that barely covers his ears.

“Deaky!” Fred gasps.

“John!” you squeal in delight, and he grins enormously as he wraps you in a hug. He smells like cigarettes and Manhattans and that verdant, ancient mystery of the American South.

“Hi,” he says sheepishly.

“Your hair...?!” You reach up to run your hands through it, to flip his bangs one way and then the other, to tug gently on the ends. “I’m in shock. Good shock, but definitely shock.”

“Yeah, some American girl told me once that I had good bone structure and should chop my hair off someday so people could appreciate it.”

“Hmm, who could that be?” Roger teases, turning to you.

“I believe I described the aforementioned bone structure as fantastic, not good, but close enough.” You can’t stop staring at John. You blink a few times, waiting for it to sink in. Instead, something feels unnerving in a way you can’t pin down: new, different, anomalous, inviting.

“You’ve all gone shorter, haven’t you?” Lavender Suit Guy remarks. “Well...except Brian, of course.”

“He had much shorter hair once, if you can believe it,” Freddie says. “Back in the very early days. Before John joined us. Bri would straighten it too, it was horrid, the poor man looked like a Lhasa Apso.”

“You have a new baby at home, don’t you?” Lavender Suit Guy asks John.

“I do, yes, my second. A wonderful little girl named Anna.”

“Congratulations! And Brian, you’ve got one on the way as well?”

Brian smiles proudly. “Two, actually.” Chrissie has curbed her comments concerning Veronica’s dreadfully banal, domestic, decidedly unposh existence now that Chris is bedridden with morning sickness and carrying twins. ‘I feel like the fucking Hindenburg,’ she’d told you over the phone. ‘If the Hindenburg had sore tits and smelled like vomit.’

“We’re drowning in babies,” Roger quips in a tone you can’t quite read. Annoyance? Curiosity? Disapproval? Envy?

“Well, since the wives are away and you’re free to play...” Lavender Suit Guy flags down a waiter holding a small tray of sugar cubes. “Ever dropped acid? There’s blow floating around somewhere too, if that’s more your scene.”

Brian smirks uneasily and stirs his Vesper. You look to John. John looks to Roger.

Freddie laughs and lifts a sugar cube daintily off the tray with his thumb and index finger. “Marvelous, darling! Will it make me hallucinate all my wildest dreams? Will an imaginary cheerleading squad of Farrah Fawcetts suck my cock all night?”

Lavender Suit Guy chuckles. “I make no guarantees.”

“Nothing in life ever does. Isn’t that tragic?” Freddie pops the sugar cube into his mouth and grins. “Beam me up, Scotty.”

Roger asks you: “You want to? It could be an adventure.”

LSD wasn’t exactly the adventure you’d had in mind when you agreed to follow Queen across the globe all those years ago in Boston; still, an adventure is an adventure. And if I don’t keep things interesting, he’ll find someone who will.

Oh, that’s not a thought you knew you had.

And I would like to return it to that repressed, dimly-lit, cobwebbed corner of my subconscious where I’d buried it, thank you very much.

“Is it safe?” John asks Lavender Suit Guy.

“Do you think I’d give you something that wasn’t safe? It’s perfectly safe. It can’t kill you. It’s not heroin. Worst case scenario you get a bad trip. And I’ve never gotten a bad trip from this stuff.”

You conjure up a smile for Roger. “Let’s do it.”

“Excellent,” he says, his face lighting up; and you realize that that’s what he’d wanted. He picks up a sugar cube, lays it on his tongue, and then slips it between your lips as he kisses you. Freddie whistles and claps. The cube dissolves with a pleasant, innocent, nostalgic sweetness. Then Roger turns to John. “You in, Deaks?”

John hesitates, then nods. “Alright.”

Roger passes John a sugar cube (with his hand this time), picks up one for himself, and toasts them like champagne glasses. “Cheers!” The sugar cubes disappear behind their teeth.

Freddie stares at Brian. Brian gnaws his lip and stares back. Freddie wiggles his eyebrows impishly. Finally, Bri sighs, exasperated. “Fine, okay, what the hell, I’ll do it.”

“I’m so proud!” Freddie cries, pressing his palm to his heart. “I am a proud mama.” Brian grimaces as Fred stuffs a sugar cube into his mouth.

“How long does it take to work?” you ask Lavender Suit Guy, feeling no different at all.

“It varies. Not too long, usually.” He whirls, spies someone else he recognizes, waves, and rushes off to greet whoever it is and presumably offer them illegal drugs.

After fifteen disappointingly uneventful minutes of trailing behind the band as they chat with various rich and famous party guests you don’t recognize, you depart to find a restroom.

“Don’t be gone long,” Rog calls after you. John watches with a Manhattan in his right hand. “I don’t want you to be alone if things get...you know...weird.”

“Sure thing.”

You find a small restroom just off the downstairs hallway of the mansion. The clock above the doorframe reads 9:47 p.m. You duck inside, muttering about your first acid experience being a total dud, about defective LSD and Valentine’s Days spent with strangers. As you scrub your hands with rose-scented soap, you glance up to check your makeup in the mirror. Your face isn’t there. Instead, Dominique Beyrand stares back at you.

You gasp, and Dom does too, in that delicate and prodigiously feminine way that she has. You peer penetratingly into the mirror as you gingerly tap your fingertips against your face, which is Dominique’s face now: her olive skin, her high pump cheeks, her large dark eyes like a doe’s, her pink lips. You experiment with a smile, and then a frown; you even emote the same way she does, with a charming candidness, with a rare sort of grace.

Why am I thinking about Dominique?

You’d seen her a few times since Queen’s Hyde Park concert, following Richard Branson around at industry parties and dodging mindless gossip and tedious networking, the same as you. She always greeted Freddie warmly and mostly ignored Roger. He always asked her a few questions anyway, questions you thought he already knew the answers to.

I guess the acid wasn’t a dud after all.

You titter uncertainly. You knot your fingers through your hair—Dominique’s hair—which is thick and glossy and onyx. Her eyes gaze unflinchingly back at you. They blink when you blink.

I have to find Roger, you think suddenly. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know who he’s with.

You spin, wrench open the restroom door, and stagger out into the hallway, your hands pressed against the floral wallpaper to steady yourself. The yellowed, antebellum walls breathe as you do, subtly, sighing as they exhale cool air into the soft clammy skin of your palms. The boards of the hardwood floor clang like piano keys when you step on them. You check the clock hanging above the bathroom door. It reads: 11:09 p.m.

“Uh oh.”

I have to find Roger.

You creep through the hallway as other guests pass you—some zooming by, others moving in slow motion as if they’re treading water, none apparently noticing the breathing walls or musical floor—peeking into each room to see if Roger is there. He’s not in the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, the parlor. Instead there are strangers in all of these places, laughing in each other’s arms, drinking, dancing, touching each other beneath suits and skirts and dresses, smoking cigarettes and blunts, rolling up hundred-dollar bills to snort white powder off silver trays like mirrors.

I have to find Roger. I have to find Roger. I have to find Roger.

In the backyard of the mansion is a cobblestone patio, a garden, a swimming pool which must be freezing but nevertheless has several naked guests thrashing around splashing each other in it, and a bubbling hot tub. You recognize one of the two people in the cloud of mist with their arms resting above the roiling water on the concrete rim. They’re giggling and pointing up at the stars, telling the stories of the constellations, their faces flushed and glistening with steam.

“Hi, Brian!” you cry, relieved.

He turns, sees you, summons a smile; but it’s not a true smile. It’s cagey, it’s dissatisfied, it’s nervous somehow. “Ah, there you are, love.” The girl sitting next to him in the sweltering water is very much his type and entirely unlike Chrissie: tall, slim, blonde, curly-haired. She has a tattoo of a lush, pristine peach on one tanned shoulder blade.

“Have you seen Roger?”

Brian’s brow furrows. “He didn’t find you?”

“Evidently, he did not.”

“Huh. Well, I’m sure he’s around.” Brian waits for you to leave. The blonde girl shoots you a polite but anxious smile. Peaches, you think hazily. Peaches from New Orleans. Just like the girl he told me about when I first arrived in London. Just like the girl in Now I’m Here.

“Bri, come inside with me.”

“I’m fine here,” he replies curtly.

“Bri, please. It’s late. It’s cold. We’re so far from home. There could be sharks.”

Peaches gawps at me, confounded. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Brian snorts. “Sharks can only live in cool water. Everybody knows that. We’re perfectly safe. Stay out of the pool though.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“Good luck locating Roger.” That’s your cue to go.

“Come with me. I’m freaked out. The floor sounds like Somebody To Love.”

“That’s nothing. The bubbles in here play Beatles songs when they pop.”

“Brian...”

“Y/N,” he says harshly, darkly. “Go find Roger.” What he means is: Y/N, get lost.

What about your wife? you almost shriek at him. What about your children? What about those vows that you made three days before Christmas in 1975, the specter of global fame beckoning from the doorway of the Anglican church that Chrissie grew up attending, Roger’s arm tight around my waist and sprigs of holly in my hair?

But Brian already knows about all that, and he doesn’t care.

I have to find Roger.

You leave Brian and Peaches and slip back into the mansion. You search each room as the floorboards shift and chime beneath your feet; now they’re playing the intro to Seven Seas Of Rhye. You realize that you’ve lost your heels somewhere along the way. You aren’t terribly concerned; you have more pressing matters to attend to.

Behind the fourth door you open is a library with books and menacing portraits lining the walls. Everything inside is blue and wibbly and palpably sad. Freddie is slumped on the floor next to a grand piano, his hair in his face, each hand clutching a full champagne flute.

“Darling,” he slurs, thrusting a glass towards you. Fizzy champagne lurches over the edge and trickles down the side of the glass. “Come join me!”

“Is it the LSD or is the room actually that color? I feel like I’m trapped in Picasso’s Blue Period.”

“Do you? It’s all black and white to me. But blue fits. Welcome to my melancholy room.”

“Your melancholy blues,” you pitch with a grin.

Freddie chuckles. “Drink this champagne before I’m forced to pour it down your throat.”

You take the flute and sit on the floor beside him. “Have you seen Roger?”

“I have not.”

“Oh.”

“Darling,” Freddie asks drowsily. “Do you think one goes to hell for being gay?”

“I don’t think you’d go to hell for anything, Fred. You’re too good a person.”

“Ahhhh,” he sighs, dreamily, peacefully. “You are a delight, my dear. Truly. I adore having you around. I do hope you stay with us, even when Roger makes you want to kill yourself.”

“How would he do that, Fred?” you ask softly.

Freddie doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts your hair away from your face, tucks it behind your ear, smiles patiently at you. “I tried to warn you, you know. We all did. I know you thought we were all being insufferable pricks. But we did it out of love.”

“John never tried to warn me.”

Freddie smirks. “Well. He’s got his own demons, doesn’t he?”

You aren’t sure what Freddie means. You down the champagne and climb unsteadily to your feet. “I have to go find Roger now.”

“Of course you do.” Freddie’s umber eyes flick to the ceiling. “Good god, there are birds up there. That is not sanitary. Leave the door open when you go so they can fly away, would you dear?”

“Okay. I’ll love you no matter who you are, Freddie. We all will. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“Will you come with me? Will you help me? I’m worried about Roger.”

“You should be more worried about you.” Freddie waves goodbye. “I have to stay. I’m writing songs.”

“You don’t have a paper and pen, Fred. Do you need them?”

He grins and pokes his temple with a black fingernail. “It’s all up here.”

“Okay. See you around.”

“Au revoir,” Freddie replies, and closes his eyes as he leans back against a breathing wall.

You step out into the hallway and journey towards the main staircase. Someone has put on the new Eagles record; Hotel California rocks deafeningly through the mansion. The air quivers with slow, ghostly notes strummed on an acoustic guitar. The floorboards have abandoned their piano keys and now jolt with each drumbeat. The house has taken on a shadowy, violet hue.

“There she stood in the doorway

I heard the mission bell

And I was thinking to myself

This could be heaven or this could be hell...”

You clutch the banister as you ascend, studying each guest that passes you for a familiar face. There are none. They’re all blushing and glassy-eyed and cackling as they paw at each other, ignoring you, not seeing you at all. Emerald snakes dart between their rushing feet, forked tongues tasting the lust and impending amnesia in the air. What happens in the darkness tonight will be forgotten tomorrow. It has to be. All the world’s rules and obligations depend upon it.

“Her mind is Tiffany-twisted

She got the Mercedes Benz

She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys

That she calls friends

How they dance in the courtyard

Sweet summer sweat

Some dance to remember

Some dance to forget...”

You catch your reflection in the night-draped window halfway up the staircase. You’re you again, not Dominique. Part of you is comforted by that; part of you feels more alone than ever. You stare at yourself, beautiful, extravagant, dusted with jewels and luck. You have everything. You have nothing. You continue up the staircase.

“Mirrors on the ceiling

The pink champagne on ice

And she said, ‘We are all just prisoners here of our own device’

And in the master's chambers

They gathered for the feast

They stab it with their steely knives

But they just can't kill the beast...”

A woman in a shimmering scarlet dress is sitting on the top step and taking a drag off a cigarette excruciatingly slowly. She exhales, the smoke curling out of her red lips like tentacles, her pale eyes tracking you.

“Last thing I remember

I was running for the door

I had to find the passage back

To the place I was before

‘Relax,’ said the night man

‘We are programmed to receive

You can check out any time you like

But you can never leave.’”

You summit the staircase and peer down the hallway to your right. At the end of it is a vast, broken picture window. Cold night wind pours in through the jagged hole in the glass; you can see stars outside. A man is lying on the floor next to the window. You know him.

“John!” you shout, and sprint to his side.

“Hi.” He’s cradling his right arm to his chest. His knuckles are shredded and drenched in crimson blood. Incandescent shards of glass protrude from his hand and glint under the lights. There’s a heavy, coppery, sick-sweet scent in the air.

“John, honey, why would you attack an innocent window...?”

“It wasn’t so innocent. You should have heard what the bastard said to me.”

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up—”

“Stop,” he hisses when you try to touch him.

“John—”

“No!” he screams, pushing your hands away. “Stop it, just leave me, just fucking leave me!”

You step back, cross your arms over your chest, raise your eyebrows impatiently. “You want to tell me who you’re really so mad at?”

He frowns down at the rug, which is streaked with his blood. “Me, I guess.”

“Well you can be mad at yourself at the hospital.”

“No, no hospital,” he insists.

“Your hand is positively mangled. Your playing hand. You need to get it cleaned out.”

“You can fix it. No one else.”

“Since I’m tripping on acid, I probably shouldn’t be the one to fish glass shards out of your skin.”

“You can fix it,” he repeats, confidently now.

“Fine. Have it your way.” You help John to his feet, lead him downstairs, and sit him down at the kitchen table. You open your purse, unpack your supplies and position them in a neat row, shake out your hands to get them limber, give John a glass of water. “Are you going to have to write whoever owns this place a check for the window?”

“No one knows I’m the one who did it. No one even knows who I am.”

“I know who you are, John. Here comes the lidocaine.” You land a series of injections into the flesh surrounding his wrist, his knuckles, the back of his hand. You pause each time you get distracted by the murmurings of the table, which apparently speaks German. Okay table, this is important, kindly shut the hell up. Danke.

“Ow,” John says lethargically.

“And so what if these people don’t know who you are? Who the fuck needs them? You don’t need anyone who doesn’t know you’re the backbone of this band. Who made the Deaky Amp? Who wrote You’re My Best Friend? Who stays focused and calmly waits for the others to stop bludgeoning each other on a nearly daily basis? John fucking Deacon, that’s who.”

“Yeah. Alright,” John agrees, smiling. “Who needs them.”

“You’re gonna get your moment in the sun, don’t you worry.” You pick up your tweezers and begin plucking slivers of glass out of John’s bloody hand, plinking each into a white ceramic bowl. “Everyone is going to know you one day. You’re gonna spread your wings and write a ton of hits and unforgettable basslines and show the world what a genius you are.”

“Sounds thrilling. I’ll see what I can do.” He gazes down at his hand. “It doesn’t hurt at all now, that’s incredible.”

“That’s the magic of modern medicine.” You drop another shard of glass into the bowl. “How’s your first-ever LSD experience going so far?”

“Aside from the window business, quite well. Better now that you showed up.”

“Sorry. I spent an hour being confused by my own reflection and then tried to find Roger. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“I have not.”

After a while you set your tweezers down on the table and inspect John’s hand closely. “Does this look glass-free to you? My eyes aren’t super trustworthy at the moment. I just saw a fish swim by outside.”

“It looks perfect, in my layperson’s opinion.”

“Okay. Let’s wash and sanitize, then we’ll wrap...”

John follows you placidly to the sink, lets you scrub and towel off his hand, returns to the table so you can bandage it with gauze. It’s quieter in the house now, the guests slowly dispersing, the music turned down and something mellow by the Stones; Gimme Shelter, you think.

“What made you so angry?” you ask him. “You know. Angry enough to assault a window.”

For a long time, John doesn’t answer. He looks up at the ceiling, his gentle greyish eyes chasing something you can’t see; birds, maybe, like Freddie. Maybe he’s looking for the sun. Maybe he’s looking for himself. Finally, he says, very quietly: “I’m just so fucking tired of lying all the time.”

“You never have to lie to me, John.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I do.”

Then you hear a laugh, an untamed one, a familiar one. You turn to John. “Was that just me or...?”

“I heard it too.”

You both leap from the table and hurry after the sound. You burst outside onto the cobblestone patio. Roger is doing backstroke laps in the pool, howling up at the moon. There’s no sign of Brian or Peaches.

“Roger!” you yell.

“Hey, baby! I’m winning! I’m in the Olympics! I made the team! Do you see me winning?”

“You’re totally winning. Please come out before you get pneumonia or attacked by a shark.”

“Shark...?” John inquires.

“I’ve discovered something amazing,” Roger declares, still swimming. He flails his right arm in the air for you to see; the serrated mark that mars the underside appears to be slithering, a snake made of scar tissue and interrupted plans. “When you’re on drugs, nothing hurts!”

“Baby, please come out now.”

Roger obliges, hauling himself up the ladder and out of the pool. He’s still in his black suit; it’s ruined and clings to him and is dripping buckets of chlorine-smelling water. John yanks a towel off a chair and tosses it to Roger, who drapes it over his shoulders like a cape.

“Jesus christ, where have you been?!” you demand. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Roger grins toothily. “A sheer one?”

Despite yourself, you smile back. “Oh yeah. A sheer heart attack. Real cardiac.”

“I had the best idea. Baby, you gotta hear my great idea. It’s so great.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

He lunges to wrap you in a cold, sopping hug. “Everyone’s having babies, right?”

“Uh, well, not everyone...”

“We should have a baby.”

John’s eyes go wide. You swallow noisily. “Roger, love, I don’t think right now is the ideal time to make a decision like that.”

“Why...? Oh. Right.”

“Yeah.”

“If I still feel this way in forty-eight hours, can we have a baby?”

“Roger, I...” You glance to John for help. He raises his hands in surrender, one bare, one clumsily bandaged. You’re on your own, kid, that look says. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. That’s a lot of responsibility. I’d have to stay home with them. I wouldn’t be the tour nurse anymore.” I would never know where you were, who you were with.

“I’ll fly you out to visit all the time. I’ll have to. I can’t do this without you.” His eyes—blue like frigid pool water, like bruises, like dreams—are euphoric, effervescent.

I can’t say no to him, you realize, and it sends a biting shudder up the rungs of your spine. I didn’t just fall in love. I took a fucking nosedive.  

Oh, this SO did not go according to plan.

You remember when you first met Queen, how independent and fearless and guarded you had been, how forcefully you had resolved not to put your happiness in a pair of wild, reckless hands like Roger’s.

What happened to that girl? How do I get her back?

And there’s something else, too: a thought you barely recognize as your own. A child would make us permanent.

John is watching you, edgy, apprehensive; but he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. “We can try. If you still feel this way in forty-eight hours.”

“And I will.” Roger’s teeth skate up your neck and he whispers, his breath hot against the goosebumps rising on your skin: “Let me know when you’re late.”

[lloydskywalkers]

skywalker syndrome, pt. II

*sweats nervously* this is...so long. This is so, so long and it’s not even the last part, but i just have a loT OF FEELINGS about it okay T-T 

Anyways! here is the continuation of my extensively angsty, s9-Lloyd-loses-an-arm-AU that i posted about a year ago, now featuring four whole over-concerned siblings who are finally back in the same realm. 

The funny thing about life as a ninja extraordinaire, is that there are certain things that you can totally suppress, and never deal with ever. Like, they might still be there, lurking in the dark corners of your mind like vaguely threatening mold or something, and sure, one of these days they could blossom into actual issues, and then threaten to destabilize whatever’s left of your emotional stability, but you can at least ignore them for a while. And if you’re Lloyd —which he is — you can get really good at ignoring them, to the point where you almost forget they’re there half the time. Bam, problems solved.

But as it turns out, unfortunately, there are also some things that you just can’t.

One of those, even more unfortunately, happens to be losing, say, an entire limb. And to top off the entire stack of unfortunateness — the unfortunatetest — most unfortunate? — part about the whole thing: Lloyd currently happens to fall into the second category.

(Will always fall into the second category, he doesn’t know why he’s saying currently, it’s not like his arm is gonna grow back—)

Anyways. Lloyd has finally met an issue that he can’t ignore, and that’s…another issue, he guesses. Oh, he’s tried, but walking off a lost arm is just a lot more difficult than ignoring trauma, or a broken rib or something.

“But I mean, it also could have been a leg, and then I’d have real trouble walking it off, haha, get it?”

“There are so many concerning things in that essay’s worth of words you just threw at me, I don’t even know where to start,” Nya sighs.

“Aw, c’mon,” Lloyd nudges her shoulder with his fist from where he sits in the battle wagon next to her, metal fingers clanking oddly against her shoulder armor. “That wasn’t even my worst pun.”

“That’s not what I’m referring to, and you know it,” Nya side-eyes him. Then, after a beat— “And that one was low-hanging fruit. I know you can do better.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come up with something better when we’re not running on zero hours of sleep,” Lloyd yawns, propping his elbows up on the dashboard and leaning against them, scrubbing at his eyes. He flinches back at the cold of his metal hand, and scowls at it instead, as if its inability to create heat like a normal limb is a personal insult. He lets it fall limp against the dashboard with a dull clank, laying his normal, warm human arm on top, and using that as a pillow.

He then squeezes his eyes shut, enjoying the brief relief from the thundering headache he’s had the last few days, before screwing them back open. Nya is staring at him fully now, face pinched in concern. Lloyd thinks that’s rather unfair, because her eyes are every bit as bloodshot as his, and he’s definitely caught her wincing from a headache of her own like, six times today already.

“Lloyd.”

“What.”

Nya sighs again — she’s been doing that a lot lately — and finally takes her hands off the wheel, leaning back in her seat, pulling her leg up and wrapping her arm around her knee. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” Lloyd says petulantly, knowing full well what she’s talking about.

Nya knows too, because she gives him a look. “Ignore that kind of stuff,” she says, waving a hand absently in the air. “Trauma, and whatnot.”

“I’m not ignoring my trauma,” Lloyd rolls his eyes, because they’ve had this conversation a minimum of sixty times now, so he’s ready for it. “I’m just waiting until I have a thing of ice cream big enough to cry it all out over.”

He’s probably going to need an entire ice cream parlor at this point, he muses—

“I’m serious, Lloyd.”

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, burying his face in his arms. “Sure. You wanna talk about Nadakhan while we’re at it, then?”

Nya sucks in a breath, and Lloyd feels a hot flash of guilt for having brought it up.

But like — it’s true. If he’s gotta sort out his issues, then Nya needs to, as well. Fair’s fair, and she needs someone looking out for her. Even if Lloyd’s been doing a pretty terrible job of it lately.

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyways.

Nya presses her lips together, then shakes her head. Her eyes are far away, staring out across the ruined city through the windshield. “No,” she says, her voice a whisper. “No, you’re right. I — you’re right.”

“Well, I’m sorry for that, too.”

Because he wishes he wasn’t right. He’d love to be wrong, about this. He’d love it if they were all just fine, and the guys were back and cracking jokes with them, and Nya had never died after being nearly forced into some twisted marriage, and the city wasn’t crumbling down around them because his sort-of-ex brought back his dead dad, and Lloyd still had both whole arms, and they were all drinking like, strawberry lemonade on the beach right now or something.

“We’re a real mess, huh,” Nya says, and there’s a sniffled edge in her voice that Lloyd doesn’t like.

Lloyd bites his lip, then reaches out, uncurling her fingers from where they’ve gone white around the steering wheel, and squeezing her hand lightly instead. “Kai would say we’re hot messes, though.”

Nya snorts, squeezing his hand back, ad Lloyd feels a bubble of warmth at her smile. They sit there in silence for a bit, watching the smokey clouds drift past above, waiting on Pixal or Skylor to finally call in on the radio, and tell them they can move out already.

Lloyd’s just considering trying for another nap, when Nya speaks up again.

“Really through. Lloyd, we gotta talk it all out eventually. You don’t wanna end up all emotionally suppressed, like your uncle, do you?”

Lloyd sputters, then glares at her. “You take that back. I’m not gonna end up like Uncle Wu.”

“Oh yeah? Just wait, any day now you’re gonna walk in on us, with a big straw hat on, and say ‘terribly sorry, my loyal ninja, but there’s something I haven’t told you’—“

Lloyd throws his mask at her, even as he breaks into snickers at the deep-toned voice she’s using. “I am not!”

“—you’ll have a beard, too,” Nya continues, grinning. “Like, ten feet long—“

“Ten, please, have you seen my hair? I bet I can do twenty—“

“Oh yeah, Rapunzel? What’cha gonna do then, trip over it into your enemies?”

“No, I’m — I’m gonna strangle them with it.”

That mental image is the final straw for Nya, and she doubles over in loud cackling, stuffing her fist against her mouth to try and silence her laughter. Lloyd’s already dissolved into giggles, but his attempt to keep them quiet sounds a whole lot more like rheumatic wheezing, which only makes them laugh harder.

“Please,” Nya breathes, when they’ve finally wound down. “Never grow a beard.”

“I dunno,” Lloyd says, stroking his chin, in what he hopes looks like an accurate impression of Uncle Wu. “I think I got the face for it—”

“You don’t.”

“Ouch, right in the heart.”

“It’s for your own good, bud.”

“We’ll see what Kai says.”

“He’s gonna agree with me, and you know it.”

“Hmph.”

“…and Lloyd?”

“Hm?”

“ ‘Unfortunatetest’ isn’t a word.”

“You aren’t a word.”

The other funny thing about life, though, is that no matter how miserable it gets, it’s always bearable with Nya.

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

Which is probably why Lloyd doesn’t really start to crack until Nya goes down.

“Oh no — oh no, Nya, you’re okay, you’re fine, you’re all good, just — you’re okay—”

“I’m fine, stop telling me what I already know,” Nya gets out, through gritted teeth against the pain. She couldn’t be more clearly not fine, but between the two of them, they seem to believe that if they can say it’s fine enough, it’ll all work out. It’ll be just fine. Nya just had a car fall on her and probably shattered her arm but it’s — it’s fine, she hasn’t lost it yet, and if it comes down to it, she can have his other arm, because Nya is not losing a limb today.

Between him and Dareth, they finally manage to get the car — the entire car, Lloyd is losing the battle to panic by the second — off Nya, and Lloyd’s right back at her side to worry more. Nya shrugs him off, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain as she struggles to rise, wobbling in place.  

But she still pushes herself up, on her feet, and picks up her spear with her good arm, and Lloyd decides for like, the tenth time this week, that Nya is the strongest person he knows. Right up there with Skylor, who’s actually insane, as it turns out, holding off an entire Colossi with his father’s stolen power — Skylor’s incredible.

But Skylor’s also currently unconscious in the battle wagon, and now Nya’s in severe pain and down an arm, and she doesn’t have a handy — aha —replacement like Lloyd does. And Pixal’s in Kryptarium so all that’s left of the ninja is Lloyd, and Dareth looking to him for answers, and Lloyd should be used to this, he’s leader, he could practically write the book on being in desperate, all-consuming-panic situations like this, but—

Harumi’s dead. Lloyd’s powers are gone, and people are dying now. Because of his dad, because of this stupid vengeance spree, because of him.

Lloyd’s eyes smart painfully, and he tightens his grip on Nya’s good arm, wondering, not for the first time, how in the world it had all come to this.

“We need to — we need to—” Nya cuts off, biting the inside of her cheek. Her composure falters, and Lloyd can see the same hopeless sort of exhaustion in her eyes, the weeks of running on fumes taking their toll. They need to get moving, they need to regroup, but there’s no one to regroup with. It’s just them, Lloyd and Nya, and they might be able to function independently better than anyone else but they’re also chronic younger siblings. The reminder that they’re not supposed to be alone is driven so deeply into their heads that it’s not even annoying anymore.

Not when they’re so very, very alone now.

“We can fall back,” Lloyd suggests, his voice wavering. “We can—” He swallows. Hide feels cowardly, but even he knows it’d be useless to suggest, anyways. They’ve run out of hiding places from Garmadon. He’d find them, Lloyd knows he will. His father is a lot of things right now, and relentless is one of the stronger ones.

“We can move, at least,” Dareth says, panic tinging his voice. “Those Sons of Garmadon will be on us any minute.”

It’s not Dareth’s fault, but it certainly feels a lot like karma as, at that very second, the sound of motorcycles echoes down the street, mixed with the familiar cries of the Sons of Garmadon.

They all go tense. Nya and Lloyd look at each other, and Lloyd wonders if the expression of fear on her face is mirrored on his, or if he looks closer to terror.

Either way, he’s frozen in place, and that’s bad, because they’re all frozen now. Maybe this is it. Maybe they’ve finally run out of the will to keep going. Maybe this is for the better. At least it’s not his father.

But then he remembers that they’ll probably take him to his father anyways, and if Lloyd didn’t have terror on his face before, he does now.

The loud roars of the motorcycles are circling now, and if Lloyd’s right, they’ve got barely a minute left before they’re surrounded. That’s not enough time to make it out. Not with everyone, not with the condition they’re in.

And Lloyd’s not about to leave anyone behind.

Nya sucks in a shaky breath, her face white from pain as her bad arm shifts. “Lloyd, do you — do you have any ideas?”

Lloyd stares up at the smoke rising above the city, his city, and the skin that meets his prosthetic throbs. His head does too, exhaustion mixed with pain mixed with dying adrenaline leaving him sick.

You’ve failed, Green Ninja. Your father won this round.

Like he does every round, Lloyd thinks bitterly. Morro had it right, back in Styx. He doesn’t deserve to be the Green Ninja. Not when he can’t win the fights that matter.

But he’s still Lloyd. He’s still Nya’s little brother, and even Garmadon can’t take that from him if he tried. So he shakes his head, croaking out, “Sorry, I’m stumped.”

It takes Nya a minute longer than usual, her eyes confused in her pale and dirt-stained face, but then—

She slumps against him, wheezing out what could be a laugh. “If that was an another arm pun, I swear—”

Lloyd tries to keep his face passively blank, but he can’t help the breathless huff of laughter that escapes. It very quickly threatens to turn into hyperventilating, so he cuts it off quickly. They all step closer to each other, forming a tight circle as the motorcycles roar into view, and Lloyd’s knuckles turn white with the fist he’s making.

He almost says I’m sorry, because it feels like what he should say right now, him and his whole sorry bloodline and everything that’s led to this. But Nya would probably hit him if he did that, and get that sad look on her face, so he doesn’t.

“This would be a really good time for the guys to get back,” Lloyd finally says instead, a bit hollowly. Nya gives him a weak smile that threatens to crack into despair as they’re surrounded, the blinding headlights from the Sons of Garmadon pinning them in place.

But maybe, just maybe, karma is on their side after all. Because, not half a second after Lloyd’s said those words, the sky opens up and roaring out from the bright portal, filthy and battered but alive, come the super late — like so late, for real, Lloyd’s gonna give them heck for this — rest of their family.

Lloyd doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to see his big brother’s ridiculous, spiky head of hair in his whole entire life.

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

In the euphoria of reuniting with the guys and his uncle, Lloyd kind of forgets that he’s lost an arm for a second. He also forgets that the last time the guys saw him, he might have been a half-dead mess on Mystaké’s kitchen table, but he also had both arms. So it’s probably not — not the best of welcome back surprises he could’ve offered.

But the thing is, Lloyd’s at least been thinking his arm looked fine now. Like, it’s obviously not his arm arm anymore, but it’s a whole lot better than the ugly empty space that was there. And Nya put the dragon on and everything, so he can look sick when he either defeats his father or dies horribly.

But for all that it looks fine, the guys’ faces still go ten shades of white when they finally catch sight of it.

Lloyd thinks that’s rather unfair, considering they just burst out of the sky on a bunch of dragons after having been presumed dead, but he’s not gonna pick now to argue with them.

“Wha — how — what — is that—” Kai, predictably, is the first to go to pieces, his eyes wide as dinner plates in his dirt-stained face, his fingers hovering shakily over the metal arm as if touching it will make it real.

“Your arm,” Jay informs him blankly, gaping at him. “It’s gone?”

Oh, Lloyd’s aware.

“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s gone,” he explains, quickly. Then, because he needs to see a different expression on their faces than horrified shock— “It’s — it’s pretty disarming, haha, right?”

Kai looks like he’s either going to combust on the spot or physically smack him.

In the end, he makes this heartbreaking kind of “oh Lloyd” at him before throwing his arms around him, then immediately jumping to the absolute worst conclusions possible.

“Was it your dad — it was your dad, right? Was it Harumi? It must’ve been your dad, oh I’ll kill him, I’ll slaughter him for you Lloyd, I swear to FSM—”

This is followed by a general meltdown of “if only I’d been here,” which spirals into self-blame pretty fast, which Lloyd neither wants nor needs to happen right now (nor thinks is accurate, what could any of them have done anyways), so he throws Nya a desperate look.

“Look, stuff happened, okay?” she says, shouldering her way between Lloyd and the guys, wincing as her wrapped arm pulls. “The city’s on fire and Lloyd’s down an arm, we dealt with it. Right now we need to focus, because Garmadon and the Colossi are still out there, so please tell me those dragons are going to help us out.”

Again, Nya is one of Lloyd’s favorite people in the entire universe.

This distracts them enough that they momentarily get off Lloyd’s back, though he has a feeling he’s either gonna have to answer two hundred questions later or find a really good hiding spot.

But that’s a problem for a different Lloyd to worry about, and this one needs to focus on his father. And the fact that his uncle now looks ten times younger and is, much more importantly, about to let him ride on his dragon.

Lloyd’s halfway to the dragon when Cole catches him. He doesn’t grab him or anything, just touches his arm gently, his eyes horribly sad. “Lloyd,” he murmurs.

Something in Lloyd’s chest twists. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. How is he supposed to pretend he’s not sad when they’ve all got this look on their faces?

“It’s fine,” he blusters, with a smile that is only half-forced. Fortunately, he has this part rehearsed by now. “It’s not a big deal — it doesn’t even hurt or anything. Don’t worry about it.”

Cole looks like he has every single intention of worrying about it, because Cole is Cole, but Lloyd can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed because he’s missed them so, so much. Sure, he’s mad at himself for giving them something to immediately worry about the second they even get back to the realm, but Lloyd’s too happy to see them at all to mind that much.

Plus, there’s like, a fifty-fifty chance his father is about to kill him pretty soon anyways, so he tries to enjoy it while he can. He’s sure Uncle Wu will do his best, but unless he’s got something big up his sleeve — besides the, uh, age thing — Lloyd isn’t so sure.

Winning against Garmadon isn’t something he’s ever been particularly good at, even with both arms.

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

Lloyd wins this round.

Somehow, somehow — bruised and bloodied and down an entire arm — he wins this one. It’s almost surreal, standing on top of Borg Tower, the wind whipping eerily around them as he stares down at his father, kneeling on the ground before him. His father, defeated. Lloyd didn’t have to break this time, he didn’t even have to bend. He defeated his father, without his powers, without any cursed venom fueling him, and without his arm.

Take that, you stupid snake.

Well — technically. Technically, he did defeat his father with his arm, because there are going to be some spectacular bruises on Garmadon where he got sucker-punched by a solid metal fist in the morning. But still.

Lloyd didn’t have to kill him. Not this time.

The relief that hits him is so dizzyingly crushing, he almost throws up.

But oh, it figures. The one time Lloyd can end things with his dad alive, and it’s the time his dad hates him.

But Lloyd knows a little too well that things could’ve ended a lot worse. He’s got his family back, his whole family, Kai and Jay and Cole and Zane and the people that have stuck through the worst of it with him, and that’s more than enough for Lloyd to be happy. He doesn’t die, they win back the city, and Kai only cries about it like three times, so honestly, it’s almost the best he could hope for. The worst part is out of the way now, so really — it should be smooth sailing from here. The guys are upset about the arm thing, obviously, but it’s not really that big a deal. Lloyd just has to convince them of that, which shouldn’t be a problem.

A piece of cake, compared to the last few weeks. Besides, he’s already been through the worst of it.

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

As is his luck, Lloyd finds himself eating his words half a week later.

“First Master—“

Lloyd chokes back a curse, stumbling out from bed as quietly as he can, teeth clacking as he clenches them together to keep from making any more noise. The guys don’t move, still solidly asleep, but that’s going to change real quick if Lloyd starts cursing up a storm over his stupid arm.

He bumps into the doorway on the way out and almost screams, biting his lip hard instead and fleeing down the hallway. Ow, ow, ow. He must’ve rolled his shoulder into his sword sometime in the night, because that’s what it feels like, a horrible kind of deep ache that leaves him wanting to sever what’s left of his limb as he stumbles into the kitchen. At least then, there would be less to hurt.

Lloyd passes by the several large windows in the apartment they’ve been staying in, and his heart immediately sinks. It’s dark outside, but the city lights illuminate the growing clouds above, and he can spot the flash of lightning in the distance. If the slight buzz in his blood at the oncoming storm wasn’t enough to clue him in, the building pressure in the atmosphere certainly is.

And he used to like rain, Lloyd thinks miserably, leaning his head briefly against the wall.

There’s a distant roll of thunder, and something in his arm — his stump, there is no arm there to hurt, that should help — throbs, deep and aching. Lloyd squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back the budding tears of pain, and remembers his mission. They went shopping earlier, and he knows for a fact there’s pain killers somewhere in the kitchen. The promise of relief from the pain is enough to spur him from where he’s slumped against the wall, and he drags his feet down the rest of the hall, finally ducking into the kitchen, which is quiet and empty in the late-night hours.

Great. Now he’s just gotta find the stuff, and he can — well, he can try to go back to sleep. Maybe he’ll just watch cartoons instead, or stare blankly into oblivion, or something. His shoulder throbs again, and Lloyd forces himself to focus, blowing his breathe out. Right. Cole was the last one to take the meds, ‘cause he’s got all those nasty healing cuts. So if he was the one to put the bottle away last, that means it’s probably…on the…top shelf…

Lloyd carefully, quietly drowns the whine of despair in the back of his throat. He’d eat dirt before he admits he’s a shortie, but compared to Cole, everyone is, and Cole has a terrible habit of leaving all the meds on the highest shelf or cabinet possible when he’s done, which are always the ones Lloyd can’t reach. And right now, with the first drops of rain just starting to fleck on the windows, moving his arms anywhere above mid-waist sounds like death.

But sitting here with his arm on fire sounds even worse, so death it is.

Biting the bullet, Lloyd toes the handle on the drawer closest to the floor, bracing his good arm on the counter, and pushes himself up. He wobbles precariously, but he catches himself quickly, breathing out a huff of relief. Now comes the hard part. Gritting his teeth in determination, Lloyd swings his prosthetic arm up as quickly as he can, knocking against the uppermost cabinet and—

Lloyd’s vision blurs out as the pain in his shoulder decides to go nuclear, and he slips back down with a strangled choking sound, clutching the edge of his shoulder and desperately willing himself not to blast through the wall with his powers in agonized frustration. When the pain finally ebbs enough for him to think again, he slumps over the counter, bracing his good shoulder against it and letting the bad one hang loosely, where the pain pulses in and out like a heartbeat.

Like death, he thinks dully, hissing his breath out through his teeth. Right. Okay. He’ll just — take a nap on the counter then, until he can work himself back up to the cabinet.

Lloyd cracks an eye open, glaring hotly at the cabinet out of reach. Maybe if he like…rattles it? With his…leg, or something? He can do a pretty impressive high kick, if he tries. Anything not to move his stupid shoulders, because the pain radiating from the prosthetic port is — oh boy, it’s something.

…with hindsight, he should’ve been prepared for this. But still.

Lloyd kind of just….crashes on the counter, for as long as he can, but the pain finally gets bad enough that he’s willing to risk more for any kind of relief. Gritting his teeth again — his jaw is beginning to hurt — he squares his shoulders, instantly regretting the action as little lines of agony flare in his right side in tune with the thunder from outside. At that point, Lloyd’s brain finally decides it’s done with the situation on the whole, and he’s backing up to make a running jump for the cabinet, when—

“Who’s — stand down, I’ll blast you!”

Lloyd aborts his charge just in time to duck the bolt of lightning that flashes through the room with a yelp, sliding to the floor as his momentum sends him crashing into the lower drawers. His vision whites out for a good minute as he whacks his bad shoulder on the metal edge of a handle, and he might make some kind of muffled scream that sounds enough like him for Jay to recognize, because by the time it clears, Jay is staring at him with wide eyes, his face pale but clearly no longer registering Lloyd as a threat.

Still, just in case— “Don’t shoot,” Lloyd croaks out. “I’m unarmed.”

Jay’s expression spasms, but the crackle of electricity silences, and the blue light extinguishes as he lowers his hands. Lloyd notes the way they’re trembling, despite how hard Jay’s trying to stop it. “Lloyd, seriously,” he mutters, but he’s at Lloyd’s side in a beat, hovering anxiously.

“Are — are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says, trying not to wince as he shoulder twinges. “I, uh, sorry if I scared you. I was just getting some water.”

Jay looks up to the cabinets, then back to Lloyd, where he’s yet to rise from the floor. He needs to get up already, because he’s got like, an image to keep here, but he’s also too scared that his stump of a limb is going to attempt murder again, and that’s keeping him pretty solidly rooted to the floor.

“You’re on the floor, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd shoots back, making a face. “Maybe I like it here.”

“Uh-huh.” Jay’s expression is narrow-eyed in skepticism, and Lloyd shrinks in on himself a bit. Still, though — the expression is better to see than the stark terror that had been written over Jay’s face when he’d walked in. The remnants of it are still there, if fading quick — Jay doesn’t look quite like Jay yet, bright and happy and quick on the uptake.

He looks tired, dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes, and his movements are slower than usual, as if perpetually lagging a step behind. Like he’s being dragged down by something, and it’s taking an extra amount of strength to fight it off that’d usually go toward bad jokes.

Which is sad, because Lloyd could really go for a bad joke right now. The atmosphere’s been heavy enough around their little apartment after everything, and it’s only worse now, with Lloyd curled up on the floor and Jay watching his arm with hollow eyes. And that’s not even talking about the actual atmosphere, which is currently trying to make Lloyd consider knocking himself out to escape the pain. Bad Jay jokes would be nice. Lloyd misses having something to laugh about.

But you know what, that’s quitter talk. Lloyd can make bad jokes, too.

“You uh, you wanna give me an arm up, here?” he says, grinning weakly at Jay. “Could really use a hand, if you get what I’m saying.”

“You — you’re terrible,” Jay sputters, but he cracks the edge of a smile, and Lloyd silently congratulates himself on that small victory.

“But you love me.”

It comes out too much of a question, and Lloyd bites his tongue. But Jay’s eyes soften as he pulls him up, and he’s gentle as he does it, so it barely hurts.

“Yeah, short stuff,” he says. “I do.”

And that’s — Lloyd swallows. That’s too much emotion for him to deal with in Jay’s voice right now, even if it is the kind of reassurance he clings to with a desperation these days.

“Short stuff,” he scowls instead. “You’re one to talk.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jay grins, a bit weaker than his usual one. “I grew a half an inch in the First Realm, bud. I’ve got you now.”

“No way,” Lloyd counters, squinting at him. “You look shorter, if anything. I’ve got you now.”

“I do not.” It’s Jay’s turn to scowl. “And please, the only height you’ve gained is your hair. Fluffing it up all crazy does not count.”

Lloyd snorts, despite himself. “My hair, you should see-ee—”

His voice abruptly pitches higher, strangling off mid-sentence as a fresh wave of bright pain sears through his shoulder, throbbing with the increased thudding of rain against the window. Lloyd almost bites his tongue in half as he dips forward, words momentarily lost as his teeth grind together.

Jay’s at his side in an instant. “It’s the storm, isn’t it,” he says, his eyes bright in concern. “Your arm is hurting extra.”

“T-technically, it’s not,” Lloyd breathes out. Words are back online again, that’s good. He exhales, shuddering. “S’just what’s left of it.”

Jay worries his lip, and then realization sparks in his eyes. “You were going for the top cabinet,” he says, slowly. Then— “Cole had the pain meds last, didn't he.”

Lloyd nods, his good hand clutching and un-clutching at his shoulder. Jay makes a sympathetic noise in his throat, then moves for the cabinet himself. He uses the same drawer handle as a step-up that Lloyd did, but he doesn’t wobble, snatching the bottle from the top shelf and stepping down neatly. Thunder shakes through the apartment, and Lloyd squeezes his eyes shut tight, barely conscious of the sound of running water. When he opens them, Jay is in front of him again, a glass of water and four larger pills held out.

“You look like you could use the extra,” he says, in explanation.

Lloyd nods gratefully, shoving the pills in his mouth before grabbing the glass and draining it. “Thanks,” he croaks out.

Jay nods, his eyes lingering on Lloyd’s prosthetic. He opens his mouth once, then closes it. Then opens it again, inhaling like he’s gonna say something, then shuts it again. Then again—

“Jay, spit it out.”

“CanIlookatit,” Jay blurts out, red immediately rising in his cheeks.

Lloyd blinks rapidly, trying to parse out the jumble of words. “Can you — huh?”

“Look at it,” Jay repeats, shifting awkwardly. “Your, uh, your arm? The prosthetic one, I mean. Just ‘cause I think I can help it! Help you, I think I can help you, ‘cause you kinda look like it’s hurting you, which would make sense, with the storm, and I might be able to — to help, if that’s not like, a problem with you — if it is that’s fine! I totally get it, I mean if my arm had got — was lost, I’d be—”

“J-Jay, slow — Jay,” Lloyd tries vainly to cut over him once, before succeeding the second time. Lloyd gives him a weak smile, then flops his arm out. He immediately regrets the action, as it feels like he’s shoved a knife or two into his arm. “It’s — ow — fine. You can look at it.”

“Oh! Cool,” Jay says, deflating in relief. “Ah, thanks for trusting me?”

Lloyd waves him off, with his good arm his time. “There’s like, six people left I trust, but I trust ‘em with my life. You’re one of them.”

“Oh,” Jay repeats, but he sounds sad this time. A little too understanding, too, and Lloyd wonders if their entire team isn’t suffering similar issues with putting faith in people, after everything.

“Here,” Jay says firmly, as if shaking that sobering thought off. He points to the couch, eyeing Lloyd as he winces with the thunder again. “Wanna lie down, so I can look at it?”

“Sure,” Lloyd mutters, flopping down on the couch (and immediately regretting the action, again, you’d think he’d learn by now), lying with his head at the left end so he can spread his prosthetic out on the edge of the cushioned footrest. Jay steps over, carefully sitting down on the floor by him, hands hovering hesitantly over the arm.

…his arm. His arm, just a bit different.

“I like the design here,” Jay says quietly, his fingers ghosting over the engraving Nya had put on one quieter day during the Resistance. It’s in the shape of a dragon, like the one of his other spare prosthetic, but this one is a little subtler, almost sketched into the metal. “It’s cool.”

“Nya did it,” Lloyd says. “And you can touch it, if you want.”

“Oh — yeah,” Jay gives a nervous laugh. “Um. Could I, like, see where it…attaches?”

Lloyd blinks, glancing to where the sleeves of his too-big (Kai’s) t-shirt fall well over where the metal arm meets his stump. He swallows, then nods, carefully rolling back the fabric until his shoulder’s exposed. “That good?”

Jay, to his credit, just gives a quiet, hissing little intake of breath, and nods. And it really is to his credit, because while Pixal did all she could, the surgery was — well, Lloyd was in and out during it, but it was haphazard at best, and the scarring it left all up to his shoulder is…

It’s not pretty. And Lloyd’s been thinking he doesn’t mind, but now that he actually has someone looking at it, he’s realizing he might.

Time to invest in a lot more long sleeves, he thinks dully.

Jay’s frozen for a second, and Lloyd bites his lip, trying not to squirm as he stares openly at the scarring. Then he shakes his head, bright eyes gaining the steady determination Lloyd knows, and sets to work, fingers carefully skimming one of the compartment edges.

“Lemme know if anything hurts.”

Lloyd just nods. It’s weird, at first, feeling but not really feeling as Jay fiddles with the arm. He still doesn’t like not being able to truly feel stuff with it, but right now, with the pulsing pain still lingering from the storm outside, he’s almost glad for it. To the point where the idea of feeling anything else in what’s left of his poor arm almost has him flinching away from Jay.

Jay’s fingers are careful, though, and he finally clicks something in the arm into place that shifts the whole thing, the throbbing pressure on a few particular nerves in Lloyd’s arm letting up some, and his shoulders go loose in relief, the tight rigidness he’s been holding them in easing off.

“Oh,” he exhales in relief, a bit shakily as he sits up. “That’s better. That — thank you. That’s a lot better.”

Jay beams, clearly pleased with himself. “No problem, green machine,” he says. “Just glad I can help. I mean, Nya did a great job with it, but the uh — the wires right here, you see? Those can get twisted up if you move around a lot, and that’ll create pressure on the nerves, and then you’ve got the gears here, and…”

Lloyd quickly loses track of Jay’s technical babble, nodding along like he understands instead. His brother’s stream of chatter is a nice sound against the rain in the background, warm and familiar, and Lloyd slowly relaxes further, his shoulders crying in relief as they lose their tension. The meds are kicking in now too, and the pain’s ebbed into something a lot easier to manage. Enough for Lloyd to start feeling guilty, anyways.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” he finally says, after Jay’s wound down from his explanation, ducking his head.  

Jay waves him off. “I was already up, anyways,” he shrugs. “The storm woke me. They…they do that a lot.”

Lightning flashes, as if to echo his statement, and Lloyd notices the twitch that runs through Jay this time, how he almost seems to vibrate with the thunder that follows.

“Does it bother you?” he asks, a little hesitantly. “The storm?”

It feels like a silly question, because Jay can practically create storms, he thrives in them, Lloyd’s seem him straight-up catch a lightning bolt in his hand and chuck it like a baseball without breaking a sweat. But even though Lloyd's definitely not the ninja of lightning, it is the element he found easiest to wield, when he’d had all four, and he remembers the way the connection would buzz at him.

Jay bites his lip, his fingers tapping some vaguely familiar beat on the table as he fidgets, turning the question over in his head.

“It’s — I feel it under my skin, you know?” he finally says, bouncing a bit in agitation. “I mean, it’s not bad, but I can — I can hear the lightning outside, like it’s talking to me, and I can’t sleep through it. I normally can, I mean, but — but normally it’s not this loud.”

He trails off, frustrated as he glares out the window. “Everything’s been loud since the First Realm,” he mutters, beneath his breath.

“Oh,” Lloyd says, quietly. The guys have told them about the First Realm, sure, but like — not really. The same way Lloyd and Nya have told them about the Resistance, but not really. An outline of the events, sure. A plot-like summary of important details, as detached as possible, sure. But all the worst parts, the crushing grief and despair and the awful headaches from too little sleep and too many held-back tears, all that? No way.

So while Lloyd knows they went through heck in the First Realm, he doesn’t really know. But with the way Jay’s eyes are shadowed, the dark circles beneath them and the way he looks like he’s years older as he stares at the storm out the window right now, he can guess.

“That must’ve been tough,” he finally says, hesitantly. “Being stranded, and everything. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I was cut off from everything like that.”

Jay blows his breath out, his fingers trembling slightly where they lace together. “It wasn’t fun,” he says, a little distantly. “I…I was kind of a mess, at first. I think I scared the guys. I wish I hadn’t, but it was just — it was a lot.”

Lloyd’s not sure what to say to that, so he just squeezes Jay’s forearm with his good hand, and hopes it’s worth something.

Jay shakes his head, almost as if to himself, “I just wish I’d been useful.”

Lloyd blinks at that, taken aback — and pretty concerned — at the gaping insecurity in Jay’s voice. He knows Jay struggles with that, but to see it this raw—

It hurts.

“Kai says you helped build that dragon,” he says, nudging Jay’s side with his knee. “That plan wouldn’t have worked without you. And you drew up the actual plans, and kept them secret and everything. And I saw you, when you guys came back. You saved us, right in the nick of time. It sounded like you were pretty crucial to the whole thing, to me.”

Jay gives a huff of laughter, but some of the tension in his expression eases. “You’re just saying that. Buttering me up,” he shakes his head, knocking his fist against Lloyd’s leg.

“Am not,” Lloyd says, kneeing him back. “I’m serious. You’re all kinds of useful. I’d totally hire you, if you came to me with your ninja resumé.”

“Yeah, ‘cause job number one on it would be ‘green ninja babysitter’. You’d have no choice."

Lloyd sputters. “I’m not — you guys don’t babysit me.”

“I have a whole lot of evidence that proves otherwise,” Jay says, grinning. “The others would agree, too.”

“This is mutiny,” Lloyd glares. “The nerve, the utter disrespect. I’m your leader.”

Jay actually laughs at that, further proving Lloyd’s point that his whole team is awful. But it’s a genuine laugh, one that softens the lines of stress at the corners of Jay’s eyes, so Lloyd figures he can let it go and laugh a little himself.

This time. They’re gonna have to talk about the babysitting thing later.

“We really missed you guys,” Lloyd finally says as his laughter ebbs, his traitor voice cracking in the middle. “A-a lot. I’m really glad you’re back. Like, you have no idea.”

“I think we kinda do,” Jay breathes out on dying laughter. “We missed you too, you know. We couldn’t even check if you were alright, we had no idea what was happening. You guys were realms away.”

Lloyd swallows back the ‘but you were dead’. Jay doesn’t need that knowledge right now. Jay needs to be able to relax, and to get more than three hours of sleep for once.

“Well, we’re in the same one now,” he says, with a wry smile. “Hopefully we can stay that way, for a while.”

“Do not jinx us,” Jay points his finger at him, and Lloyd manages a grin that feels genuine this time, shrugging. He’s beyond pleased to find out that the action doesn’t hurt so much, only feeling the faint twinges of pain this time. Lloyd stifles a yawn instead of replying, and Jay fixes him with a look, jerking his head back toward the bedroom.

“If your arm’s better, you should get back to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lloyd mutters, biting back a groan as he stands, wobbling a bit as his arm swings loosely. “That goes for you, too.”

“I’m not the one with designer bags for eyes,” Jay says, even though he clearly has dark circles worse than Lloyd. He pauses, eyeing Lloyd’s arm. “You really shouldn’t sleep with this on, you know,” he adds, tapping his wrist, nails clacking oddly on the metal.

Lloyd cringes. “I know,” he mutters. “I’m just — I don’t wanna have to put it on, if we…”

“If we’re attacked in the middle of the night?” Jay says drily, but there’s understanding in his voice. “Yeah, I get that. But hey, how about this: you sleep with it off for tonight, and if anyone comes in to kill you, I’ll take ‘em out.”

Lloyd raises an eyebrow. “Lightning blast to the face?”

“Lightning blast to the face,” Jay nods solemnly.

Lloyd shifts, arms wrapped around himself, his real fingers clenching anxiously at the juncture where his prosthetic meets his arm. It’s tempting, the idea of having the heavy weight off for the night. Really tempting.

But that also means taking it off, and that sounds…less than fun, especially after all the pain he’s already been in tonight.

“I’ll consider it,” Lloyd says, smiling weakly. “But I have full faith in you.”

Jay’s eyes are understanding as he nods, knocking his fist gently against Lloyd’s arm again. “Good. Now, bed. Practice starts back tomorrow, remember? You don’t wanna be dead tired for that.”

Lloyd’s heart sinks. Oh, no. He’d forgotten.

“Aw, man,” he moans. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

“Don’t say that,” Jay says, clearly trying to sound optimistic. “It’ll go fine. Wait and see.”

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

It is, in fact, a disaster.

The first practice with the guys after everything reminds him a whole lot of his first time sparring with Nya down one arm, and that — well, sucks. That’s about as cheerfully as he can put it.

“Do you need a hand?” Lloyd looks up at the voice, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun. Zane’s standing over him, looking slightly apologetic, his hand outstretched.

Lloyd takes the offered hand, pulling himself with a grunt of effort. “Yeah, a right one would be nice.”

Jay and Nya groan in unison. Zane just flicks his eyes skywards, his mouth curving up slightly as he hauls Lloyd the rest of the way to his feet. Lloyd wobbles a bit, caught off guard, and Zane steadies him, grabbing for his prosthetic before he can lose balance. Zane’s hand lingers a little too long around it, his eyes flashing in concentration where they rest on the metal fingers. Lloyd’s about to ask him what’s up — growing slightly defensive — when Zane lets go, blinking once. The look of furrowed concentration stays on his face even as he steps back, though, and Lloyd’s not sure if he likes that.

“Sorry, Lloyd,” Cole says, interrupting his train of thought as he steps forward, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck in guilt. “I didn’t think you’d — I shouldn’t have been hitting that hard.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” Kai snaps testily, his eyes flashing in the dangerous kind of protectiveness Lloyd’s used to seeing against people not in their family. He quickly intervenes, waving his hands.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, chill out,” he says, hastily. “I wasn’t paying attention, it was my fault. Besides, it’s not any worse than what Nya gave me the first time we sparred with, uh…the arm.”

Nya rolls her eyes. “You kept tripping everywhere. That’s not my fault.”

Lloyd goes a bit red, but he doesn’t argue back. He’s pretty sure Pixal has video footage that would invalidate any argument he’d have, anyways.

Kai looks between the two of them, then seems to lose some of the fire, shoulders sagging. “Just…be more careful,” he mutters. “Lloyd’s arm is still pretty new.”

Lloyd’s head swivels to Kai, his mouth half-open, incredulous. He begs Kai’s pardon, who, again, lost their arm here and who definitely didn’t? Who knows what they’re talking about, and who knows absolutely nothing—

“Yeah, no, for sure,” Cole nods back, like Lloyd isn’t even here. “I’ll let up on the heavier attacks, too.”

Lloyd snaps his mouth shut tightly. He wants to scream. They’re all acting like Lloyd is glass, like he’s fragile. And that’s not the problem. The problem isn’t his arm. The problem isn’t even that he’s not used to the prosthetic, because at this point he kinda is. (He’s getting there.) No, the problem is that the guys are all walking on eggshells around him, to the point where the hits they do throw at him are so sporadic it’s completely throwing Lloyd off. Like he’s being attacked by uncoordinated chickens with no heart in their attacks, or something.

It’s actually a pretty good strategy to keep in mind, he muses, for another time when the target isn’t him.

“Um, no, you won’t,” he says instead, biting his cheek to keep the edge out of his voice. “You’re going to actually attack me. You’re holding back so much right now you’re handicapping yourself worse than me without a metal arm.”

Cole looks taken aback. “I just sent you to the ground, bud,” he says. “Hard.”

“You only sent me to the ground because I wasn’t expecting you to hit like Jay,” Lloyd shoots back.

“Hey!”

“If that’s the tactic you wanna use, fine, but only if you’ve got a plan for when I blast you right back from the ground.”

Cole blinks. “Do your powers even work with the prosthetic?”

“I do have another arm,” Lloyd growls. He immediately feels bad, because he sounds angrier than he should be, but that subject’s touchy. He hasn’t tried to use his powers with the prosthetic yet, apart from the blinding blast of energy he’d given off when he’d first gotten them back, and he doesn’t want to find out if another use will blow his arm to pieces or not.

“It should work with it, anyways,” Nya assures them, though there’s a spark of uncertainty in her eyes. “Your powers are pretty intuitive. They protect you, so it wouldn’t make sense for them to hurt you like that.”

Lloyd doesn’t say how completely unfounded this is, because his powers tried to protect him during the fight with his father and they sure as heck hurt him then, but she does have…a bit of a point. And again — there’s like, the glaring fact that his arm did not explode when he went supernova on top of Borg Tower. And Lloyd’s control is way better these days, so in all honesty, it’ll probably be fine.

But on the off chance. Lloyd is trying to be more careful, lately.

Now the guys, though. The guys are taking careful to a completely ridiculous level.

“Maybe we should tone it down for today, just to be safe,” Kai says, exchanging looks with Cole. A vein somewhere in Lloyd’s forehead begins to throb. “We don’t want to take any risks.”

“Oh, yeah, like we weren’t taking plenty of risks while you guys were gone in the First Realm. Oh wait, we did, and we were just fine then,” Lloyd snaps.

He immediately regrets it, because Kai’s expression does this awful crumpling thing, and Cole’s eyes widen painfully. Jay just looks down, and Lloyd hates himself.

“I-I didn’t mean—” he stammers, grasping desperately for the words to apologize, when Zane lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

“How about I train with Lloyd one on one for a bit,” he says. The corners of his mouth quirk up, humorlessly. “I think cooling down might be in order.”

Lloyd feels his cheeks heat, but he ducks his head, nodding. Kai looks like he want to protest, but he shuts his mouth, nodding as well, and Lloyd’s relieved to see a kind of understanding in his eyes.

He hopes he does, Lloyd thinks to himself, as Zane leads them away from the others, to the other side of the yard they’re using for training. He hopes, that Kai and Jay and Cole know he isn’t actually trying to attack them for getting yanked into another realm instead of being crushed to death, because that is definitely not something he would ever complain about—

“So, how strong is your arm?”

Lloyd blinks rapidly, yanked back to the present. “My — what?”

Zane repeats the question, patiently. “Your arm, the prosthetic one. Do you know how strong it is?”

“Like…as in durability, or how hard can I hit with it?” Lloyd asks, flexing a metal wrist.

“Ah. That’s a good question,” Zane tilts his head. “Both, I suppose.”

“Um, pretty strong, I guess,” Lloyd winces, remembering the last time he’d tested how strong it was, and he’d sent the punching bag through the wall instead. “Most of the strength is in my forearm, ‘cause it’s just metal and gears there. It gets a little dicey where it connects, up here, but it can take the heavy hits.”

His father had the honor of testing that part out, he thinks bitterly.

Zane nods, his eyes calculating. “Good. Then show me a heavy hit.”

It takes a second for the question to register, but when it does, Lloyd blanches. “No,” he says, firmly. “No way.” He remembers how the punching bag crumpled beneath his metal fist. He remembers too well how his father, full power, had actually buckled under several of his hits. The idea of hitting one of the guys with that same force makes him sick.

“Ah,” Zane says, and there’s a spark in his eyes. “So now you want to start holding back.”

“This — this is different,” Lloyd grinds out, trying not to go red in embarrassment. “It’s one thing to hold back entirely, but my arm is — its different, Zane, it’s way stronger now, and I don’t wanna hurt you guys with it.”

“I’m not going to break, Lloyd,” Zane says, cooly.

Lloyd bites his lip. “Look, I’m serious, you don’t understan—”

The end of Lloyd’s sentence cuts off with a yelp as Zane sweeps his leg out from beneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground. He looks up at him, wounded, and Zane just tilts his head.

“You said you want us to stop holding back,” he says, challenging. “You want a real fight, so fight back. Hit me.”

That’s all the warning Lloyd gets before Zane sweeps another kick toward him, forcing Lloyd to roll out of the way, somersaulting backwards before springing back to his feet. He opens his mouth to protest, but Zane’s elbow is already whistling toward his head, followed by his fist, and Lloyd’s too busy blocking and dodging to get any word out edgewise.

He’s not going to hit him with it, Lloyd tells himself fiercely. He’s not, but — but Zane is actually attacking him now, with all the cool calculation and devastating accuracy Zane is really good at, and if Lloyd doesn’t launch a counterattack soon, Zane’s going to obliterate him in full view of everyone.

Through the buzz of adrenaline, Lloyd bites back a curse. He’s forgotten, for a crippling moment, how smart Zane is. The way he’s pressing on him is leaving his left arm for blocking, which means the only way he’s gonna get a decent hit in is with his right. So either Lloyd sucks it up and hits Zane with the metal arm already, or he’s going to eat dirt the rest of the day.

Darn it, Zane, Lloyd thinks heatedly, barely dodging the next barrage of hits, wincing as one clips his shoulder. He’s just gonna have to do it. They both asked for this—

Lloyd suddenly ducks, darting beneath Zane’s blow then squaring back, bringing his fist up and swinging hard — just to crash right into Zane’s own blocked fist with a loud, screeching clang of metal.

Lloyd blinks. The hit he’d just thrown wasn’t holding back — it was way harder than he should’ve thrown, actually — but Zane just slides a few feet back, barely flinching. He flexes his wrist, a grin curving up the edge of his mouth.

“You aren’t the only one with a metal arm, you know,” he says evenly, and oh. Oh. Lloyd stops dead, staring at him.

So Lloyd’s just an idiot. Here he is, freaking out about how different his arm is now, how no one gets it, and Zane’s been metal this whole entire time.

“I…” Lloyd trails off, staring at him wordlessly. He feels so stupid, a total sham of the leader he’s supposed to be. He’s overlooked the most obvious fact ever, to the point where he’s been severely misjudging Zane, and that’s…that’s bad. That’s very bad, if he’s calling himself leader here.

And that, Lloyd realizes, with an unpleasant jolt, is the real problem with all this. Not the guys, not the arm. It’s Lloyd, failing to lead them against Harumi, failing to lead them against his father, and failing to lead them now. No wonder they can’t take him seriously, when Lloyd can’t even give them the decency of doing the same.

“Oh,” he whispers.

“It’s difficult,” Zane says, quietly. “To see yourself as one way, then suddenly as another. Even if it’s just one limb. Adjusting can be…difficult.”

Lloyd ducks his head, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

Zane makes a noise that could be a huff of laughter, if it wasn’t so exasperated. “You don’t need to apologize. That is not the point I’m trying to make.”

Lloyd stares at the ground, not meeting his eyes. Zane’s footsteps draw close, until he’s right in front of him.

“Lloyd.” Zane’s hand is gentle on his shoulder, and Lloyd slowly looks up at him, feeling very much like he’s nine years old again, and Zane is the older brother who knows infinitely more about the world than he ever will.

“We are more than just a team for you to lead,” he says, gently. “We’re your family, above all else. We may not have been here when you needed us, but we are here now, and we want to be. We trust you. We just want you to trust us back.”

“I do,” Lloyd says, fervently. “I do, Zane, and I didn’t mean to — I never blamed—” He cuts off, shaking his head and swallowing. “I wanted to be there, too,” he rasps. “I — we couldn’t be there for you guys, either. You were alone, too. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to any of us.”

“No,” Zane says, sounding very tired. “No, it wasn’t.”

Not for the first time, Lloyd wonders how heavily the guys edited their own story of their time apart, and how much of the darker stuff they decided to leave out. The hollow look in Zane’s eyes leaves his stomach sinking. Probably a lot.

“B-but we’re together now,” Lloyd finally speaks up, cringing at the waver in his voice. “And, um. I know I’ve been most of the problem, but — but I trust you guys. I trust you, so — could you show me how to use my arm?”

Zane looks at him, and Lloyd offers him a tentative smile. “Since you’re the resident expert, and all.”

Zane’s mouth quirks up in a grin of amusement, and Lloyd feels a happy flare of victory at the action.  

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” he says, lightly. “But yes, I can help adjust your training. Provided, of course, you throw better hits. No offense intended, but that one was…pitiful, at best.”

Lloyd chokes on a laugh. “Okay, if that’s how it is. I’ll show you a real hit. Just don’t go crying to Cole when I wipe the floor with you.”

“I assure you,” and there’s an edge to Zane’s smile that promises Lloyd’s not leaving here without his fair share of bruises. “I have no intention of doing so.”

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

Training with Zane helps even more than he’d thought it would. Not only does Lloyd start to learn how to better use his prosthetic to an advantage, the others pick up on it and start actually fighting Lloyd again, well-practiced moves and techniques that force him to fight back, and by the third week of practices they’ve all slid back into a steady routine, even if there is still the occasional hesitation when it comes to Lloyd’s right arm.

Except for Nya. She’s been sending him sprawling across the mat since day one, no problem, and even with her healing arm she’s never stopped threatening to do it again.

Lloyd’s beyond grateful, though — he’s starting to almost feel normal again, to feel a little like his old self, with his proper place on the team, and he finally, finally feels like he’s doing something right. So he’s got no right to complain whatsoever, when the increased training leaves his arm feeling so sore he may as well have gotten hit by a truck.

A throbbing ache shoots through his right wrist again, pulsing up through the bones of his arm. Lloyd’s fingers grasp on air, wavering once, twice before it clicks that there’s nothing there. A croaking laugh almost bubbles up in his throat. His arm is in agony and it’s not even there. There is no wrist there to hurt, he doesn’t even have his prosthetic on right now. So why—

Phantom pain, he reminds himself firmly, before clicking the prosthetic back into place, the motion slowly growing familiar. It’s just a ghost, like Morro. Lloyd survived him, he can survive this.

Besides, he doesn’t have time to be hallucinating an arm that’s not there. He’s gotta have his best face on right now, because this…this is going to take a lot out of him.

Lloyd stares at Kryptarium Prison with hollow eyes, trying to rid himself of the icy shiver that’s crawling up and down his spine. They’ve since fixed the damage to the walls, and he’s eternally grateful for that — but the stretch of stone that’s been recently repaired is obvious, and Lloyd can easily pick out exactly where he went bursting through when—

When Lloyd’s brain was an idiot, he scolds himself, as the shiver threatens to turn into a full-blown panic attack. Those memories need to go right back into the dark hole he’s shoved them in, where they can stay for the rest of his entire life.

Besides, the person he’s about to see is gonna bring back enough bad memories, as it is.

Lloyd swallows, forcing past the fear closing in around his throat as he finally starts walking again, his feet practically dragging toward the prison doors. His arm throbs in pain with every step, spreading to the aching twin points on the back of his right hand.

Which isn’t there, he reminds himself fiercely. There’s no hand to hurt, move past it, brain.

The doors slide open for him with a mechanical hiss, a chiming bell warning the guards of his entrance. Lloyd’s in full gi, hood pulled back, so no one stops him, the outermost guards just nodding to him as he passes. Lloyd barely manages a grimace of greeting for them, where he’d normally have at least something sincere. But it’s hard enough, trying to keep his expression impassive. Each step further into the prison feels like a step closer to his doom, and this is ridiculous because the only other time he’s felt this nervous walking up a set of stairs was the Overlord—

“Name, please?”

Lloyd blinks, abruptly realizing he’s already reached the check-in gate. He shakes his head, trying to reorient himself. Name, please, he thinks drily, as he looks up. Like this guard doesn’t know who he is, entirely decked out in green, it isn’t like he’s been on TV a whole lot in the last month—

Anyways.

“Lloyd Garmadon,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound like a gasp for air. “I’d like to see my — um, Lord Garmadon. He should be in heavy lockdown.”

Private lockdown, somewhere dark and deep, probably, Lloyd thinks. He tells himself he doesn’t feel anything at that. His father probably likes it, anyways, being alone and in the dark. That’s all it seems he’d even wanted, except for maybe her—

Lloyd thrusts the hot flash of emotion down deep along with the rest of that thought, and tries to focus on the guard’s reply.

“—terribly sorry, but I can’t let you in.”

Lloyd’s brain stutters to a halt. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” he frowns, taken aback. He doesn’t like to throw his weight around, but Lloyd’s pretty sure that the ninja are supposed to have clearance to the entire prison. Especially after everything that’s happened, he and Nya practically have clearance to the entire city at this point.

“Your name’s been blacklisted,” the guard chews on the edge of his lip nervously. “Y-you aren’t allowed access to the prisoner in question.”

Lloyd blinks rapidly. “What?”

The guard is visibly sweating now. “The, uh, the records say I can’t let you in. To see him. Not without a signature.”

Lloyd’s stomach does a weird swooping thing, like he’s missed a step on the stairs. If he needs a signature, then someone had to go out of their way to block him — specifically him — from seeing Garmadon. Someone who the warden apparently decided had the right to make decisions for Lloyd.

“Who’s signature,” Lloyd grits out, fury barely held back.

The poor guard — because he really doesn’t deserve this, but oh, Lloyd is angry — shrinks even smaller in his seat, swallowing.

“Wu,” he finally says, stammering. “Your uncle, he — I’m sorry, but he technically has the right…”

Lloyd steps back, metal creaking as his fist forms. “Thank you,” he clips out tightly, then spins in place, hoping his eyes haven’t gone supernova yet.

No, he’s saving that for his uncle.

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

“How could you do that.”

Sensei Wu barely stirs, visibly unaffected by the way Lloyd’s just slammed his door open, and is currently fuming in the doorway like a very angry part-Oni crime of nature.

“It was, at the moment, the correct course of action to take.” He sips evenly at his tea, not even attempting to pretend he doesn’t know exactly what Lloyd’s talking about.

Lloyd sees red. “You had no right.”

Sensei Wu finally looks at him, sighing wearily. “I’m your family, Lloyd. I have every right—”

“Not this one!”

Sensei’s eyes are sympathetic, but unrelenting. “Your mother told me what happened, Lloyd. What you did.”

Lloyd almost swallows his tongue at the shock of surprise, but it quickly mixes with a hot flare of betrayal in his chest. It’s his arm, it’s his story to tell.

“Cool.” The words scrape through his teeth. “That doesn’t mean you can block me from seeing him!”

“Your head isn’t in the right place to see him, Lloyd. Neither is your heart. I believe you know this, too.”

“My head—” Lloyd trips over his words in anger. “My head is fine! So’s my heart, thanks.”

Sensei Wu’s eyes narrow. “You’ve never been the best of liars, nephew.”

Lloyd is going to smash his stupid teapot. “Then maybe your perception is still off from the First Realm, uncle.”

A part of Lloyd’s soul dies at the sentence, because it’s the most dangerously rude thing he’s said to his uncle since he was like, eight. But he swallows it back, because he has a bad feeling it’s not going to be the worst thing he says in this conversation.

His uncle’s lips press tightly together, and Lloyd feels more than sees the crackle of anger in his eyes as the atmosphere heats, no longer a conversation between sensei and student. It’s a family conversation, now. “I hardly need much perception to see how traumatized you are from recent events. It’s not difficult to miss.”

“Traumatized—” Lloyd sputters, his own eyes narrowing. “You know what, fine, so what? It’s not like I haven’t been — been traumatized, or whatever, before,” he snaps. “Morro put my head pretty out of place, and you were fine with that.”

Sensei Wu’s eyes flash. “I was not ‘fine’ with that. I was nowhere near fine with that, but at that time you were equipped to deal with it. And you were not forcing yourself to face Morro on some shred of false hope you know will only hurt.”

Lloyd full-body flinches back at that last part. But it’s not that — it’s not because —

See, Lloyd knows. He’s had it physically beaten into him multiple times, that he’s not the father he knew. He knows that he’s not really him, that he will never be him, that he will never regain the father he lost no matter how much this one looks like him.

But — but Lloyd’s heart can only take so much at once, and he’s dangerously close to reaching a point where nothing will repair that kind of break. He can take a hundred prison walls and his arm cut off fifty times in a row, but that is something he’d rather die than have to face right now.

And to hear the phrase false hope coming from the one person he’d hoped would understand nearly breaks Lloyd on the spot.

So he gets angry instead.

“You taught me not to give in to fear,” his voice is icy, words measured and slow. “You taught me not to put off until tomorrow what I can deal with today, and you wanted me to make my own decisions.”

“Yet I do not recall teaching you to disregard any and all concerns for your wellbeing,” his uncle replies, his voice just as glacial. “Nor do I remember teaching you to argue back against my orders.”

“You made me master!” Lloyd nearly shouts back, barely restraining himself. “You told me to start giving the orders, how am I supposed to do that if you don’t trust me? You can’t keep doing this to me, either you trust me or you don’t!”

“I do trust you, but I will not lose another member of my family because they believe they’re stronger than they are!” Uncle Wu snaps, his eyes flashing, and for a beat Lloyd can almost see the Oni in his blood, as well. “I’ve forced you to face your father too many times, Lloyd. I will not let him continue to hurt you.”

“He isn’t hurting me!” Lloyd bursts out, despite knowing those words are a stone-cold lie. But— “He’s already hurt me, I almost died, what worse can he do from a prison cell?”

“More than you will acknowledge!” his uncle barks back. He exhales tightly, eyes closing briefly before re-opening. “Lloyd, I understand that you are upset with my decision. But in time, you will see that this was the right one. Your perception is clouded to the point where you can no longer see yourself properly, and a leader who continues to put themselves further into that state is not fit to be leader.”

Lloyd’s teeth snap together with an audible clack, and his fists tighten, fingernails biting into his palms and metal fingers creaking. “You’ve been gone for months,” he grinds out. “For a year, and I led just fine that whole time. You can’t just come back now and say I’m — I’m a screwup—”

“That is not what I—”

“And you keep talking about decisions, when you didn’t even ask me before—”

“Lloyd—”

“—going behind my back is way out of line and you know it!”

“This is not—”

“And my perception is fine, I do see myself—”

“Lloyd, I said—”

“—and I’m fine, Uncle Wu, I swear, I can face him I’m fine—”

“That is enough, Lloyd!”

Lloyd flinches back as his uncle’s voice cracks out, angrier than he’s heard it. Wu’s knuckles turn white around his cup handle, and his eyes glint with the steel of his glare. “This is my decision, and I will not move from it until you can prove that you are ready.”

Until he can prove he’s ready. Like Lloyd hasn’t had to prove again and again—

Like he doesn’t believe in Lloyd either when he was the one—

Like Lloyd wasn’t willing to lose an arm not to fail him—

Something dangerous in Lloyd snaps.

“You’re just as bad as him,” he spits, venomous like a snake. “You’re all the same, you think you know what’s best for me and you never care how I feel! You don’t even care about me, you just care about the stupid Green Ninja and your stupid prophecies and I’m sick of it, I’m so sick of being your Green Ninja, I hate it!”

Sensei Wu goes stark white. His fingers tremble and his teacup drops to the table, his eyes painfully wide. “Lloyd,” he whispers, weakly. “That’s not—”

“Fine,” Lloyd snaps over him, blinking back angry tears. “Fine, I’ll stay away from him. I’ll stay away from all of you. I hate being part of this family anyways.”

He turns on heel before he can look at his uncle a second longer, before the tears can start to fall and he has the chance to say anything else. There’s a high-pitched buzzing in his ears as he storms back down the hall, the lightbulbs above him sparking wildly in his wake before shorting out, exploding into tiny bits of glass that rain over the floor.

Lloyd darts past them, hurrying his footsteps as he tries to escape the apartment with the rest of the lights unscathed. Shoving open the stairwell door, Lloyd makes a break for the rooftop, where he at least knows it’ll be quiet, and there won’t be as many lights for him to burst, and his uncle can’t—

Lloyd pushes the rooftop door open and stumbles out with a heaving gasp, drawing air in desperately as if that’ll ground him. His heart is racing way too fast, way too angry, and his power is zinging all over his skin like a swarm of angry bees. He’s almost dizzy with how angry he is — except that’s not right, he’s not just angry, there’s a whole wave of emotion coming in from somewhere that’s threatening to — to drown him, and this is why Lloyd should always keep things bottled back where they belong—

A transformer across the street blows, and Lloyd jumps in alarm as it explodes, showering sparks down toward the street below. Lloyd blinks past the blurring tears, his stomach dropping. There’s a flickering of lights before the apartment complex below it goes dark, power lost as startled cries sound from the open windows. The power lines around him start thrumming dangerously, reaching a higher-pitched whine that prefaces bursting. Lloyd’s throat closes over in panic. Oh, no. He didn’t think — he can't be this bad. He doesn’t lose control like this, he — he needs to stop, right now, or the entire city’s going to lose power.

He clenches his fists again, trying to reign the power in, to pull it back to him, but it only sputters more wildly out of control. Lloyd’s hands are trembling now, shaking worse than before, and in a desperate attempt for it to stop he crumples to the rooftop, pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, burying his head in the crook of his flesh elbow and squeezing tight, metal digging painfully into his leg as he draws in tighter and tighter — like he can crush himself down into something small enough that he won’t feel so much anymore, and his power will stop, stop—

But it’s like he’s back in the prison, his power sparking wildly out of control and not listening to him. Just like her. Like his father, like his uncle, nothing he’s gotten from his family ever listens to him when it matters, and why should they. Why will they ever, when all Lloyd’s ever going to be is a weapon, a scribbled line in a prophecy or a stepping stone for power—

It’s his power. His power, and he can’t even get it to listen to him.

Lloyd listens to the power lines around him explode and lets his sweatshirt sleeve soak up the tears.

Lying to himself can only get him so far. He’s never going to be able to prove he’s ready to face his father.

Not when he doesn’t even know if he can.

[christophe-delorne]

Good Dog

Chapter 3

Pairings: Gregory x Christophe

Warnings: Swearing

AU: Adulthood

“Stop messing with my god damn tie.” Christophe growled for the fourth time this evening. They hadn’t even made it to the party and Gregory was already fussing over his attire like some sort of mother hen. Some might find his concern amusing, the Frenchman just found it bothersome. It was bad enough he had to dress up in a suit and tie, not to mention dealing with Gregory cutting his shaggy hair. Christophe was adamant about not letting people near when they had sharp objects around, resulting in Gregory having to learn how to style hair or else Christophe would simply cut it haphazardly with the nearest sharp object.

“Well, maybe if you tied it right in the first place, I wouldn’t have to.” Was the return quip, making Christophe even further aggravated. He had tried to convince Gregory could go by himself or at least with his current girlfriend, but the man was adamant. Christophe understood why, involving an innocent was always a bad idea and it was always handy to keep Christophe around to do any dirty work. Didn’t mean Christophe had to like it any. Oh, he’d be able to kill someone just fine but there were worse things than getting his hands a little bloody.

Such as the grand estate that rests in front of him, lights shining through windows as if the place was a god damn miracle sent from heaven. He could here the crowd inside, not quite loud but more refined. As expected. He’d been to upper crust parties before, with or without Gregory as sometimes his job lead him to blend in to any situation. It wouldn’t be so difficult if Gregory didn’t hover around him so much, already he was craving a cigarette and the party hadn’t even started yet. Luckily, the man at the door distracted Gregory away from the Frenchman, giving their names so the man could check the list. Of course, Christophe already had a fake name, being so low born meant he could go wherever he wished, be whoever he wished. Gregory on the other hand had no such luxury. Such a popular face had its perks, but also its downfalls.

For now, Christophe had to play a up and coming model from France, one Gregory had scouted out and decided to support. From there, their relationship grew in secret until Gregory decided to take Christophe as his fiance. It took a great amount of effort to not yank his hand away from Gregory’s when the other man grabbed for it, he hated the way Gregory so easily played the sickly sweet partner. If anyone really knew what he was like, the man wouldn’t have so many girlfriends over the years. If anything, the Brit was a grade A actor, so convincing that even the keenest of eyes could be fooled.

As they were granted access into the mansion, Christophe was greeted with the same boring affair. Men dressed to the nines, women all dolled up and glittering like diamonds, drawing the eyes of nearly every man in the room. It was basically a chance to show of a person’s wealth, any excuse to boast about how well off they were. With the work Christophe did, he could be in such a group but this scene wasn’t his. He cared little about spending big and most of his money he either put away in a savings or Gregory took. He traveled far too often to bother owning a house and Gregory always insisted he stay over at his place. Mostly just to make sure his prized guard dog was groomed properly.

“I’m going to go mingle for a while, so don’t cause any trouble.” Gregory broke Christophe’s train of thought with a obvious display of affection by pressing a polite kiss on his cheek before going to seek out the host of the party. It would be customary for Gregory to bring Christophe along, but it seemed the Brit wanted Christophe to be as forgettable as possible. Not wanting to stand there looking lost, the Frenchman made his way over to the table lined with finger food. None of it looked really appetizing and the portions were too small. He figured one serving would be as much as a month’s worth of food for him. However, he couldn’t not eat, it would give him something to do and might as well eat while the food was free.

He picked up what appeared to be the world’s tiniest sandwich, masking his look of disapproval as he turned to catch a waiter who was serving what he expected to be flutes of some expensive champagne. He’d definitely need alcohol in his system if he was going to be dealing with pompous pricks all night. Even if it was some fancy poodle drinks. Delicately, he plucked one from the tray and began to idly weave his way through the crowd, looking like he moving directly towards something so he could avoid interruption and conversation. Gregory hadn’t been kind enough to let him in on why exactly they were here, just that Christophe was meant to be the muscle if things went south. Gathering intel in places such as this wasn’t exactly Christophe’s specialty.

Hours passed, Christophe had to stop a few times to converse with random party goers so he didn’t get caught sticking out of the crowd. It was always a challenge to curb his way of speaking. His accent was less course and more fluid, his low voice just having the slightest scratch that could be deemed smokey. It was pleasing to the ladies as they seemed to slowly gather around him, chatting away about topics Christophe had to pretend to enjoy. At least talking to the ladies was more entertaining than talking to the men, who only discussed the economy, the latest news, or politics. Women tended to give information out more freely, gossiping about their partners, laughing over antics that Christophe supposed were normal.

However, music started to pick up from the orchestra at the other end of the ballroom and soon the women dwindled away, taken to dance by whoever they had come with for the night or single men looking for a bit of fun. It was a relief when Christophe finally found himself alone, finishing off his champagne in one swig and it still wasn’t enough to give him a slight buzz.As he set the empty glass on a tray of a passing waiter, someone tapped on his shoulder. Looking over he noticed Gregory was there, the first time he’d seen the other male this evening since arriving.

“Did you have fun gossiping with the other ladies?” Gregory teased, making Christophe bristle and narrow his eyes. The blond knew all the right things to say to get under the Frenchman’s skin.

“They were better company than you’ll ever be, branleur.” Venom dripped from his voice, not bothering to conceal his irritation over the whole charade now that no one was around to see.

“Such a foul mouth, you shouldn’t say such things to your future husband. Especially since I came over here to ask you for a dance.” Gregory held out a hand, offering it to Christophe in such a proper manner that the Frenchman wanted to slap it away. However, he knew better than to cause a scene in such a public place and Gregory knew that as well. With that pleasant grin hiding his sadistic amusement of dragging Christophe through hoops, knowing the man couldn’t fight back without severe consequences. Christophe wouldn’t botch a job due to his own preferences.

After making Gregory wait just long enough to irritate the blond, Christophe finally took the offered hand that no amount of lotion could smooth out. Gregory seemed pleased by the victory, only serving to make Christophe’s jaw clench as he was led out into the dance floor. Already dancers were twirling around in what Christophe determined was a Viennese Waltz, not that a majority of the dancers were professionals, merely trying their best to move with the music. It was dreadfully boring, but then again such a dance was meant for more romantic dancing, proper courting. Things that should’ve remained dead long ago but still had a prominence because it was deemed high class and elegant.

Christophe had been taught to dance various ballroom steps with Gregory when they were younger, when the Brit would tease him about being a pretty princess when Christophe was anything but. When Gregory pulled at one of his hands, Christophe fell into the motion like a well trained dog, letting Gregory take the lead as he wont to do. Many times when they were children Christophe demanded to be the lead, dancing in itself became a battle to see which one came out on top. Gregory’s lighter feet held more confidence on his toes and eventually Christophe resigned himself to follow after the blond.

From a man so crass like Christophe, one wouldn’t expect such delicate footwork, but the dance of anticipation and graceful twirls was perfect to the point that Christophe’s mind blanked, falling into old patterns. Gregory guided him through the motions, those eyes sparked with amusement as he watched Christophe obey without hesitation as the music built up to its crescendo. The world melted away as he tended to do during such dances, making Christophe unaware of people watching them as they seemed to float circles around the wooden floor, polished so perfectly that he could almost see his reflection off the boards.

Christophe didn’t know how long they spent dancing, as he wasn’t one to give in to tiring before Gregory, to win out over the Brit in stamina as a punishment for pushing him into this. Eventually the orchestra came to an end, leaving both men slightly breathing heavier, closer than what should be appropriate for this certain kind of waltz, making Christophe’s eyes narrow in warning. He could see it written all over Gregory’s sophisticated face, the hooded gaze eyeing him like some sort of raw steak before a starving mongrel. Funny how it was the master panting after him like a dog instead of the Frenchman.

Christophe could feel him lean closer, his face taking up a majority of his vision until he was close enough that Christophe could feel the warmth of those lips radiating onto his own. His own heart betrayed him by picking up its pace in excitement and more anticipation that the waltz could ever truly provide. He swallowed even though his mouth felt dry, his body moving without a thought, leaning forward with impatience for a kiss from the cruel man in sheep’s clothing before him. This only served for Gregory to laugh with a husky tone to his voice before pulling away, bowing politely to press a kiss on Christophe’s knuckles just to keep up appearances before moving off into the dispersing crowd.

Whatever magic the waltz had inspired dissolved, leaving Christophe feeling even more bitter than even before.

When would he ever learn.

[sambukasam]

Wasted Talent

Summary: Dean learns that he could have a promising career as a makeup artist if the world would ever stop needing to be saved

Square Filled: Make Up

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: no warnings today fellas

Word Count: 1981

Created for @spngenrebingo

Genre Bingo Masterlist ↔︎ Normal Masterlist

I’m starting to do tag lists! Want in? Check out the list of things I’ll tag for. Once you decide whatever list(s) you want to join, send me an ask!

"Deeean," you dragged out as you entered the room with your good hand behind your back.

"Yeah?" He asked, looking up from the table he'd been staring at for the what felt like hours. He rocked his chair onto its back two legs and you stifled a laugh when he almost tipped it too far back. "Oh ha ha!" He said sarcastically at the amused expression on your face poorly covered up giggle.

There wasn't much to be done in the bunker that was fun, per se. Usually, it wasn't so bad when you weren't stuck there for too long. But times like now where you had to stay cooped up, it felt like a form of torture.

Neither of you was up for a hunt, your last one had gone sideways and lead to you both being a little worse for wear. You were left with a fractured elbow which had you useless, and Dean had messed up one of his legs and was stuck hobbling around on crutches, much to his chagrin. Sam had managed to get off much lighter, with a few scratches and bruises here and there. The worst that had happened to him was his hair getting ruffled out of place.

"What you got there?" He asked when he noticed how you kept your good hand behind your back. Instead of trying to prolong the inevitable, you sheepishly brought your hand forward and showed him your make up bag you had brought out from your room. Dean was familiar with the bag, and he cocked an eyebrow curiously but stayed quiet to let you sell your pitch.

"We're both bored," you started off bluntly, and he nodded at your statement. "So I was thinking... maybe we could mess around and do each other's make up?" You rushed the last part out and framed it more as a question but you knew he understood what you said.

There was a moment of silence where all you got was a blank stare before he nodded and put his chair back on all four legs. You grinned and went to the seat beside him, laying everything out on the table. You stopped when he grabbed your wrist with one of his hands. "Hold up, I've got a condition."

You sighed and turned to see what he was going to say. You weren't sure how he'd feel about the idea of him getting his make up done, you couldn't really picture him having a big problem with it, but you were still a little nervous that he wouldn't be okay with it.

"You aren't allowed get upset when I do a better job than you."

"In your dreams Winchester," you laughed and then you moved your chair sideways to face him. You got him to stand up and moved his chair for him, ignoring his grumbling over how he could have done it himself. "Alright, how are we doing this? I can do yours first, and then talk you through it so you know what you're doing when it's your turn?"

"Hell no, I know exactly what I'm doing," he scoffed, reaching for a pot of blush. "Is this the one you put all over?"

"Dean, babe-" you had to stop talking to laugh at the look of confusion on his face.

He held a hand up. "Wait, don't help me I'm a pro!" He popped the tub open and rubbed his finger in it, completely ignoring the brushes you laid out. He leaned forward and slowly drew two line on each cheek.

"Did you just give me whiskers?"

"It's battle paint!" He grunted, and then looked down at his fingers. "How do I get this crap off my fingers?"

You handed him a makeup wipe. "This is why most people use brushes to put it on."

"Well I'm not like most people, I'm a make up pioneer." He took a second to look at all the different products on the table before grabbing an eyeshadow palette for smokey eyes. He stared at your face for a second before dipping his fingers into a shade that was around the same as your eyebrow colour. You went wide-eyed when he started immediately rubbing it into your eyebrows, feeling his fingers give you a unibrow. When he was done he looked back down at the mess on his fingers. "Maybe I will start using those brushes."

"What do you wanna do next?"

He sat up straight and examined your face, turning it this way and that, making you roll your eyes. "Mascara!"

Now you were starting to panic. He hadn't exactly been the gentlest while putting on your unibrow and whiskers, you couldn't picture him being much better with a mascara wand. "I can do the mascara myself!" You said quickly.

"You have one arm, and I am a gentleman. Besides, how hard could it be?"

Famous last words.

Cut to three minutes later with you attempting to fish the stray bits of mascara off of your eyeball while Dean complained about how you "cried your war paint off".

"Now I'll have to redo it," he complained, crossing his arms while he glared at you.

"Maybe if you didn't nearly take my eye out I wouldn't have cried!"

"Your eye jumped on the brush!" He said indignantly, but he started chuckling when he saw the stink eye you shot him. "We can ditch the mascara this time. It clashed with the overall look anyway."

"Glad to hear," you muttered, giving up on your eye. You figured you'd gotten all that you could off of it and that the rest would come out on its own.

"How is it that even with all that black and pink crap running all over your face, I still want to bang you on this table?"

"Woah, I'm really not in the mood to be traumatised tonight," Sam interrupted when he walked into the room. He did a double take when he saw you and you saluted him sarcastically. "Woah, Y/N, looking real, uh-"

"Smoking hot?" Dean offered. "That'd be all thanks to my handy work. Now hold still while I decorate your forehead."

You didn't even try to argue with him, letting him grab a red lipstick and draw what felt suspiciously phallic-like on your face.

"It's a self-portrait," Dean said with a wide grin on his face and you knew it wasn't the right time but you took a second to admire the beauty that was Dean Winchester smiling. It was a miracle after everything that man had been through that he still remembered how to smile, but that's what made his smiles all the more special. There was something about them, about the stories behind them that made you appreciate them more than you ever thought you could appreciate a smile. "What are you staring at?" He asked, and it sounded almost self-conscious.

You rested your cheek in your good hand and shook your head at him. "Just thinking about how much I love your smile," you smiled dopily. Sam made gagging noises in the background but you ignored it, focusing on the slight blush that Dean grew and the way he looked down at his hands before grinning broadly back up at you.

"Shut up," he said and then he was tugging your hand out from where it was propping your head up. "You're ruining my hard work. What else is there left to do?"

"Well, you haven't exactly put any lipstick on my lips yet..."

He snapped his fingers and smiled gratefully at you. "I knew something wasn't right."

He grabbed your chin between his thumb and index fingers, moving your face closer to the light and then he was uncapping the lipstick he'd used on your forehead again.

"Hold still," he warned.

You went to nod but froze when he mock scowled at you and tutted. You couldn't tell if he'd done a good job or not, but it hadn't felt like he'd missed your lips too badly by the time he was finished.

"I think I've been wasting my time on hunting, I obviously should have opened my own beauty salon."

"It's never too late to chase your dreams, dude," Sam spoke up from across the table.

Dean rubbed his hands together and gave you a quick once-over before nodding to himself. "Okay, I think I'm done."

"My turn to do you?"

"Oh sweetheart, you can do me whenever you want," he winked, and Sam's gagging intensified.

You decided to do him up the way you did whenever you had a date with him, purely because you weren't sure if you'd ever get the chance to again and you were curious what he'd look like with a full face on.

It was considerably less traumatic this time, aside from the occasional dirty jokes from Dean. You treated it like a tutorial you'd find on YouTube, telling Sam everything you were doing and why.

To your surprise, he actually acted like he cared and would ask questions at the right time. Dean's eyes were trained on your face the entire time so talking to Sam was a nice distraction from the urge to make out with Dean in the middle of the library.

Dean tried to protest you putting fake eyelashes on him, but a whispered promise of what you'd let him do to you when you were alone had his eyes widening and him hastily changing his mind. It was hard to manage the glue when you only really had one hand, and you wondered what would happen if you accidentally glued the notorious hunter's eyelid shut permanently, even though you knew the glue wasn't that strong.

When you were done you let out a low whistle admiring your handiwork. "You look so pretty!" You squealed, clapping your hands together.

Sam had left near the end to grab a small mirror for you both to see how you looked, and you couldn't tell who's face he found funnier when he got back. You knew you looked like a mess, the tear tracks from the attempted mascara incident and the dick on your forehead let you know that. He threw a towel over the mirror so you couldn't peek and held it up on the table in front of you both.

"Are you both looking at once?" Sam asked. You and Dean shrugged at each other before nodding at Sam. "Okay, three, two, one..."

You gasped when you saw just how bad your face was. There was a huge dick across your forehead, over what at first glance was a unibrow but on closer inspection looked like what you imagined were supposed to be drops of cum. There was a mixed trail of pink blush and black mascara going down one cheek, extra thick along your jawline where it had gathered before dripping off. You bit back a laugh, looking completely ridiculous. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noted how he'd actually done a pretty good job on your lipstick.

Dean looked like he was pretty happy with his. "Damn I'm hot!" When he turned to you he bit back a laugh. "I feel kinda bad for not taking it as seriously as you did."

"It's fine," you dismissed. "I was gonna fuck your face up as well but I just really wanted to see you ready for a night out."

"Who did a better job?" Dean asked Sam, catching you off-guard.

"This wasn't a competition dumbass!"

"Spoken like a true loser," he said before looking expectantly at Sam. You could see him deliberating for a second, probably trying to decide he wanted to annoy more by making them the loser.

"There are no winner's here," he said solemnly before shaking his head and laughing at Dean's annoyed face. "Kidding, kidding! There is a winner. And it's me. My prize is getting to keep my dignity."

-

Everything Tags:

@imjustafriendlynobody

[wantediniceland]

(( Soooooooo @safecrxcker and I have started yet another ridiculously stupid plot. This time it’s Wolfgang and Hardison going undercover at a white collar company as part of a larger Leverage con that needs them to steal something the boss of the company keeps in her office safe. H is pretending to work for the IT department and Wolfgang is pretending to be an executive assistant, and they’re pretending they don’t know each other. It doesn’t take long for the entire office to think they must be fucking. Hijinks ensue. Posting part one now because this will probably get long. ))

Hardison sat in the break room with a few of his new colleagues, unwrapping the sandwich Wolfgang had made for him that very morning. "Were there any connectivity issues with the last upgrade?" he asked, making polite, work-related conversation with another guy from the IT department and pretending he couldn't feel Wolfgang's presence behind him at the sink washing out his lunch container.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang shook out his container, debating on leaving it to dry in the sink. He ultimately decided he would never see it again if he left it to such a fate. He packed it away still damp into his plain black lunch pack. He spared a glance to the pair sitting at one of the break tables. “My work application was running at half speed most of the morning.” He said, purely making an excuse to talk to them because it always amused him to see Hardison trying to hide his little twitch whenever he spoke with an American accent.

Hardison tried his best to school his face into whatever 'talking to a new co-worker I've never met before' looked like and probably way overthought it. "We can send someone to look at that." He made eye contact with his IT buddy. "Or, I guess, they'll probably be sending me since I'm the new guy. Name's Rob, nice to meet you," he said, holding his hand out for Wolfgang to shake.

Wolfgang: “Howdy. I'm Günter.” Wolfgang said. It was a testament to Lito's teaching skills that the corner of his lip didn't even twitch when he managed the sentence. “I guess that makes two of us. I just started too.” He held out his hand and shook Hardison's firmly. “I'll fill out an IT ticket. Maybe I'll see you later.”

Hardison choked slightly on his bite of sandwich, coughing a few times and fumbling for his juice box so he could clear the crumbs stuck in his trachea. "Hello, *Günter*, it's nice to meet you," he rasped. "I'll come by in a bit. Where do you sit?"

Wolfgang: “You alright there, buddy?” Wolfgang asked, tone friendly as he gave him a heavy thump on the back. He could hear Lito laughing in delight in the background. “You're supposed to chew.” He waited until he seemed better able to breath before nodding his head towards the elevator through the open door. “fifth floor. I'm the new executive assistant.”

Hardison: Two hours later, Hardison showed up at Wolfgang's desk and cleared his throat. Wolfgang was in a suit and tie, which he basically never wore, and it was doing...things to Hardison. Luckily Hardison didn't have to play fair either. He pushed his very nerdy heavily black-rimmed glasses up his nose and said, "May I see your computer, Mr. Gunter?"

Wolfgang: Wolfgang had been carefully editing a very boring memo when Hardison showed up. He was happy for the break. There was a reason he didn't have a 9-5 job, and undercover or not, he wasn't looking forward to the monotony if this went on for longer then planned. “Sure thing. Gives me a break.” He answered, looking up just in time to see Hardsion adjust his glasses. Nerd chic. Wolfgang was more into it then he'd ever admit. He stood up, smiling and nodding hello to a couple of co-workers walking by who waved. He made a little small talk about 'computer issues' with them as they loitered around his desk.

Hardison sat down at Wolfgang's desk and tapped around on his computer. He wasn't sure if he had been lying about the lag just to make conversation, but it only took him two minutes to make the computer run at triple the speed anyway so he did it. And then, because he was bored, he slid down to his knees beneath the seat to fiddle with the tower. Disabling all the tracking and monitoring on Wolfgang's computer would probably come in handy for them sometime in the future. Wolfgang must've made some reference towards him to the other co-workers he was chatting to, because they were all looking at him kind of expectantly now. "Hmm? Sorry, what was that?" he asked, scrunching his nose and lifting his glasses again as he peered up at them from beneath Wolfgang's desk.

Wolfgang: “I was just saying you were solving my computer issues, and that you're new too.” Wolfgang nodded back towards the two co-workers he was talking to. “This is Andy and Sandra.” Andy and Sandy were definitely fucking, but neither were married and just didn't want to be involved in office gossip, so Wolfgang had decided that was none of his business. Besides. He couldn't exactly cast stones. “They were talking about getting a group together to go out for drinks sometime this week.”

Hardison: "Oh yeah, um, hi," Hardison said, giving them a little wave, still on his knees under the desk. Drinks sounded like a really bad idea, one because the more different settings people saw them in, the more they were likely to suss out something was up; and two because working a whole eight hour day ignoring Wolfgang was boring enough already, he didn't want to spend his own personal hours not being in Wolfgang's lap too. However, it would definitely solidify their place in the company if they made themselves friendly with everyone. Hardison was torn. "I don't know if I'm a big drinks guy..." he hedged.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang laughed a little at that. “I guess you don't really seem the type.” He kept his tone to a light ribbing. “Suit yourself.” He looked at the others and shook his head with a look of 'what can you do?' “You about done there?”

Hardison: "What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying I'm some kinda square?" He pushed himself up and stepped away from the desk, suddenly feeling like the two co-workers were looking at them with a little too much interest. "Yeah, it should be a lot faster now, why don't you try running a few things while I'm here just to make sure?"

Wolfgang: “You work in IT.” Wolfgang let that be an answer in itself. He said goodbye to his other co-workers, throwing a light 'See Y'all later' in there. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes when he looked back at Hardsion but he didn't say anything about it. “Any programs you want me to run in particular?”

Hardison stuck his tongue out at Wolfgang when he was relatively sure the others wouldn't see. "What, uh, what part of Texas did you say you were from again, *Gunter Von Elbrecht*?" he asked pointedly, pretending to look at the service request on his phone. There was no one else around them anymore, and though Hardison wasn't stupid enough to drop character he did feel like he could say, "You can pretty much run any program you want on there now, if you know what i mean."

Wolfgang: “Houston, of course.” He answered without missing a beat. A quick grin pulled at the corner of his mouth before he grabbed his chair, rolling it back to take a seat. “I guess you just made my job much easier then.” He pulled up a few programs, work related for now, and started setting them back up. “Guess I'll see you around. You change your mind about joining us tonight and the first drink is on me.”

Hardison watched Wolfgang for a few moments to make it look like he was doing his job, before taking his leave of him. Right before he walked away, he let his fingertips touch the back of Wolfgang's neck lightly, just above his collar, too briefly for anyone else to notice. He went back to work and counted down the time until home time, until he belatedly realized that if Wolfgang was out then going home was no fun. He sighed. "Hi guys, I guess I thought I should make more of an effort to socialize with my new team," he said sheepishly when he ducked his head into the bar around the corner where Andy and Sandy and Gunter were already seated.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang looked up, smiling up at him and tipping his head in greeting. “Surprised you made it. Must have wanted that free drink.” Wolfgang already had a beer in his hand. The bar they were at was far from his type. He either liked loud clubs or smokey holes in the wall. This was nice, but quiet, clean. There was a group of about eight of them with Hardison included. He let Hardison introduce himself while he went to get him a beer. Well, what looked like a beer. He spoke quietly to the man at the bar and tipped him extra just to come back with orange soda disguised in a brown beer bottle.

Hardison took the beer from Wolfgang's hand and said thanks. When he sipped it, he was surprised to find that it was his usual orange soda inside, and he raised an eyebrow at Wolfgang. "Wow, this is a lot better than the usual brand I get, how did you know exactly what I'd like, Gunter?" he asked, a sightly sardonic edge to his voice masking the overwhelming love he felt whenever Wolfgang did something thoughtful and also just...whenever Wolfgang was in front of him.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang gave him a small smile before he pressed his lips against his own beer for a slow drink. “I didn't, I guess you just like what I like. Hm?” He told him with a little wink. “What made you change your mind about coming out?”

Hardison: "Oh, you know, being new and all, felt like I should make more of an effort to try to get to know everyone," Hardison said with a shrug. He realized he was maybe looking at Wolfgang too much when he caught Sandy and another woman he hadn't met yet kind of nudge each other. He cleared his throat. "So, what were you guys talking about before I crashed your party?"

Wolfgang: “The new work exchange program.” Wolfgang smiles at Sandy. “And how many of us were hired, how far we came. Boring shit. I think I'm the farthest. I came all the way from Texas.” He said glibly, letting the soft accent Lito had drilled into him play a little heavier. “How about you, partner? Far from home?”

Hardison took another long sip of his soda in lieu of biting his tongue so hard that it bled. "Oh, no, I'm just from around Boston," he said, "just boring old me, born and raised and never left, went to school for IT and never did anything else. I'm not very interesting."

Wolfgang: Wolfgang was holding back a grin as he watched Hardsion. No one else would know he was struggling not to yell at him. He knew his boyfriend very well. “Sounds boring.” He agreed, smiling as he said it. “Is this your first time in a bar? Should we celebrate?”

Hardison: "I've been to a bar before!" Hardison spluttered, sounding entirely unconvincing. The woman he hadn't met yet laughed and interjected, "Are you guys sure you don't know each other already? You seem really chummy for new co-workers. You didn't even bother introducing yourself once he got you going." Hardison spluttered some more. "I have no idea what you mean. I just have bad social skills. You know, IT guy stereotype? I'm Rob Pardison, nice to meet you."

Wolfgang: Wolfgang laughed. “I guess it's because I'm the only one he knows here because he fixed my computer earlier. But maybe WE can fix him.” He helped make a few more introductions. He was happy to settle back more into the background after, nursing his beer slowly and making the occasional comment. He could manage office socializing, but it certainly wasn't his preference. He'd rather be at home with Haridson, or dragging him out to a club to dance with him. This was just part of the job. It was also part of his job to talk a little about his past to make it sound natural... Which was how he eventually ended up sharing the story of how he was the two time mechanical bull riding champion back at his local bar.

Hardison: The woman, whose name turned out to be Julia, told a frankly horrific tale about her and her husband's behaviour at a museum on a recent vacation. Hardison wasn't exactly a big patron of the arts but they'd broken into enough of them to know that was *not* how you were supposed to treat the staff or the artworks. He couldn't say anything about it though, since it would've been out of character. And he didn't say anything about Wolfgang's ridiculous story either, even though there was no way in hell he'd ever even *seen* a mechanical bull in his life. It was funny, but Hardison was starting to get a headache. "I'll be right back, I just need to use the restroom," he excused himself.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang listened to a few of the stories going around. When he felt like he'd put in enough face time he yawned while Hardison was in the bathroom and excused himself, telling the others that the bosses had asked him to come in earlier the next day. He felt like it looked better if he just told the others to tell him he'd say goodbye. Once he was outside in the fresh night air he shot his boyfriend a text that he should at least wait a few minutes before heading out, and that he'd pick him up a block away from the bar. Oh, and that they were definitely getting Thai food for dinner.

Hardison splashed some cold water on his face and steeled himself for more inane conversation and pretending not to care about Wolfgang, both of which was a lot more tiring than he thought it would be. The text he got was such a relief that he was tempted to escape out the back or find a window to climb out, but he dutifully went back out to the table instead. He chatted more while finishing his "beer" and Julia for some reason gave him her number. When what felt like an unsuspicious time had passed, he said bye to everyone and tried not to sprint the heck out of there. "Oh my GOD, why is your cover an impression of Eliot?" was the first thing he said when he finally slid into Wolfgang's car.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang had his hand relaxed on the steering wheel as the car idled. He turned and grinned the second Hardison slumped into the passenger seat beside him. “You noticed? Lito and Capheus both thought it would be funny.” He reached out to pat his chest affectionately before pulling out of the parking spot. “I missed you.”

Hardison desperately wanted to lean over and kiss him, or maybe just climb straight onto him, but he was operating a vehicle and Hardison was a big stickler for undistracted driving. He settled for saying "I missed you too" with a deep sigh. It was stupid because they mostly saw each other all day, but it just wasn't the same. "Lito and Capheus are terrible and I hate them," he said, obviously lying.

Wolfgang: “You love them, and they love you.” Wolfgang answered back evenly, which was absolutely true. His cluster loved Hardsion. He was family. “I thought the accent was good.” He nudged him a little with his elbow. “Do you want to get takeout and go home?”

Hardison: "They're okay sometimes" he conceded. "It was too good, that's what made it weird. Home sounds good, honestly I could skip the takeout and go straight to bed, but you said you wanted Thai food so we're getting Thai food."

Wolfgang: “Lito made me practice for hours.” Wolfgang admitted. Lito was a very strict teacher when it came to acting lessons. At least he was with Wolfgang. He thought maybe it was because he worried over him, that if he didn't teach him well enough he'd be caught. It was his way of protecting him in the one way he knew how. “You need to eat too.” He pointed out, leaning to kiss his cheek at a red light. “We can eat in bed.”

Hardison looked at him in mute horror for a few seconds before he found his voice to say, "We can't--Thai food is *saucy*, we'll get sauce on the bed, that's a hard no." He made himself as comfortable as possible on the car seat and closed his eyes. "This is just a lot harder than I thought it was going to be, I'm just tired. Not like the fake job obviously, I could do that blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. But like the real job, pretending not to know each other, getting on everybody's good side, it's exhausting. And it's gonna be at least another week before the boss trusts you enough to let you go alone in her office. What if I don't survive for that long?" He must have dozed off slightly because when he opened his eyes, they were at Wolfgang's preferred Thai place.

Wolfgang: “Pad woon sen isn't saucy.” Wolfgang countered. “Or, we can get something else and eat at the table, as long as you eat.” They had a long con in front of them and he knew how easy it was for Hardsion to lose focus on taking care of himself even in the best of times. “You'll survive. I'll just start sexting you at work.” He teased him, reaching out to pat his leg. He let him rest until he was parked. “Keep resting, ya? What do you want me to get you?”

Hardison: "No, I wanna go with yoooouuuuu, been away from you all damn day enough," he said, yawning and unfolding all his long limbs out of the car. He reached out for Wolfgang's hands now that he could. "You order for me, I never know what all the names mean and I always like whatever you get."

Wolfgang: “Ok, ok” Wolfgang laughed and hooked his arm around him, forcing him closer as he walked. “You just think it tastes better when it's mine.” He paused before opening the door to the restaurant, giving him a quick kiss. “Noodles, noodles we can eat in bed.” He assured him before he went to the counter and put in their order. It wasn't long before he was being handed their bag and he spent most of that time holding Hardison's hand and playing lightly with his fingers. Back at home he was quick to peel out of his 'formal' clothing. He didn't understand how anyone wore that by choice.

[pocketsizedsam-blog1]

The Unexpected Perks of Being a Nanny~ Chapter Thirty-One

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Pregnancy, Swearing.

Beta: @mack-winchester @invisibledevour

Within the next few weeks, you and Jared started to do more things as a family. Jared was on hiatus, which gave you two the time to really act like a couple and do couple-y things, along with giving you two the time to actually be close with each individual kid. Tom, Shep and Odette really liked having their daddy home all the time. Even though you wanted to devote most of your time to the kids, you needed a break. Jared suggested you two watch a movie. Jensen and Danneel were still in Vancouver. They headed to Austin after your baby shower, but came back two weeks later. The kids also went to Austin with Gen for the week, which have you and Jared a break.

“Infinity War just came out. Why don’t we go see that?” Jared suggested.

“Yeah! I really want to see that movie!” You grinned.

You were now thirty-three weeks pregnant, which excited you because you would get to meet your new baby in about seven weeks, but it also scared you for the same reason. Jensen and Dee offered to take the kids to the park for a bit so you and Jared could catch the movie. You tried to convince the two to come watch the movie, insisting the next door neighbour would be more than happy to watch all the kids.

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. We want to watch over them. It’ll be nice to spend some time with them!” Danneel exclaimed.

After the movie was over, you and Jared returned home. You still couldn’t get over what happened!

“You should’ve seen it! Y/N break down in tears when Peter di-” Jared started.

“-Whoa! Whoa. Hey.”  Jensen intervened. “Dude. No spoilers.”

“Oh, sorry.” Jared chuckled.

“I was heartbroken! I cried a lot, Okay? It’s like totally different than you expect it to be. I would definitely recommend you guys go see it.” You smiled, rubbing your belly.

“We’re planning on it.” Danneel smiled. “It’ll be our next date night.”

You spent the rest of the afternoon with Danneel  and Jensen while the kids played in the backyard. Tom was almost finish Kindergarten for the year, which was super exciting!

“So… How’s the Preeclampsia going?” Danneel asked, trying to start up conversation.

“It’s going… okay. I’m not as sick as I used to be.” You smiled.

“How are you with the whole Myles thing?”

“I’m doing good. I’m coping with it, Jared too. We’re learning how to feel more like a couple again and not an adult comforting a teenager or young adult.” You nodded.

“Well, I’m happy for you two.” Danneel smiled. “I haven’t been up to the nursery yet since you guys finished it. Take me up there?”

“Yeah, yeah! Of course.”

You waddled up to the nursery with Danneel on your heels.

“And this is the nursery!” You showed her the cute room, with a brand new crib, changing table, dresser, rocking chair and shelving.

“Wow! This is beautiful, Y/N!” Danneel gasped.

You grinned, “watch this.”

You took a seat in the rocking chair and started to push yourself back and forth.

“It works a lot better when Jared’s here, but just give it a moment.” You rubbed your belly. “Bonjour mon petit bébé. C’est maman!”

Danneel sat down in front of you, watching your bump intently.

“Je suis avec ta tante, elle s'appelle Danneel. Est-ce que tu peux bouger pour tante Dee?”

“Hi baby Padalecki! It’s auntie Dee!” Danneel cooed, rubbing your bump. “I know some french, but what did you just say?”

“I said that I’m with your aunt and her name is Danneel. I also said can you move for Aunt Dee? Tu aimes le français et tu aimes bouger pour ton papa.” You exclaimed.

“He or she loves french and he or she loves to move for it’s dad!” Danneel grinned.

“You’re a fast learner.” You giggled.

Danneel gasped, “Look, Y/N! It’s a foot!”

You looked down to see a foot sticking out of your right side.

You gasped as well, “I’ve never really seen that before.”

“You haven’t seen the baby’s foot stick out like that? It was really weird with the twins because one of their feet would be sticking out on the right side and the other’s foot would be sticking out on the opposite side.” Danneel chuckled.

You touched the baby’s foot and grinned as it retracted into your belly.

“Let’s head back downstairs, Frenchie.” Danneel smiled, pulling you up out of the rocking chair.

You waddled back down the stairs and headed into the backyard. It was now mid June- and it was very hot in Vancouver. The boys were sitting on the deck watching the three older kids playing on the playset, which included swings, a slide and a swinging bench, and they watched the three younger kids play in the sandbox. You took a seat on the edge of Jared’s lap, but he proceeded to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer.

“Did you like he nursery, Dee?” Jared smiled.

“Yeah! It was very nice! Y/N and I seen the baby’s foot stick out!” Danneel exclaimed.

You, Jared and The Ackles talked on the deck for hours before Jensen and Danneel left. That night, it was just you, Jared and the kids. You loved that you were able to get some quality time in with Jared. Between him always working and you chasing three energy filled kids around all day, you two had no time for your relationship. The next few weeks were liberating! Other than conventions, you and Jared spent a lot of time together! Your due date, which is in August, was rapidly approaching. Which also meant that Jared’s birthday was next week and you still had no idea what to get him. You would be thirty-seven weeks pregnant, which was nerve wracking for you because you wouldn’t be able to do much with regards to throwing parties. Jared was down in the States for a convention and you planned on FaceTiming with him so that the fans could ask you some questions. You got comfy on the couch, meaning you grabbed your pillows and lied down, Arlo curled up around your baby bump. As a Golden Retriever, Arlo wasn’t small by any means! However, his size didn’t seem to bother him.

“He must think he’s a Shitzu.” You murmured aloud.

You propped your phone up against your baby bump and scratched Arlo’s head as you waited for the FaceTime call to connect.

“Hey Y/N!” Jared cheered.

“Hey dada.” You giggled.

It was a habit that you just couldn’t break! Between constantly calling Jared ‘dad’ for the sake of the kids and for the baby, it’s become a little joke between you two.

“How’s the convention going?” You asked curiously.

“It’s going really good! I’m going to turn you around so you can see all the fans.”

Jared turned his phone towards the crowd so you could see all the fans. They all cheered when you started to wave.

Once they settled down, you said, “hey guys, how are you?”

The crowd cheered again. You were really nervous about this. Just as nervous as you were at your first convention. But you remembered how you eased into it and how you felt comfortable with the crowd after a while. You knew you would do the same today. Your preeclampsia subsided for the day, but your Braxton Hicks contractions didn’t.

“I think we’ll take some questions now, right Y/N?” Jared’s voice sounded through your phone speakers.

“Right.” You agreed.

Jared picked a fan, who promptly asked you a question through a microphone.

“Do you know if you’re having a girl or a boy?”

“No, we decided to keep it a secret.” You smiled. “Only a month more and we’ll know!”

Jared picked another fan.

“Doesn’t preeclampsia most commonly happen in pregnancies with multiples? Are you having twins?”

“No, I’m not having twins. It does happen in pregnancies with multiples but it can also happen in first time mothers.” You explained.

Come to think of it, you weren’t really a first time mother. The fans didn’t need to know that you lost a baby when you were eighteen. You answered a few more questions before ending the call.

“C’mon, sook.” You scratched behind Arlo’s ears as you sat up. “Y/N’s gotta go to the grocery store.”

You hooked Arlo onto his leash out in the backyard. You put a bowl of cold water out in a shaded area for him.

“I’ll be back soon, then we can go on a walk.” You cooed to the dog, then pressed a kiss on his head.

Immediately, you grabbed the car keys and hopped up in the truck. You drove all the way to the grocery store without a hitch. After grabbing a cart, you headed into the store.

“Maman doit acheter des légumes pour le souper.” You spoke to your baby bump.

You received a kick from the baby and let a smile creep across your face. After picking up various vegetables for dinner, you headed into the snack aisle.

“Tu ne peux pas dire à ton père que j’ai acheté des biscuits.” You giggled. “Il va tuer moi.”

Jared wanted you to be as healthy as you could during your pregnancy, which meant you couldn’t buy cookies. But what Jared doesn’t know, isn’t going to hurt him and it most certainly won’t hurt you. While deciding on which pack of cookies to pick, a young woman approached you. She had shoulder length, straight, dark brown hair. She was about your height, maybe an inch or two shorter. She was wearing a bright red lipstick and sporting an amazing Smokey-eye look. The woman was wearing a pair of short, Jean shorts and a baggy tank which read ‘Metallica’ across her chest.

“I couldn’t help but come over here and see your bump! Do you mind if I feel?” The woman exclaimed, tucking a piece of her hair back behind her ear.

“No, I don’t mind.” You smiled, turning away from the cart so the woman could place her hand on your belly.

One thing you will not miss about being pregnant is random people coming up to you and asking to feel your bump. All you wanted to do was get some groceries! You weren’t trying to put yourself on display.

“The baby really likes the french language.” You remarked. “I’m trying to teach my boyfriend’s kids how to speak it, but they aren’t as interested.”

“Oh that’s pretty cool!” The woman smiled up at you. “My momma can speak french, but I never bothered.”

“It’s pretty handy. Est-ce que tu peux bouger pour la fille?”

“I felt it.” She smiled. “Hi in there baby!”

You decided on plain Mr. Christie’s chocolate chip while the woman was feeling the baby move and tossed them down in the cart.

“You must be due any day now.” You concluded.

“Four weeks from today, actually!” You grinned.

“Wow! Congratulations.” The lady grinned. “I’ll let you get back at your grocery shopping. Thanks for letting me feel!”

Once the woman in the band tee left, you picked up a couple of extra things, paid for them, then left. A cashier insisted that he get someone to help you load your groceries into you vehicle, but you said you would be fine. You were pregnant… not dying, right? You got yourself here and you would manage to get yourself home. You pushed the cart of groceries out to Jared’s F-250 and loaded them up in the back seat. After returning the cart to a cart corral, you began the drive back home. You were still on the main road when you found that the truck became harder to steer.

“What the fuck.” You hissed, as the steering wheel started vibrating. “Great. Just great.”

You pulled over on the side of the two-laned highway and waited until you got a break in traffic so you could open your door. When you hopped out, the back tire on the driver’s side was flat. You were as big as a whale, having Braxton Hicks contractions and suffering from Preeclampsia- there was no way you were lying down on the ground to drop the spare tire from under the truck, then try and change it all by yourself. You leaned up against the side of the tan colored Ford F-250 and combed through Yellow Pages, looking for a nearby garage number. You clicked the call button on the number and tapped your foot while you waited for someone to pick up.

“Hello, Bartlett’s Garage, I’m Linda how may I help you?” Linda’s soft and friendly voice came through the phone.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, I’m on the side of the main drag with a flat tire.” You side, rubbing your forehead.

“Oh, you can’t get the tire off, can you?”

You just loved when people assumed that because you’re a woman, you couldn’t get a flat tire off your truck- Not!

“No.” You stated calmly. “I am thirty-six weeks pregnant, my boyfriend and our friends are out of town. I haven’t attempted to get the tire off.”

“Okay, Where exactly are you? I’ll send someone right away to come out and help you.” Linda exclaimed.

You gave the receptionist your exact location then got back into the truck, waiting for someone to show up. After ten minutes, a truck with a company logo pulled up behind you. Several drivers pulled over and offered you help, but you insisted that someone was on the way to help you. You messaged Jared, but to no surprise, you didn’t get a response. Jared was always busy when It came to conventions.

You posted a photo for Jared’s fans to see captioning it with “Being 36 weeks pregnant and stranded on the side of the highway isn’t ideal… #ineedtopee.”

“Hi there.” You smiled, hopping down out of the truck.

“Hi, Linda told me you needed some assistance ASAP?” The tall, older man, wearing the name tag ‘John’, approached you.

“Yeah, yeah. I would’ve tried it myself only I’ve been having Braxton Hicks all day and I was diagnosed with Preeclampsia when I was twenty-five weeks pregnant.” You sighed.

“Well It was much better to call someone, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself or the baby over a tire.” John shot you a smile.

You watched as the mechanic loosened up the bolts on the tire and took it off. Then he placed the spare tire on the truck. It took about twenty minutes.

“Do you mind following me down to the garage? There’s a fee to pay for these kinds of things.”

“I don’t mind. Just let me run home first. I left my dog, Arlo, outside and I promised him that I wouldn’t be long. I don’t want him to run out of water or shade, or anything.” You explained.

You ran back to the house, rushing to put the groceries away then headed into the backyard where Arlo was sprawled out in the shade. You jingled his leash. He shot up immediately, his head cocked over to you.

“Let’s go for a drive, huh? Then Y/N will give you some fresh, clean, cold water and a walk.” You grinned, clipping Arlo ono his leash.

Arlo let out a content bark and walked to the truck by your side. You opened the door and he jumped up.

“Atta boy.” You grinned.

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