#i have many Thoughts about it based on a couple different things - the distorted voice under wallys. the waLLy guestbook entry. etc

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

excuse me i need to Muse on something for a moment

so in Wally's secret 'vinyl' audios, specifically the last few (if we're listening to em in chronological order), obviously he starts to sound more strained/distressed. his breathing is more labored, like it's taking all of his energy to make contact.

but the audio that really caught my attention was the "But i still can't see" one. cause he just said he has more eyes than he did before. he knows We draw them a lot, and it's thanks to that that he can see. but he still can't see?

so my question is: where is Wally physically? cause although he can (assumedly) see the WHRP goings on, he can see through the eyes We draw, that could all be on a, uh... more Intangible level of sight. like the spiral pit is forming an eye, and then there's the eye on the ceiling in the secret Staff Only section - could Wally be in the pit, that space between his reality and Ours, "watching" through the eyes? but unable to actually see with due to the pit being pitch black nothingness? is he somewhere else? is he stuck? he can see, but he can't... see.

(or is he trying to explain an abstract concept - he's not actually viewing anything, but he can sense it. like how he knows We're there, even if he can't see or hear Us. but he just doesn't have the words to describe it other than using physical senses - see, hear, look.)

and him saying "...that I can see. But it is still... I can't..." but it's still what, Wally? dark? something else that he doesn't have the words to describe, so he just says that he can't see?

i know that in the Livestream Trivia Document (compiled by @/the neighborhoodwatch) there was something said about Wally being in a box. my first thought reading that was "oh, so he's in storage? the physical puppet, i mean?" which would make sense - show's over, there's no more use for him. pack 'em up and put him away. but that paired with the "can't see" audio makes both seem a lil... connected.

Wally can't see > he's likely somewhere dark > the inside of closed boxes are dark > Wally's in a box. (or maybe the Neighborhood is the box? it's a stretch, i know, but the map is a box. television sets are often set up in "boxes". maybe it's less of a physical storage box and more of a 'boxed in' sort of thing...)

one question i've had since the Start of my interest in this incredible project is: how is Wally communicating? how has he connected to the site? how does he connect to our reality? the pit almost definitely has something to do with it - most likely acting as a bridge, or the deteriorating of the barrier between our two 'worlds' - but if Wally is in a box and Not the pit or even just in the puppet's reality... how is he reaching us beyond just seeing through the eyes he's given?

or is he in their reality, and he can contact through the pit or something, but he can't actually see the other side? Our side? he knows it's there - that We're there - but none of it is visible to him. maybe his apparent disassociation in the 14 bug audios is a demonstration of him contacting Us. we can see through him, but it's a one way street.

and speaking of the pit - i just had a thought. his whole thing with Us letting him in, opening... the pit on the neighborhood map is getting bigger and clearer. but the presumed Other Side, the one on the Staff Only ceiling, is small. it's the size of a ceiling panel. it seems to me that Wally is chipping away at his side of the pit or 'portal', trying to reach Our reality, but he needs Us to do the same thing on the other side. the QA can hear him calling, but there's no phone on their (Our) side of the pit. how do We call back???

there's a fundamental barrier & lack of understanding between Wally and the QA/Us. he's trying. he wants to be let in, but what does that mean, really? let him in where? open what? he's desperate. he wants us to understand. he's trying so so hard Without the right tools to clearly communicate what he wants. he can't see Us, We can see him, both know the other is there, but there's no way to connect. and the attempts are hurting all parties involved, however unintentionally

[dr3amofagame]

more of ghost!dream! what can i say, i love this au a lot. here are the previous parts [1] and [2] if you want to read them first - this picks up right after last time, again :D 

tws: death, grief (as per usual for this au), very briefly mentioned torture/abuse (what quacktiy’s been doing in pandora), prison arc/pandora’s vault, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms (c!sam is still very emotionally repressed, go figure) 

Maybe he should’ve carried the kid; it probably would’ve been quicker, at least. Fran sidled up to him, tossing her head easily as she brushed against his leg. When he looked down, she seemed to be staring at him judgmentally.

“What?”

She barked sharply, prompting a sleepy mumble from the kid trailing behind them, and Sam rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. Arguing with a dog now, really? You really are losing it.

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Sam sighed again, cutting himself off before he said something he regretted. The words were colder than he intended as it was, making the kid flinch from the corner of his eye, and something in him stirred uncomfortably at the sight, far more familiar than he wanted to admit. Fran’s eyes were dark as she kept staring at him, feet padding softly against the grass as she nudged against him again.

What do you want me to do?

She held his gaze for a second longer before turning around, tail flicking to the side as she made her way to the shimmering image of the kid following them. Figure it out.

He huffed, making a small hissing sound through his teeth, ignoring the way his cheeks heated in embarrassment. He knew he was...cold, to say the least, had gotten used to everyone’s strange looks and shuffles away from him quickly enough. The prison left no room for vulnerability, not when every mechanism, every ounce of power in the prison, every person on the server was left in his hands, not when he was the only one standing in between the greatest danger that they had ever known and the peace that they had fought tooth and nail for. He’d learned how to lock every part of himself in a maze of redstone and blackstone and obsidian, learned how to hide away under layers of netherite and a metal mask. And- perhaps, at first, he’d flinched away from the slight fear in Puffy’s eyes, the hesitance in Tommy’s voice, the way that Ponk-

He swallowed, moving faster. He wasn’t going to think about him right now.

He was cold. He’d been cold as the Warden and he was cold, now, because he’d been the Warden for so long that he’d forgotten how to be anything else, because the walls that he’d thrown up between the part of him that lived under the sun and never wore more than a gold chestplate and the part of him that knew nothing but an endless checkerboard of grey and black had cracked over the days and weeks and months spent pacing, restless, around the same black box, from every piercing word Quackity spoke, from the bone-deep exhaustion that he could never shake. Fran barked again, behind him, and the kid giggled softly, the sound bright and weightless and warm; the weight of the mask on his face suddenly felt oppressive, and his hand came to brush against the polished edges. What did his voice sound like, warm? Did he even remember?

“Sammy!” He stumbled to a stop, the voice in his ears still unfamiliar in its familiarity, adrenaline making his heart flutter, “Slow down! You’re goin’ too fast!”

He stopped, not realizing he was holding his breath until he felt something- someone, right, knock into the back of his legs. He turned himself around carefully, finding the kid staring up at him with big, drooping eyes.

“M’tired,” he mumbled, leaning forward to put more of his weight on Sam, stumbling slightly when Sam drew backwards. “We’re almos’ there, right?”

“...yeah,” Sam looked away, pointedly looking over his shoulder to avoid having to meet the kid’s gaze, eyes finding the stone face of the mountain that he’d made into his home. “Just a few more minutes.”

“‘Kay,” he stepped back, arms coming down to his sides from where they’d been wrapped around Sam’s waist, and the weight that had suddenly settled over his ribcage eased off as well, finally letting him breathe. He began to turn back forwards so they could continue their walk and finally actually get inside the base when he felt something tug at his hoodie sleeve.

He watched, with something a little like a mix of muted horror and fascination as Dream grabbed his hand, carefully threading his fingers one by one in between Sam’s own until his hand was loosely clasped around the ghost’s, beaming at his accomplishment as he squeezed his hand firmly. It was something he’d done before, with Bad’s never-ending insistence that they stay together for safety at the slightest sight of danger and Sam usually relegated to wrangle the younger kids as one of the older and more “responsible” in the group, and the familiar weight of Dream’s hand in his own had him choking on memories he’d half-forgotten.

“Sammy?”

Even as a ghost, his grip was tight; there would be no way for Sam to ease his hand away without alerting him of his intentions. He swallowed around the thickness in his throat, feeling Fran walk up to his other side and circle around his legs.

“Let’s go.” His voice was rough, though the mask probably distorted it too much for it to be too noticeable. He pressed his shoulders back, let his right hand hang as a dead weight as the ghost swung it back and forth, humming idly as he did so.

“We’re almost there,” he said, looking forward towards his mountain, its western face shining golden by the setting sun, and didn’t know if he was talking to the ghost by his side or himself.

---

Thankfully, the actual process of getting into his base ended up being much simpler than the walk back to it. The sight of the various redstone mechanisms - hoeing the dirt and having a door appear from nowhere, especially - had the kid thoroughly perked up from where he’d been half-asleep by Sam’s side, and he’d fired off question after question as they made their way inside. The excitement was an easy distraction and he latched onto it with maybe a little too much enthusiasm, giving off-hand explanations as he dug through his chests for wool and wood.

The ghost, just as he’d always been, was an endless fountain of curiosity, following eagerly to look at his automatic potion brewer and sugarcane farm and furnace set-up, face scrunching in confusion when Sam tried explaining any of the redstone but watching intently anyway. Fran, seemingly exhausted from the walk - which, admittedly, had ended up being much longer than any of them expected - had almost immediately padded off to her room to sleep, leaving Sam alone with an all-too excitable ghost and far too many questions that weren’t going to get answers any time soon.

As the kid finally took a second away from running around to watch, fascinated, as the minecart in Sam’s furnaces dutifully circled back and forth with a few stacks of cobble that he’d thrown in there to smelt as a demonstration, he let himself step away, dragging a hand across his face with a low hiss of distress. He hadn’t thought of the possibility of Dream coming back as a ghost, honestly, had hardly thought about the future at all beyond the need for Quackity and himself to keep their mouths shut. It was an oversight, in hindsight, and he was lucky that he was the one to stumble on the kid instead of virtually anyone else on the server, but now-

Sam turned, watched as the kid rocked back and forth while watching the minecart make another round around the track. What was he supposed to do, now?

He would have to keep Dream here, obviously. All of the work that he and Big Q had put in to keep their actions secret could be blown with one careless pair of eyes on the newest phantom of the server; it’s not like they were particularly hard dots to connect. Speaking of Q, Sam felt the same uneasy prickle of something crawling up his spine, and he shook his head to clear it. It would probably be best if his business partner didn’t learn about this...complication, either, or at least not until he had a little more figured out. So it was left to Sam, in the end, to figure out what happened to the kid and to watch over him, as it always did; prime, there must’ve been someone out there laughing at the irony, making sure that he’d never be able to escape the seeming never-ending task of watching the same person.

It was fine. It would be- easier, this time, as long as he stayed far away from the rest of the Greater SMP. It’s not like anyone would notice anything different, considering how much time he’d been spending in the prison for the last few months, and at least his charge would be more willing to stay in one place than last time. All he had to do was keep them sufficiently out of the others’ prying eyes, at least until he and Quackity figured out a suitable explanation for the prisoner’s death to give to the others. Until then, his job was the same as it had been for months; of course, there were differences, but at its essence, did they really matter? Dead or alive, black walls or grey, he was still the Warden and Dream his...responsibility.

It would be fine. The ghost didn’t even remember anyone else; keeping him in one place would be easy. He’d been the Warden of Pandora’s Vault for months, what was a little time watching over a kid? An amnesiac ghost at that, naïve and far too trusting - it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Right?

---

They ended up converting George’s abandoned room into a bedroom, of sorts, for the ghost. He’d been fascinated with the door going inside, had played with it for a couple minutes before his earlier exhaustion caught up to him and he’d settled on top of the bed, watching as Sam hastily brushed off dust and made the room semi-presentable. It was largely empty; he’d added some initial furnishings when he first built it, but George never really officially moved in, ended up caught up with one thing or another until everything went down on the Sixteenth, and everything since then had been so thoroughly chaotic on both ends that he really hadn’t bothered checking in on either Sapnap or George, leaving both of their rooms to do little more than collect dust. He ran his fingers over the blue-green planks, regret washing over him suddenly like a bucket of cold water thrown over his head. When had all of them grown apart? When did their home become this?

His hands slammed a little too hard on the next bookshelf he came too, eliciting a sharp gasp from the ghost behind him. He whirled around, winced at the sight of the kid cringing, a hand clasped firmly over his ear, and forced the tenseness out of his shoulders with a heavy sigh. The tiredness, it seemed, did more than make the ghost a little quieter and less excitable than the kid in his memories. Sam moved to the next bookshelf, running a damp cloth over the top edge; there was a newfound skittishness to him, an unfamiliar tendency to jump at loud noises and sudden movements. He’d always been cautious, masked even in Sam’s earliest memories, but there had always been a boldness that simply...didn’t exist anymore.

“I’ll leave you to it, alright?” He looked back, watching as the ghost ducked under the pink covers - he hadn’t been able to find anything other than a couple blocks of pink wool in his chest from who knows how long ago - and moving towards the door.

“G’dnigh’, Sammy.”

His voice was soft and sweet, and the cold feeling from before was back, a block of ice nestled in his chest that he couldn’t get out.

“...goodnight, Dream.”

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 1

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

relationship: fem!OC/Spencer Reid

word count: 3.4k

hi all! welcome to my new story.

I've never written a baby Spence fic before, but I'm gonna try my best. I just wanted to get something out of the way before the book starts:

aside from the fact that it's young Spencer, this book isn't placed in a specific season. I might pull cases from different episodes, but the characters will remain the same. I've included Emily and Rossi as characters because I couldn't bear to have a story without either of them (wouldn't want to subject any of you to a Prentiss-less world).

that's pretty much it. I'm glad you're here. if you wanna read my other stories, my masterlist is here.

happy reading :)

"HA!" I slap my hand down on the pile of cards and slide it towards me, organizing them in a neat pile with a smug expression.

"this game is a sham." Spencer sighs, reaching for his book.

"you're just mad you lost." I raise an eyebrow and shuffle the cards again. "you don't wanna play another round?"

"why would I? the only skill this game requires is fast reflexes." he runs hazel eyes down the page with an alarming quickness. I scoff at his disinterest.

"maybe if you trained those reflexes as much as you trained that big genius brain of yours, you'd get a leg up." Morgan teases from his spot next to me. Spencer glances at him with a frown, his cheeks turning a light pink, before looking to me. I throw up my hands.

"he said it, not me." secretly, I smile at the fact that Derek is backing me up.

"I could beat any of you in poker." Reid defends.

"easily. it helps that I don't even know how to play." I slide the cards back into the holder and cross my arms over my chest with a sigh.

"you don't know how to play poker?" he's shocked.

"I told you, I hate card games like that!" I emphasize. things like poker, blackjack, anything that involves multiple players, I usually don't enjoy much. Emily glances up from her case file with a tiny smirk.

"why?"

"I'm a sore loser." I admit, averting my eyes. there's also the risk factor involved, which includes giving up coins or pretzels or peanuts if I lose. I tend to cling tightly to all three. Prentiss lets out a laugh and Spencer flips the page of his book.

"and winner, apparently."

"you're sassy today, aren't you?" I grin at him, pleasantly surprised.

in the month I've been working here, I haven't spoken to Spencer very much. he's been polite and I've gotten to know his intellect quite well, but he doesn't spend a lot of time with us outside of work. when we go out to get drinks, he either declines or heads home before we can even ask, a bag full of books pressed to his side.

I think he just takes a while to get comfortable around new people-- that's what JJ said when I asked why he seemed to be avoiding me. the fact that he played cards with me today felt like a victory in itself, so I'll take what I can get.

Spencer doesn't reply to my dig, only crosses his long, narrow legs and settles into his book.

"we should start briefing before we land." Hotch and Rossi walk over from their spots at the front of the plane to sit on the couch by our table. I nod eagerly and watch as Emily flips open her laptop to FaceTime Penelope about the case.

the first couple cases were more difficult than I expected because I had never worked in the field before joining the BAU, but I'm starting to get used to flying around constantly and examining actual dead bodies. working sex crimes meant I spent most of my time in front of a computer screen or just staying in the office. this is incredibly different-- which I'm starting to find might not to be a bad thing.

"--the virus killed her hard drive and left that on the screen." Penelope explains, referring to the picture of Heather Woodland's computer.

"'for heaven's sake, catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself'." Morgan reads the message aloud from the case file. the words feel familiar in my mind and I try to remember where I've heard them before.

"that's exactly what William Heirens left behind." Spencer sparks the memory. I sit up straighter.

"the Lipstick Killer?" my fingertips trace over the case details. it's a weird aspect of the murder to emulate, especially because he didn't even leave the message in lipstick. I guess he's not really concerned with that; based on the unsub's previous victims, we have just under 36 hours to find her.

"his first victim was Melissa Kirsh, 26," Reid scratches his nose as he reads, frowning so hard that I start to think he'll form permanent wrinkles. he's got such a baby face, it's almost funny. "stab wounds, strangulation."

"so he stabbed her first, and then strangled her to finish the job?" Morgan repeats.

"what's with using a belt for the second murder?" Emily flips through the papers, confused. Spencer stiffens in his spot as he realizes this is the perfect time to share his freakishly expansive forensic knowledge.

"strangulation with your bare hands actually isn't as easy as you would believe. he probably tried it, found that it took too long, then stabbed her. and blood takes a long time to clean, so he decided a belt would be more efficient."

"he's perfecting his method." I can't tear my eyes away from the photos, despite the roiling sensation they put in my stomach. even with the things I've already seen, I don't think I'll ever get over photographs like this.

"we'll be landing soon and then we're meeting up with the Seattle field office. be ready to split up once we hit the ground." Hotch snaps shut his case file and stands up, breaking off to go sit alone. Rossi takes note of the old card deck that sits on the table.

"poker?" he looks between the four of us.

"nope." Emily chuckles.

"this one doesn't know how to play." Morgan gestures to me, causing Rossi to turn to me.

"were you raised in a barn?" he asks in his usual manner of speaking: blunt sarcasm with a hint of mockery. I frown sarcastically.

"something like that."

"at some point this week, we'll sit down and I'll teach you." he gets up, pats my shoulder, and walks over to join Hotch. I lower my voice once he's far enough away.

"is he actually gonna make me do that?"

"you don't know Rossi." Morgan shakes his head slowly, slides his headphones back on, and sinks into his seat.

"I'll join and bring JJ with me." Emily winks at me reassuringly, noting the tapping of my nail against the surface of the table. Rossi is a legend in the field and I've read all of his books, but didn't want to freak him out by telling him so. it was embarrassing enough when I met him and got tongue-tied while shaking his hand. he's got an elusive energy that intimidates me, and I'd prefer not to showcase that by humiliating myself with poker.

instead of dwelling on thoughts of how I'm going to fail in front of my idol, I open up one of my books and try to pass the time.

...

while I'm writing some notes on one of the many white boards scattered throughout the field office, I realize that I'm one of four other women in the room, including Emily. she's talking to Hotch and another agent at the opposite end of the room; Reid is unpacking his signature book bag and seems deep in thought. Rossi is reading a document. everyone around me seems to be in a hurry to do something, and I begin to feel dumb.

"you okay?" Morgan asks me. I realize that I've been standing with my marker hovering over the board. my fingertips press into my temple before I turn to him.

"yeah, definitely. just thinking." my mind travels to the map we've got pasted up and the red marker lines that Spencer has already created with the geographical profile.

"looks like we're getting the classic Seattle treatment." Derek points outside to the rain pelting the windows, streaming down the glass and distorting the glow of the city outside. it's gloomy today, with a slight chill running through the streets. I nod and turn back to my task, suddenly realizing something.

"he's willing to travel with the body." I mutter to myself. Morgan steps up next to me, crosses his arms across his chest.

"he must drive a vehicle that can conceal one, then." he glances over to Hotch to see what the unit chief has to say, but Spencer speaks up first.

"one in seven point four drivers in Seattle owns an SUV." it's like a flip switches at the mention of a statistic, diverting his attention from something nebulous in his mind to the tangible case. he's a little similar to a robot.

"an Explorer with tinted windows?" Morgan speaks again as he looks over the case photos.

"those rate higher among women." Spencer again.

"sure, but how do we know it's his car?" I wonder.

"what about a Jeep Cherokee?" Hotch chimes in, almost startling me with the deep register of his voice. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I think on it.

"Jeeps are more masculine." Reid comes close to me in order to examine the picture I'm holding. he smells like clean laundry and some nice soap scent that I can't place. maybe it's the gel he uses to slick back his hair. no cologne or aftershave. I don't think he'd need to shave, what with his smooth baby face.

Spencer has some special quirks that make him a little more interesting. he usually avoids physical contact with other people-- doesn't shake hands-- but at other times, he doesn't seem to have self-awareness. like right now, where the shoulder of his red sweater is just barely touching mine. I hand him the picture and step away.

"unsubs love to assert their masculinity."

Hotch nods along, encouraging me to share more of what I'm thinking. after swallowing down a lingering nervousness, I tap the push pin marking where the last body was dumped. "he dropped her out-of-state, so he probably has a previous knowledge of law enforcement. maybe he's got a criminal record?"

"good, Williams." Hotch praises me. my fist clenches triumphantly at my side as he turns to the agent who has been watching us intently. "when do we meet with your task force?"

"four." the man replies. I balk at this, my posture shifting. the shortest time constraint I've ever had here has been a full day. it's already one in the afternoon.

"you want an accurate profile by four today?" I glance between Morgan and Spencer, but the latter is rocking back and forth on his heels with his eyes glued to the white board. Morgan doesn't seem put off by it.

"we can do that." Hotch scowls, snapping shut the case file with a finality that tells me we're about to split up. "Dave and Morgan, head to the last dump site. Williams, Reid, I want you to talk to Heather's brother and try to find out what you can about her life. Prentiss and I will stay here in case of new developments."

I nod curtly, grab my jacket, and glance over at Spencer. he runs his hand over his hair, although I can't imagine what there is to smooth down, then walks over to me.

"you ready to go?" I ask, brandishing the file. he and I have only done two interviews together; I spent most of my beginning weeks working with Emily to get a feel for the job. both times with the boy genius have been fine, if not a little awkward.

he nods in answer to my question. "would you mind driving?"

"no license?" I tease to lighten the mood, but he doesn't get the joke. instead, he frowns at me with something of a distracted expression, adjusts his bag.

"no, I don't like driving in the rain."

"oh," I recover quickly and put a friendly smile on my face. "no problem."

"thanks." he walks ahead of me and I cringe at my own behavior. he acts so differently from earlier on the jet that I start to wonder if I did something wrong. maybe he's just in his head or something; I know I would be if I had an IQ that enormous.

when we get to the house of Heather Woodland's brother, a gorgeous golden lab greets us in the entryway. she puts her paws up on my legs and I reach down to scratch behind her ears with a smile on my face.

"Sandy, calm down." her owner grabs her collar gently to calm her. "sorry."

"no, it's fine, I love dogs." I wave it off and step inside. Spencer is eyeing Sandy warily, but she seems just as eager to say hi to him as she was to me. when she lets out a singular, enthusiastic bark, he startles.

"Mr. Woodland," I suppress my laugh by changing the subject. "I'm Special Agent Williams and this is Special Agent Dr. Reid."

we shake hands, my colleague giving his usual wave and polite smile. the interviewee takes in Spencer's appearance. I know what's coming.

"you look too young for medical school." Woodland says to Reid. this has happened a couple times since I joined the team, but Spencer never seems to mind. if anything, he lights up at the opportunity to share the reason for his official title.

"they're PhD's. three of them." he gives a little smile as we walk into the house, me shaking a few stray raindrops from my hair.

"so... are you a genius or something?" Heather's brother leads us past the hallway into the living room, which is unkempt and littered with pictures, catalogs, and toys. he must have kids in school right now. that would also explain the breed of dog.

"I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified."

"he's being modest," I glance over at Spencer. "Dr. Reid can read 20,000 words a minute-- he's definitely a genius."

Woodland stares at Spencer for a second as he tries to fathom the speed at which someone's mind would have to turn in order to process all that information. I still can't imagine it. Spencer's eyes avoid Woodland's shyly. instead, he watches me as I pet Sandy.

soon after, we ask him about Heather's personality and tendencies. her brother is more than willing to give us all the information we need. I'm surprised, however, by my partner's ease at wandering around Woodland's house, flipping through the magazines on top of the TV and reading the spines of books on shelves. he's quite conspicuous about it.

about halfway through my mental list of questions, Sandy keeps jumping up and wagging her til.

"I'm gonna take her to the backyard quick," Woodland tells us. "one second."

he ducks out of the room and I wait until I know he's out of earshot before sidling up beside Reid.

"there's an immediate relationship established between a buyer and a seller," he tells me, holding up a Datsun Z catalog. we know that she was in the market for one. "if I want to coax a young woman into my car..."

"offer her a test drive." I finish his sentence. of course, within ten minutes of sifting through this woman's house, Spencer has figured out the ruse used to lure her. Woodland returns a moment later with a smile, but we tell him that we've gotten the information we need before leaving.

in the car, Spencer theorizes about the unsub's mental condition as I try to navigate traffic in the storm. thunder rumbles overhead, occasionally sending a vibration through the car. my knuckles tighten around the wheel a bit. I also hate driving in the rain. his rambles fills the silence, however, and somewhat soothe my nerves.

"he doesn't have the MO of a paranoid psychotic. dumping the bodies out in the open, with a weapon nearby... that doesn't align."

"he covers their eyes with duct tape multiple times over, though. he knows he's going to kill them, but he doesn't want them to see his face?" my fingertips drum over the wheel nervously.

"what's wrong?" Spencer asks suddenly, glancing at my hands and then at my face. I still my movements at the change in subject.

"huh? nothing. I just don't like driving in the rain, either."

"oh. I'm sorry." he straightens a bit in his seat. the apology surprises me a little, but he seems genuinely sympathetic. I guess I really don't know him that well.

"it's cool."

we fall into an awkward silence and I bite my lip. we should get back to talking about the case. heaven knows Spencer has more facts to spew, more theories to share about this unsub. anything is better than the gap in conversation. I open my mouth to say more about what we learned at the house, except Spencer speaks first.

"so... how are you liking working here?" he asks awkwardly. it takes a second for the question to register with me. he sounds uncomfortable whenever we're alone and that makes me uncomfortable in turn. where everyone else was quick to include me in their jokes and discussions, Reid always sounds like talking to me exhausts him. it's obvious that he's socially awkward. there's no judgement from me; I'm just surprised that he's pushing to talk about non work-related subjects.

"I like it," not really an accurate summation. I don't think a heart-to-heart is exactly the right move when talking to him. "a little stressful, though."

"you worked in sex crimes before, right?" he looks out the window. there isn't much to see except for the rain-blurred skyline. I nod.

"yep."

"that sounds... hard." he shifts in his seat as he tries to come up with more points of conversation. it's kind of endearing, honestly. I throw him a bone.

"so is profiling."

"why'd you switch?" his eyes flit over to mine as he quickly adds, "if you don't mind me asking."

I take a second to come up with an answer. of course, there's the classic response: I've always wanted to help people— which isn't wrong— it's also not the whole answer. all through college and the Academy, I had my head focused on one thing. I could interview killers and get inside their heads, but there's something entirely different that you don't get from pure research. and one person inspired that in me before I had finished high school.

"don't tell him I said this, but I really wanted to work with Rossi." I say in a hushed tone. there's a slight smile on my lips because I haven't told anyone on the team in fear of being teased. I don't think Spencer is likely to gossip with Rossi about me, though.

"really?" now he sounds surprised.

"I've read all his books and I've been to a couple lectures. he doesn't remember me, evidently." the thought is more funny than embarrassing. he spoke at my college a few years back and I recall being on the edge of my seat, trying to come up with the courage to ask the questions that filled my head. I was too shy.

"does he know you're a fan?" Spencer loosens up a bit.

"nope," we pull off the freeway as we near the field office. I stop at a red light and look over. "I didn't want to embarrass myself with the whole 'your work changed my life' spiel."

at this, Spencer lets out a short, nervous giggle. it's a nice sound, that laugh. it makes me smile when he seems to relax in his seat.

"that's exactly what I did." he says. I frown.

"you told him his books changed your life?" I blush as I realize I just inadvertently made fun of him.

"I, um... well, I got excited to talk about his research." he averts his gaze again and his cheeks turn a slight pink. there's a dimple in his cheek, I notice, that keeps tugging upward. this is my first time having a non-forced moment with Spencer alone; a wave of satisfaction washes over me as I realize the potential for another friend here.

"trust me, I get it." I laugh. we pull into the parking ramp for the field office and I find a spot by the door. Spencer hoists that bag into his lap and runs his hand through his hair. when I pull the key out of the ignition, he waits for me to get out of the car before we start walking toward the door.

it's small, but I appreciate that he doesn't run off without me. we don't talk as we walk, our footsteps echoing along the cement walls.

oh my god first chapter holy fuck! it's short, but I don't wanna overwhelm. I'm so excited for this book!

[heyheyloki]

Combat Training with a Demigod

Summary: No one can rely on their powers alone, so, the reader makes the day sparring with Loki. 

Pairing: Loki Layfeyson x male!reader

Warnings: None

The training room was one of the few rooms in the building that isn't, surprisingly enough, crowded all the time like the living room or kitchen. Steve was normally down here, as well as Y/N, if he wanted to spar. Other than that, no one. Tony, Bruce, Clint, Thor, and Loki practically had no use for it. Though, Natasha did come down once in a while, but that was usually after nightfall.

A large wrestling mat was laid out over the wood flooring, practically covering the entire floor for the comfort of whoever was about to thrown around. The room almost identically to the size of two high school gyms. On the mat were two unpredictable foes, both a few good feet from each other. Neither daring to unlock their gaze with the other. Minds racing with anticipation. 

"Are you sure about this?" Loki questioned as his hands were open at his sides, his forest orbs questioning why he even agreed to do this as he watched the man across from him stretch his limps before the show got underway.

"Yeah. I can't think of anyone who's better at close combat than you." He replied. He ringed his neck before turning it to gaze over at Thor and Steve on the side lines. One looking amused at the situation before him while the other hating the idea.

"Thor, after I get in a couple rounds with Loki, I want you to help me with flying." Y/N called out. It was one thing to be a normal human being without any powers, like Clint or Tony. But, he wasn’t like them. No, instead he had superhuman powers, fire driven powers.  

"You can fly?" He asked curiously. His words were definitely filled with a bit of joy, anticipation.

"Yeah," he said plainly. "I didn't test it out much but I think I was burning around  5,700 kelvin."

"You mean to tell me when you reach the temperature of a star, you fly?" Loki asked, a brow cocked up.

"No, not fly." He shook his head. "My feet just kinda lift off the ground. I'm guessing I have go beyond my limits to actually fly."

Steve's eyes glazed from left to right, focusing on whoever was talking in the moment. He stood tall with his chest slightly puffed out, his arms crossed over one another. Of course, the news didn't surprise him, but what got under his skin was why he asked the Asgardians for help.

"And, if I start getting ahead of myself, Steve's here to knock me out." Y/N chuckled with a cheeky smile like the words he spoke were normal, everyday conversation.

Steve nodded, unsure of even what he would say to something like that. Either way, he knew one way or another he was there to keep an eye on them. Though, he thought it would be from someone else, not from himself.

Steve watched carefully as Loki’s opponent bent his knees slightly, his palms outward as his trigger happy fingers twitched. "Ready?" He asked with a certain tone that rubbed everyone in the room the wrong way.

Loki nodded. With the flick of his wrist two small daggers popped out of his sleeve and onto the palm of his hands. "On your mark." He stated.

With a moment of intense stillness, the crushing feeling of anticipation, it was only seconds after that everyone watched Y/N's hands curl into fists. They marveled, awed even at the way his hand engulfed in beautiful and deep red flames. Though, those stares were quickly long gone as he began to charge straight on at Loki.

Y/N threw a quick left hook. His attack instantly blocked by Loki's forearm. It was an understatement to say that Loki was as strong as Steven Rogers, if anything, he was stronger. Physically, his strength was something to marvel at. However, Y/N had no time to be surprised. He knew who he was fighting, he knew that Loki would be stronger than other opponents in more ways than one.

He acted fast and moved his right fist close to the green-orbed man. Loki took no pleasure in getting it in the face, his head leaning back as he felt the subtle heat trace over his skin. In a way, it was soothing, but he knew how dangerous it would be if it touched his skin.

The God of Mischief took this as his opportunity to turn on the offensive. He used his free hand to move the dagger close to Y/N's neck, though right when he was about to nick his throat, Y/N made a clever move of his own. He used his trapped and yet forgotten hand to grab a hold of Loki's wrist and twist his body around. In a manner of seconds he stood behind the god who was kicked down to his knees when the young man slammed his foot down on Loki's shoulder.

Their breathing was now the only sound around them, well, that was until boisterous laughs came from the side lines.

"What are you laughing at?" Loki growled in irritation, his glare ice cold upon his brother.

"I never thought I'd see the day when a Midgardian bested you in a fight." Thor laughed. "It's kind of amusing!"

"Well, I got my training from the best super soldier I know." Y/N smiled, his words allowing Steve to mirror his expression.

Loki let out a deep groan, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he acted quickly. In a swift and smooth movement he hit Y/N's foot away from his shoulder and twisted his own body to get back front and center. Taking two steps back, he pointed a dagger at the young man who stood on guard.

"Beginners luck." He stated, his pride shooting out of every pore on his body.

"Maybe you've just met your match." Y/N snickered, his eyes ice cold. His fists glitching open and igniting into flames.

"We'll see about that." Loki stated, his feet stomping his way to the competition.

A solid swing was thrown by the God, his dagger barely nicking at Y/N’s skin before the young adult blocked it with his forearm. Loki stared forward, eyes narrowed on the smug expression that was presented to him that rubbed Loki the wrong way on so many levels. He took a chance, swinging his free hand only for it to be blocked once more.

With both hands blocked, trapped on both sides. Loki smirked. One of those smirks that was cunning and coy, one that made Y/N's head cock the the side. The look of confusion quickly distorting into pain when Loki's foot shot waves of pain down onto his competition’s knee. It was so unexpected, so intense that it made the young man lose his footing and loosen his grip on Loki's arms.

Before either of them knew it, the flat end of Loki's dagger comfortably rest on the base of Y/N's jaw. The very tip of the blade poking at the young man's adam's apple that bobbed as he gulped.

"Look who's on their knees now." Loki cooed, his need for control uncontrollably making the dagger lift up Y/N's head to look up at him. For a moment, he couldn't move his eyes away. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't shake the eye contact between the two. He felt trapped, stuck by some magic he didn't understand. It only troubled him more when his heart started to stammer again his ribs. Though, that moment was his downfall.

A deep yelp left his breath as he came stumbling to the ground by the sweep of Y/N's feet. The action was so quick that the demigod lost his senses for a brief moment. He couldn't see much, couldn’t hear. His sense of touch was completely altered when he felt his hand suddenly grow cold without his dagger's presence. And for a moment, his hand felt like it was being boiled alive over a scorching flame.

Then, sight was granted to him again. His hearing brought back. Everything was new. He had a different view, and his sense of touch allowed him to feel something new.

His forest greens focused on a face above him, his mind locked onto the sensation of a body on his lap. Though, the cold feeling of metal against his neck caught his attention just as quick.

He was caught in a daze. He couldn't take his eyes off of the orbs above him, not to mention how Y/N's hair flowed with gravity and overlapping in his face a bit. Unconsciously, Loki couldn't help but hold his breath as he processed the entire situation. At one point his hands even twitched, but he quickly restrained himself. His mind questioning his body's reactions to this one mortal.

"Is this really necessary?" Loki asked, his voice layered with annoyance as if to hide something.

The body on top of him remained silent. His eyes noticeably targeting where the dagger was placed, almost possessed by it. Though, he soon smiled. It wasn't one that required much thought as it didn't reach his eyes. Still, not long after, he got up and dropped the dagger at his side before extending his hand out to the god.

"Thank you." Y/N said politely. "You're really skilled at hand to hand combat."

"Well, I've only been at it for a few decades or so." Loki sarcastically let out as he grabbed the hand extended to him firmly. "But, for a mortal, you weren't terrible, I suppose."

"Aw, was that a compliment?" Y/N teased as his arms crossed over his chest. Side-eyeing Loki mischievously.

The Asgardian sighed, not even having the will to answer that since he knew he would only be digging his own grave. He didn't have to worry about it so much since almost instantaneously, Y/N called over Thor for the next part of his practice training.

[alia-turin]

Finally chapter 5 and finally things starting to move at very fast pace. There will be 3-4 more chapters based on how long they turn out to be. I hope you enjoy this one as is long, but a lot of things happen. Also I think Avallac’h is a bit of a troll.  Fic Title: Somewhere in Time (Chapter 5) Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4 Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Pairing: Caranthir/F/OC Warning: Canon typical violence for this chapter, mention of scars, angst AO3 Link

Caranthir looked at himself in the mirror, one of the few occasions when he actually needed to do it. Eredin’s, or more like Ge’els’ reception, was today celebrating...something. An anniversary or something like that, Caranthir didn’t really care, it didn’t matter either. Ge’els needed that for his little political games and they all had to behave, the occasion was not important, it was about the game. Caranthir knew how the power in Tir na Lia worked, he knew there were still some who doubted Eredin’s rule. Ge’els called that appeasing the nonbelievers, Eredin called it hunting the traitors. It was all the same.

He was dressed for the occasion even if he didn’t really want to be there, black coat the collar and sleeves lined with grey furs, grey belt over his hips and black pants tucked in black cavalry boots, his Red Rider cape hanging over his shoulder. Well, that was the best he could do, no amount of nice clothes could fix his face so there was that. He thought of opening a portal to Aine’s room but he decided against it. He was going to be civilized tonight as much as he could be.

Walking to her room he wondered what was he going to do from now on. No more running on his end, that was clear but then what? He felt he was on an impossible journey where he didn’t want to let her go but the longer he held her, the worse it would become. Avallac’h was right, he was a cage. He grinded his teeth. Every time Avallac’h was right about something it caused him physical pain.

He knocked on her door and did not wait for invitation - he walked in. She was standing in front of the mirror in her room but Caranthir froze in place forgetting what he was going to say or even do. Whoever the servant who picked that dress was he should start treating them better than the rest. Her hair was tied and falling over one shoulder leaving the rest of her skin exposed. The dress his servants had picked was green, somehow complementing her mismatching eyes, thin straps were holding the fabric to her shoulders, but he could see her collarbones and the elegant curve in her neck. The dress itself was simple, wrapping around her body, tight around the waist but running free around her legs, a long slit was starting from her hip all the way to her feet.

She turned to face him but he was still staring. Women in court had never attracted him in any way or form, too polished for his taste, but seeing her like that...then again she was not part of the court and probably that did it for him even dressed like that there was still wilderness around her. Caranthir wanted to go to that reception even less now. All he could think about was throwing her on the bed and tearing the dress from her body.

“You are not talking.” she finally spoke her voice doing nothing to stop his urges.

He made a sign with his hand for her to come closer and with some hesitation she did. He touched the skin on her neck with the tip of his fingers, her body tensing under his hand. There were still traces of the bruises he left on her neck and some on her shoulders and arms. He cast the spell and it all disappeared. She looked down to her arms, her eyes filled with surprise.

“How…”

“Not going to walk you in there looking like a battered horse.” He forced a smile on his lips, he wouldn’t have done that if it was different sort of marks.

He opened a portal and saw her surprise just growing at that. She had probably never seen one of those, the one he opened when he took her, well she was unconscious and then the first one she saw was probably yesterday when he walked in her room, but probably never consciously being through one.

“Not using the main door” she smiled, her eyes shining from the candle lights.

“Never.” her grabbed her hand and stepped through the portal making her follow him.

They found themselves on a grand balcony, no one was looking at them. He was right about no one paying attention to their entrance, she could see maybe few people looking at the portal but then they just continued their conversation.

Aine spent the day thinking about tonight and about the opportunity. She was finally out of the room with the door she couldn’t open and away from the servants that didn’t care about her. She did not harbor any illusions that the people here did, she was just above a slave for them, but she also looked enough of an elf to be able to blend and disappear especially dressed the way she was. She needed a chance when Caranthir was not paying attention. She looked back toward the city, the view from here was very different compared to her window. Different parts of the castle, but as it was a reception room she could assume it had easy access to the entrance.

Caranthir placed a hand on the small of her back and urged her to go inside, she obliged.

“Look at you.'' As soon as they walked in a large man approached them, the tattoos on his face looked like blood and his size was almost twice compared to everyone else in the room. “You brought your little toy.”

Aine froze as she heard him speak. That was the same man who had walked into her home and dragged her by the hair in the woods. His voice had been distorted by the helmet, but now it just hit her, that and the frame...she made a step back despite Caranthir’s hand that was still in her.

“Where is Eredin?” Caranthir seemed to pay no attention at the small panic attack she was having.

“Entertaining his guests with Ge’els.” The man made a sign to the main hall. “I guess you are busy tonight? Not getting drunk with me?”

She hoped Caranthir would say yes, he would just leave her to her own devices and he would go with his...she guessed friend. He shook his head. The other man smiled and walked away grabbing a glass of liquor from one of the servants.

Aine exhaled loudly, her knees feeling weak once her whole body was not ridged with panic anymore.

“Are you okay?” there was no concern in Caranthir’s voice, it sounded more like curiosity. Did he even understand what did just happen? Did he...she took a deep breath and collected herself. Just a couple of hours, hopefully less.

“Yes, I’m sorry it is the portal.” she tried to lie as best as she could, she had no idea if he bought it, his face was blank, nothing she could read on him.

“Come on I need a drink.” he led her inside and grabbed two glasses from a servant, he downed one immediately but passed her the second. He grabbed another one for himself. The servant walk away with an empty tray.

The room was astonishing, by far the largest room she had ever seen, still there were so many people inside colorfully dressed, women wearing fascinating dresses, it was hypnotizing and suffocating at the same time. She absentmindedly looked at the faces, that was probably the best of Tir na Lia and beyond. Everybody who was somebody here to pay homage to their king. She raised the glass to her lips, but she didn’t drink. She wanted to be sober when the opportunity arises. As she did that her eyes stopped at a man. Short for Aen Elle, short dark hair, he was far but she could recognize him.

“What?” Caranthir must have seen the change of expression on her face.

“That’s my father.” she pointed with her chin in the general direction, there were at least three other men in that vicinity. “Short, dark hair, dark blue cape.”

“Ailin Eurig?” Carathir looked surprised. “Really?” he looked at her father again and then back at her. “I guess I can see some of it. You want to say hi?”

“No!” she almost screamed. “I’d rather stay away.” she probably sounded more desperate than she was, but honestly there was no reason for them to interact. They didn’t split on bad terms, they split on no terms. Her father always had a strange relationship with her varying from warmth to ignoring. It wasn’t bad, never bad, but it was confusing. She had no idea on which day she would be the bastard child and on what days he would look at her as just a child.

“Interesting.” Caranthir looked at her and smiled as if she was supposed to understand their politics. She knew her father had power and resources. She never knew how much, no one cared to explain that to her, why would they? “If only Ge’els knew.”

“If only Ge’els knew what?” a tall lean man with blond-silver hair approached them. If Aine didn’t know better she would call him a king, there was something regal about the way he walked and held himself. His clothes were formal but simple, his gaze sharp as a cat on a hunt.

Caranthir was about to open his mouth but Aine looked at him pleading and he just smiled. “We were talking about art, seems like lord Eurig found a painter who can match your skills.”

“Interesting.” the man narrowed his eyes, she couldn’t decide if he saw through the lie or was truly offended by the art comment. “Are you not going to introduce me?”

“Ge’els, you know everybody here, do I need to introduce you?” Caranthir smiled almost pleasantly, Aine looked confused, not sure what was going on.

“I know where she came from, I know what you have been doing, but…” the man stepped closer and bent forward a bit. “Fascinating mix of human and elven lines. Almost perfect balance...and the eyes, different colors, very human but also elven... You should come to my studio some time.”

“She would not.” Caranthir moved between her and Ge’els, not even realizing what possessed him to do that. Showing he cared was giving the man advantage but at the same time something in him just stung. He knew very well what Ge’els did with most of his models and that was not happening. Not now not ever.

Ge’els smiled, his eyes fixed on Caranthir. He was going to use that against him, not now, he had no reason to do it now, but one day there will be something that Ge’els would want from him and he would use that moment. No more words were exchanged, there was no need for that, Ge’els just walked away to his next victim and Caranthir had to figure out what he could hold over the adviser’s head. A servant passed and he grabbed two glasses but when he looked at Aine her glass was still full from last time. He drank one glass and kept the other.

“Do you dance?” she randomly asked him. That was the first time she probably asked him a question.

“No.” He answered curtly then he realized it was a party and he had brought her here. So far all they had done was being short with with her and drinking. That was not how he wanted to be, but he also felt that everything he might say could scare her even further away from him, if that was even possible. “However, I do that.” he focused on a man who was standing behind Imlerith, seemingly without a reason the man lost his balance and hit Imlerith, his drink spilling over the general. What followed was angry Imlerith and a man who was very afraid.

“Nothing like juvenile behaviour to impress a woman.” Avallac’h’s voice spoke on his left and Caranthir turned making sure he did not get to talk to Aine the same way Ge’els did. Giving one of them advantage was more than enough for a night. “You are one of the greatest mages here and you use your magic for...what?”

Caranthir stared at him. He wasn’t a child anymore, he could use his magic for whatever he wanted. “Maybe you should have tried it with Lara. Maybe juvenile behaviour would have impressed her more than...what? Moonlight walks?”

They looked at each other. They had crossed a line, Avallac’h knew it and Caranthir knew it, but neither of them was going to step back.

“I hear Eredin wants you to take my place.” Avallac’h smiled.

“He should have done it sooner, with all the disappointment you have delivered.” Caranthir had gotten better at that. Years ago he would have lost his temper. Now the whole interaction was burning him from the inside, but he was still in control.

“The only disappointment I ever delivered is you, Caranthir.” Avallac’h face was emotionless but Caranthir saw how pleased he was in his eyes. “Truce?”

“Why are you even talking to me?” Caranthir’s frustration was growing, it wasn’t Avallac’h’s words, he couldn’t care less what his teacher thought. He hated being treated like a child and that was always how it started and ended.

“It is a social event Caranthir, people come to social events to socialize.” again that patronizing tone as if he was a toddler who needs to be scolded. “I heard an interesting story, from one of your servants. Yesterday when you came to my room I really wondered what despaired you so much to come.”

“Can you stay out of my business?” Caranthir raised his voice maybe a bit too much as could of people nearby turned their heads.

“I would, but you made it my business, remember, you asked.” he was right about that, his own internal tournament had pushed him there. “I’m happy for you.” there was no mockery in his voice, not as he said that. “I’m sure you will handle it well.” there came the mockery.

Caranthir wasn’t even angry that Avallac’h was teasing him, he was angry because Avallac’h was right. He couldn’t handle it well, he could turn a dragon into stardust but he could not control his own emotions or feelings.

“At least I won’t be left for a human.” he gave Avallac’h a smile.

“No but...you were left.” at first Caranthir didn’t understand what his teacher was talking about, but then he turned. Aine was gone.

Aine stopped listening to the conversation that was happening between Caranthir and the other man as soon as the navigator turned his back at her. There was her chance she just needed to calmly find her way to the door and from there the main gate and she would be free. Caranthir’s focus was entirely on the man, his whole body language had changed and she knew he was not paying attention to her, it was as if she had stopped existing, which was exactly what she needed.

She made a careful step backwards, wondering if he would notice, but nothing happened. Another one. Nothing happened. Then she turned around and started walking as calmly as she could, without running, but her feet just wanted to move faster and be out of there. She passed a pair of guards but nobody paid attention to her...of course they didn't. She was dressed like all the other guests, who would stop her. By the time she passed the last set of guards before the main gate she was running. It was so close to her freedom, she would be out of this terrible place and terrifying people.

Suddenly she saw a bright light ahead of her and she lost her balance, falling back on the cold ground. A portal with frost edges appeared before her and Caranthir stepped out of it. Her blood froze in her body. She was almost sure he would kill her now. Didn’t matter if she could not have her freedom, death was a good alternative compared to everything else he could do to her. His face did not betray anything, nor anger nor satisfaction, like most of the night he was just unreadable. He leaned forward and grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her up. Aine didn’t make a sound, she knew whatever was coming was neither going to be gentle nor pleasant. She had to accept it.

He turned her around, her arms crossed over her chest, his wrapped around her. In different circumstances his embrace might be even romantic, now she just felt as if he was about to crush her, pulling her close to his body.

“Crafty little spell that allows me to find you anywhere. You think I would take you out of your cage and just hope for the best?” he was leaning forward whispering in her ear, she could sense the warmth of his breath. “Where do you even think you are going?”

“Home!” She tried to free herself but he was way stronger and his grip was too firm.

“Silly girl. Your home is gone. We burned it to stop the humans from hiding so deep in the woods. You have no home.”

“You are lying!” he must be, there was no reason he would be telling the truth. “And even if you are not lying, anywhere is better than here.”

“Are you sure?” his grip around her eased, he turned her around, his hands still holding hers. It was dark but his pale eyes were reflecting whatever little light was in the yard, he was like a wild beast. “Half human half elf mut, alone in the world. How will that work for you? The elves will look down on you, always. Humans will never accept you, you are better than them why should they.” His words hurt but that did not mean they were a lie. There was a reason she lived far away from everybody. Sure at first she did not have a choice, but then she realized that she would never be accepted by any of them. She will always be different.

“So what, I’m supposed to do? Stay here?” she tried to sound confident, but the words had no bite.

“Why not?” he tilted his head as if he was studying something on her and then reached for her face, his fingers brushing her jaw almost loverlike. “I can teach you magic, you can have whatever you want.”

“I want a home. My home.” Honestly that was all she ever wanted, but right now for her it meant anywhere but here. She was scared, he had made it clear he wanted her here, she was denying him that, she couldn’t see herself living a long and happy life past that point.

Nothing happened for a very long moment, his face remained unchanged, she could read nothing on it. “You can go.” he finally said. “The guards won’t bother you.”

Caranthir didn’t want to watch her go so he turned around and walked back to the castle, angry. He could evaporate everyone here just to satisfy the temper. He wasn’t angry with her, she did the most logical thing one could do, saw an opportunity and used it.

He saw a servant carrying a bottle of alcohol and he grabbed it.

His first mistake was that assumed he could ever be happy in that way. His second mistake was listening to Avallac’h. His third mistake was he allowed himself to believe his teacher. In reality Crevan was right, Caranthir was a cage filled with anger, spite and violence, that was him leaving the cage door open and what happened? His bird left. If he had kept it close she would be here now with him. No, if he had kept her here she would have fought him and things would never go his way. At least not the way he wanted them to go.

He found himself back in the main hall and went straight to the balcony, no one was there so he could drink in peace. He leaned against the railing and watched the city. He could sense her, in a moment of reason he had put a curse on himself to be able to feel her. She might go wherever but he would know where she was and what she felt. He drank. The way she looked at him...she never turned her eyes away at his face, she never even said anything about it. Was it fear or she just...didn’t care? He drank. He could see her mismatching eyes looking at him, pleading with him to let her go. Was he that bad? Was he really that terrible that he did not deserve someone who can accept him for what he was? He drank. Probably locking someone in a room for a week was not the way to do it either…

“My lord.” someone spoke behind him and Caranthir turned around. Ailin Eurig was standing there, Aine’s father. He could pick some of the features from his face on hers, elegance of the face, the thin nose, better suited for her face then his. “Forgive me for the bluntness, but I couldn’t fail to notice the woman that was with you tonight.”

Caranthir narrowed his eyes. He knew that was not a social visit, it was a game. He had started the game by accident by bringing her here, but now the game was unfolding. If he was sober or less angry he could probably figure the game sooner, but he wasn’t so he waited.

“She reminded me of someone, someone I have not seen in years.” the man continued after he saw Caranthir will not respond.

“Yes, she is your daughter.” He decided to cut to the chase, he wasn’t in the mood for long pointless conversation, he needed the man to get to the point.

“Fascinating really.” The man seemed amused and Caranthir could feel his anger building once more. “I’m impressed. From my bastard daughter, who left the home rather ungrateful for everything I had provided for her to your bed. Then again humans and their offspring are good for one thing and one thing only. I hope she brings you as much joy as her mother brought me.” It was the words that burned in Caranthir’s mind but also the man’s smile. He did not care what he thought about the humans as a whole, nor about half elves, but that was personal. He didn’t view her as half elf, she was...like him and she completed parts of him that he was missing. If he was sober or less angry he would probably come up with a clever remark, make the man feel small and walk away. He was neither. Also he wished she was in his bed, not even because of lust, he needed to hold her and be held desperately.

Caranthir turned his whole attention to the man, holding the bottle in his left hand he grabbed him by the throat with his right and pushed him toward the railing. Half of the man’s body was hanging outside all Caranthir needed was just a bit more and the man would decorate Eredin’s front courtyard.

“I cannot decide right now if I want to push you down or I want to turn you in a worm and go fishing tomorrow.” the man’s hands gripped around his wrist but Caranthir was drunk and he didn’t think straight. In that moment he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. Eredin was standing there.

“Whatever that is, you are neither pushing him down, nor you are feeding the fish with him.” Eredin squeezed his shoulder as if knowing Caranthir was past reason at that point, not even because of the man he was about to kill, he just happened to be the last drop in a very full glass. He stepped back letting the man step on the balcony.

“Your majesty!” Ailin was red and gasping. “Outrageous! Your navigator needs to know his place that was unprovoked attacked and he needs to be punished for that.”

“Punished?” Eredin smiled. “My lord, if I have four peasants, I can make myself four lords. If I have four lords, I cannot make even half of Caranthir.” the king stopped letting the words sink in the air. “I think my navigator and I need to have a conversation if you excuse us.”

The man bowed his head and walked away obviously getting the message of who is more replaceable. Carathir wasn’t proud of himself he knew he overreacted over something he usually probably wouldn’t. Or even sober and calm he would have reacted like that again as it was personal. Eredin looked at him, green eyes filled with...disappointment. First Avallac’h, then Aine and now Eredin.

“What was that all about?” the king finally asked after he had subjugated his navigator to his tortuous look for long enough.

“He said something, I took it personally.” he finally responded, he couldn’t believe the shame in his voice.

“Was it personal?” Eredin seemed curious.

He could lie. He could say yes. But it wasn’t. The man said what almost everybody else thought. Humans were below them and half elves had this strange place in their society that no one could truly define, but certainly they were not Aen Elle. It wasn’t like he and Imlerith had never made a joke about that. But it was also personal, the joke was not about them, the humans or them the half elves. It was about someone Caranthir cared about on a level he did not truly understand. He didn’t answer.

“Your arrogance does not need to hear that, but I will say it once.” Eredin leaned forward and grabbed the back of Carantjir’s head pulling him closer, his lips on the navigator’s ear. “You are valuable to me, and I like you. But I’m the king and I have a kingdom to rule and so happens his lordship is one of the richest and most influential people here. Ge’els tells me he is weak, but he has a son who isn’t, you kill the weak worm, we end up in a civil war. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Caranthir nodded, Eredin rarely spelled out things so loud and clear which only enhanced the gravity of the situation. He knew politics was fragile right now. Despite all the power Eredin held, there were people who just needed an excuse to turn the tables. There were those who thought themselves better than him and those who simply didn’t like him. Mages had ruled over Aen Elle for years and now someone else held the crown. Everyone needed an excuse.

“Ge’els will fix things, you get yourself out of Tir na Lia for a few days.” Eredin stepped back, there was fire burning in his eyes. Caranthir knew if Eredin had a choice he wouldn’t care what happened here, but the crown did not give him more freedom, it did the opposite. He nodded again. Ge’els will do his political talk and Caranthir will be out of sight so he does not add salt to the injury. He preferred to be in the mountains anyway, at least until he figured out his other problem.

[someguynamedstevewrites]

My Roommate is an Apparition: Saturday Morning Cartoon Complaints

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

————————————-

There once was a lonely apparition that haunted an apartment in an old building. No one knew where it came from, how it came to be, or why it was there. In fact, nobody knew the spooky specter actually existed since nobody could see it. Eventually, the apparition met someone who could see them, and they were no longer lonely. But before that, there were a few instances where the incorporeal creature made contact with human beings.

This is one of those stories.

It was September 20th, 1997, and Terrence “Terry” Vanderbrook was working as an operator for a local CBS Network Affiliate. He spent his days making sure that people calling into the station were directed to where they needed to go, and also screening out any unwanted calls. Regardless if they were folks calling in to speak to the news team about breaking news, people wanting to partner with the station for a special event, or for any other reason, Terry took care of them all.

One call, in specific, would go down as one Terry would remember for the rest of his years. (Mostly because he wasn’t sure if it actually happened or not).

“Thank you for calling your local CBS station, W.O.-“ Terry began to say before being cut off.

“Where...?” came a voice that sounded like breath on the wind.

“I’m sorry?” Terry asked.

“Where... are they...?” the raspy voice asked.

In the couple of years Terry had been a phone operator, he received more than his fair share of crank calls. Some were very obvious from the get go, while others were subtle and not quite as apparent. On occasion, a call might start off sounding like a prank, but actually turn out to be a legitimate call. Terry learned that the hard way after being berated by a 76- year old woman who was calling to complain about a breaking news report interrupting Diagnosis: Murder. On that day, Terry learned never to underestimate the appeal of Dick Van Dyke to seniors.

Still, uncertain if this was a prank or not, Terry did exactly what he was trained to do: proceed in a professional and courteous manner while trying to obtain more information to determine the needs of the caller. (At least until he was sure whether this call was genuine or not.)

“What can I help you find today?” Terry responded with a smile in his voice (as outlined in the Employee Handbook for Telephone Operators, page 12).

The raspy voice spoke a little louder to get its point across, “Car... TOONS!!!”

“Cartoons?”

“Where. Are. The. Car. Tooooons!?” the voice demanded.

Terry looked over at the small calendar on his desk. It was Saturday. “Oh! You mean the Saturday Morning Cartoons?”

“Yesssssss...” the voice said with a hiss.

“Give me one second,” Terry said as he began to type away at the keyboard to his Windows 95 work computer. Connecting to the network’s server, Terry began searching for and pulling up the schedule for the day’s channel listings. A memo had circulated around the office not too long ago about changes to the channel lineup this fall, but Terry hadn’t paid too much attention to it. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of the search function for his e-mail just yet.

“I’m... waaaaaaaaaiiiii... tiiiiiiiiinnnnngggg,” the voice said as nasally and obnoxious as possible.

“Hang on, kid, I almost got it,” Terry shot back. At this point, he figured the caller was some kid, probably sick in bed (which would explain the raspy voice), hoping to watch their Saturday Morning Cartoons and having trouble with it. (Terry was way off the mark, but he didn’t know that).

While the inter-network speeds within the CBS station’s computer network were much faster than the new 56 Kbps speeds Terry got on his dial-up modem back home, it still took a while to get to the shared network folder that contained the spreadsheet containing the day’s programming lineup. With a double-click, Terry opened up Excel 95 and saw...

“Oh...”

Terry bit his lip and breathed in through his teeth. He always hated calls like this; calls where he had to be the unfortunate bearer of bad news. The person on the other end of the line NEVER took it well. It would lead to lots of yelling, screaming, and demands to speak to his manager. And that was when Terry was speaking to full grown adults, so he was rightfully concerned about the kind of tantrum a sick child could produce.

“I’m sorry,” Terry said with regret, “but it looks like the CBS Kidz programming block has been replaced with CBS News Saturday Morning and a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show.”

————————————-

Due to the nature of the apparition’s existence, it was debatable whether or not it was actually “alive”. Considering the facts, it had been “born” a few years ago and hadn’t “lived” for very long by the time it made this phone call. Furthermore, during the time in between, it experienced emotions such as happiness, sadness, inquisitiveness, and many more.

But this was the first time the apparition became truly angry!

The apparition was frowning. It’s worth mentioning this, because before now, the apparition had never, ever frowned. Its face was no longer smiling, or expressionless like a confused child, like it had been for every day since the apparition began its existence. It was consciously moving the non-existent muscles on its face to move downward to express just how angry it was. Its sharp teeth were on full display like a snarling beast. To say it was not a pretty sight would have been an understatement.

The ethereal hand that had been twirling the coils of the telephone cord was now clutching the phone book as tightly as it could. Visions of cartoon characters expressing their anger whirled through the apparition’s head as it began to conjugate steam out of its non-existent ears. The apparition could not find the words to express the outrage it felt, so it did something else to vent its frustration.

It made a wooden chair suddenly fly through the air at one-hundred and twenty miles per hour into a wall.

*CRASH*

————————————-

The sound of wood smashing and splintering could be heard over the phone, and nearly made Terry jump out of his chair.

“WHOA! Kid, are you okay!?” Terry asked with genuine concern.

“BAAAAACK!!!” the apparition practically screamed. Its voice had distorted and sounded sinister; carrying a demonic reverb.

“...BRING! THEM! BAAAAAACK!!!”

“Poor kid,” Terry thought to himself, “they are definitely not taking this well.”

If it had been anyone else other than Terry taking that call, the horrific voice over the phone likely would have scared them out of their pants by now. But he was a veteran at handling the phone and this was not the first time someone used a voice distorter on a call. It was the first time a kid had used one (as far as he knew), but Terry had seen the toy commercials for “YakBak” on TV and knew that any kid with one could do funny things to their voice.

“Listen,” Terry said calmly, “I understand you’re disappointed, but that’s no reason to break things and throw a fit. You might hurt yourself or make yourself even sicker.”

————————————-

The frown had vanished from the apparition’s face. In its place was a look of sheer confusion. This was definitely not the reaction the apparition was expecting when they made this phone call.

The last time the apparition used its scary voice was back when the previous apartment tenants were talking about getting rid of their TV. To keep that from happening, the apparition practiced hard on finding the best voice it could mimic that would “persuade” the residents living there at the time to keep it. It even figured out how it could project its voice into any electronic device with a speaker to create an even more haunting effect (and to make sure the people there could actually hear its demands).

It worked, but it worked a little too well.

Shortly after the apparition began to actively haunt its oblivious roommates, the tenants packed up and moved out in a hurry, leaving their furniture and appliances behind. This included the 32” CRT TV that the apparition was fond of, and a landline telephone. The apparition didn’t care much for the phone line since they were happy just having the TV all to themselves twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. (Plus, they didn’t have anyone to call or talk on the phone to, anyway.)

At least they were happy until about a week ago, when the Saturday Morning Cartoons were a complete no show for the first time in years.

But the apparition had seen shows come and go, television programming blocks change for no apparent reason, occasional weather alert bulletins interrupting their cartoons, and some of their favorite cartoons canceled. They learned patience, understanding, and compromise from these experiences. Just because there were no cartoons that week didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be cartoons next week.

Two weeks without cartoons, however, simply would not do.

The apparition scoured the apartment for a phone book, concentrated on solidifying its fingertips to turn pages, located the phone number for the TV station, and dialed. It took a lot of effort for a ghostly being to make a phone call, and it was not about to let its efforts go to waste.

If the scary voice didn’t work, they’d have to take a different approach. It was time for Plan B.

————————————-

“...Sorry,” the apparition apologized, “...please... bring them... back?”

Terry sighed. He had kids of his own, and dealing with them could be a real challenge; especially when he couldn’t give them something they wanted. Once they realized throwing a tantrum fit wouldn’t work, they start trying to “bargain” just like the kid (who wasn’t actually a kid) that was on the phone.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, but it’s out of my hands,” Terry said using his “sympathetic Dad” voice, “I know it stinks, and if I could bring them back, I absolutely would.” After some frantic scrolling through his work e-mail inbox, he finally found the e-mail he was looking for. “But, thing is, we got to follow the rules from the FCC, so-“

“Eff... See... See?” the voice interrupted to ask.

“The Federal Communications Commission,” Terry explained, “You might not have learned about them in school yet, but they’re a part of the government. They make the rules we here at the TV stations got to follow, and one of those rules is to show three hours of educational programming, and the cartoons we had, well...” Terry tried to find a way to let the (not) kid down nicely, “...they just weren’t educational enough. That make sense?”

————————————-

It did not make sense. The Apparition had no idea what the heck the person on the other end of the phone line was talking about. All it knew was that they took away their cartoons and they weren’t going to give them back.

Taking a look at its transparent fingers, the apparition decided it was time to take matters into its own hands. They had tried scaring the person on the other end of the phone and they had tried asking nicely, but now it was time for plan C.

The apparition plunged its fingers into the tiny holes of the phone receiver. The phone was eventually engulfed in the apparition’s being and soon after that, the receiver began to slowly suck the apparition into it.

If someone walked into the room at that moment, and if that person could also see the apparition, they would see the lower half of a person’s body up to about their waist with the upper half crammed into a phone. It looked like a cartoon where someone had taken the receiver of a phone and hit someone over the head with it so hard that it jammed them inside.

Meanwhile, inside the phone, the apparition’s upper body stretched as it squeezed its way through the telephone cables. It wasn’t easy, and the apparition had never tried anything like this before, but it was filled with determination. Following the voice of the person on the other end of the phone, the apparition could feel itself getting closer and closer to its destination.

It smiled a sharp, toothy grin and created sharp claws on its hands in preparation for its arrival. Soon it would wreak havoc against those who had wronged it. They would rue the day they had taken away their source of Saturday Morning joy! It could see a light ahead of itself, and once it finally reached it, the apparition took its mangled, clawed hand and...

————————————-

*scritch*

“Ow,” Terry said as he pulled the phone away from his head. Something had just scratched him. Looking at the phone receiver, Terry blinked and then blinked again as he came to comprehend what he was looking at.

It was a very small, tiny hand with what looked like long fingernails poking out from one of the holes on the receiver. It flailed and strained as if it was trying to reach out but couldn’t get itself through. The closest thing Terry could liken it to was if a mouse or hamster had somehow gotten into the phone and was sticking its paw through the holes on the phone.

It was kind of adorable.

After a few seconds, the hand retracted into the phone. A second after that, Terry could have swore that he saw a tiny head poke out of one of the holes on the receiver. It had long hair, large eyes, no nose, and looked rather irritated. It struggled as it tried to pull itself out of the phone, but it just couldn’t budge.

Terry was quite sure he was seeing things. He wasn’t sure if it was because of something he ate, or from not getting enough sleep. The thought never entered his head that he was looking at a supernatural being that had shrunken its upper torso, shoved and stretched itself through the phone line, and was now trying to crawl its way out the other end. That would have been silly.

After a few more seconds of struggling, the apparition seemed to realize that this was not going to work and silently admitted defeat to itself. It looked up at the (relatively) gigantic face of Terry who was casually looking at the apparition without an ounce of fear, shock, or horror showing on his face. Without really thinking, Terry just looked at the tiny head poking out and just shrugged as though saying, “Sorry, can’t help yah there, bud”.

Dejectedly, the apparition pulled its head back inside the phone as Terry absentmindedly waved goodbye to it.

————————————-

Back in the apartment, the apparition pulled itself out from the phone and sighed. It held the phone up to its earless head to hear what the man on the other end had to say.

“So, uh...” the man said before a hesitant pause, “...I know this is going to sound crazy, but...” another pause as the man on the other end tried to put what just happened into words, “...did you just try and travel through the phones so you could claw at me?”

The apparition looked to the left, then looked to the right, and if it was capable of it, it would have broken out in a nervous sweat. Sheepishly, the apparition responded, “...yes,” with the same tone of voice a child would use if they had been caught eating cookies before dinner.

A slight pause before the man followed back with, “...didn’t really work out for you, did it?”

Again, sounding like a child that knew they were totally busted, the apparition responded, “...nooooo...”

There was another pause on the phone before the man on the other end eventually said, “Well... better luck next time.”

This call was starting to get extremely awkward as the apparition had no idea what was going to happen next.

After about a minute of silence (which is considered taboo among telephone operators) the man on the other end finally asked, “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

This was a battle the apparition had thoroughly lost, and it knew it. It was time to throw in the towel. With a depressed sigh, it responded back, “No... thank you”.

————————————-

Despite not being sure what exactly he just saw, Terry leaned forward in his chair and decided the very least he could do was offer some encouraging words. “I know you’re disappointed, and I get that. I really do. But other TV channels have cartoons too. You can always watch them there.”

“...yeah...” the voice responded.

“It’s not like all the cartoons in the world just suddenly vanished, right?”

“...I suppose...”

Terry was ready to wrap this call up and had his closing spiel all set to go. “We appreciate you caring enough to call in today and while I may not have been able to help you, I do hope you feel better soon. Okay?”

There was a moment of silence before the voice responded back, “...okay...”

“Thank you very much for calling CBS, and have a good rest of your day,” Terry said earnestly.

There was a click signaling the phone on the other end had disconnected. Terry hung up the phone on his end, leaned back in his office chair, and looked up to the ceiling.

At that exact same moment, the person they had been talking to just a minute ago thought the exact same thing as he did.

“Well... that was weird.”

[lexpressobean]

Parent/Teacher Night: Ch 2, Remember When

In which Shino recalls some thens and compares them to the nows, and gets inspired to change some things with Kiba's encouragement.

*Modern AU, Swearing

**You can find this on AO3 now too, along with the first chapter. Let's gooooooooo!!!

•••

"He asked to trade numbers?" Kiba repeated, pausing all motion, chopsticks mid snatch for a gyoza.

"Yes. Is that... Weird?"

"Well, no."

Kiba reached over and chose his specimen, a plump piece just asking to be dipped. Shino continued eat his steamed rice. It was okay if Kiba wanted the last of the gyoza. Shino thought he might enjoy a serving of the restaurant's ice-cream after he finished his meat instead.

"But even I don't have Shikamaru's number. Least not his current one."

"You don't?"

"Nah," Kiba took in the gyoza whole and spoke as he chewed, "but ah neber bothered doo update it, I hab 'im on my socials anyway."

"Oh."

He swallowed, "But you didn't even have any kind of social media until later in college. You were late to the game!"

"I didn't see the point then..."

"And that's fine. He probably doesn't even know you have them now. But you know he's been pretty absent from social media too. Figures."

"According to Ino, he's been back in town since April."

"Well of course Ino would know, she's always been in everyone else's business. Especially Shikamaru's, and Choji's too!"

Shino silently made a face, distorting the corner of his mouth as if reluctant to agree, but Kiba barked out a laugh when he caught him.

"It's true though, isn't it!? You would know, Shino!"

Shino didn't plan to be seen, but oh well, "I think it's just her way of showing she cares. Those three are practically family, aren't they?"

Kiba sighed and rolled his eyes, "Listen, dude, just cause you 'dated' her for a couple of years back in college doesn't mean you have to be nice after the fact. It's okay! She has her manipulative bitchy side too. How else could she make it as a therapist."

"Psychiatrist."

"That."

Kiba emphasized the word "dated" in such a way that caused Shino to scowl. Geez, if Ino didn't insist on sharing pictures online...

"Don't invalidate my opinions just because you think they're biased, Kiba. Also, people grow from high school, don't be stuck in the past either."

"I'm not saying it's invalid, geez, but ever since you've always been soft on her..."

"Jealous?"

Kiba immediately threw a dirtied, crumpled up napkin at Shino's head as he blew raspberries in disbelief. Of course Shino dodged it.

"And that!" Kiba almost yelled, though he had a huge smile on his face, "You're sass meter has been off the charts since then!"

"I thought I was just asking a question," Shino simply replied, though he smiled too.

"Fucking jerk," he crossed his arms and closed his eyes, sighing dreamily, "Why would I be jealous when I'm with Tamaki now?"

Shino suppressed the urge to crinkle up his nose, "I remember back in high schoo-"

"THAT WAS HIGH SCHOOL!!" Kiba interrupted, not upset but voice almost breaking in both embarrassment and amusement simultaneously, "Now who's the one stuck in the past!"

"Well anyway, I was just curious if you had heard from him recently, because this was the first time I had seen him since he was an undergrad. That was a while ago."

"Same here, bud. But then here's a thought, if he's just working these days, and he's giving out his number to old friends, maybe we should all get together sometime! So why don't you also friend him on socials while you're at it?"

Shino paused and considered the suggestion.

Shino could do that. Actually, Shino could have done so a long time ago if he had wanted to. But for all the times he had seen Shikamaru's obvious username and cloud icon, he never sent friend request himself. He created his socials for the sole purpose of studygroup based messaging and had planned to delete his social media after school ended for good. But two months in and Kiba somehow found him, and then shortly after Hinata did too. Then Naruto also found Shino and from there he actually aquired a few more friend requests, including from Lee and Sai. Even Ino sent him a friend request, though Ino and Shino had actually attended the same University in the beginning. And then she called him out on it the next time she saw him in person, because how could Shino friend nearly all their mutuals and NOT Ino? He even friended Sakura before Ino! Though, Shino had a suspicion Sakura's request may had been a result of clumsy typing. Shino definately hadn't meant anything by it, but that started a series of... interesting talks between the two. But all and all, Shino suspected that's why he saw Shikamaru's icon so often, among others he didn't quite recognize himself.

Of course Shino knew he didn't have to accept the requests at all. He could've delete them even. But... it didn't seem right to ignore them either. And maybe it felt... kinda nice being reached out to...

"I mean, shit, maybe I should shoot him a message too..." Kiba mused.

"... I was under the impression it was for Mirai's sake."

Kiba perked up, "Huh?"

"That's because a cellphone number is a personal and direct line. If Mirai is currently under my care as a student, wouldn't it make sense to have multiple contacts in case of an emergency?"

Kiba sighed. Typical Shino, "Did Shikamaru say it was strictly for emergencies only?"

"... No."

"So, Dude, maybe... just maybe, Shikamaru simply isn't aware that you have socials? I know I know... social media is meant to be for socializing, but so are direct lines! Why does a direct line have to be so off limits? You're not a stranger to Shikamaru either, Shino. I mean, if anything, he probably trusts you a lot, knowing the kind of person you've ways been. It's a personal line after all, right?"

Not a stranger, but definitely not the person closest the Shikamaru either... It didn't quite make sense beyond Mirai's safety... but, maybe that was Shino's own opinion...

"... I'm over thinking it again."

"Yup."

"... Maybe I will. I'm already friends with Ino and Choji..."

"Yeah! Just complete the trio! Here let's see..." Kiba took out his phone and started to review something, "... I think the only people you're not friends with besides Shikamaru are... Sasuke, who simply deleted everything at one point, Neji, but he really only followed me because of Hinata," Kiba added wearily, "aaand a lot of... other people... but, like, you're better off that way. I have a lot of those assholes blocked or didn't bother. Even Sasuke had been more better of an option than them!"

"Like who?"

"Like I had to block Shikamaru's psycho ex-girlfriend Tayuya. Fucking nightmare that girl was..."

"Ah... the flute player," Shino wasn't all that to date back in the day either, but even he knew about Tayuya...

"Sure that was YEARS ago, and maybe she's different now? But she was... not okay then. To be fair, Shikamaru wasn't blameless, but cripes... After the break-up she was constantly stalking him online... I've just kept her blocked for good measure, I don't know if she's still even there."

Another reason Shino didn't want social media at the time... It made it too easy to let people in. In all honesty the idea had felt overwhelming, and sometimes still does...

"So you're good there."

"Sasuke, Shikamaru, Neji..."

"... Anyone else?"

"... I think those are the last few people from back then I'd actually tolerate. Shikamaru had been your friend, and Sasuke... wasn't always so aloof before he disappeared... And then Neji is Hinata's cousin..."

"Ha! Perfect! So then why not friend Neji too, just for the hell of it? You two had some kind of bro pact, I do remember that."

"He just worried about Hinata, Kiba. Between you and Naruto, I could see why."

"Sue me Shino, it's not my fault the school was full of cute girls!" Kiba nearly whined, but with a ridiculously dopey smile on his face.

It made Shino think. Shikamaru was one of the only people he more regularly saw who didn't reach out to him. But of course Shikamaru had a problem with a stalker at one point. That would make anyone weary of social media. Kiba had even stated he wasn't on much. Shino couldn't fault him for that.

Sasuke apparently deleted his, but it wasn't like they were the closet to begin with, despite humble beginnings. Shino had his fair share of complaints when it came to Sasuke, but when he transferred to a different school before senior year started, even Shino felt his absence.

And recalling high school, Neji did once ask for Shino's socials before. But it was obviously for the same reason of wanting to keep extra tabs on his little cousin and her "new friends" in Environmental Club. Shino had already explained he didn't have any, and he wasn't sure Neji believed him, but had agreed to be very careful with Hinata, who had started to hang out with he and Kiba more after they returned her book she had left in the club classroom. Shino kept it as Kiba was terribly tempted to take a peek, but once it had been returned, and Kiba expressed his curiosity, Hinata shyly presented them with page after page of pressed flowers, all marked with name, date, and little tidbits of info. She became even more bashful at Kiba's amazement and Shino's praise. It was just very well organized and aesthetically pleasing, something she and Ino would bond over later into their friendships.

So then, it was very surprising to know that such a timid girl had an incredible amount of skill in Martial Arts, but had opted to join Environment Club instead of Martial Arts Club. It was less of a shock to find out she and the school's Number One MAC member were related, first cousins even. They had a strong resemblance to each other.

As for Shino and Neji, their mutual fondness for Hinata became a source of camaraderie at some point. Despite expectations and Neji's sterness, all he really wanted was for Hinata to simply have fun during school, and he very much appreciated Shino looking out for her. So Kiba wasn't wrong. And in current time, Hinata had ultimately decided she was gonna live out of town due to... many reasons, but mainly because of her job as a pastry chef in a very successful and family owned cafe and bakery. Of course cinnamon rolls were her specialty, but Shino's feed always had some of the most delightful pictures of various decorated confections, most made by her too. He wasn't the biggest fan of sweets in general, but he was very fond of her handy work. You could tell she loved her job with every detail.

"Crap! Hey Shino, did you wanna order anything to go?"

"Uh, no. I think that was enough."

"Alright cause it's about time I go meet Tamaki," Kiba grinned, "Here's my part!"

Kiba slammed a twenty dollar bill down onto the table and hurriedly put his jacket back on. When Shino looked at the time it was nearly half past six. Oh, the reservation was made for seven. Maybe he talked too much.

"We might've pushed it, Kiba."

"No way, it's fine! I mean I don't mind going if that's where she wants to go, but you know how fancy places are! I need food Shino, actual food!"

Shino was glad that his friend was putting in so much effort for this girl. It seemed like he really liked her, and she was pretty cute, and also... nice. But when it came to things like this, Shino wasn't sure how long this was really gonna last. But it probably wasn't his place to comment.

"Make sure Akamaru takes his medicine, he'll definitely down it if you give him the peanut butter too."

"Sure, no problem."

"Also, Shino."

"Yes?"

"Seriously, don't be so shy! Just friend them!"

"Stop dawdling, you're gonna be late."

Kiba laughed as he waved and nearly jogged out of the restaurant. After paying and boxing the rest of Kibas plate for later (Shino was sure his idiot friend was gonna be hungry again) Shino headed out to Kiba's apartment. He already had a key, ever since he had come back to town. They had always been close like that, though with these new developments Shino always made it a point to give Kiba space and a heads up.

Akamaru was getting old. This medicine was supposed to help him in his old age, and just as Kiba said, Akamaru took the medication with no problem. Shino also made sure that the bowls were full of water and food. Because there was now also Akemaru, a younger dog of the same breed that Kiba had come across one day at the shelter. After only a few weeks and no adoptions, Kiba couldn't resist and ended up adopting him, and he and Akamaru became very close. As a favor to their otherwise absent owner, Shino got the younger and more energetic dog ready for a walk. When Shino offered to take Akamaru, the old boy wagged his tail and came to lick Shino's hand, but then retreated back to his bed and laid down. Looks like that was gonna be a pass, but he was thankful for the offer.

...

Shit.

Okay. Okay, that was it. Actually, this was perfect. Before Shino really started the walk, he pulled out his phone. He scrolled through he recommended friends list of his most commonly used social and easily found the cloud icon that belonged to Shikamaru. It was the same app he even had people like Kurenai and his father on. Just being able to keep anyone of relevance to his social circles on the same app was fine. It kept them close, but not too close either. Available, but at a distance. The only other people who had Shino's personal line were Kiba, Hinata, Kurenai, his father Shibi, Torune and Neji.

Shino hadn't mentioned that to Kiba, but in reality, they hadn't kept much contact anyway. So Shino hoped Kiba didn't snoop his friends list later, but he decidedly sent Shikamaru a friend request and put his phone away into a pocket. Then after switching out his glasses, as to see better in the evening, he left the apartment and began his walk with Akemaru. This would definitely keep him from getting too anxious about it. Shino didn't really know why he was like this, but it was done and now it was up the Shikamaru if he really wanted to catch up. Not that there was a whole lot to catch up on. He was more Kiba's friend after all, always had been, but Shino was sure Kiba didn't really think about that kind if thing too deeply.

Thankfully there was a park a couple blocks down, which even in the evening looked easy to navigate. The air was fresh and chilly, but tolerable with his coat on. Akemaru was good on a leash, and so Shino was able to keep a steady but not rushed pace. He followed a predetermined path, one Shino was actually familiar with too and so he was able to relax as his body went into coast mode.

...

It was nice. Just focusing on the walk. But Shino couldn't help thinking back to his high school days too. Seeing Shikamaru hadn't really been a shock so much as a surprise. He definitely... grew. His voice was deeper. His hair seemed more or less the same length, but maybe looked longer as now he styled it differently. Instead of the low and rather disheveled ponytail he used to wear, he now kept it only half up it looked like. Shino didn't think it looked bad at all, but with some loose strands in his face and the more casual clothes he had been wearing, Shino really wondered if Shikamaru wasn't more or less dragged last minute to PTN. But maybe he was thinking of the Shikamaru from before. Because this Shikamaru was actually... really approachable. And very kind with his words. Maybe that's what growing up some did to people.

Because the one from before was always annoyed, and grumpy, and quiet unless spoken to, yet Naruto and his shenanigans always put a mischievous smirk on his face. Shino had found him a little intimidating. But it wasn't until Kiba and Naruto decided to drag Shino AND Hinata out to a lunchtime hangout and pretty much threw them into the mix of different friends they shared that Shino met Shikamaru, as well as most everyone else. Shino had recognized Ino, and Ino did too after he mentioned Torune, seeing as Torune and Foo both graduated the year before.

"Torune? Like, short black hair, really thick glasses?"

"He has green eyes too."

"Hey, yeah! You're my cousin's boyfriend's cousin! What a small world!"

It was pretty lame introduction.

"And... you're Ino, right?"

"Wow, Ino, he remembered you!" a pink haired girl chastised.

"Oh, shut up, Forehead, it's not like we ever really hung out before. I think we met, like, once at one of Foo's birthdays?"

"That's true," Shino agreed, "I just went for the drive to drop off his present since that day he couldn't stay. You're mom insisted on giving us goodie bags anyway before we left."

"Ugh, good, our parents always go over the top with the decorations and stuff, believe me!"

"Ino, you are over the top."

"Shikamaru, no one was talking to you!"

"Wait, wait wait, your cousin Foo has a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, what of it," Ino immediately scowled at Kiba.

It made Kiba shut up immediately, but then he turned to Shino and whispered, "Hey, is your cousin gay?"

Shino shrugged, "I didn't ask, but it's none of my business." He was. Shino had known but Torune never outright told him they were officially dating. So as far as he was concerned it was a mystery.

"What about you, Hinata, I don't think we've met before. I'm Sakura."

"Um, hello-"

"Actually! We're in Home Ec together!" another boy munching on chips said, "She made the best cinnamon rolls in class the other day!"

Hinata blushed, "Ah, thank-you, Choji..."

"Cinnoman rolls!? I saw that that roll! Hinata, that was yours!?" Naruto asked, super impressed.

She only blushed even harder, "It might've been...!?"

"It was!" Choji confirmed.

"Naruto stop crowding already!" Sakura scolded, poking him against the side of his forehead, "You can be so loud!"

"Augh, alright, Sakura stop!"

It had actually been a relatively friction free integration. Hinata and the girls got along faster than he would've guessed, and later Shino and Sasuke would meet again, with Naruto giving Shino a suspicious stink-eye.

"We've been in the same classes since elementary school," Shino commented, "You have to really go out of your way to ignore someone for that long..."

"Hn..." As friendly as always...

...

From then on, Kiba always insisted on Shino and Hinata joining them at lunch, which Shino did. But Shino couldn't quite fathom the idea of sacrificing his after school time to go to out and do... well, who even knew? Back then, he had a routine, he had things to tend to back home. His terrariums that his father put him in charge of, his guitar practice because he wasn't about to let those lessons go to waste, his study time, and planning for EC activities as he was a more involved member, he was already a busy guy. At least that's what he used to think. But he would be a sad ass liar if he didn't appreciate the invitations. Towards the end he broke a few time at his father's insistence. He was mentally drained each time, but he did have fun, and Kiba always seemed excited to recall the events with Shino after.

Once he had attended collage, Shino really wished he would have taken more time to simply enjoy a more decent social life with the people he called friends at school outside of school. Was he too shy? Was he too selective? Was he socially inept? It didn't matter now. It wasn't until Shino's very first job that he felt like he got to a level he wished he could've reached sooner. Being a cashier at a fast food chain really taught you how to handle and tolerate people, and definitely brought Shino out if his shell more than he would've ever thought. College in general did a lot for him in that respect.

... Kiba was right. If old friends were reaching out, why couldn't Shino do the same?

Well, apparently the universe was glad he agreed, because the second he did, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Shino stopped in place and Akemaru whined. When he checked his phone, he saw not only a "Request Accepted" message but also a simple text message as well, also from Shikamaru.

-----

Hey, can you talk? Call me if you can.

-----

Oh what the fuck.

Shino felt his nerves stand at attention with the prospect of a sudden conversation. What... What did Shikamaru even want right now? Did he really want to talk now?

... No. No, dammit, no! Not this time. Shino took a deep breath and continued to walk, much to Akemaru's delight. And as he got a steady rhythm, Shino highlighted Shikamaru's number and pressed "Call".

It was settled. If he was gonna start making up for lost time, it was now or never, awkward interactions be damned!

[introvert-celeste]

su prompt: Bismuth trying to come to terms with Rose trying to flee the Diamonds and how this informed Rose's entire military strategy, in that she didn't want ANYONE to get hurt at all and the whole revolution expanded way out of what she might have originally planned?

HI, HELLO. Yes, I FINALLY finished this prompt, and it’s quite a bit longer than I had planned (I was aiming for >1000 words but *shrugs*). I’m not sure if this was exactly what you meant, but I chose to go a more personal route for this. Bismuth is torn by her feelings about Rose, the war, and her own actions and this is her trying to air these feelings out.

Bismuth stood on the warp pad for a moment as the light dissipated around her, determined and nervous in equal measures.

Rose’s fountain stood serenely in the shadows of the surrounding cliffs, silent save for the distant babbling of its healing waters. Under different circumstances, it could have been a peaceful retreat from the trials of daily life; to Bismuth and the countless gems who passed through its arches over the years, however, it was not so simple. This fountain was their saving grace, discussed in hushed whispers during the war lest their enemies learn of its miraculous properties, and in extension the legendary abilities of their leader. It was also a grim reminder, recalling its necessity in the intensifying rebellion. To Bismuth, it was a symbol of her devotion to a gem she thought she knew.

The gems of Little Homeworld scarcely ventured out to the fountain after they were healed of their corruption, treating it with the same respect as a sacred place. Since Steven hit the road, however, this was the only place that gems could reasonably travel to in order to heal any damage to their gemstones. One could find a small group gathered here on any given day, recovering and finding solace in the tranquil setting, but Bismuth was lucky enough to find it completely deserted.

In those three years following the healing, Bismuth had her own reasons for keeping her distance, and they all boiled down to her complicated feelings surrounding Rose. She was not ready to confront them. In the spirit of personal growth, however, she figured it was time to revisit those feelings.

As she walked the path toward one of the fountain’s four star-shaped entrances, she couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia. She recalled the countless rotations she spent in this spot, carefully carving out what she considered one of her greatest works of architecture from mountainous terrain, using nothing but her own two hands.

As the fighting increased between the Crystal Gem rebels and Homeworld’s armies, so too did the casualties, and Bismuth was one of the few gems close enough to Rose to know that it was taking a serious toll on her. She remembered the crowds of rebels who would flock to her after every battle, barely holding themselves together as they waited for her soothing tears and comforting smile. She remembered the moment she realized that Rose was not, in fact, infallible when, after many days of healing, she found that she had no more tears to shed for the gems she could not bring back.

This fountain was one of Bismuth’s many gifts to her idol, her friend. Every stone in this place had been so lovingly crafted; she didn’t even know that it would work, and yet she worked so diligently so that, even in the midst of great tragedy, Rose could still find peace. Indeed, the immense relief on Rose’s face made it all worth it. As she stood at the top of the stairs, gazing at its magnificence, however, she struggled to recall that simple gratification.

Alongside Rose’s tears, Bismuth poured her heart and soul into this fountain, this planet, this cause. She laid her gem on Rose’s anvil because she trusted her. All of the Crystal Gems trusted her, found hope in her presence. Old, bitter tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she gazed at the towering statue before her, its arms outstretched, inviting all who entered the sanctuary into its stony embrace. Even as the artist, she wondered how she could just stand there so serenely, as if she wasn’t playing everyone for a fool. How dare she look so peaceful when her actions were actively hurting her own gems, on both sides of the war?

Rose Quartz. Pink Diamond. How ironic, that Bismuth would spend so much energy fighting against the Diamonds, only to learn that she had idolized one the whole time.

Still, approaching the base of the fountain, she felt some of that old devotion weigh on her, bringing her to her knees before one of the seated statues. She bowed, waited in earnest for Rose’s insistent voice urging her to rise, but it never came. When she raised her head, the statue didn’t so much as regard her, bearing the same impassive expression as its larger sister.

In that moment, she realized that she had never seen Rose with such a tranquil expression. There was always a storm behind her eyes, a storm that Bismuth always mistook as Rose’s inner fighting spirit. Turns out, it was just another façade.

“Been awhile, huh?” She said, her voice cutting through the still air.

The statue was, of course, silent.

Without thinking, Bismuth got up and seated herself beside it. She closed her eyes, feeling the presence of the statue. True to size, it almost felt as if they were here again in this place, sharing a pensive moment before heading back to the battlefield. The moment hurt more than Bismuth could even begin to describe.

There were a million things she wanted to say, so much pain she waited to offload onto this piece of stone, and yet when she opened her mouth to speak, the first thing that came out of her mouth was this:

“I pity you.”

And she felt it in the very core of her gem, at the very depths of her soul, she felt it. She pitied her as much as she pitied herself, and the Crystal Gems, and all the gems who had to fight in this gem-forsaken war. She pitied her with the same intensity that she worshipped the ground beneath her feet, those thousands of years ago. She wanted to hate her, and yet how could she, after she had invested so much of herself in loving her, as a leader, as a friend?

“You were in way over your head, and so was I,” was the next thing she said. “I wanted to fix a system that was too big and broken to fix, and you wanted to hide from it. In the process, we were doing exactly what we were made to do: you led; I followed…until I didn’t.” I guess it makes sense that you poofed me. Discipline for a gem who’s stepped out of line, she continued in her head, unwilling to speak this bitter thought into existence. Instead, she turned away from the statue, unwilling to face it anymore. “Sometimes, I still wish you woulda shattered me back then, so I could hate you properly now.”

Her breath hitched as the tears started to flow. “I wish I could hate you, so I wouldn’t have to think about the terrible things that I’ve done!”

Her voice echoed against the walls and the surrounding cliffs. The rose bushes—her rose bushes—rustled at the disturbance, the first time they acknowledged her presence since she got there. Steven had told her about them once, about how aimless and hostile they became without Rose’s guidance, but they never caused any trouble for as long as Bismuth had known of them. Sure enough, they stopped moving as quickly as they had started, and all was quiet once more.

It was almost a comfort, knowing that a piece of Rose was there, a passive listener to her deepest feelings, one that could easily pass its judgement onto her if it so chose.

“Yellow started healing shattered gems from the war a couple weeks ago. I bet you never expected that.” Bismuth continued evenly, grabbing control of her voice. “Did you know they were still on Earth? Did you know about the Cluster?” She sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter now, but you were always so concerned about those shards. Crystal gems, Homeworld gems, they were all balled up together and stuffed in the planet’s mantle just so they can blow the planet up thousands of years later. I hope you didn’t know about all that.”

She was beating around the bush, and she knew it. That awful guilt that had been building inside her throughout those two weeks was becoming too much to bear. That was why she came here in the first place: to get this weight off her chest and finally air out that old resentment she still clung to, toward Rose, toward herself, toward the entire system that put them in this situation in the first place.

In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of her reflection on the water, with the statue barely visible beside her. The curls of its hair were crafted so delicately, she could have sworn she saw them bounce in the gentle breeze. A great tangle of emotions moved her to action as she gazed at her face in the pale pink waters, slapping at it angrily.

“I can’t bear to even look ‘em in the eyes!” She sobbed, as a cascade of droplets rained down on the pair and their distorted images in the disturbed pool. “Those healed gems come to Little Homeworld because they don’t know what to do with themselves, and I don’t feel right telling them what to do! I don’t feel right because…”

She turned to the statue, her anguish overflowing.

“Because half the time I’m wondering ‘did I shatter this one?’”

She wanted comfort; she wanted punishment; she wanted something; but the statue was quiet, painfully quiet.

“Yeah, I’ve shattered gems, way more than I’d care to admit. I bet you didn’t know that.” She said it like she had gotten the final word, but she didn’t feel at all triumphant.

In that moment, all Bismuth could think of was Rose’s horrified expression as she showed off the Breaking Point, what it was capable of. She could only imagine how Rose would have reacted to this. Yes, accidents happened and self defense was necessary on the battlefield, but she’d be fooling herself if she thought that that was all she ever shattered a gem for. She knew what she was capable of. She preached about a fair fight, but there were plenty of fights where her first blow was the killing blow. She knew what it felt like to have a gemstone crush against her fist.

“Would you hate me if you knew?”

Although the statue still offered no response, Bismuth already knew the answer to that one. Rose felt many things and did many things—she was many things—but Bismuth knew without a doubt that she didn’t have a hateful photon in her physical form. She may resent her, she may never forgive her, but she would never hate her, or anyone, for that matter.

Bismuth considered herself a proud gem, but she wasn’t too proud to admit that she was wrong. It wasn’t even a matter of right or wrong when it came to the war. There were no winners, only those who came out better off than their opponents. Everyone suffered, one way or another. Bismuth suffered from trauma and guilt, equally; she suffered every time a reconstructed gem soldier regarded her wearily, a gem who had followed orders right to their own demise.

She laid a hand on the statue’s shoulder, drained and defeated. “I don’t forgive you,” she said simply, “but I don’t forgive myself, either.”

They were both desperate to end the fighting, but their desperation only led to greater destruction.

“I hope you would feel the same.”

[a-mole-of-iron]

Short story: “In Broad Daylight“

Living in a solarpunk utopia has got to be not only healthy and prosperous, but also safe, to really count - right? And for the most part, it is. But even in a world where everyone is well-off, communities all around the world live in peace and harmony, and everyone is on first-name basis with nature, there still might be a few rare wrongdoers who stay up nights trying to figure out how to take that away from the world. And to find those, you need the kind of person like Sverrir Haraldsen; a detective of the people.

Genre: solarpunk thriller Content warning: mild violence, and also moderate action

PREFACE

There exists, and has for a long time existed, a common and persistent misconception about utopian fiction. Whenever one brings it up, one can always count on an obstructive response like "but where do we find conflict and plot if everything is already perfect?" This idea, I should clearly state, is false. The term "utopia" itself has a double-meaning, possible to read as "ou-topia" ("no-place") or "eu-topia" ("good-place"), and it's the latter that so many people underestimate the massive literary potential of. When people bring up the idea that "utopian fiction has no room for conflict", they're presuming that a utopian society would not just be a perfect society, but a perfect society filled entirely with perfect people. For some reason, it's difficult for many to imagine that even in a society that's good to live in, people would still be able to have arguments about the different good things that they want, or that they would need to maintain society against the natural wear-and-tear that adds up over time. People don't think too often of all the literary conflict inherent in building a resilient society that won't wear down easily due to factors in the environment, or building social structures where people can "agree to disagree" and still have all the good things their society can give them, or defending those social structures against an occassional bad person or group thereof who are willing to harm others and damage society for their own gain and are deliberately ignoring whatever kindness might still be in their hearts. Those are all fine sources of literary conflict - and this story sets out to show how a particular one can work. It is a utopian, solarpunk thriller: a practical example of the way you can have high-stakes action, danger, and excitement in a society that has achieved peaceful harmony, renounced war, and sees violence as a measure of absolute last resort.

THE STORY

Anxiously pacing back and forth along the embankment, Sverrir tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle. He stopped, his tail swishing from side to side. Try as he might, he couldn't contain his seething dislike of the entire case. He needed a drink of good tea, he needed a day off for gardening, he needed a friendly, fun game of parkour tag with his community at home, he needed a ticket to an in-person concert by the original lineup of Solar Flares. What he had was a coat, a phone, and a badge.

Sverrir was distracted from his annoyed thoughts by a voice coming through his earpiece. "So what do you think, Detective?" the machine intelligence on the other end asked, their synthetic voice resonating through the comms channel.

"Well, Amos... you told me yourself who this is." Sverrir said. "Robert H. Price... knowledge dealer, with a shady reputation and criminal connections, as far as we could find out... and he was shot to death. It's like a small forest of warning flags." He looked around to notice more clues. "Huh."

"What?" Amos asked him.

"I... think the shooters were firing from a boat. There are bullet holes over there, in the advertisement column." he gestured over towards one standing inland. The column's OLED display had several punctures in it, the screen image distorting subtly around them. Sverrir walked up to the display and eyed the bullet holes. "I don't like this, Amos." he said.

As Sverrir looked around, eyeing the local buildings and all the different plant species growing around the area, a crime scene examiner walked up to him with more information. "I think you'll want to see this, Detective." she said, holding up a damaged combat rifle bullet.

"Okay... illegal military weapons... this day just keeps getting better and better." Sverrir groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "On the plus side, now I'm dead-certain that these are our criminals... and more, that they are running out of options. If they went so far as to murder one of their partners in crime, well..." he said with an unpleasant grimace, his speech trailing off.

The detective went over to the community watch car; a light, compact electric vehicle painted white and green that was small enough to park anywhere without blocking people's paths. The interior and trunk were full of forensics equipment, with the one community watch driver having brought in the entire forensics team to the crime scene. Sverrir picked up a solar-powered bullhorn - rather pointless, but indisputably cool - that was resting on the car's back seat, and addressed the half-perplexed, half-scared onlookers. "Attention, citizens!" he said. "If you're from this district, please search through your recordings for potential evidence! Anything, literally anything, might help!"

***

In a few minutes, a small crowd has assembled around Sverrir, sharing information about what they saw and heard and downloading records from their phones and other computing gadgets onto his personal device. The evidence confirmed Sverrir's theory: sonic triangulation from the community's recordings of loud ambient noises, ones designed to measure noise pollution, allowed him to know that shots were fired from about six metres off-shore - and to his horror, the weapons used were fully automatic rifles. Intercepting the contraband weapons shipment they were used to guard, and likely belonged to, was now the absolute topmost priority he had; those kinds of weapons were insanely dangerous and banned worldwide. From the soundscape, he also knew that the shooters made off in an electric-powered speedboat of unknown make and model. However, he had no concrete leads: the sousveillance turned up no video footage, and the witnesses had little information beyond being woken up around 4 AM by what sounded like firecrackers to them. However, when he was already wrapping up, a dopey-looking guy wearing sturdy clothes typical for plumbers and machinists walked up to him.

"Hey, detective!" he said. "I... think I've got something for you!"

"Good." Sverrir said. "Your name for the record, please?"

"Matt. Matt Frohman." the guy responded.

"What do you know?" Sverrir asked.

"Um, I don't actually, but I know someone else - she works a night shift in a diner downstream!" Frohman replied. "She's actually really cute, but the thing is, she may have seen or heard your guys making off from the crime scene!"

"Alright, that's encouraging... what's her name, and where can I find her?" Sverrir asked.

"Oh - Diner Olimpique, a couple of blocks away!" Frohman said. "Her name is Amanda De Vries."

"Thank you, citizen!" Sverrir said. "Who knows, maybe your friend really did see something..."

***

As he stepped off the bus near Diner Olimpique, Sverrir adjusted his coat and looked around. The diner was placed at the base of an old high-rise building, refurbished for supporting garden walls and extra balconies, with one side turned towards the nearby canal. Nearby, people were playing in a community garden, and a flock of city birds passed overhead to nest on the wall of another building further away. With graceful step, the snow leopard walked forwards and into the diner. The interior made good use of green walls, and wooden chairs and tables throughout the hall looked quite stylish, as well.

The old concrete walls were decked with wood plating, or covered in growing lichen, as well, to create a more cozy look to the place. He looked around, seeing a few people who were eating lunch, and then turned to the waiter.

"Excuse me, but where can I find Amanda De Vries?" he asked them.

"Well, she's sleeping after the night shift right now... what exactly do you need from her?" they responded.

Sverrir reached into his pocket and flashed his badge in an inconspicuous manner. "Sverrir Haraldsen, Earth Global Detectives. Amanda may be a witness on an important case." he said quietly.

"Oh..." the waiter said. "She's... not in danger, is she?"

"No, not at all." Sverrir reassured them. "I just need to talk to her."

"I guess you're in luck." the waiter replied. "She lives a couple of buildings away, on the other side of the canal." They pointed to a low-rise apartment block and a bridge leading to it. "Sansevieira Drive 26/3, right over there. Just talk to the concierge."

"Thank you." Sverrir nodded, turning around and walking out of the diner.

***

Walking on over the bridge, Sverrir shook his head fur and straightened the collar of his jacket. Walking into the building 26/3, he looked over the decorations and smiled. The plants were growing all along the walls, reaching towards the upper floors, while the lobby itself had a floor of irregular stones matched close together. He approached the concierge - an older woman wearing a dress gorgeously complex even by latest standards - with a businesslike smile, and said, showing his badge: "Hello. I'm Sverrir Haraldsen, from Earth Global Detectives. I would like to talk with Amanda De Vries."

"Oh dear." the concierge said. "What could possibly be--"

"If I do my job right, you'll see really soon." Sverrir bragged. "Amanda could be a valuable witness, so can I come talk to her?"

"Oh, I suppose so." the concierge told him. "She's living in the left-half apartment on the fourth floor. Most her roommates are off in the city at this hour, too..."

"This is good." Sverrir frowned. "I'm not looking to attract too much attention. Good day to you." he said, leaving for the stairs.

As he made his way up the first two flights of stairs, Sverrir was pleasantly surprised: even in his eco-friendly city, a stairwell with so many plants was a rarity. The climbing vines were stretching up from the ground floor and across the panes of glass that let the light in for the entire stairwell. The walls were festooned with frames that held up a great variety of potted plants, from all around the world. There was even a fun-sized artificial waterfall cascade in one of the corners, much to Sverrir's delight. As he walked upwards, he looked out the stairwell windows as well; they opened to a magnificent garden, its orange trees overhanging a communal area with benches and a small, modest-looking fountain. By the time Sverrir was up to the fourth floor, the tree branches have completely eclipsed the view, and he could even see above them a little, with the city skyline poking out above the trees. Admiring the view for a few quick seconds, he turned to the short corridor that went inwards into the building, and went down it, pressing a doorbell button for the left-hand door. A friendly chime rang out, and after a brief wait, a middle-aged man with red hair, wearing practical but eye-catching kaleidoscopic pants and jacket, opened the door. After a few moments of measuring Sverrir with his eyes, he asked: "Hello... what can I do for you?"

"Hello, ah..." Sverrir started.

"Jan." the man told him in response.

"Jan. Good to meet you." Sverrir said. "Can I talk to Amanda De Vries?"

"Not really, no." Jan said. "She's sleeping after her night shift at the diner right now."

"I'm aware, actually." Sverrir told him. "But it's important. Sverrir Haraldsen, Earth Global Detectives." he said quietly, showing his badge with a gentle motion. "Could we wake her up gently to answer a few questions? I'm searching for dangerous criminals, and she may well be a witness."

"Oh..." Jan replied.

"Don't worry, the entire detective service in the region is on-point." Sverrir said. "We just need a little more information."

"Alright then, I suppose..." Jan said. "Please, come on in."

***

Sverrir walked through the front door, looking over the apartment. The center room was a really neat social pad, with beanbags, chairs, and a massive poofy sofa centered around a coffee table. The windows on one side opened towards the city, providing a great sightline over the treetops, and the partial walls separating the other rooms were all festooned with either bookcases or whole-wall planter arrangements. Sverrir looked over as Jan pulled away a sliding door and went into another room. A good few minutes later, he walked back out, followed by Amanda: she was wearing really impressive floral pattern pajamas with massive bell-shape sleeves.

"Hello there." Sverrir said, waving his hand to greet her.

"Hey." Amanda replied. "Whatever you woke me up for, pal, I hope it's important."

"Important enough, I'd hope." Sverrir said, showing his badge. "Sverrir Haraldsen. I'm from the Earth Global Detectives. I'd like to ask a few questions about the last night at Diner Olimpique. Or to be more precise, the canal outside."

"Funny you should say that..." Amanda told him.

"Why?" Sverrir asked as she took a seat on the sofa.

"There was at least one thing blatantly out of the ordinary tonight... I suspect it's what you are following." Amanda said.

"That's definitely my concern." Sverrir replied, walking over to a nearby bean bag. "May I...?" he asked, pointing at it.

"Sure, go ahead." Amanda responded.

"Alright." Sverrir said, before sitting down and placing his phone on the table, opening a connection to Amos. "Now, would you please state for the record what you have seen?" he asked.

"Okay, sure." Amanda told him. "I noticed one very unusual boat around the break of dawn, so a bit after 4 AM... speeding down the river in violation of all community water traffic rules I could think of. I was thinking it over untill I went to bed."

"How did that boat look like?" Sverrir inquired.

"Bright azure-blue, very narrow and long." Amanda said. "The nose cowling had two parallel humps running front to back, the front of the cabin had a tall wrap-around windshield from what I remember... the back had a very distinctive spoiler sticking up, and I didn't hear any engine noise, so it must've been electric... plus, the boat had a name printed on the side in big bold letters. Could be the builder name. It was... "Smithson", I'm pretty sure... is that a boat manufacturer?"

"It is." Sverrir said. "Thank you; all of this is extremely helpful."

"No problem." Amanda told him, giving him a weary thumbs-up. "I'm pretty sure the idiots breaking the water traffic laws with it were all wearing opti-camo cloaks. They couldn't be any more memorable if they tried."

"Okay, these are definitely the people we're looking for." Amos chimed in. "Thank you for your assistance!"

"Great. Now, I suppose I can go back to bed?" Amanda asked.

***

Sverrir nodded to Amanda with a quiet "uh-huh" and stood up from the couch, picking up his phone in the process. "Well, you heard that, Amos. Smithson Model W-51.6 electric speedboat, azure-blue. Find it!" he told his companion.

Turning to Amanda, he said: "Good day to you. I'm sorry I had to wake you up, but this is of utmost importance. You'll see the results in the news soon enough." He nodded, and walked out at a brisk pace. He made his way downstairs, nodding to the concierge, and walked out of the building. As he stopped and stood at a small plaza with people going to and fro, he heard Amos come back through via his earpiece - with new information.

"Okay, Sveri, listen up." Amos told him. "Have I got something for you..."

"I'm all ears." Sverrir replied.

"I did some looking through local information, especially libraries of things." Amos said. "It'd take too long to round up all the sousveillance, but I found something else. The speedboat matching the description was borrowed in the wharf district a couple of days ago. The person who got it used a stolen borrower's card, but guess what - the idiot used the exact same card to order a dry-erase marker board. And we have an address!"

"Guess we found the weakest link, ain't that right?" Sverrir replied with a smirk. He paused for a second, and asked: "Where to, Amos?"

"Green Lizard Craftshop Annex. That's a few districts over, I'll send you a route." Amos told him.

"Do you think you can convince the local community to give us a search warrant vis-a-vis the stolen identity?" Sverrir asked in a hushed tone.

"I'll give it a shot." Amos replied. "Otherwise you'll have to talk with the craftshop custodians."

"Okay." Sverrir said, pulling out his phone to look at the map and directions. The path that Amos laid out called for him to take a tram, then transfer to a bus route near one of the vertical farm clusters and proceed to the craftshop area where the Green Lizard annex was located. This was entirely fine by Sverrir; he could blend into the crowd and approach unnoticed by the criminals. He walked on by past a couple of local shops, going through an arch between buildings that was overgrown with plants and festooned with low-intensity sun spectrum lights, and emerging into a busy street. He quickly moved into the crowd, at one with his surroundings, and smiled confidently as he walked down the street to the tram stop. It only took two minutes for a tram to arrive; an impressive bubble canopy vehicle with fused quartz windows across all of it supported by brass metalwork. The doors of the tram opened, and Sverrir stepped on board, taking a seat. Now, he thought, he had some time to focus - and work out the plan in his mind for how to go on.

***

When the tram started moving again, Sverrir quietly nodded towards his phone, and texted Amos with a request for the schematics of the craftshop annex and a bulletproof vest delivery to the site. He looked over the plans, and figured out a quiet way inside through a side entrance. With the tram passing busy streets and river canals, the detective thought on the situation. Even one combat rifle in the wrong hands could be destructive; but now, he was chasing after dozens, if not hundreds, of such rifles. If those slipped away and were used to arm the criminal underworld, the public danger would be immeasurable. There was a damn good reason why military weaponry and equipment was banned from use decades ago. Nowadays, it was the provenance of very, very dangerous people - the few that managed to run their criminal dealings in spite of peace and prosperity surrounding them. Thinking on that, Sverrir looked out the tram windows, with the sunspots passing across the interior as the sun was obscured by trees, wall gardens, semi-transparent awnings, and more besides. And if there was one thing he was sure about, it's that he wasn't going to allow those dangerous people to have their victory.

Going over the plan in his head, Sverrir stepped off the tram near the vertical farms, looking upwards briefly to witness the buildings' green-and-glass surfaces and a large banner overhead advertising all the different types of produce it was possible to get in this place in particular. Soon, the bus that the detective needed arrived to the stop, and he stepped aboard, taking a relatively short trip down to the craftshop area he needed. It took him just six minutes to arrive there; as he got off the bus, Sverrir looked the place over. It was a busy market street, with all the people taking up workshop space in the nearby complexes hawking their wares to an interested crowd, all kinds of people mingling with eachother and picking up artisan crafts.  The snow leopard smiled and quietly walked down the street. He reached the green lizard street sign on a large, complex building partially refurbished from the prior eras, and sat down on a nearby bench. He texted Amos, asking "Did you get a warrant?"

"No, you'll have to work otherwise." Amos immediately responded.

"Noted." Sverrir replied. "I hope you did get the bulletproof vest, though."

"Positive." Amos replied. "I've asked the community watch to get you one from class A emergency storage."

Sverrir turned his head, and noticed a plainclothes community sentry with a large suitcase standing near the side entrance to the Craftshop Annex. He walked up to her, saying quietly: "Hey. Sverrir Haraldsen. I believe that this bulletproof vest is for me."

"That it is." the sentry responded. "Nehal Al-Farsi, pleased to meet you."

The two walked into the Craftshop Annex through a side entrance: above-board, but out of sight of the building's windows. Sverrir looked around the side atrium, quietly stepping forwards when he saw the plaque reading "Administration and Occupancy". He slinked over to the door, and gently knocked on it.

"Hello, who is this?" a voice asked from the other side. "Please come in!"

"Hello there." Sverrir said as he and the sentry walked in, closing the door behind them. The person in the administration office was an anthropomorph like him, a badger wearing an impressively-designed vest with a few big pockets and a pair of bright-orange pants. When Sverrir walked in, she was watering the plants near a small circular window. He nodded to her, and said quietly: "Excuse me, but I'm Sverrir Haraldsen, from the Earth Global Detectives." he said, walking up at a gentle pace and showing his badge. "Can you assist us?"

"What with?" the woman said, squinting at him and Nehal. "Global Detectives are a pretty important office, aren't they?"

"I'm following up on a stolen borrower's card." Sverrir told her. "Possibly tied to contraband, murder, and who knows what else; this is an outrageous situation. My partner in service couldn't get me a warrant from the word go, but I hope I can take a look at a suspected workshop with your help, miss..."

"Narangerel." the administrator replied, her expression becoming more troubled by the minute.

"Narangerel, alright." Sverrir said. He showed the administrator his phone, with the evidence about the stolen card - traced information about the borrowings, and a later official complaint to the community watch about the card being stolen. "Will you help me out with the investigation?" he asked.

"Yes... if someone's been stealing borrower's cards, I don't exactly want them to hide away in our building." Narangerel said. "And that's even if the rest won't turn out to be true." She frowned, then muttered: "...though it does all look awfully truthful..."

Nehal made a sarcastic expression, handing Sverrir the suitcase. "Trust me, any detective who lies about evidence doesn't keep their job for long." she smirked. "One time, someone got thrown out of an EGD branch because they accidentally misplaced a spathiphyllum plant that belonged to a witness."

"Huh." Narangerel told her. "Really?"

"Somehow... yes." Nehal shrugged.

Sverrir opened the suitcase, revealing two bulletproof vests. After a moment of silence that lasted while he and Nehal got these vests on, the detective asked: "So, could I take a look at the 25th workshop, with the permission of the building's staff?"

"Hold on a moment." Narangerel replied.

***

Sverrir looked around to find a chair and proceeded to sit down for a moment as Narangerel sent the few other people responsible for the building a message, requesting their presence. In short order, they all showed up: the guy from the reception desk, the janitors and custodians, the tech support chief. Sverrir explained the situation to them, and once he got the permission, he called them to come with him; extra witnesses would help him make his case if he was right. Once they approached the door, Sverrir whispered to them: "It's better for you to keep back for now. I don't know who or what might be on the other side of this door."

"I was doin' some cleanin' there, and I don't think there were booby traps or anythin'... just so you know." one of the janitors said.

"Nevertheless." Sverrir replied. "Narangerel, could I have the key?"

Narangerel nodded, and handed Sverrir the keys. The detective opened the door, him and the sentry quietly walking in. The lights were out, with sunlight from the street streaming in through the windows covered by Venetian blinds. Sverrir turned around, telling Narangerel and others: "You can walk in. I think you should look this over with us."

"Okay." Narangerel said, her and others from the building's staff carefully walking in. As he saw them approach, Sverrir looked around - the workshop didn't seem to be too suspicious from the get-go, with plenty of plants, some computer terminals, algae-sheet paper stacks... and the suspiciously empty whiteboard next to one of the walls.

Looking at the whiteboard, Nehal asked: "So... where is anything? It's just a normal workshop..."

"Hold on, I think I know what this is..." Sverrir said. He took out his UV bulb flashlight - standard equipment for detectives and forensic scientists - and pointed it at the board, lighting it up. Suddenly, an entire map and schedule appeared, written in invisible ink: the criminals made notes about the buyers for weaponry, technical specifications, and the time for when all the weapons would be shipped out from the Wharf Embankment docks... which was in exactly 36 minutes from now. "Gods dammit..." Sverrir muttered. "This is bad! Really bad!"

"You don't say..." Nehal told him in response.

"Quick, call the rest of the local watch!" Sverrir all but yelled, with fire in his eyes. "Lock this place down, get all the evidence you can, and ask the staff to be witnesses! And I'm going to try and stop these gunrunners before it's too late!"

"Okay, will do!" Nehal replied.

Sverrir nodded and pressed his earpiece button. "Amos! Code Wildfire!" he yelled. "Get the officers to Wharf Embankment, Dock 24! We have 36 minutes before the weapon shipment is gone!"

"Got it!" Amos replied.

"Okay, Sverrir, I'll handle things here!" Nehal said "You just--" She was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, her and Sverrir turning immediately to look behind them and seeing one of the gunrunner conspirators looking at them from the workshop's other entrance, keys in hand. Sverrir and the gunrunner looked at eachother for a brief moment - and then he immediately tried to flee with a few loud curses. Sverrir followed, chasing after him with a yell of "Stop! You are under arrest!"

The conspirator just kept on running, reaching into his pocket for what looked like a flashbang grenade. Before he could throw it, Sverrir lunged at him, and the two crashed into another workshop through a garden wall in the corridor, getting slathered in leaves and ivy.

"You!" his opponent yelled at him, trying to grab Sverrir as the two leapt up from the floor.

"Surrender!" Sverrir demanded in reply, trying to get a few more hits in, his opponent dodging all but one. "You've got nowhere to escape!"

The gunrunner just grappled with Sverrir in response, throwing him towards a bookcase - the detective trying to make a roll to cushion the impact as he fell back. He quickly leapt back up and threw himself at the gunrunner again to delay him, yelling "Nehal! Help me out, please!"

"I'm going!" Nehal yelled from down the corridor, Sverrir throwing his opponent to the ground in the meantime. The gunrunner grabbed a bamboo ivy support frame from a nearby workshop table, swinging it aggressively towards Sverrir - but at that moment, Nehal caught up with the two, and now the detective and the sentry tried to flank their opponent to stop him.

"Two against one? How is that fair?" their opponent smirked.

"Fairer than smuggling combat rifles!" Sverrir retorted angrily. "Surrender now!"

"Oh, keep dreaming!" the gunrunner yelled at him, going after Sverrir. The detective dodged most of his swings, parrying the few that did connect, and then delivered a few strikes of his own, trying to get his opponent off-balance. The gunrunner just laughed, asking "So that's the best you can do? Ha!"

Sverrir just grinned in response. "It's not me you should worry about!" he replied - at the exact same moment as Nehal hit the gunrunner with a massive book she grabbed from the bookcase, getting him off-balance and making him drop the ivy frame, and then did a decisive judo throw to get them on the ground for good. The two looked at eachother as they realized their opponent was stunned for a brief moment, then Nehal handcuffed the gunrunner to a nearby wrought-iron table - a good idea to ensure he couldn't just run off. The two went through his pockets, fishing out several flash grenades, and put those way out of reach. Sverrir then breathed out - and quickly told Nehal: "Keep an eye on him, and call in more sentries! You know how to take it from here!"

"Damn right we do!" Nehal replied. "Now go! You've got to get those weapons before they disappear for good!"

"I'll do all I can!" Sverrir replied. "Hope we'll talk later at the debrief!" He nodded, and ran back out. As he passed Narangerel and others in the corridor, he told them without as much as slowing down: "Be careful, keep an eye on the exits! The watch will be here soon!" He didn't even look back to see their reaction; right now, all that was on his mind was the emergency objective.

***

Sverrir double-timed it down the stairs, rushing out onto the pedestrian walkway; the sudden onrush of wind whipped his fur about as he pressed the button on his earpiece, still running.

"Amos!" he yelled. "Borrow me a car! A fast one!"

"Understood - I'm on it." the machine intelligence on the other side replied.

Dashing past the onlookers, Sverrir kept on running. He had to make it to the nearest motorway if he wanted any serious chance to catch up, and they weren't plentiful these days. Highlighting his way on the map, he ran past green embankments, cafes, and crafts stores. In other days, he liked going through the market streets at a respectably slow pace, appreciating the foods and wares from around the world, but now he ignored everything as he made his way to the motorway sector. One moment, he glanced upwards to the vertical gardens and the blue sky, and thought of the stakes at play. The largest contraband weapon shipment in two decades was slipping out of his grasp, but if he ever learned anything from Earth history classes, it's that you never surrender when the stakes are high. Leaping over a high-up guardrail, landing with a roll to cushion the impact, he saw that fortune was on his side: there was the motorway he needed, a large stretch of its parking spaces perfectly clear. Good thing not that many people used motorcars anymore, Sverrir thought.

He raised the phone again, asking "I'm here! Do you have the car, Amos?"

"Affirmative, I have it!" Amos replied.

"So where is it?" he asked.

"Turn to your left, Sveri." the machine mind replied, with what Sverrir imagined would look like a massive self-satisfied grin. He turned as instructed, and saw the approaching car: a solar-powered performance sedan, with some aftermarket improvements that caught his eye and a custom paintjob to boot. The car skidded to a stop next to him, and he leapt over the hood, flinging open the door on the driver's side and quickly getting into the driver's seat. He turned to the person in a passenger seat - a middle-aged man wearing an engineer's apron who seemed slightly perplexed by the urgency.

"Hey, uh..."

"Esteban." the human said.

"Esteban. You currently in charge of this car?" Sverrir asked.

"No, I... erm, I borrowed it from a friend after he did a few new mods... what's, uh--" Esteban continued.

"Okay, where were you going?" Sverrir interrupted him.

"I was going to the Manufactory Glades, but--" Esteban started, only to be interrupted by Sverrir again.

"Good. I'll have to drop you off before everything lights on fire; it won't be too far." Sverrir continued. "Amos, specifications?"

"Full specificaitons will be available in a moment." Amos responded. "For now, you can just floor it."

"Excuse me, but what is happening?!" Esteban reached out to Sverrir. "Is this some kind of emergency?"

"Actually, it is." Sverrir said, flashing his badge. "Earth Global Detectives. I'll tell you everything, personally, as soon as there's time. Now just hang on, this is going to be a fast ride!" he said, flooring the accelerator.

As the car accelerated, Sverrir's phone lit up again, and the distant MI read the specifications of the car. "Kometa-Tri, modified and improved. 110 kilowatts power total, maximum speed 215 kilometres per hour. Drag coefficient 0,17. Maximum battery charge 300 kilowatt-hours, current battery charge 257 kilowatt-hours."

"Good!" Sverrir yelled. "Now give me the optimal path to the Wharf Embankment! Our time is running out!"

***

As Sverrir's car rocketed down the motorway, dodging and weaving to pass the few other cars on there and the occasional bus or truck, the detective tried to figure out a plan of action. He put his phone on the dashboard, and Amos connected to the car's systems, projecting a 3D volumetric map of Dock 24 for him to glance at and tactical information about the docks and the waterfront. Sverrir noticed that the place was fairly secluded, a small landing surrounded by warehouses with plenty of tree cover... and he saw an opening. "Amos, I've got a plan!" he said.

"What have you come up with, detective?" Amos asked.

"I'll explain the details later; now, we need stunner arc-pistols and thermal imagers for the watch, rapid-acting smoke canisters, three or four pollen dusters, and the mobile scrap metal crane from Dock 29 to scoop up the guns!" Sverrir said. "Can you get all of that?"

"I can." Amos replied. "I like your plan, detective."

While Amos was coordinating the preparations, Sverrir focused on the driving, trying to get to the docks as fast as he could. He still needed a couple of minutes to coordinate the plan with the community watch on the spot, but thankfully, the Kometa-Tri he was driving could manage immense speeds, and the motorway was not only grade-separated from the all-encompassing network of pedestrian streets and bike lanes, but also mostly devoid of vehicles. He sped through the Manufactory Glades, an industry and workshop district that was drowning in greenery of century-old trees, but near its edge, where the Wharf Embankment began, he turned to Esteban.

"Esteban, it's better that you get out here." Sverrir said as he slammed on the brakes, the car quickly halting to a complete stop.

"Alright, but I'm still not sure if..." Esteban started, but Sverrir cut him off with "Don't worry, I'll do my best to handle it. And I'm not going to wreck the car. Now go!"

Esteban got out, closing the passenger door, and Sverrir pushed on the accelerator again; in just a minute and a half, he was at the heart of Wharf Embankment. He skidded to a stop over the unoccupied parking spaces - with no time to park carefully, he just left the car as it was, slamming the door shut and running off. He quickly reached the docks, noticing a group of seven bulletproof-vest-wearing sentries with several compact equipment boxes near them, the boxes festooned with warning symbols and class-A weapon safety measures. He ran up to the sentries, who were camped off to the side from the main street, and said: "I'm Sverrir Haraldsen, the guy who called this in! Is the crane in position?"

"Yes, it is!" one of the officers said, pointing to the crane parked inconspicuously between Dock 24 and Dock 25: a clunky, utilitarian eight-wheeled vehicle with powerful fuel cells placed on the cargo bed next to/under the crane assembly. "I hope the arc pistols really are called for, Detective?..." another officer asked.

Sverrir nodded grimly. "Yes - these are the most dangerous criminals I've followed in several years. And they have firearms. I'm going to personally write a full report on the request for stun weapons, but first, we've got to halt the weapons shipment."

With that, Sverrir continued, explaining his plan to the watch officers. It was risky, but if it worked, they would instantly disarm the gunrunner conspirators and their buyers. He grabbed an arc pistol and its holster that were brought for him. With everything ready, the group readied themselves and their equipment: it was now or never.

***

When Sverrir and the community watch were ready to move, the snow leopard told one of the city's machine intelligences whom the group had on the line: "Alright, we spotted their lookouts; deploy the pollen dusters!"

"Done and done!" the machine steward responded.

Sverrir looked up into the sky - and among several unmanned drones hovering in the vicinity, a group of three dashed in with extreme speed, the machine mind in charge expertly piloting them at low altitude. In just a few seconds, they were over the goons guarding the front entrance, dropping their entire stock of pollen in a dense cloud, the lookouts immediately beginning to sneeze and rub their eyes. That's when the team moved in, approaching the front entrance, with two of the officers decking the lookouts to knock them out and quickly pulling the guns from their holsters, then handcuffing them and retreating a few metres back to stand watch, and the others moving into the warehouses. The group quietly fanned out, arc pistols at the ready, and took the high ground, Sverrir and others looking out into the inner yard. In the yard, Sverrir saw no less than nine people, some wielding the combat rifles he was looking to seize, and three in particular making a deal over the several boxes of rifles, three dozen at the very least. He was quietly horrified by how much weaponry was there, ready to slip into the hands of any among the most violent and unscrupulous people around the globe - but he didn't let himself lose composure. He pressed a button on his earpiece, and asked: "Okay, everyone in position?"

The group all replied in the affirmative, and Sverrir nodded quietly - but then, he noticed one of the gunmen run in and pull one of the two dealmakers aside to tell him something, gesticulating wildly. Carefully approaching a warehouse window, Sverrir overheard the conversation... which was about the front gate guards. Reacting quickly,  Sverrir said: "Okay, change of plans! Sentry group, smoke the yard immediately! Amos, get me the crane operator!"

"Got it, Sveri." Amos said. There was a short burst of static, and Sverrir heard the voice of the crane operator hidden behind one of the warehouses - that same moment, the sentries quickly rolled the smoke grenades into the yard, beginning to fill it with dense white smoke.

"Good day, officer, what can I do you for?" she asked.

"No time for details! Extend the crane to the Dock 24 as fast as you can, and slam the magnet to maximum power!" Sverrir told her. "That'll pull the guns right out of their hands!"

"Guns? Oh man oh man..." the operator said as the crane's beam extended over the yard - and at the same moment, much to Sverrir's fear and discontentment, the shooting started. The gunrunners started shooting blindly to try and get back at the sentries who surrounded them, yelling things like "It's an ambush!" and "Everyone retreat!" - but thankfully, the walls were made of old-school clay bricks, more than enough to deflect the bullets even as other shots broke windows and pierced through sheet metal. With his fight-or-flight response kicking in right away as the shooting started, Sverrir yelled into his earpiece: "Everyone, take cover! Amos, give us overhead recon!"

"Affirmative!" Amos told him.

At that same moment, hiding from enemy fire at some distance from the windows, Sverrir looked a bit up - and saw how the crane magnet has lifted and attracted all of the boxes with combat rifles, stuck to it like so much iron scrap. The gunrunners yelled in panic and confusion, noticing the magnet overhead, and ran in different directions to escape before their own weapons were snatched away. But suddenly, the crane operator came back on the radio, asking: "Hey, what's going on?! Is that gunfire?!"

"Yes!" Sverrir replied. "Take cover! Your crane just pulled away most of their firepower!"

"Okay, okay!" the crane operator responded, Sverrir hearing her leap off the crane and run for cover. Changing the radio frequency, he got back to Amos, just in time to hear her make an announcement.

"Attention all sentries!" Amos told the group via radio. "We have three gunrunners in a boat speeding off, four hiding out in the container yard, and three others trying to flee along the dockside embankment!"

"Got it!" Sverrir said back. He looked at the other sentries with him, and tried to come up with a plan. "Okay, we are almost even with them!" he said. "Four people should go after the criminals in the container yard; climb up, smoke the place, and use the height advantage to corner them! Front gate detail, catch up with me and one other sentry! We'll go after the three who are running via embankment!"

"And what about the ones in the speedboat?" one of the sentries asked.

"That won't be a problem!" Sverrir said "Just mobilize the vehicle-pursuit drones, now that they're fleeing from us in broad daylight!"

"I'll get right on that." Amos said via the communications as they got in touch with the drone operators.

***

With four of the sentries splitting off to the container yard, Sverrir and the other sentry ran out of the building, rallying with the other two who were guarding the front gate. They risked by leaving the front gate guards unattended, yes - but it was a necessary risk. More of the community watch were already on the way; this was big, bigger than anything that the city has seen in years. The other watch group came in over Sverrir's radio channel as stray shots rang out among the containers, yelling: "We're in the container yard! Edwards, throw smoke! Fujishima, flank right!" "Got it! Zelenko, I'll cover you!"

Sverrir changed the frequency, contacting Amos again to get fresh recon.

"Amos, where are they on the embankment?" he asked.

"They're approaching a canal drawbridge behind the bend on your right." Amos responded.

"Good! Get the port authority on the horn and raise the bridge! We'll corner them there!"

"Affirmative, on it!" Amos replied.

"Follow me!" Sverrir called to other sentries. "Take cover with every move, these guys will do anything to save themselves!" The snow leopard's eyes narrowed, and he ran off, the sentries barely able to follow him without falling behind. He ran from cover to cover, hearing the drawbridge up ahead creak as he approached the sightline open to the criminals. He finally ran up to a big tree that was growing near the bend - and as soon as he peeked out, he was met with a hail of gunfire directed his way. Sverrir immediately hid back behind the tree, the other sentries forming up with him. "Okay, we need a plan! We've got them cornered now, we just have to take them down without undue harm!" he said.

At that moment, the other group came in via the radio channel again. "We got 'em! I repeat, we got 'em!" one of the sentries reported. "Our group of hostiles is under arrest! Fujishima got injured, but it's nothing serious, the bullet just grazed them!"

"Good! Get them medical attention, stat!" Sverrir said in response, before turning to other sentries. "I'm actually a bit stumped right now - there's no way we can safely fire back..." he admitted.

"I have an idea!" one of the sentries raised her hand. "Why won't we ask for another pollen duster run?" she asked with a smirk.

"That's pretty good! Everyone, arc pistols at the ready!" Sverrir said. "We've got them pretty close, but we need that opening! Amos, get us on the line with our friend, if you will?"

"Right away." Amos responded, patching in the city steward machine mind who helped them earlier.

"Hello again!" Sverrir said. "My friend Amos just gave you the coordinates; can you do another pollen drop for us?"

"Of course! Drop in 45 seconds." the steward replied. Their pollen-duster drones were normally intended for rapid ecological bootstraps - a wildgrass meadow around a finished-up construction site here, a flowerbed of epic proportions there - but now, they flew in like a strike group, dodging all gunfire that was directed at them and dumping a second batch of pollen over the gunrunners. In a few seconds, the sneezing started - and that's when Sverrir and sentries with him popped out from behind the tree, landing several precise arc pistol shots on them. The electric stun made the gunrunners drop their weapons, with Sverrir and the watch closing in... and in a minute, everything was over. The two groups on land have been safely apprehended, and soon afterwards, more of the community watch were there to take them away. Sverrir raised his finger to the earpiece, and asked: "Amos?"

"What is it?" Amos responded.

"Did we get the ones who fled by boat?" Sverrir asked.

"Yes, we have." Amos told him. "They are currently floating on the open water one kilometre away from shore, and the coast guard is coming in to apprehend them."

"Whew. Thank gods." Sverrir said. When one of the criminals walked past Sverrir as the community watch led him away, the snow leopard smirked and winked, with the gunrunner making a grimace of anger and annoyance in response. Sverrir knew one thing for sure; with all criminals apprehended, and all contraband combat rifles accounted for, his mission for the day was accomplished, and he prevented who knows how many calamities from ever taking place. In his line of work, he really couldn't ask for more.

***

For the rest of the workday, Sverrir went down to the local community watch office and did all the busywork that was called for after any case of such magnitude. He compiled evidence, filed reports about his actions, talked with witnesses and local watch officers, and tried to figure where else the Earth Global Detectives may be led by the connections from people they apprehended. But, eventually the workday was over with - and in late afternoon, he took his recess to what constituted his favourite hangout no matter where in the world he was: the Arbor Diner, a chain of restaurant co-ops serving his most preferred selection of food combos from across the world. After locating the nearest one and making his way there, he walked in, finding a nice table near the panoramic windows and looking over the place, with its prolific abundance of plants and wooden drink casks in the back, he figured he could simply let himself relax for a while.

"Hi there, and welcome!" the waiter said. "What will you have today, Detective?"

Sverrir - a person of note among the employees of that particular restaurant chain - gave it a thought, and figured he owed himself a really good snack after all that has transpired today. He turned around to the waiter, nodding to him politely.

"I'll have a double solarized Cheesemonger's Special, extra garden space on top, a dash of Appenines, overdo the mustard, and no rowing boats." Sverrir said.

The waiter just nodded and yelled to the kitchen: "You got that?"

"Yeah!" the fry cook replied, with Sverrir just smiling to the waiter and kicking back in his chair to wait for his order.

[whittakerjodie]

Unconditionally (Dhawan!Master X Reader)

Prompt: the Doctor tries to get the Reader back on her side but the Reader, having loved the Master for years and years, has a couple of words for her. (requested by anon) 

Words: 2.4k 

warnings: suspected manipulation, reader is a timelord

 Even travelling with the Master for hundreds of years, knowing every adventure would end up this way, you were disappointed that the evening had taken a turn for the worst. When you first landed, the Master had given you time to explore the planet before he began overthrowing the monarchy. 

In the fields of Dianus he sat with you for hours, listening intently while you read the book you’d brought along. Long fingers softly tangled themselves in your hair as you fought the urge to fall asleep. When your stomach started to rumble, he hoisted you to your feet and, with an excited grin, led you to a massive restaurant so you could have lunch together. Finally, before he began enacting his ‘evil plan’ he took you to the Diamond Gardens. 

Each flower seemingly shone with the power of a thousand suns, reflecting light all over the place. You gasped as you stepped past the arch, fingers moving outward to carefully brush against the precious stones. 

“Do you like them, the diamonds?” The Master asked, arms wrapping around your waist. He reached down to rip one of the flowers from the ground (an act you were sure was very illegal on this planet, not that it mattered to him) His hand moved to yours, unfolding your fingers so he could set the glittering flora in your palm. 

“I love them” You whispered, and he smiled before dipping down to press a deep kiss into your lips, holding you possessively against his form. Against your lips he promised, 

“When this is all over, I’ll fetch that princess’s crown for you. It deserves to be worn by a true princess” Your eyes widened. You’d seen the crown he was talking about in paintings and flags all across the kingdom you were visiting. Although you couldn’t accurately tell based on the different renditions, it seemed massive, with hundreds of gemstones adorning its surface. 

Per his instruction, you were to wait either in the gardens or in his TARDIS for him to finish his chaos. It wasn’t that you didn’t support him, it was just rather hard to see. So, as he left the garden to fetch your present and release some of his rage, you turned back to the flowers so you could take pictures. It didn’t take long before you could hear sounds of unrest begin to get louder and louder. It was rather irritating, so you made the decision to go back to the Master’s TARDIS after sneakily grabbing a few more flowers. 

The streets were panicked and screaming about ‘invaders in the castle’, so you had some difficulty getting past the crowds. Suddenly you heard someone yell: “Y/N!” It was not the Master's voice, and, to your knowledge, no one else on this planet knew you.

 Instead of acknowledging the mystery person, you began to walk faster. The last thing you needed was to interrupt the Master’s plans by getting kidnapped. Obviously, if you were to be taken, he would come to your rescue, but it was rather inconvenient. The voice yelled for you again and you kept speeding up gradually, until you were in a full sprint. 

To your right and left, there was a web of connected alleyways that you could conceal yourself in. However, you’d never been in said alleyways, and you didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught in a dead end. The castle was close; hopefully, you could make it there, get past whatever defenses they were putting up to get rid of the Master, and safely get to his side. 

It didn’t seem like there were any defenses, which you found rather suspicious. The possibility of an ambush flew away in the wind as your eyes, which had been scanning the ground, landed on a small pile of shrunken men. Classic. There was a door on the side of the castle, one that you were assuming was reserved for the servants and various workers. That would be your entrance, you decided. Unfortunately, the third party that had called out your name had a different idea. 

“Y/N.” The voice moved softly through the air, carrying recognition with it. The Doctor. Every muscle in your body tensed, like her words had seeped into your veins and paralyzed any attempt at movement. Only your head could turn, eyes narrowing. 

“Doctor,” You acknowledged. She sighed, stepping closer. 

“I should’ve known the Master was up to this. I’m surprised he wasn’t more extreme this time.” 

“He’s barely doing anything,” You say with an edge to your words. The Doctor was always ruining the Master’s plans- she had ever since the three of you had first begun drifting apart in your early days on Gallifrey. 

“You know that’s not true, Y/N. What’s he done to you?” 

“What’s he done to me?” You face toward her now, anger coating your tongue. Why couldn’t she leave you be? Everytime you’d seen her, whether it be with the Master or not, she always reduced your motivations- always reduced you- to another one of the Master’s pawns. But your relationship was so much more than that; it’d been centuries, now, travelling with him, and while you didn’t exactly approve of everything he did, you loved him all the same.

 You’d told the Doctor that, when your heart and mind were nearly torn to pieces by his acts on The Valiant. When Missy was trapped in the vault, you insisted upon visiting her nearly every day because you cared. Every single time, you spoke only the truth and yet the Doctor, wise in her uncountable years, couldn’t listen to your words properly. 

“I saw this before, with Lucy. You remember her, right? His wife? His hypnotization wasn’t just on the British people, Y/N, and I can help you.” 

Oh… she thought… he was manipulating you. Using his many tactics and charms to bend you to his will. You supposed, if she was correct, you wouldn’t be able to tell that here was any sort of distortion, but it certainly didn’t feel like he was changing you. That was obvious enough in all the times you were able to tell him off and get away with it. 

“He’s not- he wouldn’t do that” You tried to explain. But the Doctor’s eyes were still looking at you with a powerful pity, hands stretching towards you. You scoffed; You’d cut her out long ago, to avoid events like the one currently unfolding. 

“Just let me show you,” She whispered carefully, eyebrows raised to ask your permission. Although hesitation was making you lean backward, you knew it would be most beneficial to just give in. Otherwise, the Doctor wouldn’t stop and the next time you had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting her she would likely bring this up again. So, as her fingers eased against the skin at your temple, you gave no resistance. 

Time Lords were all, to an extent, telepathic. Most could only communicate through touch, and only without when engaging with close friends or loved ones. You hadn’t used your telepathy in years beyond short conversations with the Master when required, so the sensation of the Doctor softly combing through the branches of your mind was unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable. Before you shut your eyes in an attempt to block out any further discomfort, you saw the Doctor’s eyebrows furrow in frustration. 

“He’s always been talented at this,” She grumbled. Her irritation was eclipsed by your satisfaction: she wasn’t finding anything. The short-coming had nothing to do with you, either. You were fully opening your mind to her, and still she could find no evidence of wrong-doing. 

As your triumph grew, so did your boldness. Gathering your most favorite memories of your time with the Master, you threw together a mountainous glacier of thought towards the Doctor through your growing link. Each one was backed up by your unfiltered feelings of love and respect, building a bridge to help you get your point across to her properly. With a yelp, she dropped her hands from your head and your eyes shot open as the connection was severed. 

“Y/N, what are you doing? You have to let me help” She pressed. The genuine concern in her eyes only irritated you further. 

“Don’t you see?” You growled, trying to calm your mind so it would stop ringing as hard as it was. “The Master isn’ manipulating me, he’s not hypnotizing me, nothing. I have loved him, fully, freely, for years. I loved him when he died that day on the Valiant. I loved him when he came back to life, when he was a woman- and god, what a time that was-  and I love him now, Doctor. What will it take you to realize that this is my choice?” 

The timelord’s eyes were wide, hands slowly dropping back to your sides. Then, there was the sound of footsteps behind you and her gaze shifted there, eyes narrowing again. “I’d like to hear it from him, I think.” 

You didn’t have to look to see who was approaching; the Master’s stormy presence slipped easily into your mind, not to influence, but to help brush away the remaining aches from the Doctor’s search. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and from his fingers, the princess’ crown hung, sparkling in the light around you. The Doctor’s lips tightened as he kissed the side of your head softly, and you noticed it missed its usual intensity. 

“When I learned you were on planet, I assumed you were here to foil my plans. Imagine my disappointment when I found you trying to ruin something else of mine.” 

“She’s not yours-” the Doctor began, but she was interrupted by your insistent, 

“Yes, I am. “ To give more weight to your point, you reminded her through gritted teeth: “By choice” 

The Master’s arm tightened around you, and his other arm was moving to the pocket against your back. Face unmoving, you tried not to give away his plan. “Do you hear that, Doctor? Or are you too stubborn to admit that someone would rather travel with me than you?” 

His statement packed a punch; millenia ago, when the Doctor had first left Gallifrey with her granddaughter, clinging to the idea of a better life and a sense of duty you knew would last until the end of the universe itself, she’d asked you to come along. At that time, you weren’t yet intertwined with the Master in the way you were now, but you still couldn’t find yourself to leave with her. 

That refusal was repeated a few times, in her 7th life, her 9th, and most persistently in her 10th life, after you’d watched the Master die in her arms. As the Master’s TARDIS, back in it’s default form, began to materialize around you, you watched the Doctor’s face fall. Past the point when you could no longer see her, the disappointment and shock that radiated from her eyes remained, settling in your mind, blanketed in your own disgust. 

The Master knew exactly what to do to get her out of your mind. Your body swung downward as he dipped you lowly, pressing a searing kiss to your lips. The effect of gravity pulled on you and you wrapped your arms around his neck to ensure that you wouldn’t fall (although the move was unnecessary; you knew he would always catch you). After a long moment, he broke away from you to rest his head against yours, a laugh ringing through the air. 

“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, unsure of if his maniacal cackle would drown it out or not. His lips landed on your forehead with his usual intensity, the laugh continuing in the back of his throat. Before you could lift yourself up to meet his lips again, he tugged you back upward, causing you to fall rather clumsily into him. His hearts were beating against his chest and into your ears, his mind playfully embracing yours. 

“Did you mean all that, back at the castle?” His fingers ease into your hair similar to earlier, briefly massaging your scalp before smoothing the tousled hair down and holding you tighter to his chest. 

“Of course I did,” you mumble. “Don’t ever doubt that.” 

The hand on the back of your head gave a small tug backward so you were looking into his eyes. Although it was unlikely he would allow the growing tears to fall, you rested your hand against his cheek in case you needed to wipe any away. His bottom lip was extended in a pout, watching you carefully. He could see into your mind, yet, similarly to the Doctor, he would always, to an extent, doubt the truth he found there. The Master wasn’t one to believe strongly in love, but you were willing to change that. 

“I love you,” You reminded him. He nodded, kissing your forehead again. It didn’t bother you that he didn't say it back. The Master’s love was always more evident in his actions, not the words that he felt would trap him. A weight caused your head to fall slightly and you realized he was putting the crown on top of your head, carefully shifting it until it reached his ideal of perfection. 

“There,” He whispered. “Now it’s in its proper place.” 

You laughed slightly, trying to get used to the accessory as he pulled his arms from around your waist, jogging to his console. 

“Now, I’m taking you somewhere incredible, somewhere where she will never find us. Name your preferences, dear, because it’s all for you” 

His eyes are excited now, hands shaking as they reach for the buttons and levers on the console. You were reminded, in times like these, just how much you love him, and always will. Before you began thinking of the type of place you’d like him to whisk you off to, you tucked away the events of the last few hours into your favorite memories. 

[ladyfenring]

Would you write ATLA fic? If so- 67, you pick the pairing :)

The banquet Zuko holds for his friends is nothing less than they expected; elegant, extravagant, and entirely too straitlaced. Not that Katara minds, it’s just that after spending the last few years sleeping on the ground and wearing the same clothes day in and day out, being surrounded by the richly dressed members of the Fire Nation comes as something of a jolt to her. She has to remind herself to sit up straight, use the correct dinner forks, and push her spoon away from her when eating soup. 

Toph’s manners come as second nature to her in a setting like this, but Aang and Sokka are, predictably, having more trouble with the finer points of table etiquette. Zuko, thankfully, doesn’t seem to mind; he’s just happy to have them back in the palace after so many months apart. They’ve all been working to undo the wrongs of the last century, but while they’ve been traveling the world to right the wrongs, Zuko has been doing it from the Fire Nation. 

“It hasn’t been easy,” Zuko is saying now. “Sozin’s corruption spread beyond the walls of the palace and infected nearly everything. So much of our culture relied on our being conquerors. It’s taken a lot of work to make us a nation of people who prize peace over victory again.”

“You’ve done so well,” Katara assures him. “The Fire Nation was always so...militant. It doesn’t feel that way anymore.”

He smiles, filling her with warmth. “I’m glad to hear that, from you, especially.”

For some reason, Katara blushes.

“There’s just one thing you’re missing,” Aang says impishly. “Dancing!”

Zuko looks uncertain. “I doubt anyone here knows how to dance. Only the most skilled benders learned the dancing forms.”

“If I could teach a class of kids I’d only known for a couple days how to dance, I can teach the fire court,” Aang dismisses. “Katara?”

She smiles and takes his hand, following him out to the center of the floor. Zuko orders the tables and benches pushed back to make room, and the guests watch as Aang and Katara lead the dance. Their movements are based more on bending than anything else, but gradually, others drift out to join them; Toph hopping on her feet, Sokka jerking his hips and shoulders in what he thinks is an impressive manner to the ladies. 

A tap on the shoulder makes Katara turn; she sees Zuko standing behind her, a hand outstretched. “May I have this dance?”

She glances at Aang, who just smiles and nods; she turns back to Zuko, taking his hand.

Dancing with Aang always felt like bending together, their bodies following the same fluid movements as they moved without summoning the elements. With Zuko, it’s different. She doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s like they share an energy, like they are bending, but not with water or fire or earth or air. It’s the same energy she felt when she touched his face in the cave, when he’d gone to help her find her mother’s murderer, when he’d thrown himself in front of Azula’s lightning to save her. It feels clearer, suddenly, than it ever has before. 

So entranced is she in their dance that she doesn’t realize until the music fades out that everyone has stopped to watch. Zuko bows, and she follows his lead, and the onlookers burst into applause before the musicians move to a new song, and everyone turns back to their partners. 

Yet Katara cannot take her eyes off Zuko, even after he’s given her a rueful sort of smile, turned, and left. 

“Ooohhhhhh,” says a voice beside her, and startled, she turns to look at Aang, a surprised grin on his face. “You’re in love with him!”

“What!” she shouts, leaping back from him as if scalded. “I am not!”

“You totally are,” Aang says, hands on his hips. “Toph said you’ve been acting funny ever since we got here, and I didn’t know what she meant until now.”

Katara shakes her head, a furious blush rising to her cheeks. “No, I...Zuko’s my friend!”

“You were my friend,” Aang reminds her. “And you still are. We worked better as friends, didn’t we?”

She bites her lip. “Well...”

“It’s okay. I know. I had a really big crush on you for a long time,” he admits. “And I think you knew that. So when you found out Zuko was still with Mai, you felt like maybe we were supposed to be together.”

She flushes, too embarrassed to refute anything. 

Aang comes forward, taking her hands in his. “It’s okay. Really. I know you don’t love me the way I love you, and you never will. And I know that you do love Zuko, and he loves you, and you’re both my friends and I just want you to be happy. I think you will be with Zuko.”

She could cry. “I didn’t think I would still love him.”

“It’s okay,” he insists. “Just do me a favor and go out there and tell him how you feel.”

She blinks back tears. “You’re a really good person, Aang.” She kisses his cheek, and with his blessing, follows Zuko’s trail out to the garden.

He’s sitting by a fountain, watching the light sparkle off of the water’s surface. Unable to help herself, she makes the water swirl, distorting the light’s reflection.

He looks up at her, smiling when he sees her. “I thought that was you.”

She sits beside him, taking a deep breath. “I have to talk to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Is it about the dance?”

“Well, yes, but it’s more than just that. It’s...” She bites her lip. “Aang...says you’re in love with me.”

Zuko stiffens. 

“Is it true?” She doesn’t give him time to answer, already blurting out, “Because I love you.”

Even in the semi-darkness, she can see his pale cheeks darken with color. “You do?”

She nods helplessly. “I have for a while. Pretty much since the cave.”

His voice tightens. “The cave?”

“That’s why I was so angry with you when you joined up with us,” she admits. “It broke my heart to see you take the path you did. I was hurt. It wasn’t until you nearly died defending me that I realized I had to tell you. And I was going to, after you recovered, but the next time I saw you, you were kissing Mai, and I knew you didn’t feel the same way.”

His voice is still tight when he says, “Katara...I did feel the same way. I liked Mai. A lot. But I never...loved her. I loved you. And I never thought you’d feel the same way. Mai was there when I woke up, and I thought...well, I liked her, and you’d never look at me that way, so...why not stay with Mai?”

Katara feels so, so stupid. All this time, they could have been together. “Are you...still...with her?”

“No.” He lets out a small laugh. “She actually realized she...doesn’t like men. She’s with Ty Lee now.”

Katara bites her lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. We were both using each other as a placeholder for the people we really loved.” Slowly, hesitantly, he sets his hand on the stone beside her. “You’re still with Aang, aren’t you?”

Katara hesitates, too. “No. Not as of...five minutes ago, when he told me it was obvious we were in love with each other and he wanted us to be happy together.” She pauses. “Is that...something you want?”

“Is it something you want?”

“I asked you first!”

He smiles sheepishly. “Well...yes. It’s something I very much want. But only if it’s something you want--” He doesn’t get to finish, because Katara wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him. 

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Haunted

A Horror Septics Story

(A fun thing for Halloween. Well, fun for the writer and readers, not so much fun for the character going through it. Enjoy >:) )

—————

There was a face in the mirror.

It almost looked like him. Almost. There were too many eyes. Too much blood. And it juddered and shivered, breaking into pieces like a video with bad connection. But it was real. No, it couldn’t be. As he stared at what should have been his reflection, this was all he could think. “You’re not real,” he whispered. “You’re not real.”

The face seemed to smile. His eyes remained locked with it.

It lunged forward, broken hand reaching through the class. He cried out and jumped backwards, covering his head. After a moment of tense anticipation, he lowered his arms and looked at the mirror. It was just him.

He exhaled slowly, and left the bathroom, hands shaking as he pushed the door open. He headed back towards the room he’d just left. There was a table in there, a table that wasn’t usually there but that he’d dragged in for today. On top of the table was a half-carved pumpkin and a few knives. In front of this setup was a camera on a tripod. He walked over to stand behind the table and smiled for the camera. “Sorry about that, that was just—actually let’s edit that out. Okay. Back to this. What you’re gonna want to do...”

* * * * * * * * *

His phone was vibrating violently; the sound of it clattering against his nightstand was enough to wake him up. Blearily, he blinked up at the ceiling, then turned his attention to the phone. It had stopped vibrating. He picked it up and saw a couple missed calls, as well as a text message from a friend asking him to call. So he dialed the number. “Hey what’s up?”

“Hey ŝĺňŦèŸ, were you planning on uploading a different video today?” his friend asked.

“Huh? What d’you mean?”

“I mean, I went to post the edited version of Pony Island, and there was already a video up.”

He sat up straight. “What? What was it?”

“Uh, it was something like ‘pumpkin carving unedited.’”

He threw aside his blankets and rushed to the computer, dropping his phone and not bothering to pick it up. Booting up the computer and going over to his channel, he saw a video with that exact title...except something was a little weird with the letters. The title read “pu̵m̶p̵k̀in c̸arv̕ing̛ u͡ne͟d́i͢ted.” Dread pooled in his stomach. He wasn’t going to upload that. He’d been planning to, but it hadn’t...worked out. The footage never even left the camera.

Uneasy, he clicked it. The video was over an hour long, and he watched it all. It really was unedited. Nothing was cut out. He watched with a sinking stomach as the version of him onscreen trailed off in the middle of a sentence, staring at the knife for a full minute. The part with the bleeding eye was included, when it just started leaking blood for no apparent reason. And all those morbid jokes, pretending the pumpkin was a person he was stabbing, and grinning hysterically right after that...it was all there. Up until the moment he said “I can’t do this” and turned the camera off. The reactions in the comments seemed...mixed. He read through them, his heart frozen. Some wondered if this was a joke, some thought he was doing it for attention, some wanted to know if he was okay. They were all confused.

Quickly, he stood up and ran over to grab his phone. He turned on the camera and started recording a video. “Hey guys. So you, uh, probably noticed the weird footage that got uploaded today. I just want to say...that wasn’t me. I actually have no idea where it came from.” He stammered through a short explanation, finishing it off by saying he’ll be taking a month-or-two-long break from recording anything, for his own mental health. Then he quickly uploaded that.

He glanced towards his computer monitor, which was still turned on. As he looked, the screen suddenly dissolved into static, distorted noise coming through the speakers. There was a face in the white noise.

An hour later, he was out on the street, smashing his computer and all his recording equipment with a baseball bat he’d found in his closet.

* * * * * * * * *

Despite his hopes, he had to conclude that it was real. Something was there, something was watching him. It sent him strange texts every so often, the words a bunch of scrambled symbols with the occasional threat. He kept the phone, though. To keep in contact with his friends and family.

He got rid of the TV, though. It kept switching on, making those same distorted sounds. One day in a panic, he opened the window and threw it out, watching it shatter on the ground below.

People kept asking how he was. Despite his best attempts to resist, he couldn’t help but check social media every so often. Some of his viewers thought this was a game, a fun horror-based thing to celebrate the end of the spooky season. Some of them were genuinely concerned.

Friends and family called and texted him. Some asked if he wanted to “see someone.” He considered it, he really did. Maybe he was just losing it. Waking up in the middle of the night, staring at eyes in the ceiling? That certainly seemed as though it was in his head. But he knew it was real. Because nobody could have uploaded that footage.

He got another text one day. Ŗæ¬YouareÈñħ»źmineÓŶğÙ´ÛIwillěġİťämakeĨÅęţyouþÚÆómyéªŕîijöÀ×í¸ĪºÎtoyðŦłĈForeverů¿ŭŪʼnĺĂķ=)

He threw his phone on the floor until its screen shattered and its case was broken. Then he dropped the remains down the nearest sewer grate.

* * * * * * * * *

He saw the face in his nightmares. Usually they just involved those eyes, those strange green eyes, all staring at him. He’d dream he was trapped in a box, all of them staring at him as it filled up with a red liquid that tasted metallic. Or he’d dream he was running down a street, the eyes watching him from looming buildings, his feet getting stuck as something that screeched with static grew closer and closer. The nightmares with the face were the worst. Because then it could touch him. And he’d wake up, unable to move, panting heavily as those eyes stared at him from his bedroom walls.

The lights would flicker, and more often than not they would turn off completely. His landline kept ringing. At first he’d pick up the calls, hoping to hear familiar voices. But all it turned out to be was distorted, laughing static.

He couldn’t stay here. It knew he was here.

It was a lovely spring day when he packed a suitcase and a duffel bag and headed to the nearest bus stop out of town.

* * * * * * * * *

There was a face in the crowd.

He was sitting on the train platform, waiting for the next one to come. People passed by, rushing quickly about their business and not paying him a second glance. Busy, busy, busy. But out of the sea of faces, one was staring at him.

His breathing sped up. He couldn’t look away. He was frozen, watching the figure in the crowd. People walked around it, not even looking in its direction. Nobody saw the twitching, bleeding, shuddering figure except for him. It wasn’t moving. But when he blinked, it got closer. What was once too distant to make out clearly slowly approached until he could see the green scleras of its many eyes.

“Go away!” He shot to his feet, knocking over his suitcase. “Leave me alone already!” People around him stared. He didn’t blame them. If he saw a man screaming at nothing in a train station, he would stare too. “What will it take?! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Luckily the train came before it got too close. But he stared at the station until it passed into the distance.

* * * * * * * * *

“I’m sorry young man, but t’ere’s nothin’ I can do to help you.”

It was raining outside, and he was glad the old woman had opened the door to let him inside. He sat curled up in one of the chairs in the living room, listening to her. “There—there h-has to be some way,” he stuttered. “You don’t know...anything?”

“T’is isn’ a creature I’ve seen before,” she said. “And I’ve seen plenty in my time. The best ye can do is to continue t’is path you’re on.”

Running forever? Switching from country to country at random? Always looking over his shoulder for those eyes or that face to be behind him? He shuddered. “What about the one in the forest? There’s supposed to be something there, right?”

“You didn’ see in on your way through?”

“Um...I saw it from a distance, but it didn’t get close.”

The old woman shook her head. “T’hear it didn’ approach you...when ye were all alone and most vulnerable...it doesn’ want anyt’ing t’do with you.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “You may stay here for as long as you like.”

He nodded slowly, and stared out the window. Waiting for it to appear.

* * * * * * * * *

The hotel room wasn’t one of the better ones he’d stayed in in his life. If he had to guess, it was probably a two star. But it had a bed and a shower, and that was all that mattered.

The clerk greeted him with a half-hearted wave and a monotone voice: “Bienvenue à l'historique Hôtel de la Soie. Comment puis-je vous aider?”

He stared at him blankly. “Uh...I need a room. Um...une neht—une nuit?”

The clerk scoffed a bit under his breath. He jabbed a finger at a sign hanging on the wall with the prices for a stay. An unusual thing to have in a hotel, but it worked out. He handed a stack of ten-euro notes over to the clerk, who took only a brief moment to count all of it before handing him a key in return. He nodded, and headed upstairs.

Later that night, he lay down on the bed, on top of the blankets. There was a single window into the room. Though he was on the third floor, he kept staring at it, waiting for a face to appear. He didn’t know what time it was when he finally drifted, having unplugged the digital clock and shoved it in the closet. But fall asleep he did.

Only to jolt awake barely two hours later, hearing the slightest sound of static coming from the old television speakers. He sat up straight, staring at it. The screen flipped on, showing rows of colored bars.

Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten. He grabbed his duffel bag and ran out the door, not bothering to check out. He’d never be coming back here anyway.

* * * * * * * * *

“Please! I know you can help me! I know it!” He grabbed the back of the red hoodie, clinging to the fabric.

Hands grabbed his wrists and yanked him away. The creature looked very annoyed to be bothered, but in its featureless face, he could’ve sworn he saw fear as well. “I can’t,” it hissed. “Leave me alone.”

“I know you can,” he repeated bleakly. “I-I know you...you’re much older, right? I’m sure you can—can—”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you’re wrong,” it said bluntly. “Usually you would be right. Not in this case.”

He stared at it, letting a few tears slip from his eyes. “Please...”

It dropped his wrists and walked away. He didn’t bother to follow it, sinking to his knees, watching as the creature approached someone and started chatting away. They both ignored him. A desolate feeling overcame his heart. Not even things like this could help him...

“Hey signore! Stai bene?” A teenager nearby asked him.

He looked at her. The teen was with her friends, a group of kids, all hanging out together, unaware of...everything. Then he stood up and walked away silently.

* * * * * * * * *

He was a mess. He knew it before, but staring at his reflection in the shop window across the street really drove it home. Dirty, travel-worn clothes. Wild, greasy hair and an unkempt beard. He’d lost the suitcase long ago, and decided to trade the duffel bag for an easier-to-carry backpack he’d stolen two weeks ago...or was it a month ago? It was hard to keep track, days blurring into each other.

Running his hand through his hair, it occurred to him that he’d been trying to grow facial hair for years, and it took circumstances like this to make it actually fill out. The thought was so absurd that he couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

A woman and a little girl were walking down the sidewalk nearby, presumably a mother and daughter out for a stroll. The girl pointed at him, but her mother pulled her closer, and muttered, “To niegrzeczne wskazywać. Nie gap się na niego.” He had no idea what it meant, but noticed how they crossed the street soon after.

Well, whatever. That was the least of his worries.

He sat down, leaning back against the wall of the building behind him. A yawn escaped, and he closed his eyes. Even though it was the middle of the day, he was asleep within minutes.

When he awoke, it was close to sunset, and more people were milling about the pavement. He sat up straight, searching the area. Something had woken him up.

He glanced over his shoulder, and saw it watching him, its hand extended and only a few inches away from him.

With a scream, he threw himself backwards, scrambling to his feet. “Go away!” He shouted. “Fuck off!”

Its eyes smiled, leaking blood. “×ýńŃÙĸComečŌĆĺĤÓhereĿ¾ŚĀMineŬħĩ”

He broke out into a dead run, shoving past annoyed pedestrians who yelled at him as he passed. He didn’t care. They couldn’t help him.

* * * * * * * * *

Exhaustion dragged at his feet, making him stumble. He kept his eyes open, glancing over his shoulder. It had been a day since he last saw it. Was that long enough? He collapsed on the side of the road, landing in a bush. Its tiny branches scraped at his skin, but he didn’t feel them.

He woke up with static ringing in his ears. Pushing to his hands and knees, he looked behind him, and saw it.

A sob ripped free of his throat. He was running before he was even fully upright. Its laughter echoed behind him.

Judging by how much the sun had moved, it had only been about three hours since he fell asleep. How was it so fast? It never followed him when he ran, it just...appeared. Watching him. Waiting.

* * * * * * * * *

He’d stolen an egg timer from a small store he’d run across. The woman manning the cash register had run after him, shouting “Állj meg! Tolvaj!” but he was too fast. Still, the effort of running for so long tired him out, and he staggered and fell. Staying right where he was on the sidewalk, he set the timer for forty-five minutes, then lowered his head and fell asleep.

When the timer went off, ringing shrilly in his ear, he grabbed it and sat up, looking around.

It was right there. Standing over him.

He couldn’t find the energy to scream, instead making a hoarse, strangled cry as he climbed to his feet and took off. Forty-five minutes was too long. When he next fell down, two hours later just outside of the town, he set it for forty.

* * * * * * * * *

Halfway to the next town, he had to reduce the time to thirty minutes. He’d fallen asleep sometime in the night, when the moon was high overhead. And when he woke up to the sound of the timer ringing, he rolled over and stared into green eyes.

“¿ČþިŰŭċ©ŏżBreakŴÎŐIJÚ½ÏforËúĂŤmeóʼnŎōĈĝÿ”

He shrieked and ran, adrenaline giving him a boost. It was so close, so close, and it still didn’t pursue. Was this a game for it? Was it playing with him? It must have been.

* * * * * * * * *

Fifteen minutes. He’d run for about forty minutes, then he couldn’t take it anymore, and had to fall asleep for fifteen minutes. People wandering through the town gave him strange looks, but he was long past the point of caring.

When he woke up this time, he felt something on his arm. He looked down and saw a hand, twitching, bleeding, staring. He shoved it away and tried to run. It kept laughing at him. He wasn’t nearly as fast as he used to be.

* * * * * * * * *

Five minutes. Run for fifteen, then sleep for five. Run for ten, then sleep for three. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, knowing something was watching him with an electric gaze.

Something tugged on the back of his jacket, and he jolted awake. He’d slept right through the timer. It was pulling him—! Struggling, he managed to pull away and stumble down the street. It wasn’t laughing anymore.

* * * * * * * * *

It grabbed his arm next time. He swung a wild punch and pulled backwards, setting off down the street. Static hissed. He didn’t know how long it was before he fell down. But soon he was lying on the sidewalk, staring at the yellow-lit windows of the city buildings. Next thing he knew, his eyes were opening to it grabbing his leg. A kick, and he was staggering down the street again.

* * * * * * * * *

His eyes flew open. It had grabbed his other arm. Gasping, tears leaking, he wriggled out of his jacket and ran. He made it down three city blocks before he absolutely couldn’t go any further. His legs refused to move, and he crumpled. Asleep before he hit the ground.

* * * * * * * * *

He woke up choking, his shirt collar tight around his neck. Gasping, pulling at the fabric, it took him a moment to realize he was being dragged across the ground, rough asphalt catching on his clothes. A cry escaped his throat, only to be strangled as the fabric was pulled tighter. He kicked wildly, hands grabbing at the shirt collar to try and loosen it. “Let me go!” He shouted hoarsely. His fingers scrabbled at the ground, trying to get a hold.

Static laced with laughter. As if the very idea was ridiculous.

He hadn’t really been expecting that to work, anyway. Reaching back with one hand, he tried to pry its fingers away, but kept slipping. So instead he tried to wriggle out of his shirt like he did with his jacket earlier. But it was wise to this trick now. It grabbed both his wrists, its grasp wiry but strong. And cold. Not cold like ice, cold like a cadaver. He shuddered to feel it, and tried all the harder to twist free.

There wasn’t anyone nearby. He doubted if anyone would answer, or if they could even see him, but he had to try. “Help!” He screamed. “Help! Someone, please! Help! Please!”

No response.

It dragged him to the edge of the city, indifferent to his screams and pleas. His skin was scraped, but if he could just get free, it would be worth it. If he could just run. He needed to run. He needed to—!

The air seemed to shiver, the world breaking into colors and shapes. He froze, the image hypnotizing and terrifying. It felt as though he suddenly jerked awake while falling asleep. When things righted themselves, the city was gone. Instead he was in the middle of nowhere. Twisted ground littered with broken electronics: monitors, CPUs, televisions, radios, and so many wires and cables. Static was so thick in the air, he could taste it. The sky above was black. No, deeper than black, it was a void. And there were...things crawling over the piles of scrapped technology. They stared at him. It stared at him.

No longer exhausted, he climbed to his feet and started to run once more. And it started to laugh. Laughed like it was the most hilarious joke, the kind of joke you’d hear a million times and never get tired of.

He brushed past a pile and suddenly tripped. Wires wrapped around his legs, climbed up his body to his neck. He tasted copper deep in his throat.

And then it left. He was alone. But a voice lingered in the air.

“şøëĬÕÆßĺóŸŖYouareÓĆð¬ÞmineŀĽĶ¤ĵ¿nowįýâźÉÇĖïʼnéąAndďļćÐŏÒĎŧYouwillŰæŒĞĢŃmakeÑıàĂĀŷťªŕawonderŤÊŠ÷ĕŋfulİåŅž«©¶ăšplayőĤ¦Ŵthing·ÏāĔ®öÀĈ°ŗè”

[cosmichoneyedblossoms]

When I Tell You Goodbye

Pairing: Suho x Reader x Kyungsoo

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2.0 K

A/N: The lyrics in this piece are not of my own creation, all the credit goes to Avery Lynch

“I wish I could remember what it feels like to touch your skin… and what your voice sounds like one person, I know FaceTime can distort it… and I miss it…” The keys under your fingers felt familiar as you sang the bittersweet lyrics of a song meant for him.

“I’m sick of kissing you in my head—oh baby tell me when can it be real instead ‘cause I would do anything to be close to you again…” It seemed to feel like forever since you last sang these words and saying them now felt like a lie like you were trying to convince yourself to feel these feelings for him once again.

“And it’s hard being here half empty when somewhere different is my favorite part of me… If I could just hold you for real, that’s the only thing I’ll need… Baby, that’s all I need.” The sound of the piano keys faded out, and the room filled with a silence that was kinder than any noise you made.

“You’re up late.” A very familiar voice spoke into the silence, disrupting its thickness.

“I couldn’t sleep…” You added slumping a bit as you dropped your hands into your lap.

“You know…” Suho’s voice hummed behind you, “It’s weird to hear you sing that song when you told me that you’re falling out of love with him…” Turning around to face him, you couldn’t form any words to offer him because he was right.

Four hundred sixteen days away from Kyungsoo scuffed up the warm fluffy feelings of love and left you with a deep-seated loneliness that wouldn’t let you live. From the beginning, you spent countless nights in Kyungsoo’s bed, crying yourself to sleep; there were many days where you couldn’t be bothered to eat or get up to leave the dorm. You were a depressed mess—that is until Suho joined you one night. He attempted to soothe your aching heart and fill the painful void Kyungsoo left in your chest. Little did he know that the friendship he shared with you would result in your heart finding love in him than your boyfriend of four years.

“You know you’re going to have to tell him eventually… it’s already August, and he comes home in January, Y/N—” The slam of your hand against the piano keys cut him off.

“I know, Suho.” How could you not? It was the only thing dwelling on your mind, “I just don’t know how to tell him…” Suho could see the weight that was weighing down on your shoulders and how much pain it was causing you.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said I love you back then, and maybe you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” His voice made your eyes dart up to his with your brows furrowed, “Now, now, don’t make that face.” He added as he walked over towards you and straddled the bench you were sitting on, “I feel like I’m right, though. I said it first.”

“This relationship is a vast two-way street. We both felt the same way, so even if you didn’t say it, it was inevitable that I was going to say it, Suho.” With a sigh, you leaned forward for your head to fall onto his shoulder, “I don’t think this is a mistake… I think it was for the best for me to fall for you… the only mistake I made was not telling Kyungsoo sooner…”

“Well…” The weight of Suho’s hand smoothed over your hair as he rested his head against yours, “If you’re looking for ways to tell him, I suggest you do it the way you know best… write it like you did for the one you made for him when he left.” You knew he was referring to the song you just sang, but how could you even come close to explaining everything?

“You think it would leave a bad taste in his mouth?” You asked, unsure if it was a good idea.

“If you’re asking if he’s going to be upset, you already know the answer, Y/N, but you can either tell him, or we can cut this off… I just know that I couldn’t just go back to how we were.” Gentle lips pressed themselves to your temple as his arms wrapped around you, “You didn’t mean to fall out of love with him.” Suho’s statement caused something to click in your head as if the words of the song were already writing themselves behind your wild thoughts.

“You’re right.” Lifting your head, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I think I have an idea.”

“I knew you would.” He smiled, seeing the sparkle of inspiration flicker behind your dark eyes, “I’m going to head to bed, will you join me soon?” His heart fluttered at the slight smile you gave him with the nod of your head.

“Let me just get some of it down before it runs away from me, and I’ll be there before you can say ‘I love you,’ okay?” He slowly nodded and leaned into you, instinctively you closed your eyes, and he hovered over your lips as he took in your beauty.

“I love you…” He whispered against your lips as his grazed over yours. Suho had this way of making you want for him; it was too easy to give into him.

“I love you most.” A gentle kiss was pressed into your plushness before he pulled away and began to get up, the heat from his lips lingered on yours as you watched him walk out of the studio and now you were left in the same silence he found you in. Getting up, you wandered over to the bookcase that was in the corner and pulled out a black leather-bound notebook, one that was filled with all of your lyrics. Pulling the elastic band from the front, the leather cover popped open slightly, revealing ink stained pages filled to the brims with words of love and devotion. You put the elastic back over the cover and slid it back into its spot and pulled out a new one, one that can be ruined with words of heartbreak and deceit.

Hours had passed since Suho asked you to join him, but the cold space beside him kept him awake. Flipping over, his eyes caught the flashing five that appeared in the hour spot on the digital clock; it had been near midnight when he came to bed, and you still weren’t there with him. He got up from the mattress and padded his way out the bedroom and through the halls of the dorm until he approached the studio, which was still flooded with light, “Is she still awake..?” He whispered, peeking his head to see you asleep on the love seat, your fingers gripping a notebook and pen.

How did I know?

Stepping into the room, paper crunched under his feet; he was so drawn to you that he didn’t notice the multiple crumpled up pieces of paper that riddled the floor. Without thinking, he began to clean up the mess when he caught the words that were heavily creased into the parchment, them only piquing his interest in what you came up with. After throwing all the paper away, he made his way to you and slipped the notebook and pen from your hand to set them down at the end of the couch, “You’ll show me when you’re ready, right, Y/N?” He asked you, but there was no response to his question, just your steady breathing.

Five times, you tried five times to send your song to Kyungsoo, but your nerves got the best of you, and you never slipped it into the mail dropbox. It sat nestled inside your purse, awaiting its trip to the base, but your hands hesitated to pull it from its spot and drop it into the box.

“Y/N?” Your coworker’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you flicked your gaze up to his face, “It’s about time for your break.”

“Oh, thank you.” You slightly bowed and untied the knot in your apron strings as you made your way towards the door that led out to the cafe floor.

“Oh, hey, before you head out there, your fans are back again.” His added statement made you freeze at the door.

“Really?” You asked, and you could tell by his grunt that he wasn’t lying, “Okay, I’ll get rid of them.” You knew the fans he was talking about; you played your songs once in the shop, and you instantly became the idol of your workplace. All they ask for you is to play a song, and then they leave, so why not just do it?

“There she is!” A girl squealed as you came out of the kitchen. Instead of stopping, you made a beeline to the piano that sat in the corner of the shop and sat down at the bench.

Kyungsoo sat quietly at the table, lost in his thoughts as his squad members conversed around him. Sleep hadn’t been his friend the last couple of weeks as he had problems falling asleep; thoughts of home lingered longer than usual, and the image of your smile started to fade the longer he spent away from you. Even though he was in his world, he faded in and out of the conversations that were happening around him until a familiar voice brought him back, “Hey, Kyungsoo…” Xiumin hummed.

“What’s up?” He asked, and he watched him pull his phone from his pocket.

“Did you see that Y/N’s little fan group uploaded a new video of her?” Xiumin asked, and Kyungsoo cocked his head.

“Is that so?” The wavering in Xiumin’s eyes wasn’t telling him if it was a good or a bad thing, “What’s wrong?”

“I think you should listen to it…” Handing Kyungsoo his phone, Xiumin already had the video up on the screen, and Kyungsoo stared at the frozen picture of the back of your body sitting at the piano that was at your cafe. His thumb hovered over the play button for a second before letting it fall onto the screen. The deep, slow chords of the piano were different from what he was used to hearing from you, without hearing your words, he knew it was for him. The conversations that were going on around him stopped as soon as your voice flowed from the speaker, now all ears were on you. Kyungsoo listened carefully from the first verse; it was filled with hints of things that used to be yours—the crooked midnight smiles, picking of wildflowers on walks, the warmth of shared smiles, but the next part hit him.

“… but I didn’t mean to fall out of love with you…” He could hear the crack in your voice like you were forcing the words to come out, “No, I didn’t dream in a million years this is what I’d do…”

Was this your way of telling him that you were no longer his?

“If I could stay, you know I would… You never did nothin’ wrong…” It wasn’t loud, but he could hear you sniffle between the break in the chords, “You’re exactly who you always were… this is my fault…” The shake in voice told him that this song was for him, and it was the hardest one to perform, but it was the hardest one for him to listen to. He had no words, but he can’t say he wasn’t surprised. Months away from each other always creates a distance that can’t be overcome with a few texts and FaceTimes here and there. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t upset, but he understood where you were coming from. Pulling out his phone, he unlocked it and found your name in his messages. His fingers typed out a message, and before he could even think of erasing it, he sent it.

“I saw the video. I’m sorry, and I hope you’re okay. Hearing you cry as you sang that song was heartbreaking, but I understand. I hope for nothing but your happiness, and if it’s not being with me, I won’t make you stay. Don’t apologize for ‘falling out of love with me’ because there’s nothing to apologize for. I love you, but not enough to force you to stay. Stay healthy and stay safe. I’ll see you when I come home.”

[gentlemansarmor]

Sherlock Magic AU - The Moriarty Confrontation

Hello I wrote like...the Moriarty part of this magic au I made up about four hours ago. Pls enjoy...

Uh things to know going in...

- in canon au that loosely follows canon storyline - establish mystrade - getting there johnlock - everyone was some form of magic but the rarest is people born with magic that breaks the laws of magic types (ie controlling others/things, time, space, reconstruction, life/death) - most people only have one type of magic but rarer are those who have two - Sherlock and Mycroft have a similar relationship to one they have in bbc sherlock, but are just a little bit closer... - the events of bbc sherlock didn’t happen as such, so this is not at all similar to the roof scene - hi i love mycroft and it shows :) i also like to read more into certain things and think he would be untouchable and unstoppable if he did what sherlock did  - this is so self indulgent pls be advised - mycroft might be a little ooc in this but that is the point

I barely get to eat, and when I finally get to sleep I get drug out of bed for another meet-and-greet I shake the hand of every fan—put on a happy face Spread so fuckin' thin, I'm all over the place I hate riding on the bus—I hate flying in the planes Sedate myself just to kill the pain I have no life—forgot the hope The whole thing's turned into one big joke

-  sham pain (five finger death punch)

Catching himself on John’s shoulders, Sherlock righted quickly, turning on heel to yell at Mycroft, who had quickly placed himself between the detective and the criminal. He didn’t need Mycroft to protect him, it wouldn’t do them any good anyways. Mycroft never lifted a finger if he didn’t have to, always tucked away quietly in his club or office. 

Mouth open to yell, Sherlock stopped in his tracks, arm hanging limp in the air at the sight that greeted him. 

‘There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows.’

‘It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubbable men in town.’

Sherlock knew anger, he knew hatred. He had known it personally and he had seen it expressed at him countless times. John’s anger was silent, shown in his eyes and clenched hands. Lestrade’s was rolled shoulders, a stern jaw, and a raised voice. Mummy’s had been a downturn of her mouth and a sharp finger point. Father’s was the sharp closing of a newspaper and the slam of a mug. 

Mycroft’s…

In the split second that he takes everything in, Sherlock realizes that he had never seen Mycroft truly angry. He was familiar with his angered disappointment (especially after Irene), but anger by itself, Sherlock had never seen it. 

He never wants to see it again. He wants to set fire to the room where this is stored in his palace. He wants to forget it.

Mycroft’s anger is wild eyes, snarled mouth. It’s manic hatred. Mycroft’s anger is almost happy, freeing.

And now Sherlock understands why Mycroft hides himself in his Club, why he helped create it. In a world where Mycroft has his thumb in every pie and a brother who tries to remove the table underneath, and coupled with Mycroft’s magic, without something to ground him everything around him would freeze and never thaw. The next ice age. 

But in the forming icicles Sherlock can see strings, and he realizes maybe he never really knew his brother after all.

Moriarty is giggling, hands clapping at his trap. It’s him and Mycroft in his sphere, and Sherlock realizes belatedly that that’s why Mycroft shoved him. His brother shoved him out of the traps range, pushing him toward a man that balanced Sherlock out in case the trap managed to touch him. 

Moriarty is talking, hands flapping, giddy.

“Boring! You’re not the one I want! Not much that you can do Ice Man! Not in here!” There’s more laughter as Moriarty adjusts the crown on his head. “Wow the look on your face though! Be careful not to melt your own ice!”

“...melt? Sherlock?” 

Sherlock looks back at John as Mycroft turns fully to Moriarty. 

“It’s…” Sherlock can feel his magic feeding his mind information that he can’t see. Invisible runes and symbols are helping explain why Moriarty is acting over the top more so than usual and why Mycroft is...

So angry...what rage…

“Sherlock?” Behind them, Lestrade has pushed everyone back and the consulting detective can make out the shimmering hexagons of Lestrade’s mirage shield. 

“It’s the epitome of Moriarty’s magic.”

“Sherlock…” He could hear the annoyed fondness in John’s voice, but was unable to focus on it as he turned back to his brother. 

“From what I can deduce, the sphere removes emotional inhibitions. In there, you are your true self, no holds barred.”

“What!” Even Lestrade had turned, looking from Sherlock to Mycroft and back again with trepidation and shock. Sherlock glares at Lestrade. The man seemed too calm in the face of what they were looking at; even John was more shocked than Lestrade.

“You knew…” The detective inspector met Sherlock’s accusatory gaze. 

“In some parts, yea. But this...this I’ve never seen before. Sherlock, I’ve seen him crumble the edges of papers in anger, or end a call a little too forcefully, but this? I didn’t know.”

“Greg? Sherlock? What is going on with Mycroft?” Sherlock shook his head and turned back to his brother, wary. Mycroft and Moriarty had moved now, circling each other like animals. Both of them wore grins of different emotions, their faces reflected in the multicolored gem like shields that Moriarty was controlling. 

“He’s been stripped of every shield and layer that he had erected to hide his emotions. He more than likely cannot feel the protection of the Diogenes Club as well...he’s. Free.”

‘It’s something I would never survive. It would have been like falling off a waterfall and submitting to the torrent of water below. I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. 

I might have been able to take Moriarty with me but at what cost?’

John looked between the two men in the glittering sphere and Sherlock. It’s then that Sherlock realizes that John still has a hand on him. John knows his thoughts but that isn’t his problem right now.

What is is the slow dripping of Mycroft’s icicles and stalagmites. 

What is is Moriarty’s laughter at thinking he’s melted the “Ice Man”.

What is is the look of anger in Mycroft’s eyes but the manic smile on his lips. 

What is is the thin, oh so thin, wires that Sherlock can barely make, even with his magic, that are hidden in the ice. 

What is is that for so long, Sherlock thought that his brother was an impassable glacier, able to sink even the mightiest of ships. What is is that Sherlock hadn’t realized that since the beginning, Mycroft had been pulling the strings like a puppet master, content to hide his club and his duties. 

Mycroft Holmes didn’t despise field work or running around, it was that he didn’t need to do it. He could sit in his office with his minor government position or in his silent club and pull each and every string he needed to to make things work for him. He needn’t nor wanted to control people because like Sherlock he was fascinated by humans and what they did. He trusted his mind and mental abilities to deal with people and it’s when he brow creased with frustration that he pulled his strings.

Mycroft didn’t like his own magic because it sought to overshadow everything he had learned and become, who he was. It was but a drop of water in a large pool, but it’s ripples never faded. 

As Mycroft Holmes threw out his hands in unchecked anger, fingers clenched as if they were holding a marionette cross, Sherlock Holmes, with his coat flapping behind him and eyes shining, ran toward his brother and his enemy. 

He may fall off that waterfall, but he would take Moriarty with him, because Sherlock refused to let Moriarty be the one to ruin Mycroft. 

It was time to stop letting Moriarty think he was always two steps ahead while Sherlock was always looking behind. 

John and Lestrade’s cries fell on deaf ears as Sherlock ran into the sphere, head swimming as he tried to take information in as his mind ridded itself of everything he had worked to build. 

And as Sebastian Moran stepped out from behind Moriarty and Mycroft’s enraged gaze shifted to him, Sherlock felt everything wash away and he turned dull eyes to Moriarty. 

The game had begun.

-

For the record I have no idea where this came from besides that fact that that song came on and bam. Idea! I just...I want an entire series on Mycroft Holmes please I love him so much I cry. 

And for additional information:

- Lestrade: Physical Deflection - ability to distort sight into something else (comes from the books where a lot of what Sherlock does gets credited to Lestrade/police instead of him)

- John: Empathy/Emotional Reading - ability to pick up emotions nearby, touch amplifies the feelings. he is, however, very susceptible to getting lost in others emotions and feel them himself. (this comes from that idea that john misses war and how he is so very attuned to sherlock) - Moriarty: Shield - the ability to shield oneself and others, considered an absolute defense (Moriarty’s magic is gem stone based coming from the crown line and the thieving - the shield idea comes from the concept that Moriarty shields criminals) // Fall - the ability that forces inhibitions to fall away (literally this is just based on Reichenbach Falls)

- Sherlock: Magic Perception - the ability to see the breakdown of magic that isn’t visible to the eye (this wasn’t really based on anything, but that with magic there has to be clues and it’s another thing for him to look at and deduce) // Time Gaze - the ability to look both forward and back in time, considered highly dangerous if used to look forward (comes from the idea that he always knows everything and also that line about knowing john would should up in ep1)

- Mycroft: Ice Age - ice elemental magic, also coupled with water, the ability to control and create ice from water and if skilled enough from air (comes the idea that Mycroft is seen as stoic and shut off, the ice man comment, and that some see him as cold) // Marionettist - the ability of absolute control (comes from the idea that Mycroft as the man behind the curtain of many a thing)

- Regarding the second magic of Sherlock and Mycroft: I got super attached to the idea that their secondary magic completely overrides their innate deduction and observation abilities and that while using them would make them unstoppable, they see them more as hinderances and things that hate. Rejection of your own magic (in this au) is possible but isn’t the healthiest for the mind. 

[padfootagain]

The Suit

Here we go with a new cute little thing!! It is the last one-shot for my celebration, for the next two days, I will be updating two series you have voted for. I do hope I have managed throughout these 5 fics to bring a little bit of fluff and softness into your week. In case I had not succeeded so far, maybe this one will do the trick ;)

I have 0 respect for Canon in many fandoms (okay, all fandoms, to some extent) but especially when it comes to the MCU. Everybody lives, everybody is happy, the Avengers live together and the sky is full of rainbows! So… cute things ahead for Steve Rogers :)

I hope you like this, tell me what you thought about it!

Gif not mine (enjoy the eyelashes… argh, why is he like this?)

Word Count : 3941

When people picture the interior of the Avengers headquarters, they imagine some kind of large hangar filled with training rooms. Advanced weaponry on display in some of these rooms too, target practice, and large spaces where the Avengers can train and learn new fighting moves. Some might also imagine the Avengers' personal quarters, a kitchen, a large living room where all can gather and eat some Chinese food, maybe a room where they all can watch a good movie together too, a large bedroom for each of them and offices too were they can work on the intel sent to them.

And to this entire description, although one would gather a vague image instead of a real glimpse at the inside of the most secret building in the world (or at least one of the most secret buildings, for sure, although we must all admit that many labs in Wakanda are even more wrapped in shadows), this person listing the inside of this fortress would be right. At one major detail… or well, three, actually.

This enlightened person would have forgotten the library, for one, large and composed of an eclectic collection of novels, thesis about nuclear physics and comic books, was right between the movie room as the Avengers called it, and the offices.

Also, there is a miniature hospital in the base of the Avengers. They call it the infirmary, but it contains everything needed to heal any kind of wound they could sustain on the battle-field, and some of the most recent pieces of equipment would make even Dr Strange blush out of envy.

But the most important set of rooms that one would have forgotten are the labs. Scattered throughout the buildings, and yet vital for the heroes. Who makes the suits? The weapons? Who collects the intel? Who improves their defensive accessories? Who analyses the clues the Avengers find throughout their missions?

Obviously, the busy team of researchers and engineers working at the base.

And while you could hear the characteristic detonations of Natasha, Bucky, Sam and Clint training at firing, you were yourself stuck with a very hard problem to solve.

On your desk, what was left of Captain America's suit laid splayed so you could examine the damages the explosion had caused. He was okay, thanks to luck, his super-soldier organism and a little bit of patching up. A week after he was back from his mission, he was apparently completely healed already.

His suit, however, was still just as damaged as it was at its return from the field.

You heaved a sigh, rubbing your tired eyes. If one had told you, back at University, that your PhD in chemistry would be put to use to help a bunch of super-heroes, you would have laughed at their faces. And yet…

You heard a knock on the door of your office, but you didn't need to look up to know it was Peter Parker. You had recognized the knock already.

"Hi, Dr. Y/L/N!" He beams at you as he steps into your office and closes the door behind him.

You rolled your eyes at the teenager.

"How many times do I have to tell you? You can call me Y/N. I’m not that old! Besides, everyone does."

"Captain Rogers doesn’t."

"Yeah, but that’s because he’s old fashioned on a few things."

Peter grinned.

"You know, Natasha has another theory, and it’s a very different one."

"And what could that theory be?"

"Better let her explain it to you," he eluded the question. "What’s that?" he added, nodding at the pile of burnt and torn fabric on your desk that really didn’t look much like a uniform anymore.

"It’s Captain Rogers’s suit. I’m supposed to make an improved one for him."

"Cool! Your suits are always comfortable and efficient. Do you have any ideas yet?"

"None whatsoever."

"I guess he won’t need a new suit before the party. I hope nothing calls for it, at least. So you have a couple of weeks."

"What party?"

"There’s a big party in a couple of weeks. Everyone working here will be invited, I guess Pepper simply hasn’t sent the invitations yet. You’re gonna come, right? That would be awesome!"

"Well… if we’re all invited, then I guess…"

"Nice!"

You exchanged a smile. Something told Peter, and not his Peter tingles, another sense, a sense that was growing sharper and sharper ever since he and MJ were together, that Steve Rogers would be happy to learn that you would attend the party…

"But I doubt that you were coming here to talk about suits and parties, now, were you?"

His smile was back on his face.

"I have a new idea for my web fluid. But I need your expertise. Can you help?"

You let out a chuckle as you stood up and walked towards the door with a pen and your notebook.

"Of course. Come on, tell me all about it."

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

 After a few sleepless nights for you and your team, the new suit was finally ready. The tests showed a major improvement in terms of heat responses, you hoped it would protect Captain Rogers efficiently for his next mission.

The advantage of being the head of a scientific team in the Avengers HQ was that you could go to their part of the buildings and give them their new suits, weapons and other gadgets yourself. You had grown quite fond of most of the team along the years too, which made the trip out of your lab particularly enjoyable.

You wandered off from room to room, passing before the fighters training in various methods of combat. You also came across Tony and Peter watching Morgan’s favourite Disney movie with her, and you asked them about the Captain's whereabouts.

"I think he went to the gym with Sam and Bucky," Peter answered, his voice distorted by the handful of popcorn he had shoved in his mouth.

"Because obviously gym is useful to him," Tony added in his usual teasing and yet casual tone over the loud music of Be A Man. "I’ve always thought he was short in muscles."

Meanwhile, Morgan was shouting the lyrics and was now standing on the sofa, mimicking the fighting moves of Mulan.

"BE A MAN!"

"What are you looking for him for, anyway?" Tony went on over the loud singing of his daughter. "You need a coach for the gym?"

You laughed in response.

"No, we’ve finished a new suit for him, so I’m bringing it to him."

"YOU MUST BE SWIFT AS A COURSING RIVER!"

"You guys even do the delivery part for free? Amazon might have reasons to worry."

Peter had now joined the little girl for the rest of the chorus, and he and Morgan were both singing at the top of their lungs.

"WITH ALL THE FORCE OF A GREAT TYPHOON!!"

"Well as I said, he’s at the gym," Tony went on, still focusing on you instead of the two kids by his side. "Lifting heavy things and stuff. He’ll be happy to see you."

"What do you mean?" you asked back with a frown.

"WITH ALL THE STRENGTH OF A RAGING FIRE."

Tony merely chuckled and gave you a knowing look. Although you didn’t know what the knowing in the look was about, you oblivious little thing…

"He’s always happy to see you, Y/N."

"MYSTERIOUS AS THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOOOOOOON!!!"

Tony’s gaze finally drifted back towards the two kids on the sofa, a tender smile soothing his features.

"I think she has a chance to become a superstar," he told you, pointing at Morgan. "That’s pure talent we have here. It’s not the same for the other guy over there of course, but everyone can’t be gifted."

"Hey! I don’t sing that badly!" Peter protested from his end of the couch, making both you and Tony laugh.

You thanked Tony for his help, and he waved at you in response, along with giving you a wink that seemed to carry a silent message, but you failed to understand it. Instead, you continued your journey through the HQ (but not without Morgan giving you some popcorn in support for your noble quest first, of course), and walked to the gym with a light trot and humming the tune of Mulan’s songs.

Indeed, you found Steve right where Tony had told you he would be. At the gym. Sam and Bucky were there too, but the three friends seemed on their way out. Sam and Bucky were talking (or well, bickering was a better word to describe any of their interactions, really) near the door while Steve was picking up his stuff…

… and for some reason he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or a T-shirt. Or any piece of fabric whatsoever that would cover his torso, the skin glistening slightly with a thin layer of sweat.

No matter how uncomfortable you felt, you couldn’t help but stare.

The three of them turned to you as the door loudly closed behind you, and you all remained motionless for a moment. And for a short moment, time seemed to stop as the four of you each reacted differently to the scene unfolding around you.

You were standing, frozen, in front of the door, your package still safely in your arms as your lips parted without you noticing, and you wondered about the ratio between his biceps and your thighs…

Bucky and Sam were motionless as well, simply because they were trying not to laugh as they watched the silent scene playing between you and Steve.

Steve was still, stopped mid-movement, holding his towel in one hand and a bag in the other. And his mind was currently wondering how it would feel to touch your cheek…

He was the first to shake himself out of his thoughts, and you were rather grateful for it, as you reckoned that you wouldn’t have been able to break free on your own.

“Dr. Y/L/N. What can we do for you?”

You forced your brain to work again and your stare to leave his torso to rest on his intense blue eyes instead. How could he have such long eyelashes?

"Actually, I… hmm… I’m the one who can do something for you. I’ve finished your suit," you added, handing him the suit although you were unable to cross the room to give him the package. You didn’t trust your legs enough, they felt like they were made of soft cotton instead of bones and muscles.

"Oh, thank you," he gave you a bright smile, throwing his towel on his large shoulder and striding to you.

You reckoned that it was rather rare to see a genuine, bright smile on his features. Little smiles, yes. But large ones? Not so much. You guessed that he was very happy to get a new suit. Or perhaps the source for such happiness blooming in him was the person who brought the suit… but you didn't know that, by then.

He took the suit wrapped in kraft paper, his smile still on his lips. You noticed how flushed he was, you guessed it was because of the gym session he had just finished. You couldn’t know that your assumption was only partly true. There was another reason for him to blush up to the tip of his ears. That reason was standing right before him.

"Are you coming tomorrow night? At the big party?" he softly asked.

"Yes, I am. All the lab was invited, and most of us are coming."

"Have you found your plus one yet?" Sam jumped in the conversation.

"Oh, no. I’m coming alone. I mean, it’s not like I need support, I’m going to see my friends there so… no need to pretend."

Sam gave Steve a pointy look. Which his friend ignored.

"Are you bringing someone?" you inquired in a friendly tone.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. He doesn’t though," he added, nodding towards Steve.

You turned to Steve again. He tightened his grip on the suit, and shrugged, a shy smile on his lips.

"As you said, no need to pretend tomorrow."

You stared at each other for a couple of seconds, that seemed to stretch into minutes. And the more you looked at him, the more you wanted to tell him how you felt, how you hoped to see him the next evening, how wonderful you thought he was and… Gosh, he had gorgeous eyes…

But you couldn't do that.

"Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow then. Have a nice day," you hurried the words out of your mouth so you could stride out of the room before your reason would yield in favour of your heart, and you would spoil everything.

The second the door had closed behind you, Sam was chuckling.

"You know, it ain't that hard to ask her out. You had the perfect opportunity. You just had to ask ‘Y/N, would you like to come with me to the party tomorrow’."

"Sam…" Steve heaved a heavy sigh.

"He’s too romantic for that. He’ll make a move tomorrow night. In the moonlight and all," Bucky mocked, making Steve roll his eyes.

"I hate both of you."

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

  The large room was filled with a crowd. Low lights kept an intimate atmosphere throughout the floor. At the top of the Stark Tower, the view on New York City was stunning, an intricated labyrinth of shining lights matching the paler ones hung on the sky. You felt a little tipsy after drinking a couple of tequila shots with Natasha and Wanda. You reckoned that you needed some air, and stepped outside the busy room decorated with perfect taste. The music was still loud coming through the windowpanes as you walked on the large balcony. You hadn't seen Steve yet, but reckoned it was for the best. People had dressed up for the occasion, and you did not plan on dying of a heart attack because of the sight of him in a tuxedo.

The fresh air cleared your thoughts a little and you took a deep intake of breath. You leaned against the bannister, shivering a little as the breeze brushed your naked arms. You took in the view, the sparkling lights shimmering against the darkness of the night, the busy streets and wandering forms drifting back and forth into the maze spreading below your feet.

"Hey! Y/N! Bring your arse back inside, Thor and Nat are trying to see who holds their liquor best!" you heard one of your colleagues call for you, but you shook your head with a chuckle.

"We all know Nat will win."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

You spun on your heels as you recognized Steve's voice. He was standing there, a few steps away from you, his silhouette wrapped in the lights coming out of the busy room giving him a surreal halo, a hand in the pocket of his trousers and a shy smile on his perfectly shaven face. And yes, he was wearing a classic tuxedo. And God, did the man know how to wear a bowtie…

"After all, he is an alien," he went on.

Your colleague had disappeared, you guessed she had judged wiser to leave the two of you alone on the balcony.

How could there be only the two of you out there anyway? Where were people gone to?

"Yes, but she knows too many tricks to lose this kind of bet," you argue.

He let out a chuckle, his eyes flickering to the tip of his black shoes and back up to your gaze, capturing it for good.

"I guess you're right. It's always unwise to underestimate her."

"Exactly."

"Aren't you cold out here?"

"No, I… I needed a little bit of fresh air."

"These parties can be a little too intense," he nodded.

"So can be the tequila."

You both laughed, and fell in a comfortable silence. Steve was too busy staring at you to think of anything else, let alone about words to say.

He hadn't felt that way in what seemed to be an eternity. The nervous tremor through his body, the stumbling of his heart, the freezing of his thoughts… he knew the symptoms and had no doubt about the disease causing them.

Love was an easy thing to spot when it was true, after all.

But if his feelings for you were clear to him, he didn't know about your feelings for him, that was a completely different story. Everyone kept on telling him that you liked him, and he reckoned that he should trust his friends' judgment. The doubt was still there though, a little frozen cube buried in the depth of his heart that burnt through now and then. And it was burning now.

Because as he stared at you, such an accomplished, clever, independent, strong, fierce, graceful woman, he wondered if you could really feel the same way he did.

He had been feeling this way for you for so long though… years, really. And he reckoned now that it was more than time to speak his mind. In the worst case, he would get his heart broken. But in the best case…

"Are you enjoying your evening so far? Would you like something to drink?"

You gave him an amused smile. He seemed nervous…

… maybe your friends were right about him after all.

"I am enjoying my evening so far," you answered. "And no, thank you. I already feel tipsy enough for tonight."

He walked to join you against the bannister, a dreamy smile on both of your faces.

Inside, the music had changed from some energetic pop to a slower and intimate tune. It seemed that time had slowed around the two of you as well, as you stared at each other, your frames lightened by the light inside the tower but also by the stars above and the streets below. Steve's blue eyes reflected the distant lights in an almost impossible way that lit your heart on fire.

There were a thousand things that he wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you how he thought about you first thing in the morning and last as he closed his eyes to fall asleep. How you made him feel like he belonged in this world that wasn't his. You were amongst the few people who did not see the old soldier in him, but the man behind the shield. You had never made a snarky remark about his lack of knowledge to a reference, and he was grateful for it. You loved sharing the things you loved and that's what drove you when you showed him things he had missed during his time in the ice. It wasn't in a will to change him and make him fit better into a world he had been pushed into, it was in a desire to show him something you were passionate about, simply because you liked talking about it. It wasn't about changing him, it was about sharing. And the majority of people he had met since he had been awakened did not share that state of mind, but the opposite.

He longed to tell you how much he loved hearing you laugh, and thought you had the most adorable smile, and how he admired your smart mind, and how he respected you and your opinion about everyone else's…

There were a million words to be spoken and a thousand thoughts to articulate, but all that passed his lips when he finally mustered the strength to talk was a mere invitation, although it still sounded like a declaration.

"Would you like to dance, Y/N?"

Your heart skipped a beat or two as he called you by your first name, and dear God, did your name sounded wonderful rolling on his tongue. His hand rose as he offered you his open palm, fingers trembling slightly, blue eyes drenched in reflected lights still capturing your gaze and your entire life too. You were vaguely aware of people inside, and maybe some were staring at the two of you, but you couldn't find a way to care, nor even to check if your assumption was correct. Instead, you could not look away from Steve.

There were so many words you meant to speak and thoughts to express and confessions to free from the safety of your heart. How you adored how kind he was, and selfless. How you respected how driven he was and always right to his beliefs. And an infinity of other tiny things that had made you slowly and yet irrevocably fall in love with him.

Instead, you smiled up at him, and spoke only an answer, that still sounded like a promise.

"I would love to."

You thought he would bring you back inside, but he didn't. Instead, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer in a soft gesture. You slipped your hand in his and he gave your fingers a tender squeeze.

You started to sway with the gentle tune, but could barely acknowledge the movements of your feet. You were so close to him, he was so close to you… how could you survive this?

Calloused fingers held yours in a gentle hold, his other hand resting in the small of your back, drawing you closer and closer in an embrace that grew tighter every second and yet of which you knew you could free yourself of if you wanted. It felt safe. Warm. Peaceful. And safe, yes, so safe, so comfortable, you could lay your life in his hands blindly and wouldn't even worry about it. You couldn't remember when was the last time you felt like this, like this man before you could never make anything to hurt you, like not in a million years would he let anything bad happen to you. It felt like a lifetime ago that you trusted a man so thoroughly as you trusted Steve now.

There was warmth spreading from your body to his, reassuring, soothing. A calming glow oozing from your soul conquering his last lines of defence. He couldn't fight against you. He loved you too much for it. All he could do before you was to lay down his arms and offer you his heart on a plate. It was dangerous, and yet he was not afraid. He trusted you too blindly to worry about what you could do with his most precious offering. You would do with it what you pleased. He would accept it all no matter what. It could either bring him back to life or break him for good, but in any case, he would not regret giving you his heart. He knew so much, at least.

He leaned down, your bodies too close to be moved closer to each other by then, resting his jaw against your temple. He remained quiet and so did you, although your two pounding hearts spoke better than your tongues at this moment.

There were no words needing to be spoken, you both knew that this feeling coursing through your bodies now was the feeling of coming home.

Inside the busy crowd, Sam was finishing his third glass of bourbon, while Bucky drank the last drop of his third beer. They exchanged a glance, and Bucky extended his hand. Sam could only chuckle before reaching for his wallet and slipping a twenty dollar bill in Bucky's hand. He had lost his wager, but learnt an important lesson.

One should never underestimate the sense of romance of Captain America, especially if he is wearing that kind of suit.

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

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi

@madamrogers

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

As You Are

Title: Grilled Cheese

Co-authors: hopeless_romantic_spoonie, yespolkadotkitty

Summary: A reader insert series about a spoonie Stark Industries IT tech who finds a kindred spirit in Loki, God of Spoons, because it’s hard being different on the inside.

Rating: General Audiences

Also found on Ao3 here :)

Taglist: @just-the-hiddles, @yespolkadotkitty

“Is it a critical emergency or can it wait until tomorrow morning?” you asked distractedly, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder while you perched on your stool in front of the stove, watching over your grilled ham and cheese sandwiches sizzling pleasantly.

“How long do you think an issue like this will take to wrap up?” Tony shot back another question, voice distorted slightly by the cell phone speaker wedged into your shoulder.

You flipped over the first sandwich, nodding silently to yourself in approval, and then flipped over the second. Your mouth quirked to the side and you shrugged your shoulders lightly, as if your boss could actually see you. No, the only one who could currently see you was the long and lean Asgardian draped across your couch.

“Hard to say. A few hours, maybe? But it’s…” your eyes drifted to the clock on the stove, “already eight o’clock. I’m not sure if I’d get anything done besides staring at the screen blankly at this point, Boss.”

“Fair enough, Spoons. Take your meds, get some sleep. We’ll touch base tomorrow,” he paused, and his tone shifted from kindness to concern, “Reindeer Games still there?”

“Mhm,” you hummed your assent, not wanting to think about the implications that held.

“He bothering you? Say the word, Dorothy,” he added referring to your home state, “I’ll have his ass out of there.”

“He’s fine.” It was, shockingly, true.

You hung up and slid the phone onto the counter beside the stove, directing your full attention to the sandwiches frying in front of you and maintaining your precarious balance on your cheap stool. It had only been five dollars at a local thrift shop, and with what you paid for rent for your tiny one-bedroom apartment in New York City, you preferred to save any money that you had. Medical bills ate at most of your expenses, and you never knew when a new one would arise.

“Why does that overgrown manchild Stark address you as cutlery?” Loki came up behind you, watching you tend to the sandwiches as he waited for your response.

You carefully leaned forward to turn off the burner to the ancient stove and pulled the pan off of the heat. “Grab a couple plates? They’re in there,” you pointed him in the right direction.

He didn’t object to your request, simply grabbed them for you and deposited them on the counter beside your phone. “I asked you a question, mortal,” he repeated, the barest hint of frustration peeking through his typical bored tones.

You rolled your eyes and slid a sandwich onto a plate, holding it out for him with a small smile. “You did, but I was focusing on not falling on my butt from this rickety stool and burning your precious sandwich. So impatient. Now, do you want your sandwich cut up?”

He looked so offended at the suggestion that it was comical, and your smile grew to crinkle around your eyes and nose. “I can handle Midgardian food perfectly well without your help.”

“Suit yourself. It tastes better cut into triangles. Not rectangles. If you cut it into rectangles then you’re a heathen and cannot be trusted,” you explained with mock seriousness, grabbing a knife from the silverware drawer and cutting your sandwich in half the correct way. You slid off of the stool and took your plate to the coffee table, settling down on top of your duvet nest beside Loki.

He had cut his sandwich the wrong way while you were getting situated, probably from one of his conjured daggers, and a mischievous twinkle glittered in his eyes as he bit into it while maintaining eye contact with you.

You shook your head in over-dramatic disappointment. “See? Heathen.”

Quick as lightning, he snagged the other half of your sandwich off of your plate and took a bite off of one of the corners. He feigned deep thought for a second before putting it back. “It seems your theory is correct.”

A laugh barked out of you, easy and free, and you nudged his arm with your shoulder. You were aiming for his shoulder, but Loki was tall. You decided to finally answer his question after you had eaten a few bites. You shook pills into your hand from your pill container, Sunday PM. “Well, we all know how he loves his nicknames, Rock of Ages, and I’m a spoonie. It’s just one that he’s stuck with more than the others.”

Loki, having eaten his sandwich much quicker than you, leaned back onto your couch, draping an arm behind where you were seated and appearing fully relaxed, excluding the crease of thought between his eyebrows. “What does it mean to be a ‘spoonie’?”

Unable to hold the position any longer, you clutched your plate carefully in one hand and slowly sat back into your pile of duvets and supportive pillows. Loki held his hand out for your plate without comment, and you handed it over so that you could use both hands to get comfortable before retrieving it from him. You were acutely aware of both the small amount of relief the supportive position held and the way his thumb rested against the nape of your neck, brushing your skin just enough to raise goosebumps.

“Well, as you’ve so nicely put it, I’m ‘substandard’. Here on Earth, it’s just called disabled, if they’re going to be nice about it. It’s why I take so many different meds. Anyway, there’s a theory called the ‘Spoon Theory’ that was used to explain how people who identify it have to go about their daily lives.”

You took a beat, gathering your thoughts and taking another bite of your sandwich, watching him as he listened to you. You had his full attention, and it was almost too intense to be the sole focus of his piercing gaze as he waited for you to continue. Clearing your throat, you plowed on, doing your best not to ramble too much, “Everything is harder for me, but you know that. It’s why you brought the books. You figured out that I was going to be exhausted and in more pain from going to that party. The way the spoon theory would phrase that is that I used up spoons from the next day to have more fun that night. It’s easier to explain if I have spoons handy, or something to draw with…”

He huffed in exasperation and held out one elegant hand. Spoons, presumably from your kitchen, flew into his outstretched hand. You only had four, living alone and all, but it would do to prove your point. You took them with a nod of gratitude before pressing on, “So, say I’m having a really terrible pain day and I wake up knowing that I’m not going to have the physical and mental strength to get much done that day. So, I have to decide what is important to ‘spend’ my spoons on and what isn’t.

“Getting out of bed already takes away one spoon.” You place one on his thigh. “Cooking usually is the one thing I can kind of let go, with food delivery and freezer meals, so I can forget that. But then it takes spoons to shower, get ready for the day, change out of my pjs, do any tidying up, etc. If I desperately needed to shower, for instance,” you dropped the rest of your spoons unceremoniously onto the duvet currently cocooning you, “then that’d be all that I really got done for the day. It’s just a way for those not in the disability community to understand how we have to look at life and prioritize what we do each day.”

He was silent for several minutes, frowning in thought.

You left him to it, finishing the rest of your cooling sandwich before leaving the plate in your lap. It wasn’t worth leaning forward and possibly falling on your face just to put it on the ramshackle coffee table.

“What do you do when you cannot finish all of your tasks for the day?” His expression was difficult to read, curiosity and frustration warring on his elegant features.

“Well, I do what I can. And I hope that whatever I can’t get done can either wait until tomorrow or isn’t important.”

He grabbed a book from the impressive stack that he renewed daily on your coffee table, resuming his previous position that anchored his thumb to the nape of your neck. The familiar touch made you shiver, but you couldn’t pinpoint the exact reasons why.

“That will not do. Your fragile mortal body is already delicate enough as it is without you taking proper care of it,” he stated, matter-of-fact, cracking open the book in his deft-fingered hands. “I will be of your assistance when necessary.”

You opened your mouth to say something, then shut it, unable to come up with the words to properly express your confusion at his insistence to help you out. You eventually eeked out: “Why?”

He glanced over as if you were a remedial child in need of education. “Because my time in what Stark generously calls a Tower does not require all my hours.”

God, he was a dick sometimes. “Why me,” you clarified.

A smile touched at his lips. “Because, as I told you at the gala, I know what it is like to appear as everyone on the outside, yet be different on the inside. We are kindred spirits, you and I.”

You snorted. “Sure. We’re practically soulmates. Apart from the whole destroying New York thing,” you deadpanned.

He arched a black-as-sin brow. “As you well know, mortal, I was not myself during that period.”

Your stomach lurched, and guilt ate at you a little, making the sandwich you just finished sit like lead. "I know." Over the last few months, you had learned that while Loki could be an arrogant asshole, a pedant and an egomaniac, he wasn't a destroyer of worlds. "Sorry."

He rolled a shoulder as if this was no big deal. "I have learned a thing or two about perception, Midgardian."

And then he picked up a battered copy of Hamlet and started to read to you as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe your life wasn't perfect. But cocooned in the duvet, your stomach full of grilled cheese, your feet propped on his solid thigh, listening to the cadence of his soothing British drawl, you thought: it's pretty darn close.