#i also don’t trust them to know the difference between ‘’entered by (pa’s name)’’ and ‘’AUTHORIZED by (doctors name)’’

[pussy-ache]

my coworker criticized me for wasting time chasing after referrals meanwhile every day i catch other peoples mistakes that are only made cuz they never tracked down the referral and trusted the patient to read it correctly

[lovelyasfcuk]

Voyager

A Mandalorian Story | Din Djarin x F!Reader

V: Sacrifice

Summary: Din starts to unravel the mysterious shroud you’re hiding under and the legend of the Jedi. In the hope of finding a lead and repairing the Razor Crest for the journey, you make a difficult decision in any possible chance for success.

Word Count: 2,120

Warnings: Mentions of death. Internal struggle. Protective Din.

A/N: Starting to post longer chapters because there is...a lot. 

The gentle hum of the atmosphere in the Crest crept into his consciousness, as he started regaining awareness of his extremities, slowly shifting his body about the small cot. He glanced at the monitor next to him, displaying various readings of within the ship. He sighed, realizing he had only slept for not more than four hours.

The truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time he fully rested; definitely not while the child had come into his life. It also didn’t help there was a stranger onboard. He listened harder, trying zero in on any foreign sound outside of his quarters, but the only sound that he found was the gentle coos of the foundling, deep in sleep. 

The vastness of space was insurmountable. How could any thing exist at all? It had been so long since you had seen the stars so clear. You sat in the pilot seat, legs pulled up into your chest and arms wrapped around them, gazing at the delicate swirl of colors against the harsh black. You had heard the clanking of his boots long before he had quietly cleared his throat in an attempt to make his presence known. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” You quietly asked.

“Had to make sure we were still on course.” He replied.

Realizing your potential faux pas, you dropped her feet to the ground and standing to leave the cockpit. Din watched you gather your cloak, pulling it up to your lips and clutching your text in hand.

“You said this might hold the next clue?” He asked pointedly.

You stilled at his question, watching him sit in the co-pilot’s chair. Slowly sitting back down yourself, you tried your best to read the air.  “I believe so. I believe there is someone in Black Spire that may be able to help me with…”

Hesitating, you glanced up at Din, who made no effort to interrupt your thought.

“How do you know of the Jedi?” You asked him.

“One of my creed told me about them. Some kind of…sorcerers…who can move objects with their mind. Enemies to Mandalore.” 

You chuckled quietly at his assessment and peered down at the text in your hand, gently swiping your thumb over its cover. “Long ago, the Jedi were peacekeepers in the galaxy, but they were deceived. Manipulated like puppets by the Republic. By the time it became clear, it was already too late. They had their faults, to be sure, but I believe they were just misunderstood by everyone on the outside.”

“You sound confident.”

You paused for only a moment, before opening the text to a page. Holding it up to Din, you pointed to the geometric drawing. “That…is the next clue – a Holocron. Said to hold vital information used by the Jedi. If I can find one, it may be able to tell us the location of any that remain. If any survived.”

“Survived?” Din gently prodded, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“Yes. They were all but executed and the few that remained abandoned their lives, going into hiding to protect themselves from the Empire. After that, it’s almost as if the utterance of the word “Jedi” put you in immediate danger. They became a legend. A myth.”

The air around you both seemed to grow heavy, as your voice became merely a whisper. You closed the text, laying it on your lap, becoming self conscious of the weight of the conversation.

You smiled bashfully and glanced up at Din. “…But you cannot kill the force. I believe your little one possesses the talents that would make a very strong Jedi. I have never seen anything like him.”

“Like you.” Din responded.

“No.” You chuckled, “No, I am of no importance.”

“You have the same power that he does. If the Jedi is where he belongs, then you must too. Is that why you have these texts?” Din asked, but received no answer. “Where is it that your people are from?”

“I hardly know anymore.” You responded, looking down at the text in her lap. “I am without a people”.

———

The Razor Crest touched down, landing within a dark hanger. The grinding groans of its mechanisms giving away the tell-tell signs of much needed repairs.

A young man approached the ship’s ramp, pulling his googles on his forehead and grease-stained gloves from his hands, watching as you made your way down alone. A smile broke across your face as you eagerly took his hand in yours. 

“Just where have you been, cuyan?” He asks you, his wide smile matching yours. 

“It’s been sometime, hasn’t it?” 

“…and still getting into trouble, no less.” His smile leaving his face, as his focus was stolen by the beskar clad Mandalorian making his way down the ramp. His eyes met yours again, filled with questions. 

“This is my friend Coltan. He’s the best mechanic I’ve ever come across, and he’s going to get the Razor Crest repaired so we can be off planet quickly.” You spoke to Din, but kept your eyes on Coltan’s, his own gaze still fixed on yours intently. 

“The faster, the better. And discretion…” The modulated voice directed.

“Let me just grab everything I need. If you wouldn’t mind just walking me through the problems? I’ll meet you inside.” Coltan interrupted Din, quickly turning and jogging off to retrieve his tools.

You turned to the man at your side, stepping closer and lowering your voice, though the hanger was empty except for the humming of the buildings generators. “You can trust him. I’ve known him for many years and he’s never once let me down. In the meantime, I’ll head out and see what I can find.”

You looked down at the child in the knapsack slung around Din’s chest, finding him peeking out from behind Din’s arm. You reached down, rubbing the pad of your thumb against his cheek. “I will be back.” You promised, your eyes meeting the wide stare of the child and returning to Din’s visor. 

“And if things go wrong?” He challenged.

“It won’t. There won’t be a Mandalorian with me to give me away.” You smiled. “And with Coltan working on the Crest, I’ll have to be quick.”

His helmet lingered in your direction after you spoke, left you wondering what expression shone through his eyes. He nodded once and made his way back into the Crest.

“What are you doing?” Coltan’s voice appeared from behind you, making you jump slightly while you watched Din disappear into the ship. You turned to him, meeting his inquisitive expression.

“I don’t know anymore.” You sighed.

“No. You don’t. Have you learned nothing? Do you know anything about him? Where he comes from? Who he belongs to? What if he is one of them?” Coltan lectured, his voice in hushed frustration.

“No, I don’t know any of it. But I do know is this - nothing will ever change unless someone takes a stand.” 

“And you’re the one that’s going to change all of that?” He asked skeptically.

You paused, your gaze falling to the ground. “When will it ever be enough? I’m…so tired, Colt.”

He reached a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze. “But are you ready for what this might bring?”

His words stung and you winced as your mind conjured up every possibility laden in his meaning. Before you could dwell on any one possibility, you began to feel a light bloom in your chest, melting any frayed edges of your doubt. 

“I believe he is different.” Confidence ringing in your tone. “I feel it.” You spoke quietly, bringing your hand to your chest, fingers splayed over your heart.

A slight smile played on Coltan’s lips, but failed to touch his eyes. He sighed and nodded, slinging a thick leather band of tools around his shoulder. You returned a single nod and patted his arm before heading out of the hanger into the dimming light of the afternoon.

———

The settlement was calm as the sun began to fall on the dark spires that pierced the orange and red sky, casting a fiery hue against the cylindrical structure in front of you. You took a deep breath and entered the doorway.

Dim lights filled the space below the vaulted ceiling. Various artifacts hanging from the long walls, filled every open space. Mounted heads of trophied kills, murky green water filled glass canisters of ancient creatures - the room was a menagerie of the disgraced and forgotten.

You looked around in awe, recognizing some and curiosity drawing with others. From behind the ornate metal counter within the room, an Ithorian appeared speaking his native tongue.

“I’m…sorry. I do not understand.” You smiled apologetically, approaching him.

The Ithorian continued to speak, deep gurgled sounds filling the room, and waving you closer to him. He waved his hand over the counter, encasing artifacts of higher value, and to the wall behind him. You reached into your knapsack, retrieved your text and laid it upon the counter. 

“I’m looking for one of these.” You said, pointing to the holocron. 

His eyes widened and blinked, as he made a deep grumbling sound from his chest. He disappeared behind the counter, gurgling and rustling items as we went. You reflexively looked over your shoulder but was immediately distracted when you heard the clank of an object set down in front of you. A holocron.

You reached out hesitantly, but was stopped by the Ithorian’s hand, his palm facing upwards. Reviewing your pockets in your mind, trying to conjure up any amount of credits to offer for the relic. Your face fell knowing there was no financial value to your name, until a thought flashed across your mind.

Taking a deep breath, you reached into your jacket and pulled out a delicate silver chain that hung against your chest. Slowly, you unclasped it from you neck.

You draped the chain around your fingers, holding it up for the Ithorian to survey - a long silver, diamond shaped pendant. Pointed at the top and bottom, its flat sides embraced a turquoise stone at its center.

It swayed heavily in the air between you. He squinted his eyes and, after a moment of consideration, nodded. You took the pendant in your hands and brushed your fingers against the stone.

You felt tears well in your eyes, quickly sniffing and straightening your shoulders, attempting composure. You brought the pendant to your lips, quickly kissing it and placed it in the the Ithorian’s palm.

———

“Everything should be running smoothly now. Quick fix.” Coltan called out, making his way off the loading ramp of the Crest, tools in hand. You had just returned to the hanger, meeting him at his work station.

“Too quick, I’d say.” You responded as lightly as you could.

“And that kid is…wait…how could you ever doubt me?” He feigned shock at your assessment, before turning to see your expression. He recognized it immediately. “What happened?”

You shook your head, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration and trying for the best smile you could. “Nothing. Just…focused.”

Coltan grunted in disapproval. “You may be able to lie to him, but you won’t ever be able to fool me.”

You smiled at your old friend but found no other words to offer in your defense.

“You were right, you know - he’s not like them. But that doesn’t mean…just…be careful, please?” He quietly pleaded.

“I will. I have to help him. That child…he’s too precious.”

“Yeah, there’s been a lot of talk about a bounty hunter in town, but I had no idea it was that one. You sure know how to avoid trouble.”

“I’m starting to think that maybe I’m just destined for it.” You chuckled darkly. “How could I ever repay you?”

A smug look flashed across his face, “Well, he already did. Truthfully, I’m just honored that I got to see you again.”

You held steady your trembling lip as your eyes glossed over with fresh tears, threatening to pool. You tightly wrapped your arms around him, hiding your face to quickly clear the emotion that dared to break your visage. 

“If you ever need me, I’m never far away.” He said, holding you at arms length, his hand framing the side of your face.

You nodded, composed again. 

“Be strong, ner kote.” He said softly, before taking your hand in his, bowing his head, and placing a kiss upon it.

.........

Taglist: @babybelou​ @pascalsky​ @ayamenimthiriel​

[theotherace]

The Woman In The Caves Isn’t Real

This is a Work In Progress, but I haven’t posted any of my writing in a hot minute, so here we go. 

–oOo–

Tulok had been a few months shy of a year when the woman in the caves had first started appearing, too small still to remember a time in which nobody whispered about her all autumn long, too young by far to remember the only time she’d stepped foot into any of their settlements.

Puja remembers, though, very well, and Akna does, too, for the most part, and Rupa pretends to, as well, just to hold it over his head like she always does with everything. They tell him about her ghostly eyes and strong step, and none of them insist she is a spirit, though many of the other children – and even some of the adults – do.

“They’re idiots”, Puja says, waving her hand and shaking her head when her friends tell scary stories and Tulok hides under her arm. “She was real, trust me.”

“Spirits are real”, he whispers with wide eyes.

“Course they are.”

She clucks her tongue.

“That’s not what I meant. Spirits are real in a diff’rent way than you and I, and she wasn’t.  She belonged where we belong. But even if she’s a spirit, I don’t think she’s evil. She wouldn’t have minded her business in those caves for so long if she were.”

“Maybe she’s waitin’”, Ya drawls from the other side of their fire and wiggles his fingers. He’s grinning even as Puja shoots him an annoyed look. “The woman in the cold, dark caves. Waitin’ for just the right moment t’ strike, just the right person t’ enter her realm. Maybe she’s waitin’ for … you!”

And Akna jumps when his finger lands on her, even if she doesn’t believe in his stories, and Tulok buries himself deeper into Puja’s side.

“You’re terrible”, his middle sister grumbles.

Ya laughs.

“Just waitin’ for you t’ come t’ close to her caves, and then – bam! – she’ll suck you in and eat you up in a second.”

Akna sticks her tongue out at him.

“She’s not even a spirit.”

“Proof it, then.”

Which he shouldn’t have said, for Tulok’s sake if not for anyone else’s.

Because of course she hears him, smirking still, and immediately decides that is just what she needs to and wants to and will do, and she can’t go alone, of course not. She has to drag Puja with her, who’s supposed to be watching Tulok and also can’t say no.

So, that’s what they do the next day, Akna walking in the front, Puja behind her with a whining Tulok on her back, and Rupa behind them, because she refuses to be left behind, refuses to be left out.

Their mother isn’t home to stop them, somewhere on her own trek through the swamp to find an exceedingly rare herb, and their father hasn’t been home for months, though he should be back soon, and Tulok, hanging from his sister’s back, wishes not for the first time that Pa would’ve taken them with him.

They wouldn’t be chasing spirits, then, and he really would’ve liked to see the snow.

“Can’ we just go home?”, he whines.

“No”, Akna says.

“We coulda just left you home”, Rupa says.

“Nu-uh, you couldn’.”

“Yeah, we could.”

“Mama would be angry with you.”

“Mama’s not here.”

“Enough”, Puja says, because her brother’s yammering is very loud in her ear, and shuts them both right up. “We’re all going, we’ll find probably nothing or an old woman, which is basically the same, and then we’ll be back home before Mama’s back. Easy’s that.”

“I don’ wanna go.”

“Yeah, you said, Tu. You’re going, though, and there’s no reason to be scared, okay? There’s no evil spirit.”

“But–”

“But if there is, we’ll protect you.”

She sighs.

“Right, guys?”

“Speak for yourself”, Rupa mumbles, and Akna snorts, but says: “Obviously we will. Rupa, too.”

Tulok tightens his grip on Puja’s neck, pouting, and though she grunts, she doesn’t protest, even as his chin digs into her shoulder, deep and deeper with each step they wade further through the murky waters of their home. His eyes are drooping soon, the slow sway of his sister’s steps lulling him into a light almost-sleep. He can hear Akna humming still, but he doesn’t know that it is Akna humming, can hear a bird screaming behind them, but doesn’t remember its name.

He’s good at remembering, usually, at recognizing, he listens when his mother talks and tells him which animal to avoid, which plants not to touch, which parts of the swamp better not to step foot in. Some of them are more dangerous for the unformed mind – and sometimes anybody – than others, and children are taught early, lest they be lured away by a restless spirit or a stray thought.

Rupa groans.

The boy blinks.

“Are we there yet?”, Rupa whines and Tulok yawns.

“You’d know it if we were.”

“Not long anymore, though.”

So they trudge on, past high trees, all the same at first glance, through seemingly endless green, but they have never seen anything but this, never been surrounded by anything but green and same-trees, so where a stranger might get lost and turned around, they know exactly where to set their feet.

Tulok wonders for how long he’d dozed off when, true to his sister’s words, the caves come into view not fifteen minutes later, or that’s how much time he guesses has passed, anyway, and something tugs on his heart, and his stomach twists.

“I wanna go home”, he says, and means it, tugging on Puja’s hair.

“We’re here now”, she retorts, not unkindly, but certainly annoyed.

She lets go of his legs and he dangles from her back from a second in surprise before falling to his feet and crossing his arms over a scrawny chest, pouting once more.

“I won’ go in.”

“You don’t hafta, chicken”, Akna says and pats his head even as he tries to duck her hand. “Just wait here, and be our look-out.”

“I’m not a chicken!”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Nu-uh!”

“Yu-uh!”

“Nu-”

“Do you wanna be look-out or not?”

Akna raises her eyebrows, and then a second later, so does Rupa, as Puja rolls her eyes in exasperation like only an older sister could.

“I wanna go home.”

Arms still crossed, he glowers up at them, and from within the caves, someone calls for him – something, something, there is no one in there, and maybe even nothing –, so he shuffles from foot to foot, just a little, undermining his would-be stern demeanor; not that any of his sisters care, either way.

“I feel weird.”

“Go behind a tree.”

“Not like that.”

He stomps a foot.

Rupa rolls her eyes.

“Just wait out here”, Puja says. “We’ll be back in a minute, promise.”

They’re not.

Of course not.

Big sisters can’t  be trusted.

He watches them walk into the cave and be swallowed by shadows just a moment later, and then he stands and waits and stands some more, and time passes, a lot of it, minutes and minutes, more than one definitely, hours, probably, and they don’t step out of the cave again.

He hasn’t heard their steps echoing from the stone walls in forever.

He doesn’t want to go in after them, doesn’t want to give into the tugging, the pulling, the call of the caves, but when an hour has ticked by – or five minutes, but what difference is there between the two in the mind of a nervous young boy –, he does.

Straightens his back, calls out for his sisters once, and then enters the caves.

Darkness envelopes him soon.

Sooner, still, the path before him forks.

Always go left in a labyrinth, Uncle Due says, and this is as close to a labyrinth as Tulok has come in his life, so he thinks for a moment which hands he uses to hold his spoon and then turns that way.

His fingers brush along the clammy walls, the only thing guiding him, and his heart drums in his throat, his body vibrates.

He doesn’t like these caves.

Maybe this is exactly where he needs to be.

“Rupa?”, he calls, too nervous to shout, and his voice bounces from the walls, shakier with each echo. “Akna? Are you here? Puja? Hello?”

He stands and blinks and scratches at the wall, collecting dirt under his nail.

Pa would make him clean his hands long and hard before dinner if he were here.

Mama won’t care; a bit of dirt cleans the stomach.

Right now, he’s half-sure he won’t ever eat dinner again, so it doesn’t matter, either way. He’s already hopelessly lost in the darkness, he won’t ever leave this cave again.

“Hello?”, he says again.

And jumps when an old voice replies.

“And who would you be, little one?”

His eyes take a moment longer to catch who’s spoken and they widen considerably once they have landed on the woman not too far down the path, not much more than a silhouette in here.

“The Lady in the Caves”, he breathes.

[cherryfi]

Don’t run from me Ch.4 - And all it took was a bowl of froot loops

A/N: Sorry for the long wait!! I’ve been swamped with work. I hope you’re all keeping safe in the uncertain times. <3

Word count: 2019

Storyplot:  After being on the run for over a year, you finally feel like now is a good time to get your life together. Hongjoong has other ideas.

Ch plot: Hongjoong really just wants to bond with you, you just want to go home.

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4

Song Mingi threw the most killer parties, you could tell that from the moment you started working with him that he'd be the type of guy to go all out on a party, making it a soiree to remember. You weren't sure if it was from the enthusiastic way, he encouraged his employees or his classic yet innovative architectural style but you just knew any even he created would be one to remember. 

 And you were right. 

Your company's Christmas party was a sight to behold. 

It was held in the red dragon, one of a few 5-star hotels owned by the Kim family. It was nearly impossible to hold an event there at point in the year but, even more so at Christmas time, yet somehow he'd managed to get the hall and not only that but, a team to help decorate and cater. 

 When you'd asked him, he just winked at you. 

"I called in a favour." 

 'Favour' really meant, 'I know the owner'.

"Y/N you made it! I was surprised you're even here to be honest. You never leave your house." You laugh lightly and return Mingi's hug and when he steps back you see a shorter man, watching the 2 of you curiously. 

 "Y/N, this is Hongjoong, my best friend and owner of this hotel, among others. We go way back. Hongjoong this is Y/N, her official title is my PA but, honestly she's an angel, I wouldn't be able to run the company without her." Hongjoong laughs and you beam, as nice as a boss (and dare you say friend) as Mingi is, he rarely gives out compliments so, his singing praises leaves you proud but, a little flustered. 

 Hongjoong laughs.

"She's got to have the patience of Job to work for you." 

 That was the first time you'd met Hongjoong. His hair was charcoal at the time, cut into a shorter style that you didn't think would fit anyone else. But, that was Hongjoong, he was able to do things that no one else would be able to : the confidence he exuded was as endearing as it was intimidating.

You watched him practically glide around the room, keeping all of the company employees entertained and laughing. He even managed to make Jerry (affectionately named 'Oscar the grouch') the office miser, laugh with his special brand of dry humour.

You quickly found yourself been drawn to him. Hongjoong was a head shorter than Mingi but, his aura commanded attention and your boss' charismatic personality paled.

In fact, he almost followed Hongjoong's lead - not exactly under his spell in the same way all your colleagues were but more like he was deferring to him.

 Of course, it made sense once Mingi told you that Hongjoong was older and like a big brother to him.

The fact that Mingi trusted him so dearly,  only seemed to add to your attraction to him. Mingi rarely trusted others enough to rely on them totally (which had initially made your job as his pa hard), his faith in Hongjoong only told you that he was a reliable and trustworthy man (qualities that were often hard to come by. Watching him swimmingly glide around the room, effortlessly charming everyone in attendance and seeing how he spike to his staff (with kindness and respect), made you greedy for his attention You could only imagine how good it would feel to be the object of his affection, his attention only on you. But you also found yourself envious of him - how good would it be to be so confident in yourself that you could talk to anyone?

How amazing would it feel to have all his attention?

But you shelved the thought.

There was no way a man as radiant and as successful as Kim Hongjoong would want you.

Men like Hongjoong demanded perfection and confidence and although you didn't lack for confidence in your ability to do your job but, sometimes you weren't as confident in yourself and as for perfection, no one was perfect but, Hongjoong seemed damn near close.

Mingi had left you to talk to a new intern that had joined the firm, Jan was a second-year student, training to be an architect and Mingi had taken him on as his protégé.

You hadn't even realised that you were alone and staring into your now forgotten glass of champagne, your mind too focused in lamenting that when Hongjoong tapped your bent elbow you nearly spilled your drink in shock.

 "Hey, sorry about frightening you, but I noticed you on your own and you don't look like you're enjoying this party much." He smiled easily, his large eyes forming crescents as he steadied your arm.

You laugh bashfully.

"Ah sorry, just had a lot on my mind. The party's wonderful but, organising it was a bit of a pain, so I don't think I'll be able to get over the stress of it until later." You shrugged and he nodded in understanding.

 You could see when the idea entered his mind as his eyes practically lit up and he took your drink from your hand.

" The party looks wonderful and you did a really good job, Mingi hasn't stopped talking about how proud he is of your work, he said he'd probably have a heart condition from all the panicking if it weren't for you. But, if you need a break, I know the perfect place. Will you come with me?" He smiles at you mischievously and you follow him out of the room, away from the guests.

 That had been your first time meeting Hongjoong, he'd taken you to the hotel terrace, leading you out onto the balcony overlooking one of the hotel's gardens.

It had been a sight to see. The December chill had caused snow to start falling and it stuck delicately to the conifer that had been planted as a centre piece, the fairy lights twinkled like stars against the dark and lit the path surrounding the garden. It had been breath taking and Hongjoong had led you there, an easy silence developing between you as he let you collect your thoughts.

 You'd had no idea what it would develop into, whirlwind romance leading to an even crazier breakup and to eventually being kidnapped.

It was too much.

Your head pounding as you sat up in bed, your eyes feeling dry and gritty as you groggily tried to find your bearings.

Whether it was the drugs, the jetlag or your fitful sleep you didn't know but, it didn’t matter.

You just wanted to go home.

 You’d have to play your cards right for now, considering you were on an island with one private airport, jet and presumably one pilot.

 The only way a flight would come in is if one of them called for it, so there’d be no way that you would make it out that way without quickly being found out; especially because the air strip wasn’t anywhere near Hongjoong’s home.

 You’d have to bear with being on the island for however long it took and make a break for it once the opportunity arose. You’d gotten away from him once before; you would do it again.

 You quietly walk out of your room and down the stairs, the feeling of cool wood under your feet, thoughts swirling around in your head as you try to conjure up a coherent plan.

How would you get out?  How would get away without Hongjoong noticing?

How would your plan come to fruition without you writing it down? After all, you were sure that everything was under lock and key, you hadn’t seen your phone since you’d gotten to the island or your passport for that matter.

 How could you get away without your passport?

 Getting away the first time had been easy, Hongjoong had left with the others and you’d left an hour later in your car, taking what you’d needed to start a new life.

 But this would be different, it wasn’t as easy as moving to another city, you’d have to get off an island, almost impossible because you had no idea where this island was and what the nearest country’s name was.

 What if you couldn’t speak the language? Forget language you had no money.

 Your jumbled thoughts get interrupted as your stomach growls; when even was the last time you ate food, your mind drifting back to the hot chocolate you’d had just before your interview to calm your nerves.

 The sour taste of morning breath and hunger in your mouth letting you know that there was no way you’d be able to come up with a plan without at least having a proper meal.

 Your stomach growls again, louder this time and you freeze at the bottom of the stairs as you hear a chuckle from the kitchen.

 “Good morning Y/N, I thought you’d be hungry so I got your favourite cereal. Something simple to help balance your stomach since I’m sure that you’d still feel a little queasy. There’s more food here if you’d like.” He smiles warmly at you, sipping from a large mug, an array of delicious breakfast foods in front of him. And slightly off from the centre of the table, a box of froot loops.

 You pause at the edge of the table, not sure if you really needed to eat right now but, your stomach growling angrily again made the decision for you and you sat down across from him.

 “Are you sure you haven’t poisoned this?” You say it only half-joking, not at all over his use of literal poison to kidnap you!

Hongjoong sets the mug down with a sigh and without even looking at you he gets up from the table, his sudden movements frightening you.

 You’re getting ready to run if you have, trying to decide if you would make it to your room in time, when Hongjoong walks to and opens the fridge taking out the milk.

He looks up at you from your frozen position at the base of the stairs, the shock clearly on his face. He uses his free hand to wave you over before setting the milk down.

 Hongjoong smiles again, his eyes warm and reassuring and for a second it takes you back to when you first met him.

You walk to the table with a huff, the scent of bacon wafting in the air and making your impatient stomach growl for attention again.

 He pours milk into the bowl on the table, adding the cereal in as well, your eyes following his movements and he makes sure that they do. Your eyes widen when he spoons the cereal into his mouth, crunching away happily.

His actions are deliberate, and he holds your eyes, his expression open.

 “See? Not poisoned. I’m not going to poison you Y/N, you can trust me.” You snort at that but, pick up the spoon anyway, sighing in contentment as you finally get to eat.

 “I can’t trust you and you know why.” He winces at the finality in your voice but, a brain wave hits you as you look at the cereal floating in the bowl.

 “Wait, when did you get this? I don’t imagine this place has a locally grocery store.” He perks up at the opportunity to have a conversation with you.

 Not at all aware of the idea forming in your mind.

 “Last night. We get regular food in when we’re staying here on the island , it comes in each month but, we can get stuff in whenever we want to really. Say for example, you want specific snacks or a tool, you can order it and it’ll be here in 5 days max – weather permitting.” He shrugs nonchalantly as the gears turn in your head.

 Monthly shipments of food mean they must come from somewhere, right? All you needed to do was find out when the shipment comes in and you’d be able to figure a way out.

 Once you’re off the island, you’ll figure out your next step.

Tag list: @r1ce-cakes, @fivesecondsofsarang, @mingiluver, @ateezstylesearch, @honey-milk-tea02​, @army-of-inspired-onces,    @hongjoongielover

[winterirondiscord]

WI Discord Staycation Crew 3 Word Prompt Game!

As part of last week’s Pride celebration, the Staycation Crew played a game!  And here are the fascinating results...

Rules: create a fic summary using the three prompted words

Perfection, book worm, a Wish - @psychiccatpanda 

Finally, Bucky's got an evening to himself - no team dinners, no therapy appointments, no Steve wanting to work out - just quiet. Perfect. He picked up his book again - a Hercule Poirot mystery. So sue him - Agatha Christie was fantastic - and he was just getting to the good part. Please, let me finish this in peace. Then came the knock on his door.

 Missed connections, World Map, Impulsive - @journeythroughtherain

When Tony took his first vacation in three years, he decided, to his PA's great despair, to scrap all of his pre-scheduled travelling plans and throw a dart on a world map to figure out his destination.

When he gets there, he does it again, and then again. He enjoys his freedom and the exhilaration of never knowing where he'll be going next, until a chance meeting on the Trans-Siberian Railway makes him wonder if he's finally found somewhere - someone - he wants to go home to at the end of his journey.

Now he's only got to figure out who the fascinating man that captivated his heart and mind was, and where to find him again. Unfortunately, he's only got his first name to go on - James.

 Bunny, Perfect recipe, naughty - @rise-up-ting-ting-like-glitter

Bucky Barnes was happy to have his past as an assassin behind him. Things were different now. He was part of team, had a cat, a boyfriend, a steady job, and was dangerously close to overdose on domestic bliss. He wasn’t bored. He just wanted more. He’d cleared it with Tony, a little magic in the kitchen to spice up their sex life would be fun. Bucky discovers that the package's slogan—you’ll fuck like rabbits!—was literal when he’s left with a bunny where his boyfriend used to be.

 Heroic gesture, trust, crosshairs - @jamesbuckystark

An evil villain has attacked and has a chemical that can decimate 75% of Earth’s population if released into the air. The machine is ready to be put into operation… he just needs to enter a code. The Avengers retaliate, but the villain has caught Tony and is using him as a human shield. Bucky has a shot, but he has Tony in the crosshairs. He knows Tony trusts him to make the best decisions, but does he trust Bucky enough to let him shoot?

 Shadows, Mirror mirror, shaking - @fightingforcreativity

Tony wasn't overly fond of the twilight hours. Shadows were drawn long and taunting, noises resonating throughout the old manor. He hated this manor with a passion, wasn't even sure why he was here.

'Stupid Honeybear and his stupid ideas about responsibility'

Rhodey had told him more often than not that Tony ought to look into the old family manor in the black forest. " 'Tony, he said, you need to know what you own and what not' yadayada."

Tony grumbled while also trying to contain the shivering. It was abnormal cold in this manor and even the heating system made unholy noises.

A little later, just as the twilight turned to darkness, Tony reached his room for the night. His fingers were shaking- why the hell were they shaking?- when he opened the door. He took a couple steps in and passed mirrors. Why a room needed more than one was beyond Tony. As soon as Tony reached the bed, he shrugged out of his clothes and- there another noise. He shrugged the uneasiness off and laid down. Just as he turned away from the mirror, he caught a glance of his reflection.

Problem was... Tony knew his reflection. And those grey eyes were not his.

 Dead plants,  resurface, fairy tales - @rebelmeg

"You had one job."

That's all the warning Prince Tony Stark gets before his best friend and Captain of the Guard, Bucky Barnes was flinging a flowerpot at his head. He ducked just in time, and the dead plant thudded to the floor with a shower of dirt and the broken remains of the flowerpot.

"Oh yeah... I was supposed to water that...."

"I WAS ONLY GONE FOR THREE DAYS, HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO KILL IT ALREADY?" Bucky threw his helmet next, and it ricocheted off the wall, narrowly missing Tony as he dodged out of the way.

"I'm sorry! But really, I think you're overreacting! It's just a plant!"

"NO IT'S NOT! That plant was symbolic of a peace treaty between us and the dryads that control the eastern woods!"

"The, uh.... scary woods outside that window there?"

"Yep."

"Oh. Well.... oops?"

Tony didn't plan on having to go on a quest to save his idiot friend from the wrath of the tree spirits, but, well... he's done worse things.

 Dirty laundry, unrequited love, curtain - @camichats

Rhodey walked in, paused, and considered walking right back out. Tony was standing on the arms of a chair, lifted up on his tiptoes, doing… something to the curtains. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I spilled coffee on them.”

“So? You’ve got a cleaning service.” Rhodey took a tentative step further in the apartment.

“These are Bucky’s curtains.” He emphasized Bucky’s name like Rhodey didn’t already know who he was from hearing Tony pine over him ever since they became roommates-- or, in one horrific instance, hear Tony basically write an entire erotica based on what he wanted Bucky to do to him after his morning run.

“And?”

“And they were his mother’s and he loves these things more than life itself, so I can’t let him know that I got them dirty because he will hate me, and I can’t wait until the cleaning service comes by because they come here on Wednesday’s and it’s Friday.” He whooped triumphantly when he got them down. “So, all I have to do is stick them in the laundry and put them back up and he’ll never know, and he can go on to hate me for more reasonable things like waking him up in the middle of the night with my music and never doing my half of the dishes.”

 Drop dead, hair, just say no - @jamesbuckystark

“Ugh. Your cat just coughed up a hairball on my lap.” Tony shudders.

Bucky laughs. “Sorry. Just chuck it in the trash can. I’m sure Alpine won’t mind that you don’t keep his gift.”

“Excuse me?” Tony looks at him, horrified. “It’s hair. From your cat's

mouth. You take

care of it.”

“C'mon Tones, you won’t drop dead from touching it.”

“Get. It. Off. Me. Now.”

Bucky is now concerned, seeing the rigidity of Tony’s back. “Ok I’ll get it. Do you not like Alpine? If you don’t want me to keep him, you can just say no. I’m sure I can get Becca to keep him for me.”

In which Bucky gets a cat, and Tony’s a little unsure.

 Refreshed, cozy night, Earpiece - @rebelmeg

All Tony wanted was a quiet night in. That was it. A nice hot shower, maybe a bath if he was feeling fancy, and his favorite pizza on the couch while he watched the original version of Star War, as nature intended. Unfortunately, he walks out of the bathroom, swathed in a towel and feeling all kinds of refreshed and ready for his cozy night in, to see an earpiece sitting on the bed with a post-it note by it.

"SOS. Need your help. -Bucky"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me..."

[justjessame]

Put Me In Coach 5

I was typing out a text to both Eric AND Mary as Negan was entering the house. Fuck fuck fuck.

9 1 1 NOW SOS FUCK

A buzz came as we stood for a moment in the foyer. I stopped Negan with a hand on his arm. “One second, please.” I pleaded, and he stood with me as I typed a reply to Eric’s triple question marked response.

NEGAN my house NOW.

As I held on to Negan’s arm, another vibration and looked down I smiled. “OK, let’s head in.” Before we could be seen through the doorway of the dining room the doorbell chimed again. “I’ll get it.” I offered, loud enough for Mom to hear and Negan shot me a look. “Come with me.”

Standing outside the door was the cavalry. “Eric,” I closed my eyes in gratitude for my best friend. “Mary.” I grinned at my other bestie. “Thank fucking GOD.” Negan was standing back staring at the three of us as we clustered together. We wouldn’t have long. Mom would wonder what was going on. She’d rush out and here we’d be, a clusterfuck of assholes. “Negan wants to meet Mom and Dad. Tonight.” I filled my best friends in as Negan stood there watching us with a combined look of discomfort and confusion.

“Wow, Coach,” Eric ran his gaze over Negan from top to bottom. “Balls of steel.” Fuck, don’t laugh, don’t fucking laugh. “Should have joined a fucking sport.” He muttered to himself, and I bit my fucking lip. Negan’s expression was going to undo me. Fuck.

“Guys,” Mary tried to refocus us. “OK, so if we all walk in, you,” she pointed at me, “can be like ‘oh, Mom, I’m sorry I invited my friends over and totally forgot.’” I nodded, it sounded like a good start. “And you,” she gestured to Negan, “you’re going to introduce yourself. And we’re going to EASE the relationship into the conversation, maybe, we'll see.  No pissing on my girl’s leg, do you fucking get that?” Negan opened his mouth to argue, but she shushed him. “At school you’re Coach, but here? Here I’m Coach.” She shot Eric a look. “And YOU.” Damn it. “You are going to play referee. If you see the level of awkward shooting up, make it go away. If you sense that SOMEONE,” another look at Negan, “is about to go postal? You are going to fucking divert it. Fully. Fucking sing show-tunes if you must, but don’t let this shit get out of hand.”

“All gays DO NOT sing show-tunes, whore.” Eric muttered, and Mary shot him a glare that I was envious of. “Fine. I’ll sing like a fucking canary.” He held up his palms in surrender.

“I’ll run interference.” I raised an eyebrow. “Your parents want you and Joe to make tiny perfect bland babies, but trust me, I’ll make Joe want to practice with me first.” I giggled. “OK, that’s the plan. Let’s go before Mrs. Kendall decides to come find us.”

I had doubts, as we rounded the corner and entered the dining room. My mom’s eyes widened at my collection of misfits. My dad’s look of confusion. I made the excuses that Mary had concocted for their presence. I didn’t stumble through it, I held my head high, as though I often made such silly faux pas. My mother, knowing that to pitch a fit would be TOTALLY against her goals for this dinner, smiled through her irritation and graciously welcomed Mary and Eric to join us. Her gaze met Negan’s form and I had to fight closing my eyes from the churning of my stomach.

He did fine. He introduced himself without allowing for a comfortable opening to attack his clear age difference, and he even shot Joe a look as though daring him to mention school. Joe, I was happy to see, wasn't even paying the slightest attention, since he was focused on Mary’s cleavage. I had a flash of fear about his parents recognizing Negan, but then rolled my eyes internally when I realized they were cut from the same high and mighty cloth as my parents. Negan, as a mere teacher, was beneath their notice. Even when he was the one to force them to fetch drunk Joe from the dance.

We got situated around the table, Negan held my chair for me and Eric held Mary’s. Mary was seated between Joe and Eric, who shot me a wink as I realized Negan took the seat next to me,  putting me between him, and since I sat at the corner, my mom. Great. Fuck.

Our dinner was served, courses and courses of dinner, because clearly my mother was in the impress the Malberrys mode. As I was about to sigh through the main course, I felt Negan’s hand touch my knee. I glanced at him and he was smiling.

“Joe,” my mother had been trying, with various levels of failure to draw Joe into a conversation that would PROVE to me that he was worth a second look, throughout each course. “What are your plans after graduation?”

It wasn’t Joe who answered. It hadn’t been Joe who’d answered ANY of Mom’s questions all evening. His mother fielded most of them, but his dad chimed in now and again. And my mom’s interest would wane for a moment, and her focus would shift. To Eric, asking him if he’d found anyone special, then flinching when Eric would say something about the GUY he was seeing. I bit my lip and looked at my plate. Or when she asked Mary if she’d heard from any of the schools she’d applied to and Mary deadpanned that she hadn’t but there was always cosmetology school. I knew that Mary got in to every fucking school she’d applied to, because she might be fun and silly, but she was also fucking smart as fuck. So was Eric, but no one ever noticed it.

“Negan, is it?” My mom had refocused, fuck.

He’d been taking a drink of his water and swallowed carefully before answering. “Yes, Mrs. Kendall, that’s my name.” His fingers were sliding on my bare skin, teasing me as he spoke with complete ease to my mother.

“You don’t look like a student.” Not a question, so he didn’t answer. “How is it you know my daughter?” Fuck.

“Oh, Mrs. Kendall,” Eric cut in, seemingly accidentally. “I think there’s a chip in my plate, I hope that a bit of the porcelain isn’t in my potatoes.” Oh my God.

“What?” Mom was on her feet and next to Eric’s seat studying his dish, leaning closer and closer as Eric kept pointing at I fucking hoped an actual fucking knick.

“You doing alright, princess?” Negan breathed close to my ear, not so close to draw attention, but close enough so no one could hear him.

“Fine, you?” I spoke to my forkful of broccoli.

“Highly fucking entertained.” And I sucked in a lungful of air when his finger traced up my inner thigh. “Your friends are fucking amazing, sweetheart.”

“Aren’t they though.” I smiled, taking a bite of my vegetables.

Mom had left the room with Eric’s plate, bitching about the nerve of the housekeeper/cook having broken the good china. Dear fucking god. I caught Eric’s eye and he winked and I had to bite my lip again.

“So, Joe,” Mary was breathing up at the big lug. “What brings you to Amara’s house for dinner?” Shit. Joe was looking down at her with an almost glazed look in his eyes and I wondered if he had hit the bottle again.

“Her mom called my mom and invited us.” Huh, he wasn’t drunk, he was just fucking HORNY for Mary. At my dinner table. Negan was right, this was fucking entertaining. “Glad you showed up.” Wow, thanks, I feel special now.

Negan’s finger was sliding ever higher up my inner thigh and I closed my eyes as he was nearing his goal. Fuck. “Amara, is something wrong.” Fuck, Mom’s back. I opened my eyes and looked up at where she was hovering at her chair. Negan’s hand left and he stood to hold out her chair, as he had mine. “Thank you, Mr. Negan.” Mr. Negan? Fuck.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.” I answered, forking a piece of chicken. “Just a bit of a headache.” Negan took his own seat again, once Mom had sat back down. “Dinner is delicious, by the way.” Sprinkle in a compliment, tramp down the worry, rinse and repeat.

She smiled at me and then her eyes fell on Negan again. “Mr. Negan?” Here we go again.

“Mrs. Kendall,” Eric, I swear to fucking God I would buy him whatever his heart desired after tonight, piped up. “My mom would die for the recipe for this-” he held up, I squinted, was that the fucking garnish?

“It’s cilantro, Eric,” my mom looked confused, and I could see her mind shoot to a question about whether Eric was high. And I was biting my lip so hard that I almost didn’t feel the return of Negan’s hand on my thigh. Shit, I wasn’t going to survive this.

“No, Mrs. Kendall, not this-” I watched, my eyes widening, as Eric flung the cilantro over his fucking shoulder like it offended him. “Cilantro tastes like dirty dishwater. THIS.” He picked up a bite of chicken. “Mom would LOVE the recipe for this, I know it.”

Dear fucking God. Eric was either earning every fucking BEST FRIEND MERIT BADGE ever, or he was going to die at my mom’s hands.

“Eric Sullivan!” My mother gasped, and I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or stand up and get between them. “Did you just toss the garnish-”

“He’s right,” my dad’s voice cut in. “Why do we buy this crap when we don’t actually eat it?” Twilight Zone. I must have been transported into an alternative fucking reality because my dad NEVER engaged during dinner. EVER. He didn’t toss his over his shoulder, but he did put it on the bread dish next to his plate. “It’s disgusting and quite frankly, it does taste like dirty dishwater.”

Negan was biting his own lip beside me. I could see it out of the corner of my eye. Jesus. “I don’t know.” Negan picked up his sprig of the greenery and bit into it. “I kind of like it.”

For fuck’s sake. What the hell was going on? And then the debate really got rolling. With Mary and slow Joe weighing in on Negan’s side. Pretty sure Joe would have voted for Hitler if Mary mentioned he had some good ideas, at this point. His parents were split, his mother, clearly trying to salvage the slowly fraying likelihood of Joe and me, sided with Mom and his dad, not reading any part of this batshit room was wondering why anyone ever used any garnish whatsoever.

“Princess, I think this shit has gone fucking all the way around the goddamn bend.” Negan’s voice was a breath again, someone I heard him over the very enthusiastic debate that was now going on about garnish period. I nodded, glancing around the table in disbelief.

Dinner was over faster than I expected, my mom never getting a chance to return to her twice failed interrogation of Negan. As we walked our guests to the door, a cluster of a group if I'd ever seen one, she tried ONE more time.

“Mr. Negan,” I held back a sigh. “I feel like we never did get to speak fully.” No shit, Mom, it was a concerted effort, trust me.

“I guess not, Mrs. Kendall.” He was smiling down at her, oozing charm.

“You should come to dinner next week.” Fuck. “This time, perhaps, Amara can NOT invite her friends without asking first.” Damn it. No buffer this time. “What day would work best for you?”

I zoned out. Shit. Although, alone with just my parents and Negan, maybe it wouldn’t be such a nightmare? As Negan crossed over the threshold to leave, the final participant in the world’s most strange dinner party, Mom and I offered our goodbyes, his eyes lingered on me for a beat and I knew I’d be getting a call soon.

Once the door closed, Dad was already in the family room with his paper, Mom focused on me. “When were you planning on telling me you’re involved with the gym teacher?” Shit.

[missbugaboo]

That Other Guy (2)

“Why does it matter so much to you? What’s so terrible about Adrien Agreste that you can’t stand him as your competition – even though it changes absolutely nothing for you? What in magic’s name makes him such a hateful rival?” Or, Chat Noir finally learns who Ladybug’s dream guy is, but somehow, he’s not pleased at all. For more reasons than one.

LadyNoir, Adrienette.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Chapter 2: Just Let Me Fall Apart

What happened afterwards was really quite simple, amounting to no more than one word overall.

Run.

That was the word Ladybug kept hearing, from the moment she had turned away from Cat to when she was safely distanced from him not so many moments later. A little word that burned her mind with the obstinacy behind it, urging her to keep up her pace or speed it up if she could, daring her to break her own records before her feet had first left the ground.

Threatening her with all the consequences that would instantly fall on her in case she had not.

So she did. She ran as if there was no tomorrow, as if her very life depended on how fast she could flee. She ran away – from Cat, from herself, from the fears and anxiety that were sure to overcome her if she as much as considered making a stop.

And thus even though her own exhaustion was enough to slow her down from time to time, taking over her like a wave and successfully ruining her gait, it could never last long. Each of those times, Ladybug would slacken or lose her rhythm, only to pick up her pace again the next moment, going faster and faster after every such lapse.

There was no plan for it, there wasn’t a bigger strategy to follow. Only the simple knowledge that as long as she sprinted in the dark, she could keep her emotions at bay, if not by distracting herself, then at least by keeping her distance from what had caused them to resurface in the first place.

Frightened and confused as she might be, she was no more willing to let her fears swallow her than she usually was.

And yet, her stubbornness and strength could only get her this far. Focused on her internal struggle, she forgot to take her physical state into the equation; lost in her thoughts, she paid no mind to the passage of time or the length of the distance she had covered so far. Her suit gifted her with endurance; her powers gave her the confidence to trust in it blindly.

It wasn’t long before she was reminded that even the Ladybug miraculous had its limits.

And so she stumbled. Once, twice, a few more times afterwards. She ignored the fact each time, just as she ignored her own weariness or the tears that blurred her sight, determined not to give in to what to her was nothing but a misplaced turmoil of the heart. As if to punish her for her tenacity, her body wavered under her weight: she stumbled again, this time nearly losing her balance and meeting the ground face first. She regained it in the last possible moment… and then did what she had been doing for the bigger part of an hour.

She resumed her run.

Still, even this determined she could not prevent what was inevitably coming. For the last time, she faltered, and this time, her stumble turned out to be a real one; a great finale to this sorrowful, miserable act.

One moment she was moving her legs in a frenzied chase, jumping from one foot to the other almost frantically – the next found her on her knees as she rolled over in order to break that most unprofessional fall.

Really, it was only thanks to her luck that the roof she was traversing was a flat and broad one.

She came to a halt seconds later. Propped on her outstretched arms and panting heavily, she was able to fight neither her physical exhaustion nor the mental fatigue that had finally caught up to her; both of which seemed to strike at her with doubled force now, as if wanting to prove just how pointless her flight had been from the start.

As if she hadn’t already known that.

With the last ounce of strength, Ladybug raised her head and looked around, searching for a haven that could somehow shelter her in this most difficult of times. She did not wish for much; she knew she was nowhere near her home, as well as that no other place could shelter her in the way her own room would.

Besides, where else was she to go? Even if Alya had lived right under the roof she was currently kneeling on, it still wouldn’t have made a difference. She couldn’t talk to her about this – she couldn’t talk to anyone, really. Not to Alya, not to her own mother, not to any of her numerous, caring friends. It was between her and Cat Noir; and heavens knew she could not talk to him, either.

In the corner of her eye she spotted a chimney. It was wide and tall enough for her to hide behind it, or maybe even rest her back against it comfortably… and it was mere meters away from when she was now. In an instance she was up, walking over to the spot, slouched under the burdens of her worries and the gushes of the wind that had suddenly started to howl. She reached her destination seconds later and, proud of her little victory, she let out a long, wistful sigh.

And then she sunk down, with her back against the cold bricks and her legs pulled to her chest, as she pressed her face against her now trembling knees.

Forgetting all of her previous resolutions, she finally allowed herself to cry.

It was forty minutes and a few sets of tears later that Ladybug finally returned to her own home. Too weary to think of all proper precautions, she hoped that the quick look around from her balcony was enough this time. Of course, she knew she should have been more careful; and of course that the way she was acting could fairly be named irresponsible, not to mention that under normal circumstances she would have been the first to point all that out.

If only she could bring herself to care.

She opened the trapdoor that led to her bedroom and jumped down hastily, her transformation dropping before her feet could even touch the mattress below. She could feel Tikki appear next to her and fly up to her face not a second later, with a look of concern reflecting all over her minuscule face. To Marinette, that was hardly a surprise; she knew her mouse-bug well, and expected nothing less than the gentle show of affection her kwami was about to display.

It was just one more thing that made her love Tikki as much as she did – and yet, even that could be of no comfort to her right now.

“I need a shower,” Marinette announced quietly, though with a note of firmness ringing in her voice. “I’m gonna have one real quick, and then I’d like to go to bed as soon as possible, so… Oh my goodness, Tikki, don’t look at me like this.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it first?” Tikki protested, once again following her Chosen, as the latter rummaged through her drawers in search of pyjamas.

Marinette merely shook her head in response.

Tikki sighed deeply but didn’t give up on her quest. “Please, Marinette, I know it may be hard, but if you keep it bottled up like this, it will only grow until -”

“I’ll be fine,” the girl cut her off impatiently. “I’ve spent the past hour or more thinking about everything that had happened on that roof, crying my eyes out and feeling guilty for something that has never been my fault. I know it’s not over yet; I know I’ll have to go back and face it again and soon. And I guess I could talk to you about it now,” she paused for a second and took a deep breath before continuing, “But if I do, I’ll only fall apart again, when I have just managed to pull myself together. I think you understand how going through that particular breakdown is the last thing I want right now.”

“What if it’s what you need, though?”

“What I need above all now is sleep, Tikki. I understand why you’re worried… But there is nothing you or I can do about it now. I need a rested, well-functioning brain while at the moment mine is everything but. Not to mention, I still have school to attend in the morning, remember?”

She left the room with her words echoing after her and a small, reassuring smile tugging on her lips The expression changed as soon as the door closed behind her, the heartache once again replacing the fake pose taken up for her kwami’s sake. She didn’t feel fine at all, nor did she expect it to change in the nearest future.

All she wished for was a chance to curl up in her bed and give in to her sobbing in the same way she had done before; to shout out her frustration and anger into the soft pillows without worrying that it would undoubtedly wake up her parents if she did; to be free to crumble down once again and not to think of how Tikki would take it.

She did not want to talk about it.

She just wanted to cry.

And as she stepped into the shower tray and the steam and water engulfed her, she decided to do just that.

So, yes, Ladybug – Marinette – was a mess. All of the emotions she had faced since her talk to Cat Noir, all of the feelings that had come to her after she'd left seemed to add up to one another, combining in the way she never would have thought possible before. Grief and anger, disappointment and wounded pride, tiredness and impatience and ire – they had come to her one by one and stayed, blending into the poisonous mixture that left her wanting nothing but to forget it all; to fall asleep immediately and then wake up in a reality where none of it was true.

Or at least one in which she could think it wasn't.

And yet, as exhausted and hurt as she was, those feelings began to fade eventually. The shower that had only been meant to serve as an excuse had proven to be of real, substantial help. The hot water that at first was nothing but a camouflage to her tears had also washed away some of her physical weariness in the process, while the gentle sound of it tapping against the tray calmed down her nerves on the more spiritual level.

All in all, when she had finally left the bathroom and entered her own room once more, her equilibrium was at least partially restored. She still wanted to hide under her duvet and weep; still felt like any attempt at trying to talk her worries through with Tikki would end up with disaster; still couldn't comprehend why her companion and the best of human friends could have treated her so unjustly, accusing her of crimes she had never committed. There was also a new resolution taking form in her, however, and when she had climbed onto her bed at last, she was more than determined not to pay the situation any more attention at the time.

She flopped onto the mattress, covered herself entirely and, contrary to what she had expected, fell asleep before she could shed more than a few tears.

If only she knew how far from such blissfulness was the boy who had unleashed the turmoil for them both.

[kmelanin]

Permanent Ink / 3 \\ kth

a/n: enjoy

Main Masterlist~

( Permanent Ink ) masterlist~

WARNING- umm idk really.

word count: 3k+

____________________________

(I'm going to be very vague with the clothing, imagine your own style. lol)

Over the next couple of days, you had meetings after meetings. You prefered to have longer work days a couple days a week then short ones all week. Some of the meetings were to schedule and plan some photoshoots, you had to send out PRs, you had to make sure that things were getting done. You loved it. You loved knowing that if you just did your best everything and took your time, the outcome would be wonderful.

Currently, everything that was ready to be sold from your website is sold out. You were so happy about it. Everyone that works with you were proud of you, throughout the meetings they always complimented you, or went on about how lucky they were, because they got to be involved that will one day expand into something.

In the next clothing release you wanted release a couple male items. A couple shirts, and hoodies. Not too much, but just enough to see if they would do well or not. When someone mentioned who was going to model the new line you instantly thought of one person.

Taehyung.

He would be perfect for it. It would give your clothes a certain vibe if people see all of the tattoos and how dangerous he looks. You needed it. It would help your brand, plus it would help you get closer to him. You mention him, plus you mention that you wanted Rowan and her sister Amia. Plus some of the earlier models.

Once you were done with your meetings, you and Rowan walked to your office to get ready to go home.

“Do you think I should ask Taehyung?” You ask grabbing your jacket from the hook and handing over hers.

“Fuck yea. He would look so good in everything, especially that black hoodie that's coming out.” She says mentioning one of the colors that the world have yet to see. You sighed. You had to try. You would regret not.

The next day you had Rowan go and grab a few things to put together a gift basket. First you had her get a one of a kind bong. You were looking on a artists website. He lived in the USA and he made bongs that you wouldn't find anywhere else.

The one you picked out was inspired by a cherry blossom tree. Everything from the actual bowl which was a flower, to the actual glass was shade of pink. It had flowers along everywhere in a pretty pattern. You had Rowan pick up the $1,500 bong up from the post office, but some other smoking essentials.

You hoped this would convince him to model for you. Plus some other payment if he would like.

Once it was all put together, Rowan drove you to his apartment. Rowan simply asked Jin for his address, and without giving him a reason to why she wanted it. Which surprised you. You went in alone and went to the correct door.  You raised your hand up to push the doorbell but yelling from the other side stopped you.

“You can't loan it to me Sinsi? I'm literally about to lose the roof from over my head.” You heard Taehyung's voice loud and clear. That made you frown.

“You know that I'm not even supposed to be here, let alone loan you money. I wish I could.” She yelled back. “Sell the shop.”  You quickly knocked on the door in case someone was to storm out and think you were eavesdropping. Also because maybe he would want to model for you if you were willing to help him out. You picked up the hidden gift basket.

The door swings open and thank god  Taehyung opened it.

“YN?” He asks confused. He was wearing black sweats and a red pull over, and his hair was all wild and had that ‘just had sex’ effect. Which made your jealousy boil.

“Hi, can we talk?” You ask him, holding the bag higher in your hands. You noticed he was started to think if he really should or not, so you just walk in anyways. “Trust me, you will love the fact that I just entered without your permission.” You set the hidden present on his table and you turn to both of them. Sinsi looked confused and surprised while Taehyung confused and irritated.

“Hi YN!” Sinsi smiles, you could tell she didn't know what she wanted to do with herself. You looked at her and nodded smiling slightly.

“I wanted to offer you a job.” You say clasping your hands together, when you only seen a eyebrows raise on his face, you further explain. “As you both know, i've recently released a clothing line. I'm working on something for it, and I need a model. And I think you would be perfect for it. But! Before you say anything else. I have two things that you will get out of this.” You say holding up one finger. Sinsi was beaming in her shoes, she seemed excited for Taehyung.

“First, I know how you are a weed smoker… sooooo” You pull the bong out first not wanting to knock it over. His eyes went extremely large, you could’ve sworn he was having a heart attack by the way he was holding his chest. You turned confused when you seen Sinsi looking back and forth between you two with a slight pout on her face.

“What? Does he not like pink? I didn't think he would mind because he is a tat-”

“No it's not that, he has been saving his money up for this exact bong. I even planned on buying it for him for his birthday.” And he frown turns a bit deeper. You couldn't help but to extremely excited, you finally did something right. Taehyung's eyes were stuck on the glass in your hands. You smiled and set it down on the table. You then removed the blanket, exposing a whole set up of rolling papers and leafs, with a bunch of different cool looking lighters and rolling tray with grinders at the bottom. Taehyung's eyes were practically popping out of his head.

“If you sign to become a model, the face of the men's collection, you won't have to worry about your financial problems.” You felt like you were becoming a someones sugar mommy. But all of your models are paid well, you were willing to pay him more. At least until he didn't have to worry about his living space being taken away. You looked over at Sinsi and she looked happy but it didn't meet her eyes.

“Would you like to model?” You ask, giving her a opportunity. It was then her eyes exploded with excitement, but Taehyung cuts in.

“You aren't even suppose to be here, let alone model with me. What will Bogum say?” He scoffs, he pulls the basket toward him checking out all of the different items in there. Sinsi looked stuck for a moment, but just nods agreeing.

“With you? So you will do it?” You ask.

“Why the hell not, I have to put these good looks somewhere.” He jokes around.

“I'm going to go. It was nice seeing you again YN. See ya Tae.” Sinsi says quietly and walks out after grabbing her bag. It was quiet for a moment until you decided to say something.

“Don't use it without me first.” You joke around as he held the bong close to his face, looking at all of the details.

“I've been saving for this for so long.” He mumbles and sets it down, his eyes don't meet yours.

“I hope that doesn't upset you, that I've ruined something you've been saving for.” You say feeling slightly guilty.

“No, it's fine, now I can use the money for something else.” He nods and smiles a little.

“Since you are the only male model I have, I'm willing to pay you ten thousand a shoot.” You say wanting to finish this conversation up. You felt slightly nervous around him. You could feel his presence so strong, and his warmth was radiating off of him.

“Are you kidding me?” He asks looking down at you. His hair was covering most of his forehead and almost in his eyes. But you could still tell that he brows were frowned down.

“No, I'm serious about my work. If that's too little then I-”

“No, It's too much.” He looks down at the table of items. “All of this. Why?” He mumbles looking up to you.

“Um, well I needed a model, and you were the first person I thought of. There aren't that many shoots, so it's not like you are going to get a 100k in a week.” You laugh trying to lighten the mood a little. “And honestly, I want that ‘bad boy’ vibe for my clothes. The tattoos help with that.” You point to his exposed arms.

“Ahh, I understand.” He smiles a little and looks down at his arms. “I did a lot of them myself.” He mumbles. Then a ding comes from somewhere, and you watch as he pulls his phone out. That's when you got the biggest smile.

“I will have Rowan send you the contract and I will also need your number. You know, so I can let you know when I need you.” You started to mumble at towards the end, not really sure of what to say specifically. You open your phone and he passes his as you pass yours. You put yourself in your first name and a cloud emoji. When you got you phone back you seen a ‘KTH’ and you couldn't help but chuckle a little. Cute.

“Okay, well that's all I really wanted. I’ll see you later.” You nod your head slightly and grab the blanket.

“Wait.” Taehyung voice stops you from walking past him. Your heart practically fell to your ass when you heard him step forward. “Do you want to smoke?” His voice came so deep and close to you. You turned to him and he was so close to you looking down.

“Smoke?” You peep. He then backs away and looks down to some of the wraps on the table.

“Yea, I want to take some pictures of the glass, so I don't want to use it, if that's okay with you.”

“Uh, sure, whatever. It's yours.” You smile, you were nervous now. You weren't a ‘stoner’. And now with these sudden nerves and just Taehyung in general, you weren't sure what was going to happen.

“So what type of clothes is it?” He asks as he pulls out a airtight glass jar from under his bed. You sit on the far end, away from him, leaving space in the middle. He also grabbed one of your trays that you got him and he pulls a grinder and a pack of rellos out. You pull out your phone and showed him some pictures.

(Don't post this picture.)

You showed him one of the more fancy and expensive pieces.

“I was wondering if you would be up to dye your blonde.” You ask mentioning and idea you had.

“Whatever you want, especially if i'm being paid 10k.” He smiles a little.

You watch as he seals up the blunt, his lips wraps around it so beautifully. His tongue then sticks out and licks it one more time. He grabs one of the lighters you brought and he runs the flame around the blunt, which you assumed dried it a bit.  He then sticks one end in his mouth, and you noticed something on the end. He lights it up and puffs some smoke.

“I put a glass tip on it.” He nods at it and passes it to you. You took it and brought it up to your lips. You could feel his eyes on you, which made your heart race a little. But that doesn't stop you from hitting it and inhaling it in a french inhale way. That one hit you pretty hard, since you haven't smoked in a while. But you hit it again and pass it back. Your eyes met his, but he looks down and grabs it.

“I also have some other things coming out in a couple of months. My father got Gucci to collab with me. I think you will look really nice in Gucci.” You talk some more, you didn't want there to be a awkward silence. “And all the models, whichever clothes they model they get to keep. Now that I think about it, I need to find some more male models, I can't have you leave with another ten thousand in clothes.” You laugh.

“Fuck, I'd feel like I owe you my life.” He shakes his head.

“Just think about this being a side job. Imagine, Kim Taehyung sexy tattoo artist, and Gucci model.” You throw your hands up and wiggle your fingers to make it more dramatic.

“Mhmm.” He groans and shakes his head. “You think I'm sexy?” He asks taking another hit and passing it to you.

“Doesn't everyone?” You shrug, you felt your cheeks burn. You brought the weed up and hit it a couple of times, needing to relax.

“I'm really putting myself out there doing this. I usually keep to myself. I've also noticed that people don't tell me anything face to face. They usually talk about me in their instagram posts of their tattoos.” You pass it back and he happily hit it.

“Well, they must not really want you then. Sometimes the girl has to make the first move.” You shrug. Then you realized what you said. “Not that I want you. Seems like Sinsi got to you first.” You laugh a little, trying to make it into somewhat of a joke. He puts the rolling tray down on the floor and slides it down under his bed. He then scooches forward a little and passes it. You were freaking out slightly. The weed was clearly getting to you and you were high as shit. You made yourself sound thirsty, and you wanted to slam your head in the wall.

Your thoughts were cut off when he leans forward a little, he caught you halfway and watched you blow it out.

“You are really pretty when you smoke. You look as if you don't what you are doing, but then you hit it and wow.” His voice was low, and deep.

“Oh, thank you.” You mumble and you look away from him. You little bit of confidence was gone and you felt little and small. You pass it to him. He grabs it and sits back a bit. He takes a hit and blow it out.

“Sinsi, she did ‘get to me first’. But we are no longer, and never will be again.” he nods and takes a huge hit. It comes in almost in a bubble and he sucks it back in. He then blow it's out and he tries to pass it back but you reject it.

“I should probably go.” You smile and stand up.

“Wait. I need to tell you something.” he says making you sit back down.

“Sinsi left me for one of my best friends Bogum. So whenever you see us together, it's just as friends. I don't even want that, but she's just so…”

“You loved her? Understandable.” You smile sadly.

“We broke up so long ago. I don't have feelings for her anymore and-”

“Wait, why are you telling me this?”

“Look. I'm not dumb, neither are you. You just come into my shop, get a tattoo, and it's like you've never left. Now you're offering this amazing job opportunity. And let's not forget the thousands of followers you gave me. You must of taken some liking of me.”

He caught you. Oh fuck.

“Mhm.” Was all you could say, you weren't sure how to answer him, without saying anything wrong. But when you looked back up at him, and you seen that he was already staring back, you got this surge of confidence. “You’re right. I’m attracted to you, physically. I’m trying to keep you around so i can figure you out Kim Taehyung. I’m not sure if you’re a seducer then heartbreak or you’re actually a soft baby inside of this hard exterior you got going on.” you point at him. His facial expression went from a smug one to confused and back to his frowning self.

“Figure me out?” He asks with a strained voice.

      “Look. I’m not trying to poke into your personal life. But you agreeing to model for me, it’s going to open a lot more doors for you. Without some help, the public will eat you up.” You stood up needing to get your point across. “Now that you mention earlier, you said Sinsi left you for Bogum. Park Bogum?” He nods once. “Yea, I seen them at a couple events. Why don’t you show Sinsi that’s she’s missing out. Because what she did was fucked up.” You shrugged. “Go with the flow” You nod once more. You watch as he nods agreeing with you. You realize your eyes felt quiet heavy and your mind was a little fuzzy. You then focus on Taehyung.

He sat there finishing the blunt and he just looked godly.

“Just be careful with the girls, because they will be willing to do anything for someone who looks like you.” You add a little laugh into it, but he just looks at you with this serious expression. He puts out the roach and claps his hands together.

“Who looks likes me?” He raises a brow. Your cheeks burn realizing that he was teasing you once again. He knows you have taken a liking into him, yet he pushes and pulls like this.

“Yes Taehyung.” You sigh. He smiles a bit noticing your frustration.

“And anything you say? Like what?” He leans back on his hands.

“You can do whatever you want, I was just trying to give you advice.” You roll your eyes. You didn't know if you wanted to leave or not. You didn't know if you wanted to jump on his lap or not. He pulls you out of your thoughts when he stands up.

“Come here.”He nods toward you. Your eyes widen a little, sudden nerves enter your system. You walk in front on him, leaving a foot of space. He looks down at you, he doesn't say anything, he just tilts his head a little a continues to stare. His hair covering his eyes a little. You could see his lips start to pull into a smile until he clenches his jaw and any sign of a smile is gone.

“You Ms Yn, you try to be slick, but yet you are very very obvious.” He says breaking the silence. You lick your lips and smile a little, trying to hide the fact that your whole face and the tips of your ears were burning. “The list is getting longer and longer, eventually i'm going to have to give my life to you to pay you back.” He jokes shaking his head a little.

“Are you complaining?” You shrug and laugh at him. He then suddenly pulls you close to him by your waist. His face was suddenly right in front of yours and your breath was caught in your throat.

“Nah, but I do have a way I could pay you back.” He then grabs your hair pulling on it a little making you tilt your head back a bit, his head then goes in a he lays a couple of kisses on your neck. He trails up, getting a little messy. You were so stunned by what was happening. You hands grabbed onto his shoulders, tight. As he nibbled and kissed, your nails dug into his shoulder, you bit your bottom lip to hold in any noise. “I take care of this body for a while.” His hand suddenly went down and he grabbed at your ass. Before a moan could slip out you push him away.

         “You’re gross, you know that?” You cross your arms in front of yourself.

“What I do wrong?” He smirks and shrugs. But you just roll your eyes.

“Are you kidding me?” You looked at him like he was coo-coo.

        “Okay maybe the body part was a little much, but i was kinda serious. I can't lie and say i’m not attracted to you as well. Shit, i’m kinda hard thinking about the things I could and would do to your right now if you let me.” As he said that, his face was set in a serious way. There you go again blushing. You didn’t know if you should believe him or not.

         “You warn me about the girls out here when i really only want you, physically of course. Do you not feel the same about me?” He throws his hands up like he was a damn emoji.

           “Shouldn’t we keep things professional?” You end up whispering.

            “Oh please. If i kissed you right now, and thought of professionalism would go out the door. Would it not?” He raises a brow. But then he smirks once again. “I’m assuming your puppy Rowan will tell me when to come in. So i’ll see you later.” He then pulls off his shirt and turns to pull his covers back. You were stuck. His whole torso was covered in beautiful all black ink. You see a cherry blossom trees, and different birds and flowers. There was Korean words and english combined. There were so many layers. He looks back at you with a confused look.

“Why are you still here?” He asks. Your eyes widen at his sudden change in emotions. You gathered the things you needed to take and you left without looking back.

            It was now Friday, which meant you were free to do whatever you want until Monday. Rowan had to take a small vacation to visit her family in the US. So you were all alone and bored. With a photoshoot with Taehyung on Monday, you had Rowan set up a hair appointment for Taehyung to dye his hair blonde. So you knew that the next time you see him he was going to be a blonde.

You were currently laying in bed, you picked your phone up and checked the time. It was currently 10 am and you had nothing to do all day. You suddenly get a little idea that you might regret later on, but you open your text messages and click on Taehyung. You quickly type out a text asking him if he knew anyone that could drop off some weed.

Your heart started beating fast as you pushed send. You quickly got up wanting to distract your mind from him, wondering what he response will be. You got into the shower. You quickly did everything you needed to do and got out, to worried about your phone. You picked out a casual but quick outfit, wanting to take some pictures today. You pulled out tanish cargo pants and a off the shoulders tight black crop top from your line. Then you pulled out some black nikes to wear with it. Then you hear a ding.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. Just about a fucking text message. You sighed and went to look. It was him.

//Ill send the best, boss\\ with a smirking emoji. You rolled your eyes, but clicked on the number he sent below that. It started to ring and then someone answers.

“Hello?” A deep voice says.

“Uhm, Hi, I'm YN.” You wanted to slap yourself, really?

“Ah, Taehyung just texted me about you, text me your address and we can talk about it then. I'm Yoongi by the way.”

By the time Yoongi showed up, your hair was waved and put in a half up and down style. And your makeup was done. You opened the door and you wanted to jump in a pit of lava. Fuck he was beautiful and you should've known that someone like Taehyung only know people like him, dangerous. You nodded towards him and he does it back and steps in. You lead him into your kitchen to the island. He sets his black bag on the counter. He then unzips his black windbreaker to reveal a black t-shirt. But what made your mouth go dry, was the black ink all over his arms. Damn your weakness for ink.

He then opens the bag up and in it was multiple freezer bags.

“How much?” You ask, you noticed that he has six freezer bags, filled half way.

“Oh, surprisingly Taehyung offered to pay for you. He said something about you getting something that he really wanted?” He shrugs. He then takes out some plastic baggies and nods. “So i'll give you a quarter of everything. He’ll be pissed because that's a lot of money, but he owed me anyways.” He starts to weight it all out.

“What in the hell am I supposed to do with all of that weed?” You ask, that's like a zip in a half. So 28 plus 14 grams….you rarely smoke!

“Not my problem.” He shrugs. You roll your eyes and pull five hundreds out of your wallet.

“Here, is this enough?” You ask, you raised a eyebrow as his eyes widen a bit. But he nods and finishes up. He hands you the weed and puts the money in his pocket.

“I know that's too much Yoongi, but ill let it slide for gas money.” You smile when his eyes widen again.

“My bad, it's just the business man in me.” he smiles a bit, his smile made you tingle a bit.

“Sure, whatever.” You laugh looking at all the weed you have. “At least get me something to smoke this with.”

“Oh, I got some rellos.” He unzips the pocket on the side and pulls out a plastic baggy with packs of them in there. He tosses it down on the counter.

“So how do you know Taehyung?” You ask.

“We used to tat together in high school. You?” He asks.

“He gave me this.” You say and lift your shirt up. “And he is now one of my clothing models.” You say pulling your shirt back down.

“I could've done so much better.” He shrugs.

“Mhm, I like mine just how it is, thank you very much.” You cross your shoulders. He laughs and starts to tug his jacket back on. You notice that everything from his bag to his shoes, to the beanie on his head is black. Even his tattoos, or the ones you could see. Everything was black except his skin, in fact it was the complete opposite. You hated how attracted you were, he was no Taehyung, but he was a close second.

“Well, can I hit you up when I need more weed?” You ask. “That is, if your weed isn't trash.” You didn't know why you felt like you could talk to him like that, but he just had this goofy vibe to him, even if he looked scary beautiful. But when he smiles extra gummy like you knew you were good.

“Trust me, it's not.” He pulls out his phone when it dinged in his pocket. “I follow you on instagram by the way, so I was wondering if you would like to come to this party i'm throwing tonight.”

You just raise a brow.

“It would be nice if someone with a higher status in the social world, would come.” He pulls out the money you gave him. “Here. I know I sound thirsty, but when you opened your door I was hella surprised. First by how beautiful you actually are in person, unlike the facetune clan. And because how could someone like Taehyung know you. So here is all of your money back.”

“So for all of this weed, I come to your party instead of paying?” You say trying to ignore that fact that he called you beautiful. He nods not breaking eye contact. “Fine.”

Later that night, your driver pulled into a little frat village, and you were nervous. College students scared you. They were like a whole different species. You told Yoongi to wait for you outside. Supposedly his brother is the head student in the frat the party is in, so if you show up with Yoongi, no one will mess with you. As soon as you told your driver that you will message him, you open the door and come face to face with Yoongi.

He quickly grabs your hands and pull you inside. You were immediately thrown into a whole different world. Drugs and alcohol everywhere. Students all over each other. The ones who were somewhat sober started to recognize you, but then they look up a little and see Yoongi, they stop themselves from going any further. He quickly pulls you further into the building, you enter double doors that were currently shut. Once they open, you notice a huge room that was set up like a living room, but then it opened up to a backyard, mainly filled with a in-ground pool.

You didn't expect to see Taehyung standing behind a couch, with a red solo cup in his hands. His hair was a honey brown, which you assume is from lightening his hair for Monday. You also didn't expect to see Sinsi sitting on the couch in front of him. Somehow she managed to hold his hand in that position. Taehyung's eyes were on you, and his hand suddenly wasn't in hers. But before you could see anything else you look around other places. You see Jin and Namjoon, and a couple of other people.

“Ah! Yn you're here? You came for the free alcohol or drugs?” Seokjin tried to stand up but his words slurred and his intoxicated body gave out on him and landed on Joon, his boyfriend.

“Um, actually Yoongi asked me to come.” You smile and intertwin your arm into Yoongi’s, not to much. You prayed to someone that he wouldn't move his arm away. But instead you felt your arm grow goosebumps when he actually laces his fingers through yours.

“I'm going to go get us some drinks, have fun.”

You felt like you were in a movie of some sort. You, at a college party, with a guy that you want so badly, but got invited by who you assume was his competition in the tattoo business. Better yet, the guy you want has his suppose ex all over him.

You soon found Yoongi’s brother, you didn't catch his name, but you did catch the fact that you made him the coolest ‘dude’ on campus. You didn't know how to feel about being used, but you couldn't say anything, you agreed to come. Plus free alcohol. You’ll just count it as charity work since he said that he will, quote on quote, ‘be known for having the best party.’

You did your best to get lots of pictures with the party goers. At the same time, you've downed a couple of drinks, wanting it to help with everyone wanting something from you. You were just thankful that half of the people were shit faced.

Before taking pictures, you had the choice to hang out with Sinsi, she even offered to take your pictures for instagram.

It was about a hour later when the picture needs go down. Which meant that you were starting to feel the drink a little more now that you weren't doing much. In fact your head started to spin a little. You wanted to go back to the room you were first in, maybe sit down a bit.

Before you could make it to the double doors, a cliq of four girls blocked your view. You could tell that they were high out of their minds. But you could also tell that they could handle their drugs, so they looked pretty normal, other then red eyes.

“Would you like a picture or something?” You ask kind of confused to why they all had these rude faces. “No? Then what?”

“I, no we want to you follow us on instagram, and give us a shout out. We wanna be like you.” The girl in front say, then she crosses her arms, and the other three followed behind.

“Like me?” You were highly confused.

“A social star? Duh.” You almost wanted to cringe. Are they serious.

You didn't know that Yoongi was watching everything in the past hour, he was standing near the kitchen, it was on a slight higher level, he could see over people's head. He noticed the main girl in front to his his brothers ex. He looked further down the hall that you were standing in front of and he sees Taehyung leaving from the bathroom. He stops in his tracks when he sees you.

“How about no.” You give them a sarcastic smile. You almost wanted to laugh in their face. Did they think they could scare you into doing what they say.

“Do it, or face what we will bring you.” She raises her eyebrow. You made her smile when you put on a nervous face.

“Oh no, what ever will I do?” You just scoff, erasing the smirk off of her face.

“You've got one last chance, how hard is it? A simple follow and shoutout?” A girl in the back says.

“I've worked for what I got. Now if four broke ass college students want to jump me, bring it. Just know that right after this i'm going to go back to my million dollar home and talk to my rich friends, something youll never understand because you're stuck studying your life away.” You step forward showing that you weren't scared of them. If you were sober then you wouldn't of said what you did. But you weren't going to be forced to do something you didn't want to.

Then everything happened at once.

They started to attack but then two large hands come in. One came around your shoulders, pulling you back. You look over and see that the other hand is Yoongi, standing in front of the girls blocking them for you. Once they realized that it was him in front of them, they backed away almost immediately. At this time, everyone was now looking at you all. Then Yoongi’s brother pushed his way through.

“What the fuck Misa?” He yells, clearly intoxicated.

Your heart was racing and you were too focused on everything in front of you, that you didn't realize that you were still being pulled backwards. You frowned wanting to know who the hell was behind you. Your hands come up to grab on to the arm around your shoulders. But another hand came around your waist and a ‘shh’ was said into your ear. You kept walking backwards until you both were outside.

Your heart was still going, only because you were hoping that it wasn't who you thought it was. But then again you were. But what would you even say. Once the door was shut and you were alone in the screened in porch, he pulled away. You were hit with the cool air of the night, and you turned around. Standing there, Taehyung.

[letmeringabell]

Legends Never Die - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 : Fancy Meetin’ Ya

I know, I'm posting really fast. But you've just gotta let the creative juices flow before I experience untimely burn-out that makes it harder to write. On the side-note, I really love Ada Wong's design, I think there's something just so mysterious and pretty about her design. So, imagine Vanessa as Ada.

Why Vanessa? Well, I only liked Vanessa because you could shorten it to Van. I also considered Vesper, and Diana, which I think are suitable names.

Also, can you tell I'm a fan of longing glances and slow burn? Yeah, I eat that shit up. I'm a sucker for fics of these cliches, and I always wanna die. But anyway, do tell me what you think of this chapter, whether I'm going too fast, too slow, whether i'm writing too much or too little. If you have any headcanons or scenarios, tell me now or forever hold your peace. Or do I forever hold my peace? I don't know man.

(3185 words)

AO3 link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806688/chapters/49454489

-

The flurry of sand and desert heat hadn’t been too kind on him, but when has Outworld weather been known for Southern hospitality? Nevertheless, he counts his lucky stars that he���s finally back, because the last mission has his bones ragged. The last mission hadn’t been hard, just tiresome; One of Kotal’s ‘trusted’ partner had been selling Imperial secrets behind his back, and who better but Erron Black to chase the bugger down?

Only this partner was highly elusive—Sending him high and low, left and right, and running all around to catch a whiff of the man. He had roamed from city to city, from village to village, and his target manages to sneak away at the last moment each time. The whole cat-and-mouse chase is enough to drive any man insane, but the cowboy isn’t deterred by the challenge so arrogantly posed. In fact, he waits, bides his time on the down-low patiently for any misstep by his target.

Although, a word from the wise is overdue; One must never let their guard down during a chase, especially when the predator had been the masked marauder himself.

Yet all it takes is one afternoon for the man to forget, wondering through busy markets without a care in the world, while Erron patiently stakes out in a room of one of the buildings nearby with his rifle aimed surreptitiously at the man’s head. The reminder had been fatal; All it takes is one shot, and the man falls without a sound.

The chaos that ensues after makes up for the silence in the man’s death. Everyone gathers around the corpse, and screams at the horror of the whole situation. He feels no need to wait around and collect the man’s body; The news of that man’s death will travel around, and that is proof enough that he had been successful in his headhunting. Nature had given everyone something to fall back on, and sooner or later, someone’s gotta fall on it.

And this time, it was that man’s turn to fall.

And it was his time to tap out for the night, had enough of all these games of cat-and-mouse. Gotta rest the old bones before conquering the days ahead.

Imagine his surprise when he got back to the Palace, to see the place filled to the brim with Special Forces units. He sees the Kahn having a conversation with the Commander, and saunters towards them, ignoring the hushed whispers on the sidelines.

“Hola, Miss Cassie Cage.”

“Erron, how awful it is to see you.”

“I assure you Darlin’, the feelings mutual,” He shoots back, “What brings you over to our humble abode?”

It is Kotal that cuts through their ‘cordial’ banter, “I have invited Special Forces here to help strengthen our ties with Earthrealm. Kitana and Jade will take care of their day-to-day needs, you will overlook their sparring sessions.”

Erron glares at the Kahn, but he lets it slide – The Kahn always compensates for his time generously. It is what keeps him loyal, and motivates him to undertake all sorts of janky missions for the sovereign. There is never a dull time serving Kotal, and he appreciates the unpredictability in his missions. It keeps him preoccupied, and least of all, keeps him entertained.

He excuses himself and leaves the Kahn and Commander to their affairs. Besides, he has an errand to attend to; A drop-off of rare medicinal herbs for the doctors at the Infirmary. All of them had requested for this specific breed of Spider Lilly, said it was good for re-energizing the tired soul. He could care less about the methods used in re-creating that effect, what mattered was the results.

He doesn’t bother with knocking when he enters the Infirmary. They know it’s him by the sound of his footsteps and they scramble to surround him like moths to a flame. He hands over the flower, and they thank him profusely. Appreciation and gratitude are good for the soul, but when a man’s tired, nothing sounded more tempting than a sip of whiskey and a comfortable bed to sleep on.

He looks up and catches sight of a woman leaning against the doorway of the unused office. Short raven hair, equally dark eyes, and she stands hardly the height of Sonya nor Cassie Cage (at least, from this distance), but looks strong enough to easily throw a man over her shoulder should he look at her the wrong way – Fitting, for a person working in the Special Forces.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s easy on the eyes as well. So, he tips his hat off to her, Howdy unspoken in his greeting towards her. He knows she can’t miss it, because he catches her in the act of sizing him up as well. Yet, she seemed confused, and a little curious? Nevertheless, she seemed to return the gesture with a small nod of her own before closing the door to retreat into the room.

“Who is she?”

She is one of the Doctors from Special Forces, one of them had replied. She had been part of the Special Forces Delegation, and assigned to the medical unit in the Palace infirmary. She came to learn and bring back Outworlds treatments and cures back to Earthrealm. A question pops into his head-- Aren’t Earthrealm’s medical practice vastly different from Outworld? In Outworld, doctors use high-level magicks to heal wounds of all variety—Burns, grazes, you name it. Given the supernatural nature of Outworlds modern medicine, he highly doubts she can learn anything from these doctors who uses spells instead of science.

 (Then again, the only thing he knows of medicinal remedies is when his own Pa spat whiskey into his wounds, and damn, the pain had been one sonuvabitch to swallow)

-

“The Valerian root helps patients deal with their anxiety, a form of sedative, one might say. But taken in large and uncontrolled amounts, only backfires and induces insomnia.”

“What about this?”

“The Goldenseal root is used as an antiseptic. Again, if consumed in large amounts, is highly poisonous and will only further irritate the eye and skin.”

“And this?”

“The Echinacea leaf is commonly used to prevent flus or colds, but long-term use could disturb the body’s immune system.”

“Basically, too much of anything is a bad thing.”

-

Making medicine with the herbs and plants found in Outworld is challenging. The art of making medicine in Outworld, she finds, is similar to chemistry – If she places too little of one herb, the supposed effects don’t flourish and are made redundant because it is overpowered by the potency of other herbs. Yet, if carelessness had been her approach, she could easily induce unknown side-effects, or worse, actually kill a person. Thus, the delicate balance of underwhelming and catastrophic are outcomes she monitors like a hawk.

She enjoys this side of her work nonetheless. It allows her to better understand the more traditional aspects of her work, and expand on more creative options should modern medicine fail in being readily available.

However, the paperwork, and regular inventory checks are cumbersome all the same. Her rationale is that sometimes, you’ve just got to sit through the unsavory parts of the job so that you can reap its benefits. That doesn’t mean she can’t silently complain about how uneventful some days, or how stagnant her progress in learning can be. It’s become a point of contention, and it’s only been 2 weeks since her first day in Outworld. Her hands are itching for something new to work on.

Bored eyes cast sweeping glances over the city, and of course, she catches a glimpse of the cowboy himself. Ah, today is the training session between Outworld and Special Forces’ Soldiers. He is relaxed; There is a slight slouch in his posture, and he didn’t seem too interested in the body-tossing action happening right before him. She can tell, that he is still hypervigilant – His arms are at his side, and are steadily poised beside the holsters on his pants. All it takes is one motion to swipe his pistol up, and BANG!

And as much as she hates to admit it, her thoughts do float around the masked man she had met, no, seen. She hadn’t talked to him, nor has she passed him by in the past 2 weeks. She had asked her colleagues about the man, and the responses she had gotten were strangely varied – ‘He’s the Kahn’s main headhunter’, ‘A man who knows how to drink any man under the table’, and ‘Save a horse, ride a cowboy’. The last phrase had been told, but felt unneeded. Any person’s business under the sheets, is nothing she wants to know about. Least of all, his business.

But you are curious, a small voice whispers in the back of her mind, He is the leading man shrouded in mystery and danger.

She reprimanded herself; There are other things to be curious about.

-

The whole day has been a bore, and its starting to make his hands itch and fret restlessly. Apparently, today’s training session had been requested by Miss Cage, what better way there is to strengthen the bonds of friendship than participating in friendly kombat? He could just shut one eye, and believe her desire for camaraderie between soldiers of two realms, but he can see through her bullshit as clear as day, and it makes him raise a wary brow at the Commander.

The logic behind her unspoken reason had been sound – It is best to fight as many types of kombatants as you can, provided that one chooses their opponents well. Any Tom, Dick and Harry can get the theory down easy. But if you don’t have the practice, the real hand-to-hand experience, one can only expect to have their asses handed to them over and over again. Face-to-face Kombat allows fighters to exercise their real-time reactions, gives them the chance to better their reflexes and recognize the precise moment to either move forward and attack, or retract and defend.

So, today is a masterclass in Outworld Kombat for the Special Forces. However, the session is but a double-edged sword. Just as the Special Forces had come to learn and observe, the army had come prepared to do the same.

His eyes search for any telltale of black within the sea of browns and blondes, and is only greeted by her absence in return. He wants to make her acquaintance, and knows that she is a doctor for the Special Forces. That doesn’t give him the right to be waltzing into her office without any sort of official business. It would only invite talks of rumors and gossip to fly around, and he would be doing them both a favor by abstaining from such behavior.

So, what’s a man to do to earn his trip to the doctor’s office without seeming like such an ass?

He looks at Miss Cage, unless, the stirrings of a brilliant idea come to mind.

-

“Yo, Clint Eastwood! You too chicken to step into the Kumite zone with me?”

“Put your money where that mouth is, darlin’.”

-

So maybe he had been a little harsh, but Cassie had no qualms with dishing out her own brand of revenge – One rapid, well-timed kick to the core followed by a solid punch to his face. A just reward for insulting a beloved father. Outworld Soldiers are surprised by his lack of vigor in the fight, but none of Special Forces are surprised that Cassie is fierce in defending her family’s honor.

His face might hurt, and his pride a little wounded, but the fight had yielded results. He is sent to the Infirmary to await doctor’s treatment.

He waits because she is out for the moment, so he takes the chance to look around the room. There is nothing out of the ordinary; There is a couch placed near the door to welcome guests (or, patients), the books are shelved back-to-back against each other, and labelled for trouble-free browsing. He finds that most of the books are medical in nature, save for a select few in herbology and astronomy. A doctor must have her hobbies, he digresses. Everything on the desk is neatly arranged with each item assigned their designated corners; stationeries in one corner and a stack of papers in the other.

He picks up the top most paper on the pile, and lets his eyes roam over the elegant handwriting. He thinks she could easily be an artist because the sketches of various flowers and herbs are so lifelike, they mimic the figure of their real-life counterpart. There are arrows pointing to formulas and possible side-effects everywhere, and although her workspace maybe organized, her notes are just a jumbled mess.

But he admires her tenacity in the research because her notes are an impressive study in Outworld’s green.

Clack!

He turns around, and speak of the devil; She is there in the flesh, and a lot taller than he remembers.

“I’m sorry for the wait. My name is Vanessa, and I will be attending to you this evening.”

She ushers him to the seat beside her table, and begins her task; She listens to his heartbeat, flashes a light into his eyes, and asks him the routine, “Where do you feel pain?” and “Does your family have a history of serious diseases?”. He answers honestly and concisely – It’s just my face, and, I reckon not. She faithfully jots down whatever he says down into a piece of paper, and reaches for something in one of the drawers.

“First off,” She starts, and he sees a medical kit being placed on the table, “I can save you the trouble and stitch your wound now, but you’re also free to leave if you don’t want my medical attention, because in my understanding, Outworld has different and better ways to treat you. So, what will it be?”

Straight to business. “Have on, Miss Vanessa.”

She moves silently and deftly—She is quick at work to prepare all of the equipment, and arranges them in immaculate order on the tray in front of her. She disinfects the problem area, before filling the syringe with a clear liquid from one of the labeled bottles, and once he nods her assent, injects the anesthesia to help numb the pain during the stitching process.

Her gloved hands move nimbly, suture in one hand and the needle holder in the other, the constant loop of entry and exit is executed with practiced ease. Her hands don’t tremble, nor do they hesitate in fear of misstep. She is sure and confident with each push-and-pull, and it assures him that she is not without skill.

He takes the time now, to take a proper and closer look at her. Her short hair accentuates the high cheekbones and angular sharpness of her facial features and her eyes are a darkened grey; a reminder of misty mornings, and ominous fog. Her skin is glass-like, clear, no visible scar or blemish in sight. He spots the light dusting of freckles on tanned skin, no doubt, a result from the sun and heat of Outworld. She is what a cat would look like in flesh and blood, a thought he keeps safely to himself.

He will admit, she is a pretty little thing. Even so, the minute slouch in her posture, the mistiness and redness in her eyes, and the prominent dark circles under them is very telling. Underneath all that loveliness, is a woman exhausted. Whether it is the research or the field work that has her running on low fuel, he reckons that she could do with a few more hours of sleep.

She starts talking, her voice a soothing cadence to distract from the obvious monotone in the environment, “How did you get these wounds?”

“A souvenir from the past assignment, a man had gotten close enough to graze me with his knife, but not smart enough to actually kill me.”

“And why does your face hurt?”

“That’s a souvenir from your Commander,” He catches the question in her eyes, and the amused tilt of her lips, “That clown and his ten-gallon mouth deserved all the insults.”

“You really are a glutton for punishment,” She chuckles, sealing the stitch shut.

She gives him the standard doctor’s order – Rest and no sudden movements, or else he would risk exposing himself to an infection due to his torn stitches. He’s heard it all, from day one until day now, but he is thankful that she keeps it short and sweet.

“Do you sleep well, Mr. Black?” She interrupts him leaving, pulls out a bottle for him to see. “You can take it, it’s free.”

“Well, look who we have here, a doctor playing crafty salesman on a hot Sunday afternoon. Nothing in this world comes for free, so what’s the catch?”

She raises her arms in mock defeat, her expression is full of mirth, and a playful smile reaches her eyes, “Okay, it’s not FDA approved yet, but I know for a fact that it works. Cassie uses it, Jacqui uses it, and a few hundred others can also attest to its success.”

He raises a curious brow at her, a sign for her to continue her sales pitch. No matter how much she tries to hide it, he can tell that she is proud of her creation, because her voice is full of it, “It helps eases tenseness, and makes sleep easier, but unlike other soporific drugs, it doesn’t bring about excessive drowsiness, so you’re still able to react appropriately to any possible threats.”

Soporific, what a five-dollar word.

But he has something else in mind, because he leans in and places both arms rigidly on the arms of her chair, effectively trapping and confining her in the tight space between his arms. He leans towards her, and stops when the gap between them is nose-to-nose. He admits that he is shameless and forward in his flirting, but he wants to see how she would respond-- would she retreat further into her seat, or would she lean forward, would she bridge the gap between them?

So, she responds, neither further nor retreating. She stays still in her position; Her hands are firmly placed in her lap, while her grey eyes are staring straight back at him, her gaze sharpening into that of gentle steel.

“Hey Van, I was wondering if you had- Oh.”

Both of them immediately turn their heads towards Jacqui, the deer in headlights. Jacqui is full of apologies, because she is standing there, stumbling over her words, and says sorry over and over again for disturbing whatever doctor-patient examination they were having, and speeds out of the room faster than the pace she came in. Jacqui’s interruption breaks whatever tension, anticipation and apprehension swimming in the room, and it calms and cools the heat between them.

The Cowboy finally stands straight, his smirk hidden behind his mask and makes his way for the door.

“I’ll see you around, Miss Vanessa.”

[sweet-sugar-cowboy]

Miss. Orléans | Red Dead Redemption 2 | Part 5

@lowkeyofsassguard

Elizabeth Orléans comes from a background of unimaginable wealth from her father. Raised in the life of luxury, she adored her parents and was always a respectable little girl. However, when tragic hits and she’s wearing all black at her mother’s funeral, her life is turned upside down as her father became a drunken mess.

During one of her fathers business meetings, Elizabeth wanders in town and gets herself caught up in something dangerous. Then the infamous Dutch Van der Linde saved her and took her in. There she fell in love and only to have her heart broken.

When events and situations change, Elizabeth leaves the gang and her life as an Outlaw. Leaving only a note and a pile of cash.

John Marston x OC (implied)

Arthur Morgan x OC

Word count: 2021

Arthur had spent most of the day away from camp, wanting be alone and left to his thoughts. He wandered around the land, meeting a few strange people and helping them out. They made him do some odd things, but he met a particular person who wanted to photograph the wild and got his satchel stolen by a fox. It gave Arthur one hell of a chase, but eventually he got it back and the man was able to get the photos he wanted.

He had spent the rest of his days hunting buffalos and some deers to harvest their meat and fur. Ended up going to a trapper to sell him the fur and have him fix up some clothing attires for him. Now he was heading home to camp, wanting to get some food in his belly, maybe some whiskey before he retired for the night. When he entered the camp he noticed it was awfully louder than usual as it seemed everyone was there, laughters and singing could be heard in the night air as he got off his horse and hitched it.

Curiosity overwhelmed him as he wondered what the special occasion was. Entering the camp, his blue gaze instantly went to the campfire where majority of the people were, surrounding two familiar kids.

Jack was currently seated between James and Rosie as the young boy bonded quickly with the two older kids. Abigail was off to the side smiling brightly at the three as she and Hosea cooed at how adorable they were being. Instantly the three became quick friends as they never met kids around their age and took immediate liking to one another. Even shy and timid James opened up quickly as the twins shared their stories about growing up and all the things they would do with their mother. Rosie seemed particularly happy sharing about her experience going fishing, even if others would view it as boring.

James on the other hand talked about books he read with Elizabeth and impressed some of the people by how well he read. Mary-Beth and him were talking about different novels they read. Once you get the boy going, he's a talker, especially when they were discussing about a topic he's interested in.

Dutch was the first to notice Arthur's presence as he stayed a little way back from the group to just observe. Walking over to Arthur, Dutch placed a hand on his shoulders, "It seems these two can change the mood of the camp mighty fast," He mused, his own smile toying on his lips, "What do you plan to do Arthur?"

"What do you mean by that?" Arthur grumbled as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat, admittedly wary of approaching the two. He still didn't know where he stood with Elizabeth and the two kids.

"They're your kids ain't they? You plan on ever taking responsibility?"

"She dont want me Dutch, certainly don't want me around her kids," in his mind he kept beating himself up for all the stupid decisions he made, wanting to fix them, but didnt know how. Since he left the mansion yesterday, guilt has been eating away at his mind as he wanted to be there for them. How he so desperately wanted this, wanted this family now that he knew he had one.

"Don't be a fool son, Eliza is still sweet on you after all these years," Dutch boldly claimed as he offered a cigarette to Arthur, to which he took appreciatively. Though he wanted some whiskey as well.

"Please do tell me how?"

"I can see it in her eyes Arthur, now her words are harsh, but she is a mother looking out for her kids. Just take a look at James name, his middle name is Arthur. If that doesn't tell you anything son, then you really do just know how to shoot."

Dutch left him after that to think over what he said. Was Elizabeth still sweet on him or was Dutch just being Dutch? It has to mean something that Elizabeth gave James his name as well, even if it is just something tiny. Groaning, Arthur walked over to where the whiskey was and grabbed himself a bottle before finding a comfortable spot near another fire camp nearby, not wanting to be around the gang right now. Though he wanted to spend some time with the twins, but he supposed he'll wait for his turn.

However, while Arthur was drinking his sorrow away, a certain somebody managed to sneak up from behind him, though not intentionally, when James stepped on a branch and it snapped, Arthur turned around quicker than an Arabian horse trying to knock you down. Surprised by the man's sudden action, James stayed still, blue eyes wide like saucers as he timidly waved at Arthur. The older man realised who it was and mentally cursed himself for spooking the boy, but covered it up with a cough, "Nice to meet you again James. How you liking the camp?"

James recovered from his initial shock and sat on the makeshift chair in front of Arthur, placing his hands on his knees as he rubbed it, "Everyone seems nice and most have been friendly, but I don't really like a big group like that. Rosie fits right in though," He muttered, but Arthur heard him. Heard how tired he sounded.

Chuckling, Arthur put down the whiskey bottle as he stretched his back slightly, "Well that's the gang alright. Like family, but they can get real annoying sometimes."

"Not Mama and Rosie, i'm never annoyed of them," James stated, as if trying to defend his small family. Even with him being all shy, he was the only boy in their family and he needed to protect them. After all, he was raised without a father, but Elizabeth tried to fill both roles.

"It's hard to stay annoyed with Eliza, she has this charm to her," Arthur spoke before he could think.

"Did you know Mama?" James asked, completely unaware about their relationship.

Arthur chuckled lightly at the irony of his question as he couldn't help but feel bitter. He so desperately want  to claim to be James and Rosie's father, and the only thing stopping him was his insecurities and Eliza, "Knew for awhile, then she left and I haven't seen her in awhile till yesterday," the Outlaw replied vaguely, not knowing if Eliza would appreciate him telling her son about her Outlaw days. The two of them did bad things, but Eliza escaped before she can do anymore bad things.

James nodded, not saying anything for a minute as he gathered his thoughts. His mother's past was always a mystery to him as she would simply say that the past is the past and shouldn't worry about it. His mother also never talked about his father all too often and if she did it would be quick and short answers, "Mama always said my Pa was a good man, but just did bad and stupid things. Rosie and I sometimes wonder if our Pa loved us, but Mama said she was the one who left him."

Words got stuck in Arthur's throat as he stared at the glum look that adorned the younger boys face, he couldn't help but feel like he was responsible for it. However, a small chance of hope lit up within him as Eliza thought he was a good man. Maybe she was just saying it so the kids don't think their father was this horrible guy, but it still made him feel giddy inside. Elizabeth was trying to paint him in a good picture, "Let me tell you this James, whoever your father is, he deeply cares for you and your sister."

"You really think so Sir?"

"He's be a damn right fool is he dont," it was taking everything in him to not up right and say he was their father. He could easily say it, show him a picture of when Eliza and him were together, but Elizabeth would most likely bring a pack of wolves down on him. Plus, he had no right to, Eliza's been the one raising these kids.

"What was Mama like before she had us?" This was the young boys chance to learn more about his Mother.

Taking off his hat, Arthur ran his hands through his grimy and oily hair, he made a mental note to go into Valentines and have a bath before he meets Eliza again, "Your mother was a lot like you I guess. Prefers small crowds and don't really like meeting new people. She was a hell of a fisher, caught a fish half the size of her once. I remember she likes reading as well," There was more he could have said, but he'd rather not tell James that his mother was the sharpest shooter out there and was one hell of a robber if she wanted to be.

"Do you like reading Sir?"

"Not really, I write in my journal sometimes. Your mother was the one who bought me one and got me into writing," Eliza didn't appreciate it whenever Arthur would silently fume in anger and would occasionally snap at her or ignore her. So she got Arthur the journal a long time ago as some therapeutic thing he could do whenever he was bothered. Of course she was still with John at the time. The first couple of pages he wrote was about his jealousy towards the male and his desire to be with Eliza.

That was something he did not want anyone to read.

"Mama writes in journals a lot to!" James said excitedly as he glum expression brightened up, "She always rights in it everyday and had over a dozen of them journals. Though Mama won't ever let me or Rosy read it. Said it was personal."

*****

What in the world did I just do? I allowed Rosie and James to go with Hosea to wherever the camp was. Hosea said it was near Valentines, and that's so far away. I'm terrified for them, the world is such a cruel and unfair place, but I trust Hosea to keep them safe. Plus, Arthur knows he's the father to them so I only pray if any danger comes to them he'll protect them. It's unfair of me to think like that, after all I basically told Arthur that I didn't want him involved with them.

However, as each days past, the kids grow more curious of their father and with that curiosity they want to know who he is. I can only make so much excuses before they get angry at me and demand for real answers.

Maybe Arthur will say something to them during their stay there? Maybe he'll tell them he's their father, and I don't know if I'll be angry, happy or I just don't know. Since they were born I always thought of the possibility of the four of us being a happy family, but then I am thrown back to reality whenever their actions are the talk of the town. Is it selfish of me to want Arthur to change? Is it wrong of me to want him to leave the gang and be with the three of us? The world is so dangerous for Outlaws and I don't want my kids to be live that life.

Guess I aint doing a good job, about to invite a bunch of them to live with us. I use to think I was doing the right thing, that I was raising them right, but as I grow older and so does my kids, I keep questioning if I ever did the right thing. Maybe if I didn't let my selfishness get in the way, my kids could have grown up with a father. It would have been embarrassing to stick around, and only have Arthur be with me just cause of the kids. But, if it meant my kids would have been happy, I would happily do anything to embarrass myself.

[adapted-batteries]

Trust Only the Solid Rock

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General/SFW

Relationship: Flynnstone

Word Count: 7155

After watching The Librarian: Quest for the Spear on New Year’s Day, I had an idea: what if Flynn’s first Guardian was Jacob Stone instead of Nicole Noone. So this is what I came up with, how things would’ve been different, and the same.

Also posted on my Ao3.

-----

“And remember, trust only the solid rock,” Judson said. Flynn stuttered in confusion but Judson disappeared off the screen without clarifying his cryptic message.

At that moment, a rather gruff looking man entered the cabin, chatting with the pilot like they were old buddies. “Let Harrison know I said hi, alright?” the man said, clapping the pilot on the shoulder as he grinned at him. The pilot nodded, smiling as well, and then headed off to the cockpit.

The man, who Flynn thought belonged somewhere in Texas, based on the blue and orange plaid western shirt and well worn jeans, continued down the aisle, stopping right at Flynn’s row. “Aw, was hopin’ for the aisle seat, little more room ya know?” The man’s southern drawl confirmed Flynn’s southern United States theory.

It was at this moment Flynn noticed how the blue on the cowboy’s shirt was the precise shade that matched his eyes. Flynn cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, sure,” Flynn stammered, hastily moving himself and the book in his lap to the window seat. He forgot he had the tray of the window seat out, so his side slammed uncomfortably into it. It took ten obnoxious seconds for Flynn to finally get himself into the window seat. He expected the man to be annoyed with him, and it’d be a lie if Flynn said he wasn’t a little scared of the muscles underneath that shirt, but the man didn’t seem mad at all, in fact, he looked somewhat amused.

They both settled in to their seats as the flight attendant did the standard air safety spiel. It wasn’t until they had taken off that the cowboy gave in to his clear curiosity about the old book on Flynn’s lap. “What’s that there? Looks ancient.”

“That would be because it is,” Flynn replied. He knew he shouldn’t discuss the book with a stranger, but he had such bad impulse control when it came to anything he knew something about. “Written in the language of the birds, in fact, which no one can read. Well, not yet anyway.”

The man glanced down at the book, then back to Flynn. “And you’re gonna translate it on an airplane?”

“I have roughly seven hours to do so, so yes, I’ll be translating it on this plane. And I would like to get to work as soon as possible,” Flynn snapped.

The man just shook his head at him. “Sure you don’t want help on that?”

“No!” Flynn lowered his voice when other passengers looked at them. “No, I can do it, trust me.”

Now the man looked annoyed. “Fine, then.” He then faced forward, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Flynn thought the man fell asleep, and would hopefully stay asleep the full flight, but an hour in, he opened his eyes and tried to sneak a glance at the text.

“Do you mind?” Flynn growled, shifting closer to the bulkhead.

“Am I not allowed to be curious?” the man growled back.

“It’s not like you could help anyway, Cowboy,” Flynn retorted, and then flinched when the man tensed. He’s not going to punch me on a plane...right?

The man closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath, then looked down at the text for a moment. “To best protect the staff of old from the hand of evil, split twice and scattered abroad-”

Flynn jerked the book away from the man. “How did you...who are you?”

The man smiled smugly. “The name’s Stone, Jacob Stone. And you’re Flynn Carsen, current Librarian I assume.”

How did know my name? How doe he know the language? “Trust only the solid rock,” Flynn muttered, eyes narrowed at Jacob. Then Flynn sucked in a breath and grabbed his arm excitedly. “You’re the rock, the one Judson was talking about.”

Jacob let out a huff of air at the mention of Judson. “That’s how he briefed you on me? Classic Judson.”

“You didn’t answer my question. How do you know the language of the birds?” Flynn asked, releasing his arm and settling back into his chair.

“I know a whole lot. Enough I could’ve been in that seat right now,” Jacob said, nodding at Flynn.

“Then how come you aren’t? Surely if you know this,” Flynn shook the book gently, “then you’d be more than qualified to be the Librarian.”

“That’s what I thought a few years ago, but when I met Charlene, she congratulated me on becoming the new Guardian for Wilde,” Stone said, folding his arms across his chest like he was still annoyed at the decision. “Apparently my brawn was more important than my brains.”

“What’s a Guardian?”

Jacob looked at Flynn with pity. “They really didn’t tell you anything, huh?”

Flynn shook his head a bit too forcefully. “They don’t tell me anything, and when they do, it’s cryptic, or not useful things like ‘save my receipts.’”

“I’d get used to that, if you wanna keep the job,” Jacob said, smiling at him. “A Guardian protects the Librarian. It’s a dangerous job in a lot of ways, and it’s my job to try to keep you alive to keep on doin’ it.”

Flynn nodded, then tilted his head like a dog. “What happened to the last Librarian?”

Jacob’s mood darkened. “He died, because I didn’t do my job good enough. And I’m not gonna let that happen again.”

Flynn was not sure how to respond to that information. “That’s...good to know.” He cleared his throat, not a fan of having Jacob brooding next to him. “So this book, you can translate it?”

“Sure, but so far I have no clue what it’s talkin’ about,” Jacob said, looking down at the book. “I’m better with art and literature and languages."

“Well, I can handle that,” Flynn said, savoring the fact that he still seemed to be the Librarian for a reason.

---

They made it through most of the book, then as soon as Jacob got up to go to the lavatory, Flynn was promptly almost kidnapped. Thankfully Jacob heard the commotion and burst out of the lavatory and knocked some goons about, krav maga style Flynn noted. To say Flynn wasn’t impressed by the speed at which Jacob disabled their wannabe captors would be a lie. And then Flynn forgot all about Jacob’s fighting style when the Guardian shoved him out of the plane with no parachute.

For a good ten seconds, Flynn was free falling, screaming all the while. And then an arm grabbed him by the torso, pulling him flush against someone, and then there was a jerk of a parachute unfurling as the other arm of this person secured Flynn.

They were drifting at a much less deadly speed now, but Flynn was still screaming. “Shut it, would you?” Jacob rumbled in his ear, loud against the woosh of the wind around them. Flynn stopped screaming, mainly because within another ten seconds they were tumbling to the rainforest floor.

Once Flynn righted himself, he turned towards Jacob, somehow already standing there like Flynn took five minutes to stand up. “You! Do not shove me out of a plane!” Flynn shouted, poking Jacob harshly in the chest.

Jacob stared him down. “We had no choice. If we stayed, we would’ve been captured.”

“You don’t know that! It looked like you had it handled.”

“Don’t question my judgment,” Jacob snarled, putting some space in between them. “Where are we?”

Flynn thought for a moment, thinking of the flight plan and their trajectory. “I need to get above the canopy to know for sure, but we should be fairly close to the secret Mayan temple.”

“Then get up that tree there,” Jacob said, pointing to a thick tree.

“Sure, I’ll just...climb this tree here,” Flynn said, walking over to the tree. Fueled by Jacob’s unimpressed look, Flynn scaled the tree.

Above the canopy, Flynn got confirmation of their location. Annoyingly, Jacob climbed the tree too, and looked annoyingly less winded than Flynn felt. “I’d say we’re about twenty miles away,” Jacob said, squinting at the temple in the distance.

“Nineteen and a third,” Flynn grumbled under his breath.

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Then we should get going,” he said, then left Flynn sitting at the top of the tree.

---

Trekking in the forest was not a thing Flynn really wanted to do, at least not so unprepared, but Jacob didn’t seemed to mind roughing it. They were sitting around a little campfire, eating roasted squirrels that Jacob had trapped earlier. It was quiet without it actually being quiet; the rainforest had plenty of noises, some Flynn didn’t want to think about, but he and Jacob ate in silence, at least, for a little while.

“So...what did you do before you came to the Library? Professor? Grad school?”

Jacob chuckled, shaking his head. “None of that. I was working on an oil rig when I got the letter, and before that I had a couple year stint at land surveying.”

Flynn blinked. “Oh.” He took a bite of meat to occupy his mouth, but the question came out anyway. “Then how did you...learn?”

“Not everyone has to learn through school, Flynn,” Jacob replied. “There wasn’t anythin’ stoppin’ me from reading books from my town’s library as a kid. And the internet is pretty nifty.”

“But...you’re brilliant. Why oil?”

Jacob kicked a little stone into the fire. “My dad has...had an oil company, one of the biggest local ones in Oklahoma. He expected me to run it, and for awhile I did.” He paused, pulling at meat with his teeth, but he eventually continued when Flynn wouldn’t quit staring at him. “My pa, he wasn’t one for smarts, or for people who had ‘em. He was worse than the kids at school.”

“So you hid it,” Flynn said. He hadn’t meant to be sarcastic or anything, but he was bad with the whole social interaction thing.

“Yeah, I did, and what of it?” Jacob glared at him. “Just because I didn’t study like you doesn’t mean I’m any less smart than you.”

Flynn cleared his throat awkwardly, finishing his roasted squirrel. “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to have toilet paper on you?”

Flynn hated the fact that the fire made Jacob’s eyes very piercing, because they were attempting to murder him with a look. Jacob took a knife from his boot, stabbed a leaf, and offered it to Flynn. “Be my guest.”

“Thanks,” Flynn said, taking the leaf and walking away from Jacob. Conveniently, he walked towards the cliff they’d camped near, and happened to see a group of not nice looking people around their own fire. He near sprinted back to Jacob. “We have friends!” he shout-whispered.

Jacob sprang up and followed Flynn to get a glimpse, and then promptly went and put the fire out. “They won’t scale the cliff ‘till morning.” He then settled down next to the dying embers, apparently ready to sleep for the night.

Without the fire, Flynn was acutely aware of the drop in temperature. “It’s, uh, it’s getting cold without that fire. We may need to do something to keep us warm.”

“Are you askin’ to cuddle?” Jacob looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

“No! Uh, I just, was making an observation,” Flynn stammered, pacing around the dead fire.

“Get over here,” Jacob commanded, and it was a voice Flynn was not going to disobey. He sat down next to Jacob, leaving space in between them. Jacob eyed the gap. “That’s not gonna keep us warm.”

Flynn tried to restrain himself, but still probably got right up against Jacob a bit too quickly. The cowboy-fighter didn’t seem to notice. Despite the exhaustion, Flynn’s limbs were buzzing with energy. What am I, a teenager? Jacob made it worse when he wrapped an arm around Flynn’s waist and said into his ear, “try to get some sleep, you’ll need it.”

---

They were up and moving as soon as it got bright enough to make out general shapes of plants, hopefully leaving the people down below none the wiser. They continued hiking through the rainforest...happened on some locals, where of course Jacob spoke their dialect of Portuguese perfectly (and it sounded stupidly good coming out of his mouth, Flynn noted). Jacob even didn’t seem to mind when Flynn geeked out about the mating dance they got to watch that night. In fact, if Flynn wasn’t in such a weird situation, he’d say Jacob was watching him fondly that whole night.

It would’ve been nice to spend more time at the village, but the Serpent Brotherhood showed up the next morning, prompting Flynn and Jacob to flee into the jungle. They ran as fast as the forest floor would let them, and took a plunge over a waterfall to put distance between them and their pursuers. Flynn noted that Jacob’s soaked undershirt (he had his western shirt tied around his waist to dry), clung obscenely to his solid torso and muscular arms.

They got to the temple as the sun neared three in the afternoon. Flynn took over on that one, about got them killed but then saved them, thankfully. When they walked into the treasure room, Jacob kept Flynn from being stupid by dragging him back before he could go mess around with the piece of spear on the pedestal. “Woah there, these things are near always booby trapped. Don’t ever go wanderin’ up to something like that,” Jacob said.

Flynn felt himself flush. “I knew that.”

“Uh huh.” Jacob looked around the room, trying to find a release for whatever trap was inevitably on that pedestal. Flynn wanted to beat Jacob to the punch, so with his quick thinking, he took a rock and threw it at the spear piece, knocking it to the floor.

Jacob spun around to Flynn. “What did you-” A large stone face slamming into the space in front of the pedestal cut him off. Jacob looked at it a bit, then said, “Well, that works.”

They left the temple much quicker than it took them to get in, however the Serpent Brotherhood goons were standing right outside. Considering the odds if they tried to flee, Jacob and Flynn complied, and were dragged harshly through the jungle to a makeshift camp nearby. Someone was in the farthest tent they were facing, based on the rustling Flynn could hear. The person stepped out, and Flynn couldn’t believe his eyes at who was standing in front of him.

Jacob was furious. “Ed...you died...you...how…” It took three men to restrain him.

The apparently-not-deceased, previous Librarian shook his head like Jacob was slow. “What you saw was a special effect. Though your tears were perfect,” Edward said. Jacob bristled, but stayed put as the men restraining him prodded his sides with their guns. Edward looked to Flynn with disgust. “You’re the Librarian?”

Jacob ignored Edward’s jab. “Why?”

Edward swaggered closer to Jacob. “Absolute power, who wouldn’t? Oh, that would be you, the Guardian who hated magic.”

Then three men were not enough to restrain Jacob. He lashed out, grabbing Edward by the throat, before two more men joined the first three to push him back. Flynn noticed the red finger-length marks on Edward’s neck.

Edward coughed a little, grimacing, but then cocked his gun and aimed right at Jacob’s chest. “Goodbye Jacob. It was nice to see you again.”

Before Edward could fire, Flynn leaped in front of Jacob. “You can’t kill him.”

Edward looked at him. “Why not?”

Flynn stood a little straighter, adrenaline substituting for confidence. “Because you need me to find the last piece, and I won’t do it without him.”

Shoving his gun in the back of his pants, Edward closed the five feet between him and Flynn. “I don’t need you. I have this,” he said as took the book out from Flynn’s messenger bag and started flipping through the pages. Edward looked at Flynn in disbelief. “The language of the birds. No one can read this!”

“No one except a real Librarian,” Jacob said from behind Flynn.

Flynn bit back the immediate thought that Jacob technically translated it first. Instead, he started speaking in the language of the birds. “Tu zak su auk chi, coo coo coo coo coo coo coo caksi, kappa pippsi pash. In the language of the birds, that means you’re up a creek, and I’ve got the only paddle.”

Edward slammed the book shut. “Tell me where the third piece is, and I’ll let him live.”

“Don’t tell him,” Jacob said to Flynn.

“It’s in Shangri-La,” Flynn said.

Jacob kicked him in the back of the leg. Flynn winced, but Edward didn’t seem to notice. “Don’t screw with me, that’s a legend.”

“Shangri-La is in Mount Kailesh, in the Himalayas,” Flynn said, then turned his head to look at Jacob. “Excuse me for trying to save your life...again.”

“The spear is more important than my life, Flynn,” Jacob growled, his menacing tone making the mercenaries around them anxious.

“He’s not gonna get anywhere near that spear, unless I interpret the clues in there,” Flynn said, nodding to the book.

---

In captivity, they were shoved through the jungle to an airstrip, onto a plane, under constant watch of at least four men at any time. Both Flynn and Jacob took the break to get rest, and eat what little food they were given. Only when they were scaling mountains in the Himalayas did the security dwindle, though there wasn’t exactly anywhere for them to escape to anyway.

Flynn did not want to visit Shangri-La like this, but Jacob seemed even more distraught about it. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, hoping to not provoke the goons dragging both of them along.

“I...I trained here, to fight, and now I’m here in captivity to take the very thing they’ve sworn to protect,” Jacob replied, looking at the ground the whole time. Flynn noticed the monks were watching the Guardian, giving various looks of concern, disappointment, and pity, but the one in the center had no expression on his face.

“Welcome. It has been long prophesied that you would come today,”  the monk in the middle said.

Edward, not one for pleasantries anymore, pushed in between Flynn and Jacob while the rest of the goons aimed their guns at the monks. “Give us the spear piece.”

The monk in the middle sighed, and then let them into the temple. The Serpent Brotherhood mercenaries shoved Flynn and Jacob through the temple to the golden statue in the back of the room.

“It is hidden inside,” the monk told Edward.

“Open it,” Edward demanded.

“We are the meer keepers. We have no idea how to open it,” the monk replied.

Edward shoved Flynn forward. “Fortunately, he does.” Flynn slowly made his way up to the statue, but apparently it wasn't fast enough for Edward. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at Jacob’s head. “Get the spear piece, or I blow his brains out.”

Flynn raised his hands to show he was complying, took out the book, and looked at it for few moments. “Uh...this can’t be right,” Flynn said, flipping through pages.

“What?!” Edward said, shoving Jacob forward so he could see but still keep his leverage on Flynn.

“Well, this says it can only be opened with the name of god.”

“So?”

“So, the name of god is only the biggest secret in the WORLD. Over four thousand years, people have been trying to figure out, you expect me to come up with it in fifteen seconds?” Flynn retorted.

Edward replied by cocking his gun and re-aiming it at Jacob’s occipital bone.

Defeated, Flynn rolled his sleeves up a little and studied the characters on the statue’s stomach. After a few moments, he smiled. “M...E,” he said as he touched two symbols. The symbols glowed, then the whole stomach section glowed around the edges and retreated into the statue with a bright flash, revealing the spear blade. “Me, god is within us all,” Flynn explained.

The monk who had greeted them smiled and nodded at Flynn as Edward released Jacob and made his way up to the blade. Flynn, wanting to pull a fast one on Edward, stood up in resignation. “Go ahead, take it.” He winked to Jacob, who looked about ready to take out all the Serpent Brotherhood around him.

Edward about fell for it, going so far as to reach his hand just across the threshold of the compartment, but then he stood up and looked at Flynn. “No, you take it,” Edward commanded. Flynn, not wanting to show his concern, did so, but his hesitation gave him away. “Problem?”

Flynn shook his head, and proceeded to pull the blade out quickly, with no ill effects. That’s not right. Edward swiped the blade from him as Flynn glanced around the room in confusion.

“Lars, fly up here now, track my signal,” Edward said into a walkie talkie, staring at the blade in his hand like he just had the world handed to him. Just then, the statute started to descend into the floor.

“About time,” Flynn told the statue as a gong sounded, and the temple started shaking.

Things descended into chaos. The monks took advantage of it, targeting the Serpent Brotherhood. Jacob grabbed the blade from Edward after elbowing him in the stomach, then grabbed Flynn’s arm and dragged him through the chaos, though they had to get past enemies first...or rather, Jacob took care of them quickly in a similar yet different style than the monks were using around them.

Seeing their escape, Edward blocked their path. “Give me the spear!”

Jacob took the blade in his hand and chucked it across the room into the chaos.

“Noo! Get the spear!” Edward roared, pushing past them into the room.

Jacob continued leading Flynn out of the collapsing temple, ignoring his “but the blade!” until they were outside.

“Hold on, we have to get the spear piece,” Flynn said as soon as they stopped.

Jacob pulled out the blade in the sheath built into his boot. “If you wanna hide something, you do it in plain sight.”

The monk that had first greeted them ran up to them. “The spear must be protected.”

“Master-” Jacob started, but the man held up a hand to stop his sentence.

“Protect it. You cannot fight a crowd alone, Jacob. We will rebuild. Do your duty.”

Jacob looked like he had more to say, but he just nodded, grabbed Flynn’s wrist, and ran off to the helicopter that had just conveniently landed on the lawn.

---

With their new helicopter, they flew towards the nearest blip of civilization that was big enough to have a hotel, and promptly booked themselves a room. Flynn didn’t blink an eye at sharing a room, but he gawked when the manager informed them there was only one bed.

“It’s not like we didn’t just spend a week in each other’s company. Any bed is better than camping outside again, and I don’t want to let you out of my sight when they’re still lookin’ for us,” Jacob said. He then thanked the manager and took the room key, expecting Flynn to follow him to the elevator, which he did.

The room itself was fine. Flynn claimed the bathroom first, hoping the warm shower and scrubbing off a week’s worth of grime would let him fall asleep quickly. Eventually he forced himself out of the shower so Jacob could use it.

Just as Jacob stepped into the bathroom, the tv turned itself on. Judson was in the screen. “Mr. Carson.”

“Judson! You and everyone at the Library can completely relax. We have the third piece of the spear right,” he paused to dig under the bed to retrieve it, “right here. Completely safe.”

Judson nodded in approval. “Good work. I still can’t believe that Wilde joined the Serpent Brotherhood. He was a fine Librarian. Thank goodness we have a…a better one now.” Flynn wiggled a little where he was sitting on the bed, savoring the praise. “Get some rest, and return to the Library as soon as possible,” Judson said, and then the tv turned off, ending the conversation.

Once Judson’s image fizzled out, Flynn let himself lay down on the bed, the left side when looking at the bed, leaving more than enough room for Jacob to sleep on. His back ached at the soft mattress after several nights of sleeping on the ground, so he shifted around until he was on his side, back facing the edge of the bed. He was exhausted, but of course his brain didn’t want to rest quite yet, so he laid there, staring at the wall, trying to process his past week. He did his best to ignore the steam curling from under the bathroom door, to not think about how he'd rather be back in that shower, listening to that southern voice sing some country song without a door and a shower curtain between them.

And then all thoughts of anything ceased to be at the forefront of his brain when Jacob walked out of the muggy bathroom, only pajama bottoms on, towel draped around his neck. And of course, Flynn's mouth acted of its own accord. “You're not wearing a shirt.”

Jacob looked at him, thought a moment, and then said, in a rather gravelly voice, “No, I'm not. Accidentally left it out here.” He nodded at the shirt still sitting on top of the dresser.

“Hmm, was it truly an accident?” Flynn asked. And then he processed those words and sat up quickly. “I'm sorry, uh, I-”

“Do you want it to be on purpose?” Jacob asked. He kept eye contact with Flynn as he ran the towel through his damp hair slowly. “‘Cuz it could've been.”

“Uh, well, um,” said Flynn eloquently.

Jacob chuckled. “You sure have a way with words, Flynn.”

“Well, you make it hard to think,” Flynn retorted. He meant it to be a jab, but it just came out as a compliment.

“Do I now?” Jacob said with a smirk. He slowly walked over to the side of the bed Flynn was sitting. “Tell me, Flynn, what would you like to do right now?”

With Jacob’s solid body right in front of him, and the way he was practically purring Flynn’s name, it took a couple tries for Flynn to get words to work. “Right now? I, uh, I…”

“Would you rather show me?” Jacob asked, leaning down at the hips so his face was level with Flynn’s. Flynn nodded, and didn’t stop nodding until his face pressed against Jacob’s. Jacob kissed him for a moment, then pulled away, smiling at the way Flynn tried to follow him. “Hold on, now. Why don’t we get into a more comfortable position, hmm?” Flynn nodded yet again, but Jacob got him to stop by gently holding his jaw with one hand, the other stabilizing himself as he straddled Flynn’s hips. “There, now how ‘bout you go on and lay down,” he instructed, giving Flynn little kisses all the way down.

Flynn couldn’t restrain himself now that Jacob was above him; his hand went for Jacob’s torso, feeling the lines of muscle there. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the waterfall,” Flynn admitted.

“Have you, now? Well, don’t be shy,” Jacob muttered, leaning down to let his mouth explore Flynn more.

---

While they could’ve been more well-rested, they woke up the next morning to sun seeping through the curtains, a little stiff in places that hadn’t been sore the night before. Jacob was lazily carding his fingers through Flynn’s hair, where his head still laid on the Guardian’s chest. Once Flynn had savored the memories of the night before, his mind was on to more questions about the Guardian’s past. “How long did you train at Shangri-La?”

Jacob’s hand hesitated a moment before it resumed its path through Flynn’s bedhead. “A couple months, near soon as the Library hired me.”

Flynn traced the lines of Jacob’s torso. “Where else did you train? Your form was...unique.”

“There’s a lot to be learned from bar brawls and school yard fights,” Jacob said, hand moving down Flynn’s neck to his shoulders, making the Librarian shivver. “I had more than my fair share of them.”

For awhile they enjoyed each other’s touch in silence, but eventually Flynn’s curiosity returned. “What did Edward mean when he said you hated magic?”

Now Jacob’s hand stopped moving. “I don’t...Edward liked usin’ it, to save the day, he said. I hated that he did that. Magic is...it’s dangerous, and power corrupts. It’s the reason the Library exists, to keep it out of the hands of those who want to wreak havoc.”

Flynn turned his head so he was looking at Jacob, as much as he could anyway. “Was he always...how he is now?”

Jacob looked away in thought. “I never thought so, I mean, sure, he was headstrong, but his heart was in the right place, or ‘least I thought it was.”

“Were you two...close?”

“No, he, well, he didn’t even know about me,” Jacob said. He still wasn’t looking at Flynn.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think breakfast...or maybe lunch is in order,” Flynn said, sitting up.

Jacob looked back at Flynn, smiling, but he still seemed distant. “Sounds great.”

They got dressed and made their way to a cafe just down the street from the hotel, spear blade safely sheathed in Jacob’s boot. They ate their food and coffee in a politely ravenous manner, earning a couple glances from other patrons.

“Have you published anything?” Flynn asked Jacob out of the blue.

“What?” Jacob said around a mouthful.

“Any papers, books? I know the way you talked about the language of the birds sounded familiar, but I’ve read countless essays and articles and books to pin down the specific ones I’m thinking of that sounded like you. I mean you had to have done it under a pen name-”

Jacob held up his hand to get Flynn to quiet. “I have, under pen names,” Jacob answered, emphasizing the plural.

Flynn did not want to let this go. He racked his mind, temporarily ignoring his food. “Was Dr. Oliver Thompson one of them?”

Jacob huffed, more amused than annoyed. “Yup.” Just as he took another bite, a sizeable dart sunk into his neck.

“Jacob!” Flynn half shouted, shooting up from his chair. Jacob stood up too, albeit slower than Flynn, and he swayed a little on his feet.

Jacob pulled the dart out, looking around, but his head turned too slowly to really cover the area. “Flynn, run,” he slurred, somehow still standing. Flynn instinctively backed up, just in time for some Serpent Brotherhood brutes to descend on Jacob, who then finally passed out.

Flynn was torn; Jacob told him to run, and he wanted to, but he didn’t wanna leave Jacob. He didn’t get much time to think as the men dragged the unconscious Guardian over to a truck, and sped off. It was then that Flynn realized the blade was still in Jacob’s boot, though the mercenaries didn’t seem to know that as they had taken Flynn’s messenger bag too, not that it would do them any good. Freaking out, Flynn ran down the street in the direction the truck had gone, but there was no way he was going to catch them by foot. He stopped to catch his breath conveniently near another tv.

“Flynn, what’s wrong?” Judson asked. He was sitting in a chair, unlike yesterday’s magical video call.

“Jacob, they took him, a tranquilizer dart, they have the spear, the Serpent Brotherhood took him,” Flynn rambled.

“Alright, alright, not all is lost. It took a great power to split the spear, and it’ll take even more to fuse the pieces together again,” Judson said.

“How much?”

“Well, mysticism aside, you’ll need a local electromagnetic field registering over fifteen on the Shoum scale,” Judson explained.

“Okay, good,” Flynn said, nodding and pacing a little. “The only time that kind of energy’s ever been registered was during a peak full moon at the great pyramid, when it had its capstone. The Egyptian government refuses to replace the-” Flynn had an epiphany “-capstone. Next peak full moon is tomorrow night. Call the marines, Judson, I’m coming home.”

---

That night, New York time, Flynn sneaked up to a service entrance of the museum where just a few weeks ago, he had been working with Professor Harris. He tried busting down the door, but only gave himself a bruised shoulder.

“Flynn,” Judson said, startling him, “we can get in through the ventilation system.”

“Where are the marines?” Flynn asked, looking around.

Judson pulled back the collar of his shirt revealing a small tattoo of the eagle, globe and anchor. “Semper fi.”

“You were a marine,” Flynn said, to which Judson nodded. Flynn had no idea how they were going to get Jacob and the spear, just the two of them. “Good, good.”

“Well now, let’s get that spear back.”

They snuck in, through the ventilation system, and approached the gathering of the Serpent Brotherhood gathering around the scale pyramid from the second floor. Flynn spotted an annoyingly familiar face. “Well well well, Professor Harris. I should’ve known he was evil. He gave me an A minus.”

Edward stepped out of the pyramid, spear pieces in hand. His two main henchman-hench people...the bald one and the lady, stepped out from behind him, Jacob in tow with hands bound behind him. “Serpent Brothers, our dream comes true tonight,” Edward addressed the gathering.

“Doesn’t that guy ever die,” Flynn whispered to Judson.

“We call down the power of the gods, the ancient ones,” Edward said, lifting the pieces up. Then, from the capstone, the pyramid lit up, blue energy coursing down to the base and back up like a scanner before flashing at the capstone. Edward and the people on the stairs with him, Jacob included, went into the pyramid replica as the others outside started chanting, led by Professor Harris no less.

Judson and Flynn made their way to the first floor, hiding behind a large stone head. There’s just too many of them. “I can’t do this alone,” Flynn whispered.

“Well, you got me,” Judson said.

“No offence, Judson, but you’re-” Flynn was interrupted by Judson slamming a patrolling guard’s face into the stone. “You bad mother.”

“I was a Librarian too, you know,” Judson said, and then sneaked off to get a better position on the crowd waiting for Edward. Flynn, knowing all the entrances of the pyramid best, decided to sneak in there because Edward was up to no good.

Flynn’s suspicions were confirmed when he got in there just in time to see Edward stab the bald guy with the newly repaired spear, and consume his soul before throwing him into the magical field created by the capstone. He was about to do the same to Jacob too, but Flynn was not about to let that happen.

“Dying by the very thing you hate, how fitting,” Edward said, and started towards Jacob, spear aimed at his stomach, but Flynn jumped out and tackled Edward before it could touch Jacob. The Guardian looked at Flynn in surprise, and promptly followed him out of the pyramid, only to be greeted by the crowd waiting on Edward. “Kill,” Edward commanded, then went back into the pyramid. The lady followed him.

Seeing Jacob needed his hands, Flynn undid the handcuffs. “Ha, Houdini, Prague, nineteen twenty six,” Flynn said as he threw the cuffs away.

Just then Judson joined them. “We have to get the spear back to the Library,” he said, which prompted the crowd to attack them. Judson went straight to work, taking down several men. Flynn glanced to Jacob, who was gawking just as much as Flynn was. “Get the spear away from Wilde, before he gets too powerful,” Judson commanded. Knowing he wasn’t much good in a fight, Flynn sprinted into the pyramid.

Professor Harris stepped out in front of Flynn, so Flynn used his momentum to break his nose. “You...you broke my nose!” the professor said, blood dripping. “How dare you Flynn!”

“Yeah, I did what you said,” Flynn mocked, grabbing the professor by his jacket. “I learned a few things in the big, bad, real world!” He turned the professor around and gave him a good kick, sending him down the stairs to the floor. Flynn couldn’t get farther into the pyramid though, as the lady came out, gun pointed at him.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said, voice disturbingly gentle despite the chaos around them. “We’re gonna rule the world. We can be together.”

Flynn blinked at her in confusion and fear, but thankfully Jacob had been paying more attention and ran up and decked her square in the temple. “Get your own geek,” he growled. Flynn moved past her on the floor, going up to Jacob, grinning. Jacob nodded towards the doorway, and Flynn ran inside.

Edward was standing just at the edge of the energy field. “It’s too late Flynn. The power of the spear is MINE!” He backhanded Flynn with inhuman strength, sending the Librarian into the nearby wall head first. Blood trickled out of gash above Flynn’s temple. He felt it, just a surface wound, but head wounds always bleed a lot.

Edward stalked over to him. “You’re the best they could come up with?” He then went to stab Flynn with the spear, but Flynn rolled out of the way, letting the spear impact the stone right where he had been. Edward pushed it back a couple inches with the force of his jab. Flynn barely got to his feet before Edward was swiping at him. In his backpedalling, Flynn tripped over rubble. “You’re too clumsy to even die properly!” Edward snarled, spear in one hand ready to throw. Flynn scrambled backwards into the wall, then promptly rolled out of the way.

Just then Flynn realized which stones Edward had shoved back. So he ran to the next corner, Edward trailing him. Edward caught him with the butt of the spear, recovered, and did what Flynn wanted on the third cornerstone.

After Edward hit the fourth cornerstone, Flynn was just beat up enough that he couldn’t get away quick enough. He got roundhouse kicked in the jaw, sending him dazed into a pillar. Edward then took him by the throat and hoisted him up like Flynn weighed nothing.

“Goodbye Librarian,” Edward said, and tossed Flynn towards the energy field, which promptly dissipated as soon as Flynn neared it.

“If even one of the support stones are off even by an inch,” Flynn said, struggling to get to his feet, “the whole pyramid collapses.” He picked up a bit of rubble already crumbling in his hand. “I’d say this was out of alignment.”

“I will destroy you!” Edward roared.

“You never will!” Flynn retorted. “You know why? Because the things that make life worth living can’t be thought here-” he smacked Edward under the chin with the rubble in his hand “-they must be felt here!” Flynn sent Edward stumbling back with a forceful blow to the sternum, enough to put him just under the capstone. And just as Flynn predicted, the capstone came crashing down onto Edward, finally killing the previous Librarian. The spear, undamaged, flew to Flynn’s hands.

Outside, Judson and Jacob had taken care of all the other Serpent Brotherhood people, leaving mess of bodies on the floor. “I believe this belongs to the Library,” Flynn said, using the spear for more support to stand than he’d like to admit.

Jacob didn’t seem to care, he was looking at Flynn with a proud smile...and maybe a bit of bedroom eyes, but Flynn couldn’t be certain considering he did hit his head.

---

Three Months Later

Flynn had taken his mother out for a brunch at a café, where of course she was trying to set him up with the three ladies at a nearby table. “Flynn is a librarian now, but he’s capable of so much more. He just needs the right woman to push him.”

“Mom, you don’t understand. Being a Librarian is actually a pretty cool job,” Flynn said. He leaned towards her a little. “And you don’t need to keep trying to fix me up, I told you that.”

His mom seemed a little taken aback at his bluntness, but brushed it off. “This mysterious J, never quite around to meet the mother, or even have a real first name.”

“I told you, it’s their first initial,” Flynn said, a bit exasperated. “Well, it’s complicated.”

Just then, a motorcycle jumped a potted hedge, drove right into the middle of café patio, and stopped right at their table. Flynn’s mother was shocked, but Flynn looked cool as a cucumber, though in his head he was battling the sudden rush of adrenaline.

Jacob pulled his full-face helmet off, smirking at Flynn. “Hey there, handsome,” Jacob said as Flynn stood up to greet him via a kiss. His mom gasped, making Flynn remember that he should introduce Jacob and not stand there thinking about how stupidly sexy the leather jacket looked on his Guardian.

“Jacob, this is my mother,” Flynn said, forcing his gaze to his mother for a brief moment.

“Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Carsen,” Jacob drawled, putting on that stupidly charming smile of his (it took all of Flynn’s self-control not to kiss it off his face) and offering Flynn’s mother his hand.

“Oh no, the pleasure is mine,” Mrs. Carsen said, taking his hand, which he then brought up to his lips to give a polite kiss on her knuckles before letting her hand go. She looked thoroughly charmed.

Jacob then looked at Flynn. “The Deadly Scorpion League has found H. G. Well’s time machine. We’re the only ones who can get it back.”

“Deadly Scorpion League, what is it with these bad guys and insect names for clubs,” Flynn said, a bit exasperated. Then he looked to his mother. “Mom, I get going,” he leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek, “see you soon.” He then got on the back of Jacob’s motorcycle, though he narrowed his eyes at the grin on Jacob’s face. “You’re smiling...why are you smiling?”

“Oh, deadly time-travelling ninjas out to kill us,” Jacob said like he was describing the color of the plates on the table.

Flynn shook his head. “Just a normal day at work,” he said, smiling as he put on the spare helmet. Once Flynn had secured his arms around Jacob’s waist, the Guardian sped off into the street, said ninjas hot on their tail.

-----

Apparently I just needed some more Flynnstone, because I had seriously thought my first Librarians fic for 2019 was going to be another Jazekiel one, or another installment on my Land Pirate AU. Though it wasn’t near as original as my other stuff, considering I used dialog and scenes directly from the movie. Oh well, whatever gets me out of my writing slump I guess!

I always pictured Stone as one of those “on the fence” characters, where he had the ability to be either a Guardian or Librarian with his skillset and personality. That’s probably why I wanted to play with him being a Guardian. Also, I wanted to play around with Stone’s history more, mainly giving him access to the Library earlier in his life. I didn’t think he actually went to college, so he did all his degrees online or something because of the aliases he used, but wiki says Stone went to college so idk. Mainly, my thinking is if Stone actually went to a college in person...he wouldn’t go back to oil rigging and he’d be a professor instead ( see “And the Happily Ever Afters” where that was his dream job).

[houseofmysojourn]

Room for Revolution: Reflections on Love at Duke Divinity School

(In case you’re wondering, I’m writing this for my friends, especially those at Duke or at any place like it.)

"So Now You Tell Me"

This was the title of one of the last sermons our graduating class would hear as students, delivered by one of our professors.

The passage? 1 Corinthians 13, the love chapter. The lector read her passage with great conviction, "taking her time". And when she said the words "as for knowledge" she drew out the syllables. Looking directly at the audience she said with a smirk, "it will come to an end", eliciting cheers from many wearied MDivs.

The sermon was, as you might imagine, a sermon about love. Our professor explained to us that if we did not love our congregations and classrooms, we would be ineffective for the causes of justice we would seek to promote. For the first time at Duke, I heard a professor tell students not to champion a cause -- not until their audience knew that they loved them. Our professor told us: If your parishioners do not know that you love them, if you have not sat with them in the hospital and cried with them at the funeral home, your message will fall on deaf ears.

I couldn't have agreed more, and yet I was surprised and perplexed. I wondered if I had entered some kind of a twilight zone. Yeah…"so now you tell me" is right! I stole glances at my classmates seated beside me, and wondered what some of them had to be thinking. I had heard many of them preach. I had heard about their field placements and their "bold stances" on "the issues" and how ignorant and backward and reactionary their audiences had been.

I had heard condescension, pride, frustration, and self-righteousness dripping from the lips of many in that room, including my own. I had heard little, if anything, of love (or even about love!). I had heard few people at Duke say publicly that we needed to love anybody, especially if they were wrong.

Our professor went on in her sermon, "You will not remember most of what we taught you here. You will remember whether or not we loved you. And I want to ask your forgiveness for the ways that we have failed to do that. Forgive us!"

I felt my brow creasing and my eyes widening in disbelief. It was all true, but it felt so out of place -- if I'm being honest, it felt like it was coming out of nowhere. I was glad to hear it, but my heart also ached. It felt like too little, way too late. And honestly, I wasn't sure I was quite ready to forgive anyone.  

Somehow, the Divinity School had become a place where everybody I knew felt like they were being persecuted. Everybody felt like a minority, everybody felt alone, everybody was worn down. Hope of any kind was in short supply.

The only conversation that I had ever had with our preacher that day was one that had come to exemplify this lack of hope. A year earlier, she spoke at an event about the realities that had been uncovered in the wake of the election. She spoke with great conviction about the threats of "Trump's America". I raised my hand and asked what we could actually do for the people we feel are wrong, especially those in our families and churches. We need them too if we want to build something better, so what could we do to bring about transformation?

For at least five full minutes, possibly more, she listed all the reasons why she didn't think that was possible. "Trump's America" was irredeemable. Fact after fact, statistic after statistic was listed. Clearly, she knew far more than I did, and her arguments were damning. She finally concluded by saying, "So I don't think there is much hope".

I broke down and cried. How could she say that? How could she resign all of these people to damnation, and all of us along with them? And if we do not think there's hope, then what the hell are we all doing? Why have these discussions at all?

And then I thought of Jesus. Would it be a faux pas to bring up the power of resurrection hope?

After the event, she came up to me and said, "I apologize if I was harsh, but to be honest with you, I am just so tired". And I deeply appreciated that she took the time to do that. In its own fashion, it was an instance of love shown by a professor. Given everything that was going on with the country and the school, I understood her weariness. She didn't have to use her energy to talk with me, but she did.

Still, I had to ask her, what do we as Christians have if we don't have hope for real transformation? In the end, she didn’t seem to have an answer.

As I walked out of chapel after that final sermon, it struck me that it was a kind of late response to the question I had asked over a year earlier. Or at least, that's how I took it. And I was glad that the answer was "to love". Yet who among us had been prepared by our time at Duke to do that? We had not even learned to be both honest and kind with each other, let alone to love each other -- how then were we to love a church full of people we had learned to despise for their simplicity and ignorance? If the only love we had to give our churches and classrooms was the love we had received at Duke, we were doomed. And now, we were supposed to figure this out. How could we learn to love the people we had only been taught to yell at and dominate in an argument?

We had not learned to love. We had learned, instead, to wield our power and influence for the sake of what was "right" (whatever we thought that may be), such that what passed for "love" on behalf of the needy almost always looked like convincing, coercing, and dominating whoever the bad guys were. And most of us had not been taught the difference, the difference between a life of love and a life of power: a difference as wide and deep, as unfailing and unending as all the scriptures say it is; an impassable gulf, fixed between us and Lazarus; a land of promise which we had not the courage nor the faith to enter.

There was so little trust at Duke, because there was so little genuine love. There was so little love, because there was so little room for love to grow. We had rooms to be sure, but we lacked room, and the holy family was hidden from us. They had gone instead to a place where love had room, room as vast as the night sky in which to let His praises be sung and His good news be declared.

But there was no room for them in the inn.

There was no room, because there was no time, no money, no energy left to consider Him. Just as Lazarus was passed by day after day, so we passed by love with all of our more urgent matters.

For this reason, though we sometimes spoke about love, love itself could not be given, because love took effort we could not spare. But more importantly, because we had no room, love also could not be received. Love is something that has to flow between real human beings, and it cannot flow where there is no room.

But what it is to have "room"?

Room is emptiness. To have room is to have a space which lacks all else, in which all else has been negated. It is a possession which is a kind of poverty. In order for there to be room, human beings must give things up. We must keep a space we have chosen not to fill, although we could. Some treasures must be left outside. It might mean pausing from labor, even though more profit could be had. We might even have to knock down a wall and leave ourselves unguarded. 

Always, to make room for love means the paradox of having a place for nothing. It is to be rich in neediness. It is a desire which is always demanding not that we acquire more, but that we give more up. It is always urging us, "Make room!" If we do not have a truly empty space, a space that we are not trying to fill with any other good, we will not have room for love. We will have indicated by our fullness that we neither need nor want it.

At Duke, there is a certain extent to which everyone had to be a self-made person. We were expected to fill and fulfill all kinds of requirements. Many would have considered it imprudent to really leave margins or really admit need; certainly, it often proved imprudent to admit we needed someone else to fill a need. Depending on other people got me burned more times than I could count. And so everyone had to fight their fight alone. Self-sufficiency was the name of the game, and if you couldn't be self-sufficient, you lost that game. This meant not only being responsible for doing most of your work alone, but also for your own "self-care". That someone else could or would care for you or you for someone else in a meaningful way, did not seem to be a live option. Fill your own holes, shore up your own breeches.

And yet, if you cannot be needy for love, you will lose your soul.

There was no love at Duke because there was no room. There were no margins in our lives where love could write His notes, and certainly no spaces between the lines where love could make His critiques. When no room is left for love, then every critique is an attack, because it must overwrite what is already written. It cannot make itself clear in spaces that have been left open with trust for that purpose. There is no room for growth, there is no room for editing or expanding, or realizing how wrong you really are. For many of us, there is no room to be anything other than a victim.

There was a sense in which I know we felt we couldn't leave the space open -- there was too much work to do, too many problems to solve, and too much to try and protect. For many of us, there was always a sense of threat, a sense that we could never really say the right thing, write the right thing, or work hard enough to prove ourselves. And for many there was also the sense of oppression, that others in some way were always looking to beat us down or rob us.

And part of us chose to succumb to it. The endless conveyor belt of very-important-assignments and very-important-discussion-topics is irresistible at institutions of higher learning. And it is far easier to deal with those things, than to learn to love one another and to face our true selves. And so we all took on more than we could handle, more in terms of work and more in terms of quandaries and problems to be solved. We were all trying to save the world, to figure out how to stop the literal and figural "Trump's America". And so we tended to live where our professor was when I first met her -- without hope, and so, so tired.

Love was the only thing that could sustain us. Love was the only thing we were so truly, desperately needing, though we could not see it.

And I think so many still cannot see it. There are so many ways for folks in those places to be lost, no matter what side of any issue they fall on, but only one blessed way for them to be found. I pray that those who heard the sermon on that day will go forward to their places and will seriously stop to think about what it means to love. I hope they will be revolutionized, because nothing less than a revolution can give them that ability, a revolution of the self beyond any victimization, beyond any oppression, beyond any rulers or powers or authorities. It is a revolution totally undetermined by power; and yet, because it needs no preconditions, it is the most powerful force in all the world.

If you believe in this revolution, then you will have no need for power or influence or prestige or accomplishments. Neither you, nor your movement, nor your philosophical school, nor your church will be slaves to these things any longer. But if you do not believe in such a revolution, then you will always be itching, gnawing, digging, grasping at what this evil age holds out as the necessary tools for promoting what is "right". You will always be a slave to so-called "practicality" and "reason". You will be a slave to whatever you think you cannot help, be it your social status, your addictions, your pathologies, your disabilities, or any kind of victimization you have undergone. You will deal out what you call love like a capitalist with a commodity: piecemeal, and only to those who deserve it. The only way you will see to accomplish good, is to take power. You will not see good as its own power, and you will not see yourself as either intrinsically good or intrinsically powerful.

You will live and die by the same sword.

The sword or the cross my friends, the sword or the cross.

[masked-fox-creations]

When The Strangers Blew In, Ch. 17

Oh boy is this late, whoops. I just did not get it up last week, and this weekend I was too busy between family and power outages. But I definitely wanted to get this one out asap.

Summary: Stanford and Stanley Pines dream of a different life. One where they’re not just tidying their pa’s shop or helping ma take care of the baby. Where they can live freely as the men they know they are, instead of pa hounding them to marry before they become spinsters. They get a taste of that possibility when two strangers blow into town, but with them comes a heap of trouble.

Pairings: Rick/Stan (stanchez); Fiddleford/Stanford (fiddauthor)

Warnings for this chapter: Besides some mild alcohol consumption there’s not much to warn about here. Oh, a bit of blood.

ao3 link

Chapter 17— This Here Cliff Looks Mighty Steep

Stanley’s back throbbed in rhythm with his thighs. The soles of his bare feet ached. His body was exhausted and if they didn’t stop soon he’d probably fall off Chestnut. Fiddleford didn’t look any better. Sparing his companion a glance he saw the fatigue plain on Fiddleford’s face and how his hair was plastered to it by sweat.

They had been riding nonstop for a long time—too long. It was night now and the moon hung above them helpfully lighting their way. Sheriff Powers had followed the other two, and they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Filbrick for a while now. While he had never been as fast a rider as the twins, Filbrick was hellbent on getting his hands on them. Would it damn them to stop for a much needed rest? They needed to risk it either way or they were good as dead regardless.

There was no ideal place to stop, but at least they were covered on one side by a hill and they could see anyone approaching for miles. They gratefully dismounted and stretched out their sore muscles.

“I’m aching more than an antelope during mating season.”

“You’re a weird guy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley said, shaking his head fondly.

After finally putting his shoes back on he started tending to Chestnut and Fiddleford did the same for his horse. They had held their own pretty well and Stanley vowed to reward them with their favorite treats as soon as they reached town.

Fiddleford had also held his own, and Stanley couldn’t help being surprised at how sturdy that beanpole kept proving to be.

“You know, I can understand what Sixer sees in you,” he commented offhandedly.

“You do? What, uh, does he see in me?”

Stanley chuckled. “A hell of a lot. That’s why he was so torn up when you disappeared.”

“Oh.”

The other man fell silent. Stanley could sense his warring emotions. A bitter part of him was glad Fiddleford seemed to feel at least a bit guilty. Mostly though he was just tired. And truth be told he did pity the pair for what they had been through. But that really didn’t erase his spite.

“Yup. Well, we should try and get some sleep while we can. You hit the hay and I’ll wake ya in an hour.”

Stanley sat down, back against the hill, and draped a blanket over himself. A moment later Fiddleford joined him. He was biting his lip and looked like he had something to say.

“What’s on your mind, Fiddle Dee Dee?”

“I just wanted to say that maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but we had ta leave! We were backed into a corner.”

“Listen, I ain’t gonna fault either of you for looking after yourselves, but don’t you dare act like it was your only option.” Fiddleford started to talk and Stanley cut him off. “And definitely don’t you act like this was all to protect us.”

Stanley tipped his hat in such a way that it obscured most of Fiddleford but he could still look out across the desert. Wind whistled through the hills. Fiddleford’s leg bounced.

“You weren’t the only ones backed into a corner, ya know,” Stanley very nearly whispered.

Just as softly Fiddleford said, “I…I’m glad you boys have each other. And I’m sorry. We could have left ya a note or something.”

“At the very least. Or, ya know, actually talked to us.” He could have been harsher, and part of him wanted to be, but maybe it was exhaustion that lessened his bite.

Fiddleford sighed heavily, and Stanley could feel the weight he was carrying around. Probably been carrying since that night he left his childhood home behind, only adding new guilts as they went along.

“I really do want you to know I care about you fellas an awful lot. Rick does too. And, well, maybe we were mainly looking after ourselves, but we want you boys to be safe, too. And I mean that.”

“I’m sure you do, Fidds. But ya gotta admit that you went about it in a shit way.”

Fiddleford sighed again; Stanley felt his weight grow.

After a moment of silence that hung tensely around them Fiddleford said, “I’ve done so many things, Stanley, wrong things. Made so many mistakes. Sometimes I tinker around with the thought of this invention I cooked up one night. It erases memories—any ones you want! So if’n I wished to I could just forget all these things I’ve done.”

“Fiddleford?”

“Stanley?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. For a genius, I can’t understand how any of that sounds like a good idea to you. Now get some sleep.”

Fiddleford chuckled. “Yessir, Stanley.”

“Pleasant dreams, Fiddlesticks,” he wished as the other man wrapped his blanket tight around him and closed his eyes.

Stanley gazed out into the darkness and wondered how his brother was doing. And Rick.

——

If nothing else, Rick and he shared a natural cynicism for when things seemed to be going too well. For Stanford he was sure it was due to years of living with the volatile Filbrick; who knew why Rick was this way. Their adventure so far had just strengthened their paranoia. Every moment of peace always seemed to have something dark lurking at its heels. What would it be this time?

For a good long while Powers had been hot on their tail. Then he had started falling behind. Eventually the pair lost sight of him completely. It should have been a blessing, but of course it meant they didn’t know where he was now. He could be watching from afar, or maybe hidden just on the other side of a hill. For that matter, perhaps Bud and Preston were waiting somewhere to ambush them.

And what of the others? Had Filbrick caught up to them? Did he have someone else with him, ready to shoot Fiddleford dead and do who-knew-what to his brother? What would Filbrick do if he only caught one of them? Perhaps his temper would flair—Stanley was good at igniting his ire—and he’d take it all out on Stanley.

Stanford was clutching Astra’s reigns so hard he felt his knuckles were on fire. He took a deep breath and forced his hands and brain both to relax. No matter what was happening to the others there was nothing he could do. He had to trust they’d be fine.

It was easier said than done.

“There,” Rick said, jolting Stanford out of his own head. He turned to the man he hadn’t even realized had saddled up next to him. He was pointing up ahead; there was a small cave opening.

They made their way over to it and, after popping their heads in to discover it unoccupied, entered. Due to the moon’s angle the cave was partially illuminated. It didn’t seem to go in too deep, but they staid close to the mouth regardless.

It was a relief to stop riding. Stanford had been so absorbed with worry he hadn’t realized quite how worn he was. Now that there was no adrenaline carrying him his body swayed dangerously. His insomnia last night had done Stanford no favors.

He lowered gratefully to the ground, leaning back against the rock wall. In here they were sheltered from the brunt of the wind, and as such it was merely cool as opposed to freezing. In fact, it was quite pleasant.

Stanford glanced over at his companion who stood at the cave opening, appearing deep in thought. Rick was peering out across the desert, though Stanford suspected he wasn’t really seeing outside of whatever was playing in his mind. Stanford felt a sudden and intense urge to break the silence surrounding them. He had nothing to say, though.

As if sensing this, Rick told him, “Get some sleep, Stanford. I’ll keep a lookout.”

Stanford nodded and tried to get comfortable. It was no easy task. In the end he staid sitting up against a relatively smooth spot on the wall.

Sleep didn't’ come quickly, but it did come eventually. It didn’t stay for long.

The moon had lowered in the sky but the sun wasn't quite ready to rise when his eyes opened again. Rick was still at the mouth of the cave, though now he was sitting and leisurely sipping from his flask. For a few minutes Stanford simply watched him. He seemed pensive, most likely worrying about the other two. Rick startled when Stanford softly called his name.

“Fuck! You should still be asleep.”

“I usually wake every few hours. Then it’s difficult for me to return to sleep, so I’ll take over lookout duty.”

“Nah,” Rick declined, capping his flask. “We might as well start moving again.”

“Shouldn’t you get some rest?”

“Eh, this isn’t the first time I’ve ridden w-while tired.” He stood and stretched. “Besides, it’ll be better to stay ahead of your sheriff and exes.”

“Never call them that again or I will shoot you. Though I can see your point.”

Stanford got to his feet and followed Rick to their horses. After whispering a quick promise to Astra—she’d get to rest soon enough, and a special treat once they reached town—Stanford hopped up in the saddle. He watched Rick rummage through his bags.

“Hold on, my flask’s about half empty. Should feel it up while I’ve got the chance.”

Oh. It had slipped Stanford’s mind how he and Stanley had reorganized the other men’s bags. Several important changes suddenly came back to him.

“What the hell?” Rick said, bringing out Fiddleford’s snuff box. He quirked his brow at Stanford and snorted. “Cute.”

Stanford smiled innocently.

Rick tossed it at Stanford who shoved it in his own bag, and resumed his alcohol search. Stanford tried to school his expression. It proved a difficult task, especially when Rick went rigid.

Turning slowly to the other man Rick demanded, “Stanford, where’s the rest of my booze?”

His voice was surprisingly calmer than Stanford would have imagined, giving the circumstances. Stanford found it very difficult to stop the smile on his face.

“In Fiddleford’s bag.”

“What?”

“Well, we needed to divvy up the weight equally between horses.”

Rick sputtered incoherently for a second. When he managed to calm down just a fraction he asked, “Why wouldn’t you put it in my bag then?”

“There was no room.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. Without looking away from Stanford he mounted his horse. His simmering rage was apparent, and Stanford gave up on covering his mirth.

“Shall we?”

When the other man made no reply Stanford cheerfully started off.

They rode for several hours, not going quite as hard as before but certainly not trotting along at a leisurely pace. They spotted no signs of anyone, nor any indication anyone had been around those parts recently. Stanford wished that he could take comfort in that, yet worry and anticipation overruled.

The sun was high and bright when they stopped again. They took shelter from the heat beneath a few trees clustered close together. In minutes Rick was asleep. Stanford tried to keep his full attention on their surroundings, but soon his idleness was a distraction. He took the motor from his jacket; fiddling about with it helped to focus his thoughts.

Stanford brought out a few wires and other pieces he had admittedly taken from Fiddleford’s bag. As he tinkered about he kept an eye and ear out for anyone else.

Several hours passed without activity. Stanford was torn; either they were about to be ambushed or somehow had managed to shake off their pursuers. He hoped desperately for the latter but fully expected the former.

Eventually Rick woke on his own. His stomach grumbled loudly, and Stanford’s agreed with him. The other man searched through his bag, all the while complaining about his missing alcohol, and brought out some dried meat and cheese. Rick sat across from Stanford at a safe distance and tossed half of it at him.

“So I’m assuming we didn’t have any unwelcome visitors.”

Stanford shook his head as he bit into a piece of meat.

Further conversation fell to the wayside as they ravenously ate. Even when he was done Stanford was still hungry. They couldn’t deplete all their supplies, however, since they were still a few days ride from town. A bit of cheese and meat would have to do for now.

Stanford finished first and while Rick worked on his last bit of jerky he returned to tinkering. He was aware of the other man’s gaze on him. He expected Rick to inquire about what he was doing, or maybe come over and help. Instead he simply watched, not speaking up for what felt like nearly a half hour.

“So wh-what the hell is the bee in your bonnet lately, Stanford?”

Stanford spared the other man a brief glance before concentrating back on the wires.

“Do you mean my anger that two people whom I was foolish enough to trust abandoned my brother and I? Truly it’s a mystery.”

“I get your feelings were hurt.” Rick took a swig from his flask. “I’m talking about how overprotective you’ve been. More so than normal.” “Is it so strange to be protective of my brother?”

“Seems more than the usual amount is all I’m saying.”

“What do you want from me?” Stanford snapped, tossing the wires down. He glared at the other man. “I’m tired of seeing Stanley hurt.”

“That why you want to start over?”

Voice choked Stanford said, “Yes. He’s protected me so much, more than you will ever realize, Rick. Now I’m going to protect him.”

“By leaving your home.”

“Home is a funny word, Rick. Ma told us once that home isn’t where you live, but who you live with. For me, my home is my twin.” Stanford gave a rueful smile. “I think Stanley would like home to include you.”

Rick snorted, took another swig.

“What about you? Fiddleford a part of your home?”

“He’s part of yours. And I think, yes, I’d like him to be part of mine. Even if you have to be part of it, too.”

Rick laughed and passed the flask. Stanford hesitated just a split second before bringing it to his lips and tasting the tequila inside. It was an unfamiliar burn, he was much more used to whiskey, yet it was a welcome pain.

Handing the flask back Stanford looked Rick straight in the eye and calmly promised, “If anyone ever dares harm my brother again they’ll forfeit their own happiness. I will make sure they regret their choices for as long as they live. That includes you.”

If Rick had a reply Stanford would never know. At that moment the sound of riders reached them. They whipped around and saw three figures coming their way: Sheriff Powers, Bud, and Preston.

In an instant they were on their feet and running to their horses. One of the men called out for them but they couldn’t make out the words. Not that they had any intention to listen, regardless.

They rode hard in the opposite direction. Up ahead was a mountain range and getting caught by it would only spell disaster. It spanned a good distance, however, and with their pursuers closing in there was no other option. Thankfully Rick spotted a pass.

Just as they reached it, however, Rick suddenly tumbled off his horse.

Stanford feared he had been shot. He glanced back but no one had a gun pulled out. It was a small relief.

Next to the pass was a towering pile of fallen boulders. Stanford quickly hopped down, directing Astra behind them. Then he grabbed one of Rick’s guns, pointing it towards the other men. Powers reached for his pistol. Stanford let off a shot that sailed over his head, but stilled his hand nonetheless.

Stanford’s hand was shaking. He knew he wouldn’t get of any sort of accurate shot. He glanced at his companion.

“Get behind the boulders.”

Rick, who had sat up and was clutching the back of his head, looked around. Judging by the expression on his face he noticed that his horse had gone on without him.

Stanford let off another warning shot. In truth he had been aiming for Powers’ shoulder but once again had missed his mark.

“That’s close enough!” The men stopped about twenty feet away. “Hands where I can see them. Good. Now should you make any sudden moves you will find a bullet lodged somewhere quite unpleasant.”

“Leanne Pines, we’re here to rescue you and your sister,” the sheriff called out.

A laugh bubbled out of Stanford before he could crush it. The audacity of it all was just too much.

“Look at those horrid clothes they have you wearing,” Preston sniffed. “Just atrocious.”

“Lower the gun, dear, and let us help you,” Bud said. “We don’t blame you at all.”

“We know these vagabonds are behind all this. Come now, and let’s put all this behind us.”

Stanford rolled his eyes.

“Another word from either of you and you’ll both be swallowing lead.”

They seemed reluctant to listen but wisely shut their mouths. Stanford glanced again at his partner. Rick was still on the ground, one hand on the back of his head. He whistled at Stanford.

“Not doing half bad, Sixer. Find out which asshole threw a rock at me.”

“I told you to get behind those boulders.”

Stanford turned back to the men, making sure they weren’t about to do something stupid. Then he stared hard at Rick. For a second it seemed like he would protest, but finally Rick took cover.

“It’s a bit aggravating that no one ever listened to me or Stanley until we had a gun.” Now that Rick was out of their sight and immediate danger Stanford concentrated on the trio. Right now they were at a standstill. Stanford would shoot—and hopefully not miss again—should they try anything. Yet he could only shoot if he staid right there. The second they tried to escape the others would have ample opportunity to ready their own guns, and they would have the advantage since Rick and his backs would be to them.

There was another trail, this one leading up the mountain instead of straight. The rocks obscured it partially from the other men which would allow them a small head start. If they could just reach that they had a chance.

Stanford edged closer behind the rocks. There was a grim look on Rick’s face.

“Well this certainly isn’t the best scenario we could have found ourselves in. At least we have each other’s pleasant company,” Stanford joked. It felt hollow to his own hears, and didn’t lighten Rick’s expression.

Rick moved the hand from his head and Stanford saw the blood that slicked it. Not enough to be worried about in that moment, but certainly something to care for when they got the chance.

“I’ll hold them off, Rick told him, unholstering his second gun. “Get on Astra and get the hell out of here.”

“Rick, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say—which is impressive, considering all the nonsense you’ve spouted.”

“Damn it, Stanford, this isn’t the time for your sarcasm.”

“No, this is no time for your—”

Movement caught his eye and Stanford’s head snapped back to the other men: Powers was inching towards his pistol. With more instinct than though Stanford let off a shot that sailed right between the sheriff and Preston. He’d never seen the latter’s eyes so wide. Power’s hand went right back into the air.

“Congratulations, fellows, you’ve used up your last warning. And here I was trying to be generous.”

He edged even further into cover, now mostly shielded by the rocks but still able to see the men. He glanced at Rick again who seemed to be staring at Stanford with something like admiration in his eyes.

“Now Rick, are you ready to listen to my plan? We’ll have to be on the same page to get out of here safely.”

“G-goddamn it, Stanford, run and save yourself!” Rick snapped. The younger man just chuckled.

“Listen, Rick, my brother’s sweet on you. Meaning that even if I think you’re a pompous bastard who would be brilliant if you knew how to put down the bottle, I have to save you. For Stanley.”

Rick watched Stanford grab his arm and hoist him up.

“That, that’s no way to get ahead in this world, kid.”

“Well it’s a good thing we’re not planning to stay on this planet, huh?”

Rick smirked and shook his head. He opened his mouth yet closed it just as quickly and snickered.

“Y-you’re both stubborn, annoying bastards. What’s your plan?”

Stanford grinned and reached into the bag on Astra’s flank. Rick kept an eye, and gun, on the trio as he rummaged around for exactly what he needed.

“Your flask, please.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

Rick tossed him the flask, and Stanford doused the wooden gnome in tequila. He noticed the sad look on Rick’s face but chose not to comment. There would be time to tease him later. Next he opened Fiddleford’s snuff box and sprinkled a mixture of it and a few other herbs he had stashed in his monster studying equipment. They were something native to Gravity Falls and Stanford suspected nowhere else, and had magical properties especially when mixed like this.

“Alright, we’ll need to be ready to ride as soon as soon as I light this, because it will go up in flames quite quickly.”

Stanford mounted Astra and Rick hopped up behind him. Stanford eased them over just enough so he could see the other men. Rick twisted in the saddle with gun trained on them. Before they could react Stanford lit the the gnome on fire and tossed it at them. Instantly the gnome became a fireball. Flames rose high in the air and made a terrifying crackling sound that echoed across the land.

It took their pursuers a good few minutes to realize what was happening. Their horses were in a panic and they couldn’t seem to settle the beasts down. It was just enough of a head start to slip away.

Rick let out a whoop of disbelief and victory. Stanford laughed along with him.

[exochartrecords]

My EXO’rDIUM in Manila Experience!

[Personal Blog Post]

Hi guys, this is Admin J, the sole admin of EXO CHART RECORDS. I thought it would be fun to share my EXO’rDIUM experience from Manila, Philippines.

It was a 2-Day concert, for Day 1 I was seated in the Upper Box section, had a nice view of EXO and got to enjoy the performances as a whole, everything went smoothly and my heart was captured by EXO from start to finish. 

Now let’s talk about Day 2, because this is 100% the most unique concert experience I have ever had in my life. 

I lined up at 3PM, entered around 4PM and the concert started at 5:15 PM. The concert ended around 8:45, it lasted 3.5 hours.

I was in VIP Section, Floor B, Standing (AKA the pit - right side). So I was standing for 6 hours straight, but it was worth it.

Lay was not present during the shows in Manila. The political climate between China & The Philippines is still complicated and he has endorsements, contracts, etc. I understand his situation, I’ve seen EXO 5 times without Lay, so hopefully, one day, I hope to see you on stage with your brothers soon Zhang Yixing. <3

I was extremely close to the stage, only 2 people were in front of me, which I was totally satisfied with, considering I’m very tall and broad, so no problem.

2 people fainted, 1 Filipino girl & 1 Chinese girl, I need to applaud my fellow Filipinos for handling the crisis with compassion, holding up the girl, calling for bouncers quickly and feeding her water. That’s why, if you are planning to watch inside the pit, DRINK UP AND STAY HYDRATED, very important!

Concert started and boom, they push.

See this is where I don’t play, I like to consider myself a gentleman, so I’m not going to push this tiny girl in front of me just to get closer. Good thing I’m strong because those in the back are not going to push me out.

FANSITE MASTERS EVERYWHERE. At one point during the concert, there was a huge camera lens to my left shoulder, a huge lens to my right shoulder, and another lens right in front of me. They were so close, I could hear the rapid sniping of their cameras, photo after photo. 

I need to make a pause here and kinda highlight my experience with these fansites. Disclaimer: If you like fansite photos (because I do as well) that’s okay, if you don’t like them, that’s okay too. It’s up to you to decide if you like them or not. 

MY EXPERIENCE however, was both Good & Bad, let me start with the bad first. The fansite girl to my LEFT, was... for the lack of a better word, a complete beast. She was pushing me so hard to get closer that I would have fallen, but NO, SORRY GIRL, you were NOT going to ruin this night for me. I pushed her back so hard, she tumbled back and looked at me, and I gave her the biggest death glare of my life. The people around beside me saw us and if you search on twitter, MANY Filipino fans had less than stellar experiences with these girls. Listen, as a man, I’m not going to put my hands on a woman, but you aren’t going to elbow your way to the front and you will NOT DISRESPECT ANYONE to get there. 

My advice when dealing with them is, if you can, stand your ground. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a guy and I’m tall that she didn’t try and come for me, because I’ve read experiences online of them pulling on the hair of female fans. If you feel threatened, call the bouncer right away and have them escorted out because these cameras are not permitted. Don’t allow them to touch your personal property (your camera, phone or lightstick), some will try to push your hands, grab your phone, do anything to get a nice shot. Don’t allow them, try and get the bouncer’s attention.

I’m not the type to retaliate, God tells us to never take revenge and to leave it to the Lord. So around 15 minutes later, a bouncer parts our section like the red sea, grabs her around the waist and hauls her OUT of the pit! I’m happy that happened during around the start of the concert, because everything after that was amazing!

My Good experience with a fansite, was a shorter girl who was pretty nice! She had a fellow fansite girl with her and they weren’t being disrespectful or rude. She was talking to me, but I couldn’t understand her, sorry bes. :( But at one point, she thought I was leaving or something, and lightly grabbed me to stay and I think she wanted me to hide her cause I’m tall and I was like “lol ok”. When she wasn’t taking photos, there was a short fan beside her trying to film EXO on stage, but her arms couldn’t really reach EXO since they were on the extended stage; so the fansite girl took her phone and started filming EXO for her since she had longer arms, it was cute. She gave it back and then left, but grabbed me to get into her spot, and I ended up even nearer to EXO. 

Overall, I’m happy my experience with these fansite girls was both positive and negative. It showed me two different sides. My guardian who was waiting outside saw a girl leaving a decoy camera lens before entering the arena but her real lens was strapped to her leg, underneath a long skirt. (She saw it when the girl ran). And then AS SOON as the concert ended, all the Korean fansites RAN LIKE WILD, they were probably the first ones to leave. On Day 1, my guardian saw 5 girls, caught, having to leave their lenses before entering. She couldn’t believe it.

OK! So, back to EXO! I will highlight each member.

Suho: Leader Kim! He gave THE most fan service. He’s so grateful, it didn’t matter whether it was a ballad, a dance track, an acoustic session, or whatever, the guy is always waving to the fans. His English is incredibly thoughtful and cute. Please support our leader, he’s someone to be cherished. 

Xiumin: SEXY.  When ‘White Noise’ came on and he was elevated right in front of my face. Winding down, and body rolling, and everything was EXTRA. Extra face, extra body, extra everything. That’s a man, yet, also a child because 3.6.5 would come on and if you were next to me, you would think that was my favorite song with Xiumin jumping in my face. I haven’t played that song on my iPod in 2 years and I KNEW ALL THE DAMN WORDS.  

Chen: FAN SERVICE KING. I know he saw me, we had a connection, I’m currently in his mind as of this moment. But seriously, he was such a performer! Everyone I know thought he was the most handsome that night. His arms too. And his voice, the vocals were on point. It’s such an experience to watch him hit those high notes up close. 

Chanyeol: TOBEN HAIR, is a Q-T-PA-2-T, is a real life human puppy. But suddenly transforms and slays the electric guitar while eye body slamming me. His guitar skills were SO GOOD! What a multi-talented king. Last January 2016, for EXO’luXion, he was serving sex with arms that could choke and straight hair. This time, he was too cute, all cuddly and his tummy was FLUFFY, I LOVED IT. His shirt would raise and I would see glory, I’m happy you enjoyed the lechon babe. 

Baekhyun: When EXO first appeared, the first person I saw was Baekhyun, and I immediately thought “Shet, the pit is worth it, I see the eyeliner, I see heaven”. There was a fan who got hurt on the middle side of our section, and Baekhyun was staring at the scene the whole time. He was concerned, you could see it in his face. I think a Korean fansite was escorted out after that. His vocals were perfect, not a single imperfection, and he’s an amazing dancer. He really is.

D.O.: I feel like I saw D.O. the most, I probably made the most eye contact with him. He looks like and felt like a man you could bring home and everyone would love him. He had a really beautiful aura around him. He was so beautiful in person, sang like an angel and he also looked so manly in person, all I saw was TopD.O. I’ve converted.

Kai: Absolutely... I need to take my time, because words cannot describe how this human being exists. Photos, Videos, do not do Kai justice, NO JUSTICE AT ALL. His body moves and curves in all the right places, I was stunned, truly the Dancing King. The stairs were right in front of me, so when he came down after performing, I saw his face up close, and God, he’s so handsome. 

Sehun: My Pyak Pyak. TT_TT My UB, oh how perfect you were last night. You danced like an angel and I heard your wonderful voice. You had the tiniest waist, the longest limbs and the cutest smile. During ‘Run’, you would jump and I would see your tummy and UGH you killed me. I honestly didn’t care I was probably the only fanboy in my area screaming your name, an Introvert who starts using his voice when you appear. 

Lay: He wasn’t there, but he wasn’t forgotten. Lots of EXO-Ls still had their Lay banners, headbands, and screams would become even LOUDER when his face would appear in the screen. Trust and believe, I will see you one day!

My EXO’rDIUM experience is something I will always remember and cherish. EXO sang ‘Hawak Kamay’ again, Queen’s ‘We Will Rock You’ was suddenly included in the setlist, Baekhyun’s PHIXO made another cameo, Kai did some kind of Chicken themed rain dance, which inspired me to order Jollibee for today’s lunch, thanks KimKai, and the Philippines will always love EXO. The loyalty of a Filipino fan will always be with you. I know you guys will come back, probably next year, so until then, I will continue to support my loves. <3 Thank you for a wonderful 2 nights.

Thanks for reading! Now back to your regular programming. 

[gopunksphilly-blog]

Bitchin' Camaro!!!

Now, City Gardens is a place unto itself.  It’s the equivalent of a cement warehouse dropped in the heart of Calhoun Street, Trenton, New Jersey.  The name, City Gardens, has to be a play on words because there wasn’t a tree, shrub or flower within an effing’ block of this tomb.  

If Calhoun Street was ever a pleasant place to live or work, it would have only been depicted that way in old photographs but as of right now, it’s very endemic of what’s going on in every city along the Northeast corridor of the United States. Thanks to the horrendous policies of Reagan and his ilk, all of the good manufacturing jobs were either moving to the cheap wage South, or even further down the map into Mexico and the rest of Central America.  All that was left behind was horrendous poverty, horrific crime, a drug epidemic second to none, and burnt out shells where factories or homes once proudly stood.

           Enter City Gardens into this uncontrolled chaos. Roosterheads in the projects and the ghetto; it sounds fucking insane, but it’s a perfect fit.  The punk movement gained traction during the end of Carter’s Presidency and has exploded during our current President’s, jingoistic, “everything is ok white suburbia, America; just avert your eyes from the cities burning down around you,” run in office.  By enlarge, the punks I know despise Reagan and his ilk, and the punk movement has given clubs like City Gardens a great place for us to catch some great acts, have some fun, but also vent out some frustration about the bullshit we see going on around America.  As far as we’re concerned, the Anti-War hippies were now the Wall Street pariahs they’d said to never trust when they were young.  Fucking sellouts…

           The inside of the Gardens was not anymore pleasing than its exterior.  The walls are painted black, half of them were tagged with graffiti, and you’d rather drain your kidneys behind the place than actually do it in their bathrooms. In other words, it was an awesome place to be.  

           It’s also the best place to stage dive, in my opinion. The stage seems like it is ten feet above the floor, so you can really hurl yourself into the crowd.  Randy Now, the club’s promoter, is always on the PA yelling “NO STAGE DIVING!!” The last time Black Flag was here, he got pretty pissed at me and Otto for launching ourselves right past Henry Rollins. I have been tame about going into orbit from the stage since then, out of respect for Randy.  He is a pretty cool guy, but Motorhead is coming tonight, so sorry Randy, but I’m taking the stage tonight, running past Lemmy while going airborne, happily landing in City Gardens mosh pit.  You can pitch me out of the club for a week, but I AM doing this. Sometimes, as Gem says, you just have to be golden and glorious.

           Avoiding the city’s rush hour traffic is great, booking right down 4th Street, parking directly behind Gem’s SS.  It’s a gloomy morning, but a ray of sunshine is waiting for me on the stoop and she looks gorgeous for tonight’s’ event, wearing black leggings so tight, they look painted on, combat boots with bandanna’s tied around both of them; one orange, the other black, a Motorhead t-shirt, with a long sleeved purple tee underneath.  The ‘No Future’ leather is on the steps next to her and a Newp is rapidly procured from its pocket.

           The hair is similar to the way she wore it on Monday at the hockey game, but a temporary dye makes it jet black with orange streaks through it.  She’s wearing black lip gloss, making her look vampiress sexy.  “Hello, Punk Queen of the Damned.  Girl, you just look good enough to eat.”  She lets her warm breath tickle my neck while purring in my ears.

           The senses are in overdrive but they tragically come to a crashing halt when the front door opens and a familiar, playfully admonishing tone travels down the stairs. “Hey young man, we don’t have any time for that frisky stuff!  I have a job to do.”  Gem snags my keys and skips to the car for my gear after Yuka, who’s decked out appropriately in combat boots, shredded jeans splattered with orange and black paint, donning her ‘Nazi Punks..Fuck Off’ leather jacket, in homage to her favorite group, The Dead Kennedy’s, gives me a warm kiss on the lips, twirls my hair between her fingers and seductively nibbles my earlobes.  This is way more sensual overload than any eighteen year old, hot blooded guy should have to endure this early in the morning and both of these demonically giggling girls know it.                                                                                                              

           Hauling ass into the flat, Misty is up, greeting me with a hot cup of tea, along with an ashtray and a warm, motherly smile.  She is a very dear lady to put up with all the ‘Misfits’ hijinks, but will readily admit that our chaos keeps her young. “Thanks, Misty, you’re a doll for letting me do this here.”  

           “You’re welcome, Rob.  Oh, you’d better get a move on,” she chuckles, pointing towards Yuka, who is already standing by the chair tapping her foot.

           “I think I’d better, Misty.  Never keep the artist who’s doing your hair waiting.”

“You’ve got that right, mister, now get hoppin’ to Gem’s room and get changed already.”  

“Yes, boss…I’ll get a move on.”  I grab my gear, shuffle past her and playfully goose Yuka’s bottom before she shrieks, picking up a roll of paper towels to hurl in my direction but I laugh manically, slamming the door shut before it harpoons me.  

Setting out the gear, I hurriedly throw on a long black tee, a Motorhead short sleeve over top and a torn pair of jeans with different sized ace of spades, spray painted in black and placed in various spots on the garment, and throw my other tattered leather on Gem’s chair, which has an Exploited skull painted in white on the back with the words ‘Dead Cities’ written below it, and I just recently added some silver, ace of spades on both sleeves.

           Hustling back out, Yuka starts surveying her newest artwork-to-be.  “I was thinking of a Halloween theme, but that’ll be too commonplace tonight, so we’re going with a Brit theme to celebrate Motorhead’s coming to City Gardens.  Sit tight; you’re in for a helluva ride again, baby boy.” She gives me a peck on the cheek before she and Gem are off to the races.  A lot of smoking, giggling and chaos ensue over the next few hours. ‘Liquid Cement’, red and blue mix for the colors, more little cocktail flags to twist in the tips of my Warrior Spikes….Union Jacks for Christ’s sake.  When the wraps are off and cleaned, Gem and Yuka take turns getting pictures with me while Misty gets one of me and the artists’ extraordinaire.

           Finally getting a chance to throw on my combat boots, Gem gives me red and blue bandannas to tie around the tops. Misty thanks us for being such animated company this morning and for organizing the flat back to its pristine condition.  Making haste for Otis after snagging our gear, we haul ass outta’ Philly since there’s still classes to get through today.  Gem nuzzles up against me on the bench seat and happily leaves off from Yuka’s earlier seduction, nibbling ferociously on my earlobes. Yuka, who looks thoroughly exhausted, takes up residence across the back seat, falling into peaceful somnolence on the ride to campus.

           Gem goes through my mix of cassettes, starting out our venture with Bauhaus’, ‘Bela Lugosi is Dead’.  We stop off at the Wawa to buy smokes and coffee as we get closer to campus since the vending company owning the machines at the Student Union figured out our half priced smokes scheme when the change box was damn near empty but all the cigarettes were gone.  Word of a good thing travels fast, so they unplugged the machine, leaving the Bohemian student population to fend for themselves.  Capitalism wins again.

           The enjoyable sojourn culminates with us swinging wildly into the campus lot, listening to our Philly punk act and friends, The Dead Milkmen, who always have us in stitches with their songs, so ‘Bitchin’ Camaro’ is no exception, especially when Gem is in the crowd for a show and they dedicate it the song to her and the 69’, silver SS, so she loves the song for obvious reasons…

 “Bitchin’ Camaro, bitchin’ Camaro,

Donuts on your lawn,

Bitchin’ Camaro, bitchin’ Camaro

Tony Orlando and Dawn

 When I drive past the kids,

They all spit and cuss,

Cause I’ve got a bitchin’ Camaro

And they have to ride the bus…”

Excerpt from the draft of Rich Cucarese’s (that’s me!!) new fiction novel, ‘PUNKS’, Chapter 10, ‘The Ash Heaps’

[dreamsaretangiblegoals]

Questions to my Former Self w/ Aaron Lucci @peachylucci

The running community its deep. We feel connected to strangers from the mere word of “PR”. The connection between runners goes beyond the confines of gender and class. I am very fortunate in my journey to have met some beautiful souls, amazing people along the way. In the tradition of paying it forward, i wanted to continue the Questions to my former self series. Today we catch up with Aaron Lucci. For the last few summers my main man, Coach Perry Pappas of Wakefield HS XCTF here in Mass, always talked highly about the kids who were amazing runners, leaders and teammates. Lucci was one of those kids, who is now a college graduate.

I was fortunate this past summer Year 5 for me but first time attending week one at Foss Running Camp this is where I got to see and experience the legend of Lucci

Question to my Former Self with Aaron Lucci:

Social Media

Instagram: peachylucci

Twitter: @Green_Lucci

Facebook: Aaron Lucci

First & Last name: Aaron Green Lucci

Age: 23

HS Graduated & year graduated: Wakefield Memorial High School 2014

College & Year of Graduation: The University of Vermont 2018

Running Club: Battle Road Track Club

Events:

PR’s 8kxc 25:04 3k 8:30 mile 4:11 1500 3:51

DATG: Who are your biggest influences in your life and why ?

Aaron Lucci: My two biggest personal influences are defiantly my parents Pam & Rob. My mother ran at Wakefield High school (with coach Deke and Duff) and still runs now, completing her first half marathon this past year(2019). Her parents both started running during the jogging boom of the 1970s, and ran into there late 60s. My grandfather completed his first marathon in the 1980s and my grandmother completed her first half marathon a few years ago 2008 when she was 67 . From day one I have been so fortunate to have overwhelming support from them. My dad did not play any sports in High School (also Wakefield High School) but began running in his late 40s as my sister and I became involved in the sport. My father has had a much bigger influence on my musical tastes. Giving me all of his records, and buying me my first iPod in 2008 (which I still have). He first introduced me to Jazz, The Grateful Dead, and Jimi Hendrix. I still remember him pulling out Jimi's "Electric Lady Land" Album when I was in 5th grade. Later when I was starting to play bass in school Jazz band he gave me Herbie Hancock's "Headhunters" album, and Charles Mingus's "Mingus 5x" album. Both parents have given me the tools and inspiration to become the runner and musician I am today.

DATG: Who do you listen to or what artists gets you in the zone before competition or do you have different warm up routine ?

Aaron Lucci: I typically do listen to music on the way to competition, but as soon as I am out of the bus or car my ears are out of the headphones. In high school and college I would always try to be a good team member and not isolate myself in a meet setting. I remember Mike Rutt (current UML coaching staff) talking about how he used to do his drills listening to music, but stopped at some point and found he was more relaxed and raced better. I have continued to try to be in the moment in the hours before competition. However on the way to the Battle Road Workout tonight I hope to listen to Mac Demarco.

DATG: if you have a chance to go for a run with anyone in the world who would it be and why ?

Aaron Lucci: I would go for a run with my old roommate Pat Coppinger (Lowell, UVM) because he has the most interesting stories.

DATG: What inspired you to start Vlogging ? What’s the url address (I will Hyperlink it)

Aaron Lucci: I was inspired to start Vlogging after watching Bri Ilarda's VLOG about training and her day to day life. I have always loved taking pictures and this feels like a natural extension of that.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCPMFDT3NJ7G80FfLCnYccCw?view_as=subscriber DATG: what’s your go to cereal ?

Aaron Lucci: Cheerios

DATG: What was it liked being Coached by Coach Perry Pappas ?

Aaron Lucci: I got to see Pap turn the program around. He was an assistant until my junior year at which point he became the head cross country couch. I can still remember him explaining what the difference between an aerobic and anaerobic run to us, using a white board as we sat on the outdoor track. I always felt like he could explain why we were doing the workouts he gave us, and he was always learning something new. I had complete trust in him as a coach, and I think that is one of the most important things an athlete can have.

DATG: what advice or experience would you like to share to the future Freshmen who will be entering Wakefield High School and they are interested in running?

Aaron Lucci: I almost played soccer the fall of my freshman year, and making the decision to run cross country was the best decision I have ever made.. Ill say it again running Cross Country was the single best decision I have ever made. My advise , Don't Quit.

DATG: When & Where did you run your personal Best in your most memorable race

Aaron Lucci: A race I will never forget is the America East DMR Indoor 2018. I ran the 1600 leg smart and we finished 2nd. Awesome race, and the only conference medal I got with a relay team in College.

DATG: When did you first started running competively?

Aaron Lucci: I won the middle school mile in 8th grade. That's the first race I can remember being excited leading up to it, hurting during, and feeling exhilarated after.

DATG: Where do yourself in five years ?

Aaron Lucci: In five years I hope to have lowered all of my college PRs. Everything else is out of focus, but I will probably still live in or around Boston, and call my grandparents on Sundays.

DATG: Why do you keep coming back to Foss Running Camp ?

Aaron Lucci: Foss is the first place I met a group of adults who all ran in college and put running first in there day-to-day. Not to mention all the friends from different towns I made in High school who became role models and future teammates. I keep coming back because I know I can pass on that focus and hopefully inspire some high-school kids to run in College. On a selfish level, its the best week of training I get all year.

DATG: why are you still running as a Post Grad ?

Aaron Lucci: The desire to improve my PRs, a love of racing, and a love for training. The first two I have had since day one, running the mile in middle school gym class. Its only been in the past four years I have slowly come to realize just how good it feels to be in great shape and to strive for that feeling. Once you are in love with the process there's no turning back.

DATG: Why battle Road Club

Aaron Lucci: After College I reached out to a few clubs in Boston and Battle Road was the first club to get back to me. Now that I know more about the other clubs around Boston I am glad I am here, because there are no hobby joggers on the team. There is a diversity in ability, but all the people on the team seem to be focused on running. It is also great to now train with a bunch of guys from America East I used to race. (and who used to beat me) I also like that we are underdogs and not too big. USATF Club Nats is next week in PA! (dec14)

Great Questions, I can't wait to hear from other athletes and coaches!!

Best