#ill try and make him as cheap as i possible can without just loosing me money

[gloomylies]

Planning on making him into a keychain… WISH ME LUCK

[madquerade]

In Questo Paradiso ne Scopra il Nuovo Dì (4/10)

Rating: m Ineffable Wives (female Crowley x Aziraphale) Major Character Death, tw: illness, blood Human AU, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, just a lil fluff but like… You can read it on Ao3 @ sherwhotreksings Chapter: one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

Paris. 1851. She’s not sure if she’s real or imaginary, the girl sitting on a chair across from her bed. She sees her though: dark hair, golden brown eyes, dressed in white, Azira’s sister. She can’t be sure anything is real at this point. The only thing she knows for sure is that she’s home now and she’s dying. ~ This is just La Traviata but with the wives. I’m sorry. Antonia is a Parisian courtesan caught up in the intricacies of French society until a young madame, Azira, disrupts her whole world.

Chapter 2

Antonia is dozing in Azira’s arms, and it’s everything she’s ever wanted. She fades in and out of consciousness, comforted by the feeling of Azira’s fingers tangled in her hair and the stroke of her hand on her neck. She can tell Azira is speaking to her, but just quiet enough that she has to really concentrate in order to hear. It’s probably just idle talking, but Antonia listens anyway, eyes closed and breaths as even as possible so she doesn’t give herself away.

“This is my Eden. You are my paradise, Antonia.” Azira plants a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

Antonia’s heart constricts in fear. They’re thousands of francs in debt. It took so much to get away from her past life and their luxurious countryside estate isn’t cheap. She couldn’t deny Azira when she promised her she’d make sure she had the finest things. But, she has a plan to fix it all. If she sells everything from her past life, her evening clothes, furniture, Paris estate, she’ll have just enough to pay off their debt and keep their countryside home for a few months more. She can discuss with Azira what to do after the debt is gone.

Antonia stretches and yawns feigning her normal behavior after waking up from a nap.

“Mon Amour,” Antonia starts, “I have to speak with Marceline, but I’ll be back soon.” She heads off towards the kitchen in search of her maid.

“Marceline! Are we settled with our arrangement? It seems things are more urgent than I thought originally. The Baronne is getting impatient.”

Marceline picks up letters from the nearby table and holds them out to Antonia. “We’ve gotten a few inquiries. It’s not what you were hoping for, but sufficient enough.”

“Then please, go to Paris quickly.”

Antonia shuffles through the papers reading the offered amounts and the letters from that day. Among the offers is an invitation to Flora’s latest party in a week’s time. She hasn’t been out in proper high society since the night she intimately joined with Azira for the first time. Letting herself be free of her work was the best decision she’s ever made. She loves Flora, but she won’t ever go back.

A sharp pain shoots through her chest knocking what little air her lungs contain out of her. She tears at her bodice to try and allow more room for breathing, but the strong material and her stays don’t budge. The pain recedes and she sucks in air in short shallow breaths. Anything more than that and she’ll throw herself into a fit. The doctor says it’s important she keeps her coughing down. Her handkerchiefs say the same.

She hurries to the washroom to splash some water on her face, taking some time to compose herself, and then to their sitting room where their desk is. She puts the sensitive information in her desk drawer, but leaves the rest on top, hoping Azira won’t go snooping. As she sets down the invitation she notices a note from Azira.

Mon Amour,

I called for Marceline and a yard boy told me

she left for Paris on an errand.

I have gone to Paris to stop her and

I will be back soon.

You should not have-

A strong rap on the door echoes through the quiet house. She puts the note down to answer it, now the only one here to do so. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, but that doesn’t mean much. As a courtesan she regularly had uninvited guests appear at her door.

A tall man is staring at her from the other side, his dark greying hair ruffled from the hat he holds in his hand, his outfit accented with purple.

“You must be Mademoiselle Crowley,” the man says, voice tinged with displeasure.

She tightens her grip on the door, bolstering herself for what is to come.

“My name is Gabriel Donadieu, Azira’s father.” He pushes past her through the entryway, shoes clacking ominously on the brick.

Antonia follows behind him at a safe distance to the receiving room. She can feel the anger radiating off him. Her skillset says be cautious, but courteous. She has no idea why he’s here, but the reason can’t be good if this is how he chooses to meet Antonia for the first time.

“Antonia, Azira will be ruined if the two of you continue on like this.” He sets his hat down on the side table next to the settee, insinuating his intention of not leaving anytime soon. “She wrote to me asking for help with what you owe. You must give this up. This is no way to live. Especially for two women.”

“Excuse me, but you are in my residence and you have no right to talk to me like that. I ask you to leave now, Monsieur.” She gathers her skirts in her left hand, prepared to show him out herself if she must.

Gabriel advances towards her. “Mademoiselle-” Antonia scoffs at the honorific. “-I advise you to watch your words. It is you who has no right to talk like that to me considering what you do and that you’re une gouine[1].”

It’s not often that Antonia is shaken by something, but she visibly recoils at the insult. Instead of giving this man what he wants, she tips her chin up and sets her face into a stony mask. Hatred over who someone loves isn’t as common as it once was and isn’t a problem in her circles of society anyway. No one cares if their prized courtesan sleeps with a man one day and woman the next.

Gabriel glares at her, accenting each word with a step towards Antonia. “I refuse to let Azira give you everything she has and throw her life away.”

Antonia doesn’t let her mask fall, but is pushed backwards by Gabriel’s ever approaching steps until she bumps into the settee, which startles her enough to feel the fluttering of a coughing fit in her lungs. She scrambles for her handkerchief as she doubles over coughing. She doesn’t dare look at it once her cough has subsided, and balls it into her fist instead.

She straightens up, resolve unwavering. “And I would refuse if she offered. I have a plan as well.” She crosses to the desk, pulling out the letters and holding them out. “I’m selling all my things in Paris. My maid is going as we speak.”

Gabriel rejects the letters with a gesture, waving her off. “It’s not just that. Your past is a stain on your reputation.”

She clenches her jaw. Her past doesn’t matter to anyone she cares about. “My past was forgiven when Azira chose to love me and I chose to love her. Everything that came before doesn’t matter.”

“You and I both know that’s not what God sees. In order to be truly forgiven you’ll need to make a great sacrifice. Please, for the sake of both my children, give her up.” Gabriel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a picture, holding it close to his chest until Antonia is looking. “I have another daughter. Her betrothed has refused to marry her unless you leave and their wedding is soon. Would you take my daughter’s chance at happiness away from her?”

Antonia steps closer. The young girl in the picture has long dark hair, curled, but hanging loosely around her shoulders. A soft smile graces her lips. She’s about the same age Antonia was when she started her work as a courtesan. Her flowing light dress pools gently at her feet and she clutches the arm of a young gentleman staring ahead unsmiling.

“My family will be disgraced unless you give up Azira. We’ll be ruined.”

She looks away from the picture, unable to hold the gaze of the young girl. She can’t rip this love from the couple. She can’t let another person live the way she has for so many years.

Antonia dabs at her chest and face as she contemplates what Gabriel is saying. “Azira and I will separate then. Your daughter will be free to get married. Then after the affair is finished Azira and I will join once again.” She nods slowly, satisfied with her choice. She can give up her love for a week or two in order to protect the dreams of another. It’ll be precious time wasted when she has so little left, but the guilt…

“You don’t understand. That is not a sacrifice. You must give her up completely.” Gabriel returns the picture to his pocket and holds out his empty hand to her palm up.

Antonia inhales sharply, coughing into her handkerchief, the dark blood a reminder of everything. “I refuse. I love Azira and I won’t. She’s the only thing I have in the world. You can’t ask me to give her up completely.”

He steps closer to her from the other side of the settee, grabbing her elbow. “Only a sacrifice of this scale will allow you to have all the happiness you could ever desire. You will be made pure again in the eyes of God.”

She shakes her head. Giving up Azira would be the end. “I’m dying,” Antonia sobs, “If I lose Azira it’ll kill me faster. I can’t have my last moments be without Azira. I’ll never love another person.” She pulls her arm from Gabriel’s grasp, doubling over to catch her breath.

“You are young and beautiful, you’ll find another to love. Besides, you homosexuals are notoriously unfaithful. One day time will erase your youth and beauty and she will become bored and restless. You won’t have her lasting affection because heaven won’t bless a union such as this.”

Antonia shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.” She says one thing, but she can’t stop the sneaking doubt creeping into her mind. Who’s to say Azira wouldn’t tire and leave her? After all, she declared her everlasting love to her after their first introduction. Staying with Azira could lead to her heartbreak anyway. Will Azira stay with her through her death or abandon her like everyone else before?

“Gouine!” Gabriel spits. “Abandon this dream. Put aside your illusions. Be an angel of mercy to my family! God herself inspires my plea!”

How could she think there would be a happy ending for her and Azira? Her fate stacks against her.

Tears fall silently from her cheek onto her chest making her pale skin seem to sparkle in the afternoon light. She thanks whoever is left watching over her that it was a calm cry until now. A sob is ripped from her burning chest as she falls to the settee. Her legs and illness betray her and she crumples to the floor instead.

“So this is the miserable fate of a fallen woman,” Antonia cries to the sky, letting the cough she’s been holding back come roaring out of her throat. Little droplets of spit go flying as she continues her lament. “Never again will I have any hope in my life. Even if God forgives me, man will not.” She can see the droplets that landed on her skirt are staining it red.

She lets her thoughts flit through her mind as if on a spring breeze that she doesn’t have the energy to capture. She was stupid and reckless for thinking she could have everything she wanted and now she’s getting her punishment. Her crying is ugly. And sloppy. And everything a courtesan isn’t. Gabriel gives her the time she needs to cry, but his menacing presence isn’t a comfort.

Antonia tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice, tries to remain poised, but she’s long past that point. “If I do this, you must speak with your other daughter and tell her what I did for her. I had one ray of light left in my life and I’m sacrificing it for her before I die.”

Gabriel uncrosses his arms, but keeps his feet planted firmly in front of her. “You’ll be treated well in life because of your suffering. God will bless your noble act.”

She scoffs, but she’s too tired to fight his insistence. She’ll die before she gets any blessings. Perhaps her blessing will be a swift and painless death.

Calming, she dabs at her face and lips. She can taste the metallic tang on her lips and can tell the blood has stained their center darker. “Tell me how... How do I leave her?” She pushes herself to her feet with the help of the settee, matching her stance with Gabriel’s though he’s a head taller than her.

“Tell her you’ve come to your senses and you no longer love her.” Gabriel cocks his head, waiting for a response, like a hawk looking at a mouse.

Antonia lets another sob escape. “She won’t believe me.” She presses a hand to her face, feeling the warmth instead of the ice she’s used to. “And if I leave she’ll follow me.”

Gabriel crosses his arms once more, displeased by her lack of a solution. The devotion of the lovers runs deep.

No, in order to say goodbye to Azira, she’ll have to break her heart completely. It’s the only way Azira will let her go. Antonia glances around the room, arms wrapped around her stomach in despair. There isn’t anything she could do or say to convince Azira she’s not completely in love with her- Her eyes settle on the invitation resting on the desk, Flora’s party. If she goes back to her old life after everything they’ve done, after Azira rescued her from it, after Azira saved what was left of her soul, it might just convince her.  If she wants her plan to work, she’ll have to move fast.

“I’ll do it, but you must promise me two things.”

Gabriel considers her for a moment and Antonia can’t help but feel like the mouse again. A shiver runs down her spine.

“Once I’m dead, don’t let her curse my memory.” Even as they speak, she can feel her death rushing faster and faster towards her. It seems so real now. She wasn’t ignoring it before, but it seemed so distant when Azira held her. Now she can feel how weak she actually is; how the cold isn’t coming from the open window, but rather from inside her. “And tell her of my sacrifice. Make sure she knows my last heartbeat is for her.”

Gabriel nods his acceptance, picking up his hat from the side table. “Au revoir[2], mademoiselle Crowley.

“Oh Dieu[3].” Antonia’s tears flow freely again. “We won’t see each other again. Make sure Azira is happy.”

“Au revoir,” Gabriel repeats, stepping towards the door.

“Adieu[4],” Antonia replies, watching as Gabriel shows himself out.

How can she tell Azira of what she’s doing in a way she’ll accept without question. Antonia will have to be gone when Azira gets back. There’s no way she’ll be able to do this in person. One look into her eyes and it’ll be over. One look at her lips, her hair, her body, how she smiles at her when she’s in love, hears the hearty laugh she gives when she gets home, sees the look of concern once she notices something is wrong, and it’ll be all over.

Antonia curses, “Ah Dieu, give me the courage,” and moves to the desk, pulling out her pen and paper. The chair feels harsh and unforgiving as she settles in, much like her own mind.

Azira,

Antonia stops and scratches it out. She has no right to use her name like that anymore.

Madame Azira Donadieu,

I have made a mistake. The affection I previously expressed to you was false, and I now feel that my indifference towards you grows stronger every day. I’m afraid your opinion of love was wrong. I miss my old life and have come to view you as a figure of contempt. If we were united, it would only cause a great hatred to blossom inside me. I do not have a faithful heart to offer you, nor do you have one to offer me.

She collapses onto the table, bawling. Every word is a lie. Her sobs shake her body as the table digs uncomfortably into her ribs. She loves Azira with every remaining breath she has. Her hand cramps from writing in this position, but she doesn’t have the will power to sit up.

Baronne Beelze has graciously offered me his guidance and patronage.

Not a complete lie. The Baronne did offer his patronage. She turned it down at the time, but he made sure she knew it was outstanding.

I think sincerely, and you will do me the greatest pleasure in avoiding me. I’ll excuse any lack of response with your compliance to my request.

Adieu, Madame Antonia Crowley

She finishes the letter with her signature, sloppy from the angle, and lets her head fall down onto her arm.

“What are you doing, Antonia?” A familiar voice asks.

“Nothing.” She bolts up, letter in hand, folding it quickly and holding it behind her back to conceal it from Azira.

“You’re upset. Who are you writing to?” Azira takes a step closer, holding out a hand for Antonia to take, which she ignores though it breaks her heart.

“To you.”

“Let me see!” Azira reaches towards her hand holding the letter, but she extends her arm out of Azira’s reach, hopping away.

“It’s nothing.” Antonia holds her breath, waiting for Azira to back away. She can’t do it like this.

Azira does what Antonia expects and turns away, “Forgive me. I’m worried.”

Antonia takes the few extra seconds away from Azira’s eyes to tuck the letter into her bodice, shifting her handkerchief over so they’ll both fit, and wipes at her face with her hands, desperately trying to rid any evidence of distress from her face.

Azira paces the receiving room floor. “I left to stop Marceline from selling your things and I returned to my father’s carriage waiting outside.”

Antonia takes a few hurried steps towards her. “Did you see him?” Her adrenaline is keeping most thoughts of her illness at bay and allowing her to stay on her feet though she wishes to do anything but.

“No, not yet. He wrote me a harsh letter, but I know once he meets you, he’ll love you.” She offers Antonia a reassuring smile and tries to cup Antonia’s face.

Antonia’s hand hovers above Azira’s, almost lost in the fantasy once again, but then she’s dodging her. Ah, how much misplaced faith she puts in Antonia. It’ll hurt that much more once she’s gone. Her skirt swirls around her as she lunges out of Azira’s reach.

Antonia says urgently, “You go first and calm him. Your presence will reassure him and then we can meet him together.” Her eyes light up with her internal hysterics. “I’ll fall at his feet and he won’t deny us our happiness. We can live together forever.” She holds out her hands, grasping at the air. “I love you, Azira, I love you.” Her breathing speeds up as her head starts to spin. “You love me, you do love me.”

Azira holds out her arms for Antonia, brow furrowed in concern, tears in her own eyes threatening to release.

And Antonia can’t resist. She falls into her, legs threatening to give out. Repeating, “Love me, Azira, love me,” and “I love you,” over and over as Azira frantically comforts her. This will be the last time she’ll hear it.

“I adore you!”

The emotion behind Azira’s voice shreds her. She sobs into Azira’s shoulder, jacket sleeves clutched and wrinkling in her fists.

“Why are you crying?” She kisses Antonia’s cheek like an arrow to her heart.

There’s no way Azira will believe her if she continues to act like this.

She straightens up and lets go of Azira’s jacket, letting her arms float down to her sides. Her head and her chest ache, and her lungs feel like they might explode, but she does her best to hide it all. She does her best to hide her fear and sorrow and grief.

“I was just overcome. I’m better now.” She fakes a smile, knowing Azira can see right through her. “See I’m smiling.”

Azira strokes her hair, but Antonia puts her hands on her chest and pushes her back. It doesn’t work. She doesn’t have the strength, and Azira just reaches for her again. Antonia steps back, knowing the only way to escape is by putting distance between them.

Slowly she backs towards the door, pushing down all her feelings. “I’ll be outside among the flowers, always near you.”

She turns and hurries to the door, throwing it open, but stopping in the doorway, one hand placed on either side of the frame. It hits her then that if all goes to plan this’ll be the last time she’ll see Azira, the last time she speaks to Azira, the last time she tells her how much she loves her. It’s overwhelming and she feels pulled as if tethered back to Azira’s side.

Antonia pivots to face Azira, letting all her frustration and heartbreak out. “Love me, Azira!” She stumbles closer towards her outstretched arms. “Love me as I love you!”

She throws herself into Azira’s waiting arms, ready to memorize exactly how they feel. The press of their chests together does nothing to calm her like it normally does. She wraps her arms around Azira’s neck and laces her fingers into her golden hair.

“Please love me as I adore you,” Antonia whispers into Azira’s ear.

Azira peppers heavy kisses everywhere she can reach. It makes leaving her that much harder.

Placing a hand on each of Azira’s cheeks and resting her forehead on her’s, she closes her eyes to say, “Adieu.”

Azira’s hands skate over her hips and back and shoulders, grabbing at her needily. Antonia gives her one last kiss, hoping to convey how desperately she loves Azira, before backing up and using what’s left of her energy to run out the front door.

She pulls the door shut behind her, slumping against it. She only has a few seconds to catch her breath before Azira comes out to find her father. Pushing through her pain, lungs on fire, she hurries to the nearest person she can find, a gardener.

She retrieves the letter from where it was tucked in her bodice and holds it out. “Please find Marceline and tell her to meet me in Paris, and then give this to Azira.” Her heart pounds in her chest, repeating over and over ‘go back, go back,’ practically pleading with her. Luckily she’s had enough practice ignoring the sorry begging of affected souls.

-

[1] A homophobic slur for lesbian

[2] An informal goodbye, equivalent to see you later

[3] “Oh God”

[4] A formal goodbye meant to be final

[robinsdoghouseofwhump]

Gabriel's Dangerous New Owners (AU)

(Aaaaaah! We finally finished this! Me and miss @whumping-every-day have been working on this piece since November! I'm soso glad to be able to work with her again)

(So backstory, this piece came from an ask that I sent her and it turned into a full blown project. This is the only chapter of this but I think it's my best writing yet. All characters belong to @whumping-every-day)

-

-

"Here it is," A small thing was shoved to the floor in front of the cherry wood desk with a thud. "It’s in very good condition, and very well behaved." 

The woman behind the desk was impassive. “This is what you’re trying to trade us?” She pursed her lips, eyes cold. “What do you think, Stefan?”

The second figure looming behind her didn’t respond at first, except to cross his arms and frown. “Doesn’t look worth thirty grand to me.” 

“No, it doesn’t, does he.” The first man shifted uneasily; this was his last-ditch effort, after all. He didn’t have thirty grand to give them. 

“I assure you that it’s worth it. I’ve had a few pets, this one is by far the most obedient. And still so responsive.” The man fisted a hand in the kneeling figure’s hair; there was a small whimper, but no other sound. The narrowing of Stefan’s eyes and the tensing of Maria’s shoulders could almost be mistaken for a trick of the light. 

“Here’s a thought,” Maria purred. She leaned forward against the desk, and despite her being perhaps half the weight of the two men in the room, she radiated danger. “We take your boy. And in exchange, instead of breaking every bone in your body and then dumping it into a vat of acid, you can have another month to get us our money.” 

“But-” The man balked, and indignation flared in his eyes. “That wasn’t the deal. I’ll give him to you in exchange for waiving my debt.” 

“Mmm…” Maria paused, cocked her head, smiled. “Nope.” 

Stefan outright laughed behind her, shaking his head. “There you have it. We’ll take what you’re offering… and then, if you haven’t found a way to pay us properly within a month, we’ll take everything else.” 

“Really, you’re getting a better deal than most.” Her nails drummed a tat-tat-tat pattern against the polished cherry as Maria spoke. “See, normally when people can’t pay, they don’t walk out in one peice.” 

The threat, as tame as it was, elicited another tiny whimper from the boy kneeling on their floor. 

"Come on, please, I need more than a month for that much money! Please give me more time." The man's voice wavered a bit, and the two siblings smirked at his begging. 

"If you thought that one of your old pets was going to cut it, you're wrong." Stefen frowned. "Come on Todd, I thought you knew how we operate. Human property will buy you an extension. That’s all." The sound of a gun being clicked made the boy duck his head down and cower where he knelt. 

Tod went pale, took a step back. “Oh, come on… I’ve got a month, right? I can make that work.” His voice shook ever so slightly, giving away his fear. “I can get your money.” 

“Oh?” Maria’s lips pulled up in a grin, saccharine and threatening. “Well now, that’s a change in tune. You have a month. No more.” The man nodded frantically, apparently having given up on words, and Maria waved a hand. “That’s good enough for me, then. You, get out.” The words are very clearly directed at Todd. “And of course, leave your pet plaything.” 

Todd nodded shakily, and there was a visible tremor in his hands as he backed away, eyes still fixed on the weapon at Stefan’s hip. 

“I’ll get your money,” he squeaked. Then he was at the door, and a guard opened it from the outside. It thudded shut behind him, and then the two siblings were alone with the quivering boy on the floor.

Stefan sighed, and his hand fell from the butt of his weapon. Then he crouched down in front of the little thing. "Hey bud, look at me." The man tipped his chin up with a finger, and frightened blue sapphires welled up with tears met his eyes. "Are you alright?"

No response.

"I asked you a question little one, can you answer for me?" His tone turned softer, but firmer. "Do you have a name?" 

The boy only whimpered and shook as tears washed down his dirty cheeks. He was trembling faintly, something distant in his eyes. 

"Do you think he's mute?" Maria looked down at the boy and ran a hand along his dark curls. "I wouldn't be surprised, Todd doesn't take very good care of his possessions."

"No, I think he's just scared." Stefan frowned a bit and tapped the boy's chin. "He has a right to be, though. We did just send his owner running like a beaten dog." 

“Mm.”

At the mention of a beating, even in passing, the boy trembled harder. It seemed like he was doing his best to be quiet, but he couldn’t help the way his breath was shaky, or the little not-quite-whimpers that escaped every few seconds. 

“You’re not going to calm him down right away,” Maria said, pushing to her feet from the plush chair. “I’ll tell you what. Here’s what I think might help…” 

She crossed out from behind the desk, and even though she was smaller than her brother, the fluidity in her motions spoke to something deadly. Stefan stepped aside automatically.

The leather of the boy’s collar was stiff against her fingers. Maria tested the give of it as gently as possible, frowning at the state of his neck; it had been rubbed raw from the tightness of it. "Up, little one. Don't be shy." Her words were soft, and the boy shakily scrambled up to his feet, sheer terror etched in sapphire eyes.

"Good boy. Now come along, we need to get you fed and bathed." A warm smile starkly contrasted her demeanor from earlier as she rubbed a thumb along his cheek. "And definitely some rest in a proper bed. These bags aren't flattering at all under your pretty eyes." 

"Maria? What are you doing? I thought we were gonna put him with the rest of the other pets." Stefan's tone turned sharper, clearly not amused with the idea of keeping a house pet in their mansion.

"Oh come, brother, can I not give our new guest some comfort?" The woman gently took hold of the boy's hand, noting the redness and bruises on his wrist. "Come along, little one." She led him out of the room with a warm and gentle hand towards the bathroom, the boy trying not to look in awe at the lavish mansion hallway they walked down.

“This is the public wing,” Maria explained as they walked. “This is where we entertain guests, throw balls, conduct business.” And threaten people who owed them money, she finished in her head. 

They passed two security guards on the way, both silent and shadowed. They both nodded to Maria as they passed, and she waved them off, signalling that everything was okay. The boy watched them with big, hollow eyes, before refastening his gaze to the carpet.

“And this,” Maria continued like she had never stopped, “is the private wing.” They stopped in front of a pair of oak doors, and they opened soundlessly when she pushed. 

There was a lot to see; rich colors, expensive furnishings, decorative rugs and soft throws. But Maria just took the boy’s shoulder and guided him with her to the upstairs bathroom. 

He was trembling when they stopped. 

"There there, let's get you in the bath, little one." Maria sat on the edge of the tub and turned the dial on the faucet. Warm, steamy water rushed out and quickly filled the marble bath. 

"Can you take your clothes off for me?" She gave a gentle smile, and her eyes were warm, dimples showing in olive skin. "We need to get you cleaned up. Then I’ll have one of the kitchen staff bring us something to eat.” 

His stomach growled audibly at the mention of food, and the boy’s eyes widened in horror at the sound. But Maria only shook her head. 

“Clothes now, food soon,” she murmured, and he nodded quickly and stiffly began pulling his clothes off. “Can you talk, hmm?” The question was gentle, but the boy still flinched, ducked his head. Maria watched him carefully, and her eyes were serious under the warmth. 

He seemed to be waiting for something, stuck halfway with one arm in his shirt and one out. They were cheap clothes, Maria noted with displeasure; dirty and ill-fitted. She would get him something nicer soon, perhaps something loose and silky… 

"How about you tell me your name? Don't be shy, little bird." Maria ran a hand along his dark curls gently as she helped guide the shirt over his head properly. Then she offered a hand, and the boy hesitated, but still held on tightly as she helped him into the warm tub. The water made him tense up as goosebumps travelled up his bare skin, but he settled in the tub without a fuss. 

"I bet you have a beautiful name, and a beautiful voice too." She tried to coax him with a tender tone as she slid a hand down his back with a washcloth, wiping off a sheet of dirt and blood.

"Todd needs to take better care of his things, huh." It wasn’t really a question, and the boy’s big eyes followed her hands as she reached up to stroke his cheek, tenderly tracing across a yellowing bruise. “But then… you’re not Todd’s anymore, are you.” The boy shivered, dropped his eyes, and Maria just smiled faintly. 

He didn’t seem inclined to speak; in fact, the boy still looked utterly terrified, and Maria’s smile faded. 

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s going to be better here,” she promised gently. More silence. “Come on, then,” she added after a moment. “Time to clean you up. You're doing great, pumpkin. Can you lift your arms so I can wash you down?" She took a shower sponge and pressed it against the bruises on his back, (which was pretty much the entirety of it) gently getting all the dirt and caked on blood off. 

Soon, the bath water turned to an ugly brownish-grey. 

“Hair next,” she said, and the boy flinched. Maria frowned, but she just squirted the shampoo onto her hands and gently instructed the boy to lie back. “There you go, good.” His hair was oily and dirty, and Maria washed it twice, being careful of the knots and tangles. When it was done she had him sit up, and then offered a hand to help him out of the bathtub. "Oh, sweet thing. You're shivering like a kitten." She wrapped Stefan's heavy robe around him, easily burying the boy in soft and fluffy material.

He looked younger like that, somehow; fresh-faced and shivering, despite the bruises and bloodied lip. 

"There, now I can see your handsome face better." She pushed his wet hair past his eyes, still tired and dark. "Let's get you dressed and then we can get you fed. We have lots of fruit and sweets for good boys like you." A hand grabbed his as she led him out to the foyer, where a fresh change of clothes were already set out by the servants. 

"I can take it from here, if you want." Stefan's voice came from behind them, and the boy jumped, earning a chuckle from the giant man. "He didn't give you trouble, did he?"

Maria just laughed. “Trouble? From this one?” She shook her head, reached out to gently pet the boy’s wet curls. “You might as well expect trouble from a skittish puppy.” 

"That's good at least. He still hasn't spoken, has he?" The question was directed to his sibling, but the pet shrunk down at his tone as Stefan walked over with a clean set of clothes in hand. 

He was holding out the silky bottoms in front of the boy, expecting him to step in them. "Come on buddy, one foot first, then the other."

Beside him, Maria raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want to keep a pet in the manor? You were grouchy about it.” 

Stefan huffed, didn’t meet her eyes. “Don’t buy too much into it,” he muttered. Then, to the pet, “You, in the pants, come on. Hold on to me if you have to.” 

The boy only looked at the larger man with terror in his eyes, but he reached out with a shaking hand to steady himself against Stefan’s shoulder, then clumsily stepped into the pants. 

In the end, the boy was swimming in the clothes. The shirt hung off of his skinny frame, slipping down one shoulder to showcase delicate collarbones and the ring of bruises around his neck. 

“Poor thing,” Maria murmured. “Stefan, love, would you ask the kitchen staff to send something up to eat? Something light on his stomach?” 

"Some fruit and oatmeal sounds nice doesn't it?" Stefan rang the bell on the wall, signaling the servants to come up. "But I would like him to ask for the food himself." 

The boy looked up with wide eyes as a pitiful whine came out of his throat. Nonononono please… don't make me talk.

"Stefan, you can't ask him to do that, he hasn't spoken a word since he's been here." Maria wrapped her arms around the shaking boy, stilling him as she ran her fingers past his curls more. "We'll work on getting him to talk later, right now he needs to eat." 

The boy only trembled in her arms, eyes darting fearfully between Stefan and the floor. He didn’t understand what was going on. These two were strange; the woman had been gentle with him so far, but Gabriel knew that it wouldn’t last for long. And the man… the man frightened him. These two had frightened his Master - or, his former Master, now. 

The servants came in silently as Stefan ordered dinner for the boy. “Stefan, I’m going to take him upstairs,” she murmured. “Meet us there?” She waited for a nod, before gently steering the boy out of the room. 

He still wouldn’t look up at her. His wrist was limp where she held his hand, and every time she reached out to steady him, he would flinch away minutely before going still. Maria was careful not to let her calm demeanor falter, but her lips thinned just a little as the extent of the boy’s treatment. He really did act like a beaten dog, head-shy and scared out of his mind. 

She got him upstairs, and for a moment, she hesitated between the small, private living room or one of the spare bedrooms. Beside her, the boy’s eyes drifted down the hall, past open doors, to one of the beds - his eyes fastened on it, and he immediately went pale. 

“No no, hey,” Maria murmured quickly. “This way, sweetheart.” She pulled him along gently, and it took a few moments, but the stricken, horrified expression eventually shuttered and dimmed. “Here we go, sit.” 

She tried to steer him to the couch, but the boy dropped like a stone at the command to sit. He folded to his knees on the plush carpet, and then he huddled there, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. 

“I - hmm.” Maria opened her mouth, hesitated, thought better of it. Instead of objecting, she slid around him and sunk onto the couch herself. The position put them at a considerable height difference, but the boy only shied away at her movement and then froze. 

Neither of them moved for a long moment, but soon Stefan came upstairs with a silver tray of food. Golden pineapple slices, ruby red cherries, and juicy strawberries adorned the plate, and a large bowl of oatmeal sat in the center of it all. A swirl of maple syrup in it, like liquid amber made the food look so good. Off to the side was a tall glass of a weird brown liquid that bubbled and fizzed and popped.  

"Hey there bud, we have food for you." The tall man smiled and set it down on the coffee table. Maria beckoned him to sit as well while her brother got on the other side of the white velvet couch. "Good boys use the furniture here, don't worry." 

"That's right, so come up here so we can get some food in that stomach of yours." Stefan's voice was much more soft than it was downstairs, which either made the boy less scared or more uneasy, which seemed like the latter was happening. 

“We should send for one of the doctors, tomorrow,” Maria said, mostly ignoring the quiet panic that the boy was having. 

The boy knew that pets didn’t belong on the furniture. He had been punished for this before, a snapped backhand to the face if he was lucky, a caning or burns if he wasn’t. Tears rose in his eyes as he hung there in confusion. 

He wanted to be good. But good boys use the furniture here - that’s what his new Mistress had said. Was this a new test? Was this his first lesson, to be learned and re-learned until it stuck? 

The boy sniffled softly. He wanted to be good. And to be good, this time… he had to do as he was told. 

His trembling instantly worsened at the feeling of soft fabric under his hands. He slunk up into the couch like a wounded animal, and when Maria smiled and went to pat his hair again, the boy yelped and twisted his face away to avoid the slap. 

“... Yikes.” Stefan raised an eyebrow, frowning at where the boy was still waiting for a blow that wasn’t coming. 

“I’m not going to hit you, baby.” There’s an undeniable sadness in Maria’s voice. The boy’s face was still all scrunched up, but he peeled an eye open as the seconds kept ticking by and no slap came. 

There were so many bruises staining his skin that Maria didn’t blame him. 

"Let's just get him fed and off to bed, I'm too tired for this." Stefen set the platter down on the coffee table, right in front of the shaking boy. 

The food smelled so good, and it looked like better food than he had ever had in his life. But… he still couldn't eat until…

"Go on hun, it's all for you." That same sweet voice beckoned him, urged him to take a bite, and he did. 

He let a shaky hand pick up a slice of pineapple, yellow like the sun, and not unlike some of the bruises on his neck. He brought the sweet fruit to his teeth and bit down, letting a torrent of nectar burst out and into his mouth. It tasted so good, and soon, the whole platter was cleared of fruit. The bowl of oatmeal was next, and that proved to be a bigger challenge to him. His shaking hand couldn't grip the spoon very well and it kept falling back on the platter. Eventually Stefan had to take the spoon himself and feed the boy. 

"You know, the last thing I thought I was going to do tonight was baby a pet too scared to feed himself oatmeal." The dark haired man had a slightly flippant tone, which made the boy fold in on himself even more. 

"Brother, be nice to him, you can't blame him for being like this. I mean, who would want to be around a smelly oaf like Todd? I would be shaking too." Maria's voice was less flippant and more sarcastic, but it wasn't directed towards the boy. 

"Whatever, let's just get this over with. Where should we put him?" Stefan fed him the last spoonful of oatmeal, his face now a tad messy from the hot cereal. 

“I was thinking the second spare room,” Maria answered. “It’s a bit smaller, might be less overwhelming.” 

"A spare bedroom? Have you lost your mind sis?" Stefan practically scoffed at the idea of a pet staying in one of their spare bedrooms. "Why not the garage?" 

Maria went very still for a moment, and she looked across at her brother with something like disbelief in her eyes. Then her expression clouded and went dark. 

“Why a bedroom? Because we live in a goddamn mansion, Stefan. We have so many extra rooms to spare. Also, and I feel like perhaps you have forgotten this, but…” Maria lifted a hand to rest carefully at the back of the boy’s neck, just over the crude collar. “This one isn’t for resale,” she reminded. “This one is ours, personally. So he stays in a bedroom, where he’s close, and he’s getting a custom collar tomorrow.” The words end of story were pretty clear, if unspoken. 

"Whatever. He can stay here in a bedroom, but I don't want to be responsible for him." Stefan knew not to argue with his sis too much, he could attest that to the amount of bodies she's racked up alone.

“Fine, you don’t have to be here.” There was a healthy amount of displeasure in Maria’s voice - but then there was a soft whimper and a tremor from beside her, and she winced. The boy had gone ashen pale, and he was hugging his middle, shoulders hunched up around his ears. Maria grit her teeth and made a conscious effort to even out her tone. 

“Stefan, if you’re not going to help, you are free to go. I am going to help little mouse here get settled.” 

She didn’t wait for her brother’s response; instead she climbed off the couch, and then snapped her fingers gently and patted her thigh. 

Clearly the boy had at least some proper training, because as soon as she clicked her fingers he was tripping over himself to follow. He gave Stefan a wide berth on the way past; the boy trembled in the man’s shadow, and there was a wide-eyed terror in his eyes that did not ease till they were out of the room. 

Maria took the boy's hand once he was at her side. She led him down the private wing of the mansion and into a narrow hallway. A click of a doorknob, and the creaking of unoiled hinges made way for a small bedroom, though significantly nicer than the small boy thought possible for someone like him. 

"This will be your room sweetheart. I hope it'll be ok for you. There is a small bathroom attached that you can use if you need." Maria's warm hands guided him to the bed, and pulled the satin covers back. "Now, you need your sleep. Off to bed with you, chop chop." 

For the first time that night the boy hesitated, staring at the soft mattress. It was a test, surely. He couldn’t simply go to bed like he was their guest. He needed to be helpful, useful, good. He balked when his new Mistress gave him a gentle nudge towards the bed, and that made him whimper, because resistance of any kind was bad. 

“What’s the matter, love?” Maria wasn’t impatient; not yet, anyway. She reached up to pet her fingers through his hair, and the boy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and quivered. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you,” she told him softly. 

"P-please M-Mistress…" The boy finally whimpered out, though it was nearly too soft to hear. "I-I w-want, want to help, I don't want to be bad." 

"Well there we are, I was beginning to think you couldn't talk at all." The woman smiled a bit. "Why don't you just lie down for me and then we'll talk about being useful tomorrow.” 

The boy looked up with big, scared blue eyes at that, afraid that he’s done something wrong. 

"Come on. Please?" She cupped his cheek gently. "If you be a good boy and go to sleep then I promise I'll give you something to help me with tomorrow. Sound fair?"

It took a moment, and the boy clearly didn’t trust her word. But in the end, his drive to obey her was stronger than his fear of the bed. He crawled in slowly, like the sheets might bite him, and curled into a little ball. 

“There you go.” Maria smiled down at him proudly and tucked the blanket in around him. The fluffy blanket dwarfed the boy; he was curled up so small that the lump he made could have just been another fold of the blanket. 

“Good boy, sweetheart,” Maria murmured, one last time. She could already tell that praise and encouragement would work wonders with this one. She stroked his soft curls away from his neck softly, and cooed inwardly at the way he shivered. “Sleep well.” 

She left him like that, curled up small on the softest mattress he’d ever laid on, under the softest blanket he’d ever touched. A click of the bedroom lock was soon heard, and for a moment, the little boy felt a bit safer in his now brand new home.

[pxndmonium]

Numinous — Bucky Barnes

Summary: "Numinous (adj): describing an experience which makes you fearful, yet fascinated. Awed yet attracted. The powerful personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired."

Maybe love is like rain. Sometimes gentle, sometimes torrential, steady, joyous, filling the earth, collecting in underground springs. Sometimes unwanted, unexpected. When it rains, when we love, life grows.

James is lost in himself, torned between the unknown, divided into two. When Corinne comes into his life, he feels right, weightless.

Yes, maybe love is like rain. And if love is like rain, James's love for her is a whole storm.

Warnings: descriptions of violence, mental illnesses, abuse.

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes/OC.

Words: about 1K.

A/N: Finally I had the courage to post something I really love writing. I have pre-written chapters and I'll decide when to post the next one once I finish another, that way I'll always have chapters to post and motivation to keep writing. The thingy I used was downloaded on Google so if it belongs to you, just text me and I'll work it out. @sophieisinlove and @just-call-me-mr-snoopy-pants are always supporting me when it comes to writing so my full love for both of you, my babies. Also, love and feedbacks are always welcomed! Have fun 🍑✨

Chapter I

It was a very quiet night in Budapest streets. Until he passed in front of that alley.

Keep walking, the rude voice inside his head says. It has nothing to do with you.

Yet, there he is, still like a statue, heavy breathing and fists clenched while the cry goes on and on, the rustling of fabrics and fists meeting flesh, the woman's whimpers echoing painfully in his ears. He tries to move his feet foraward, to keep walking because it has nothing to do with him. But he stays, he's paralyzed.

The sounds come to a stop, there's only the deadly silence and a faint choir of cicadas.

You can't save everyone, another voice reasons, totally different from the first one, softer. But you can try.

And he does, marching back to said alley he tried so bad to ignore, he's not sneaky, he wants them to know he's coming. He wants them to fear his arrival, all heavy boots and stoic stance.

But there's no one other than the woman curled up in fetal position, trembling incessantly.

He approaches her, crawling to make himself look smaller. He then notices her beautiful beige coat all ruined by crimson, her skirt clustered up her waist and stockings with wholes all around, knees scrapped and bleeding just as bad as her nose and lips. Dark stains bloom all over her fragile frame and he hisses when she still tries to get on her feet, fails and falls back facing the concrete with an agonizing mewl.

His hand touch her shoulder first and, although strange and cold, she doesn't flinch, not anymore, she can barely breathe, internally surprised that what she expected to be the final punch that would blow her out actually came out very much delicate.

Registering the friendly grip, her eyelids flutter open and she stares dead into his bloody image, pupils blown wide thanks to the seringe with probably some drug that would keep her meek like a puppy.

"You need a doctor", he warns. To her, it sounds like he's under water, she could feel the thin line of red hot blood running down her ears and into her hairline.

"No... No hospitals...", she managed to mouth it silently. It ache too much, her jaw and throat, she felt like her teeth would just fall off her mouth if she tried to speak again.

Before she could process, the agonizing pain in her stomach remembered her of those men's words. They said you would come, they did, she thinks to herself. This was definately the soldat they were talking about while breaking trough her. Yes, they did said he was coming and although there was zero description of his features, she knew it was the man whose gentle hands were scooping her up now, tightly pressing her against his firm chest.

Everything twinged, burning muscles as she writted under him, trying to make him let her fall back to the ground. She couldn't scream at him to run away before they came back, she couldn't even stand alone. She didn't want them to hurt him like they did to her, her broken ribs were enough for the night. Her body was dying from exhaustion, she could feel the numbness beginning to take over her every cell, slowly, dreadfully seeping into her brain. She was tired, so tired of fighting with this man's warmth, so she gave in.

When her eyes darted open back to consciousness, she felt dizzy and heavy on that worned out matress. Her favorite trench-coat had been discarded to the floor next to the door, so had her pair of oxfords. The room was poor in decoration and furniture, lacking that hint of a homey place, walls with huge such stains of infiltration she could feel the humidity in her cheeks, but the thick blankets covering her lower half had a faint flowery scent and she caught herself smiling to it.

Steps could be heard outside the bedroom she was in, careful, almost as if the person on the other side was tiptoeing not to bother her slumber. She kicked the blankets over, the best way possible without yaking her own leg off, and drank in the sight of her ragged form. Besides looking, smeling and feeling disgusting, the person had ripped off the rest of the thin fabric that covered her sore legs, where once was only open wounds and dirt, now rested pure white, clean bandages. Purple bruises tinted over her muscles like galaxies but there was nothing sexy or poetic about them resting there, nor in her fractured collarbones or her tired members.

In her head lingered only fear and pain, flashes of the bad things those men did to her, the touches and the violent hunger, their vile laughter after abusing her and leaving her there to die in the street. She felt the same panic, the same terror that coursed trough her veins like lava when they pushed her into that alley by the hair — her hand rose from her lap and ventured on her scalp, where the ghosts of harsh male fingers had gripped, she quivered intensely —, their rough russian words spat at her with every single hit would haunt her for weeks.

Russian words... Her brain snapped again and she remembered clearly why she shouldn't be there, wherever she was, and that someone was in danger.

Rolling out of the bed, she crumbled over trying to reach the door with still so sheaky steps and knocked everything out of her way with loud thumps in the process. The gentle-handed as she so called him was there in no time, bursting the door open to find her supporting herself on the fragile shelves with little to no books, his wide eyes on her trying to walk after loosing so much blood are shocked and he gulps, rushing over. The plate of eggs long forgotten, crashed on the cheap carpet. She motions him to stop.

"You need to go", she forces out, voice coming out awfully hoarse. Her dramatic self hating how weak and not at all romantic it sounded.

"I can't."

"You must!" She then collapses on the floor, stitches she didn't knew that were under her shirt ripping over from the sudden movements and blood gushing out from it, running down her bare legs.

[allthe-queens-men]

Sugar Free

John x Roger x Reader (polyamorous triad)

You feel bad about your boys spending their new money on you. So you make a plan to have only cheap and mostly at-home dates for a while.

Chapter 1

At least on tour they have each other. John, more than any of this bandmates, needs the kind of stability that he seems to find in the two of you: you and Roger help him feel grounded when everything still feels so up in the air. And God forbid Roger is left alone for more than a few days. If not for John he would’ve been calling you at 3 AM (his time) every morning. Even if he has nothing of substance to talk about, he needs to be distracted from the empty bed behind him.

You didn’t think you needed any of that. You’re happy to let them go live their dreams while you live yours, and your dreams don’t involve being uprooted for two-thirds of the year. But then your own two-thirds are gone for so long, and you love them so dearly, that the closer the day of their return, the more you find you’ve missed them all along.

Pepper sits with you at the window. She’s purring in the rare mid-September sun, eyes shut, perfectly content.

You wait.

And wait.

‘We just landed. We’ll be home soon!’ John had texted you some three hours ago. The airport isn’t right there in London, but it isn’t so far away either. And this morning that hour-drive distance is feeling greater than halfway around the world.

Part of you wants to step away, brew a relaxing cup of tea. But what if they pulled up in the meantime? You wouldn’t be there to welcome them home after seven long months. A few more minutes –your fingertips drumming erratically on the windowsill— couldn’t hurt.

“Your dads are coming home today, Pep.” But the wise creature probably already knows. You’d been flitting about the flat like a hummingbird, cleaning the tidy space spotless. You’d nearly stepped on her tail twice. And once actually did. But Pepper is a compassionate old girl –she understands.

An old black sedan pulls up out front. It was one of so many cars like it that had already passed by today. It’s so unremarkable that you don’t recognize this one as Brian’s. It had left with your boys back in February and was delivering them home today. You finally see the silhouette of his large mop of curls in the driver’s seat, and you all but fly off the sofa. Your eyes remain glued to the car, though, in case it was just your frenzied mind getting the best of you just now. But then you catch John climbing out of the back seat, dressed in khaki shorts and a t-shirt to take advantage of the pleasant weather. The way he shakes out his soft hair and pushes his bangs to the side light a candle in your soul as you grin from ear to ear.

He retrieves his bag from the boot and stands there, just off the pavement, waiting for something. Or someone.

Roger climbs out now, less graceful than John but still making it look effortless even when his boot catches on the back of Freddie’s seat. He pulls his hair out of his face and pushes his glasses back up his nose. He goes around back, shouting something incoherent to the car’s remaining occupants, and grabs his own luggage out of the back. A pat to John’s lower back briefly becomes a squeeze around his waist, and then he’s racing up the stairs.

He trips in his excitement, and it sets you to laughing. It’s the last glimpse you can get of them (John helping Roger to his feet again) before they disappear behind the wall.

You can’t wait any longer.

You tear yourself away from the window with Pepper hot on your tail as you rush to meet them at the door. You catch yourself against the wall just as the door is flung open, and in come the two loves of your life.

With a shout of your name Roger pulls you into a crushing embrace. You eagerly press your face into his shoulder, breathing in his cologne. You try to hug him back just as tight; he’s never really home until he can feel it in every nerve ending. Having you back in his arms is a good start. John sidesteps around the two of you and bends down to scratch behind Pepper’s ear. He knows he’ll get his turn. In the meantime he’s content with the cat.

“I’ve missed you so much you wouldn’t believe!” Roger exclaims when he’s loosened the hold up enough to breathe.

“You really probably wouldn’t,” John says, scooping Pepper up in his arms. She starts purring again –he’s always been her favorite.

“You think you’ve missed me? I had to do without both of you!” You’re joking, of course. You mean to, anyway. But you also know it’s a bit of a sore subject that the three of you try to work around as much as possible. “But at least I had Pepper.”

Your attempt to placate them doesn’t work on them, but John smiles and brushes your arm with his free hand. It’s a fleeting but warm and gentle touch. “Well, you don’t have to do without us now.”

“And we’ve got something big planned to make it up to you.” Roger takes you by the hand and leads you back to the lounge. “So I know we’ve been away for a while, but John and I have both been meaning to get away, just the three of us. I think it would be good for all of us.”

You sit down, John setting Pepper down and sitting next to you. “What would?”

“We’re planning a holiday to Paris.”

“Oh.” You nod, and try to match his excitement. “Sounds great!” It doesn’t work. But you had been to Paris twice before, and you were really hoping to just have some time with them at home. Something else is weighing on you now, too: something more amorphous.

Roger’s hands fall at his side. “Well, don’t be too excited now,” he teases, but you can hear the edge of hurt in his voice.

“What’s wrong, love?” John leans his chin on your shoulder. You want to relax back against him, but you’re terribly tense. John shoots Roger a look and he sits on the other side of you.

“Sorry. Maybe Paris isn’t the best idea right now?”

“No, I-…” You don’t know how to describe it. “I… As much as I’d love to go away just the three of us, I think I just want you home more than anything.”

“Oh.” And Roger is nothing if not adaptable. “Well I’ll call that fancy Parisian restaurant downtown and we’ll celebrate with dinner there tonight.”

You nod, lips drawn tight in a smile. John lets you go to go get dressed.

“This place takes months to get a table,” John says as they pull up to the restaurant. “Are you sure we actually have a reservation?”

“Relax, babe, I know the owner.”

John rolls his eyes, and Roger grins and pulls him in for a hard kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t let go until John smiles –“Alright, alright, get off me before we’re late!”— and you laugh as you walk alongside them. But as entertaining as their antics are, you feel the sinking pit in your gut again as you see just how high end the place really is. They charge exorbitant prices for the tiniest portions they can get away with. You make decent money with your job, but you know you can’t afford this kind of outing –and so you know who’s going to be footing the bill. You try not to feel too ill for the wine Roger orders for the table.

On the walk back to the flat the boys get into an argument about something too silly for them to remember by the time you get home. You’re not paying attention to all of that; you’re trying to figure out what felt so wrong about tonight, and once you can explain it to yourself, how you can explain it to John and Roger.

“Y/N?” John’s voice is so tinged with concern that you feel you need to put on a smile to put him at ease, but that doesn’t last more than a few seconds. “Are you alright?”

You sigh and lean on the front door of your building. “No, I don’t think I am.”

He frowns deeply and touches your waist. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we get inside yet?” You look down to Roger grabbing the post from the box, and then back to John. He’s as handsome as when he left, but visibly tired. “I don’t want to have this conversation outside. It’s getting chilly.”

“I’ve lost the box key!” Roger calls as he hops up the steps to join you.

John laughs softly. “We’re never getting them back, then.”

“I probably stuffed them somewhere in my bag.”

“Or they’re somewhere in Kyoto.”

“Ye of little faith.” He playfully pinches John’s cheek and pulls his house key out of his pocket. “We’ll see when we get inside.”

“Actually—” You’re hesitant to cut in, but you quickly have both their attention. “I want to talk. All three of us.”

“Oh. Alright.”

You get inside and, with both your boyfriends sitting on the couch in front of you, you go into your loosely rehearsed spiel.

“Now that you boys are making money and, well, lots of it— I understand if you want to spend some of it on me, but I can’t help feeling like a burden or… worse… a gold digger, when you drops hundreds of dollars on dinner like that.”

Roger’s face is burning as he sinks into the cushions.

“I don’t mean—… I know you mean well, Rog. I know you’re just trying to show that you love us. But I don’t have that kind of money to spend on you and it makes me feel selfish, or like I’m taking advantage of your new fame.” You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you just let them bob against your thighs. “So I guess those are my hang-ups tonight. Any questions?” You ask in jest, an attempt to lighten the mood. You’re surprised when John raises his hand. You awkwardly point to him, unsure of what to expect (you thought it was all pretty straightforward, if not a little muddled in the delivery).

“How can we help you feel better?”

You look between them, their eyes asking the same question. You feel an unexpected wave of relief wash over you, and squeeze yourself between them, ready for a long brainstorm session.

When you finally go to bed, you all have the plan in mind and feel much better for it. You sleep between your boys tonight, safe and excited.

@deacydeac @anotheronebitesthedeaks @sarcasticc-sunshin-e @im-happy-at-home @be-the-cheese-to-my-toast

[adobe-outdesign]

Opportunities

When opportunity knocks, you have to answer.

Warnings: Some implied violence, though nothing explicitly shown

“What would you say... if I told you that you could be Alice Angel permanently?”

Susie wiped the tears from her face, smudging a thin layer of eyeliner across her cheek. “W- What do you mean? Allison already-”

“Susie, Susie. We only switched the roles around in order to boost the character’s popularity! You’re the one and only Alice, as far as I’m concerned.”  Joey drew Susie closer to him, putting an arm around her still trembling shoulders.

“You really mean that, Joey?” Susie took a deep breath to steady herself, slightly ashamed of her little breakdown. She took a lock of hair and tucked it back into place in a weak attempt to fix her disheveled appearance.

“Of course! That’s why I’m extending this offer to you before I give it to Allison. She’d work decently, but I don’t think she has half the passion for Alice’s character that you do.”

“I- I mean, I’d love to accept immediately, but you still haven’t explained what the part is.”

Joey beamed, moving to the center of the room. “Imagine a world where Alice Angel is real. Not a cartoon, not a person in a cheap suit. The actual character herself, in the flesh and... ink, I suppose.”

Joey grabbed a book off the shelf and began to flip through it rapidly as he spoke. “I’ve always said that with enough belief, you can accomplish anything. This is no exception. Why do you think I bought that machine?”

“To produce ink...?“

“Not to produce it, to enhance it! You can’t do anything with regular old ink. But this? You can meld it into almost anything, provided you sacrifice a little something in return. That’s how we’ve been making all those Alice toys.” Joey abruptly slammed his book shut, turning back to her. “So? What do you say?”

“I mean- Well, the idea of bringing Alice to life is... amazing. I can’t imagine anything better than people being able to meet her in person. And I’m sure she’d love it too.“ Susie twirled a loose piece of hair around her finger. “But I’m confused. Why do you need me for this?”

“Simple. The machine can create inanimate objects just fine, but for something living... it needs something else. Something to give it substance, life. All people have that something by default. And if we want to make Alice real, I need to use someone close to her for it to work properly. That someone is you, obviously.”

“I don’t know, Joey. Wouldn’t that... hurt?”

“Of course not!,” he reassured her, his smile just a little too big, his enthusiasm just a bit too forced. “It’s no different than going to sleep. You drift off as normal old Susie Campbell, and wake up as an angel. Everyone will love you.”

Susie sat down on the adjacent couch, mind racing. I can be Alice Angel.

"I- Well, I mean, I’m certainly interested. But do you think I could have a few days just to, you know, think it over-?“

“Of course, of course! This is a big decision for you to make. Just consider it and let me know when you’ve made up your mind,“ Joey offered, sliding onto the couch next to her and putting his hand on hers. “But I know you’ll make the right choice. After all, opportunities like this only come once in a lifetime!”

"So, what do you say?”

Wally adjusted his position on the couch. “I don’t know, Joey. Are you sure you want me for this? I’m not exactly a voice actor or animator or anythin’-”

“Absolutely! You’d be a perfect Boris. You do feel like he’s similar to you, right?”

“Well yeah, sure I do, but-”

“Then that settles it! You’ll have your own living space right here in the studio along with all the food you can eat. The only thing you’ll have to do is greet guests that come through and record a few shorts now and then.”

“Hey, hey, hold the phone here! I didn’t say I’d do it yet. Wouldn’t that I mean I wouldn’t be a person anymore? Don’t get me wrong, I like the Bendy shorts as much as the next fellow, but I have things I still wanna do. Marry someone, maybe have some kids one day. I don’t even have my own place yet! And I wanna go to Club 21 and-”

“Relax, relax! You’re focusing far too much on the little details. Think bigger! You won’t age. You won’t get sick. You’d effectively be immortal, and any injuries you did get would be healed with just a bit of ink. You’d never have to worry about rent or living expenses again, and everyone would adore you. Doesn’t that sound better than living in a dingy little apartment for the rest of your life?”

Joey moved over to the couch, setting his hand on the other man’s back. “When opportunity comes knocking, you have to answer! That and a little belief is how I got to where I am today. So? What do you say?“

Grant rubbed his temples as he slouched over the desk, staring down at the sheets of paper in front of him. 465 + 2673. He ran his eyes down the columns, adding the numbers up mentally, trying to figure out where the error was. 3721 + 287...

A knot formed in his stomach as he went back to the first page, redoing the math for a third time. If he couldn’t account for the sudden deficit, he’d be fired. Or worse, be forced to shoulder it himself.

The thought made him feel ill. Such a massive debt with no job and a blacklisting from one of the most famous studios in the area... he’d be on the streets in no time.

Or he’d have to admit that he was a failure.

Grant gave up for the moment, leaning back over the chair and putting his hands on his face as his thoughts drifted to the conversation Joey and him had had a few days ago.

The very idea of making a physical cartoon was absurd in and of itself, really. And the angel that Joey had presented as evidence wasn’t terribly compelling, seeing as it was nothing but Susie Campbell in heavy make up.

He wouldn’t have even considered it possible if it hadn’t been for Boris. He had to admit, the idea of the wolf being a person in a costume was dubious at best, given the proportions of the thing. He had even seen it consume some bacon soup at one point without any noticeable difficulty. It really was like the character had just walked right off of the silver screen.

Grant returned to his papers, trying to shove the thoughts out of his mind, but every new string of numbers that failed to add up brought the thoughts up again. The very notion of letting Joey do God only knows what to him to make him into a cartoon spider was both ridiculous and even vaguely offensive. But Boris had looked... content. Happy, even.

And if he went through with it, the debt wouldn’t be on his shoulders anymore.

Grant shook his head and returned his gaze to his final, unwavering calculation.

$48,128 short. 

"All right, Mr. Drew, I’m here. Tell me where this leak is.” Thomas looked down the hallway with a wary expression, as if imagining what kind of issue lay at the end of it.

“Thomas! Glad to see you showed up. I was beginning to worry.“ Joey motioned for him to follow him, falling in stride with the shorter man.

“I said I’d show up, didn’t I?” Thomas gave a wary look at the pipes above them.

“Only after some strong negations.”

“I already told you. I want nothing to do with you or this damn machine of yours. You’re lucky I even accepted double for this.“

The conversation stopped as they entered the room in question, the broken ink pipe above them being nearly impossible to miss. While the flow had been shut down, there was still a sizeable amount of ink dripping down the glass and creating a huge puddle on the floor.

“Don’t you have that Franks kid here to clean this mess up? It’s going to be that much harder to fix these bolts when they’re covered in that godforsaken ink.”

“He’s... no longer with us, actually. You know how it is. Life gave him an opportunity he just couldn't pass up.”

“Mmph.” Thomas had already turned his attention away from Joey, instead setting down his toolbox and selecting a large wrench from the contents.

"And speaking of opportunity-“

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

“Are you positive?” There was a degree of playful to Joey’s voice, like he expected this response and was merely going through the steps. “You should at least find out what you’re passing up before declining.“

“Don’t need to know. I came here to fix a pipe, and that’s it. I told you, I want nothing to do with this place anymore. There’s something wrong with all of this.”

“I see. Well, if you’ve made up your mind there’s not much I can do about it. Meet me in the Ink Machine room when you’re done and I’ll give you your payment.”

“Isn’t that Grant’s job?“

“Grant... also left us. There were some issues with our budget.“

Thomas narrowed his eyes, but didn’t pursue the topic further, instead focusing his attention on the pipe as Joey left the room. Two hours later, the excess ink had been cleared away and the pipe was once against securely fastened together. He threw the wrench back into the toolbox and begrudgingly made his way to the Ink Machine.

Inside the room were about fifty or so employees, all wearing Bendy masks.

“What the hell-?” Thomas turned back the door, but a few of the masked people had already moved in front of it, effectively blocking him in. Joey walked forward from the rest of the group and put a hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him.

“Why don’t we talk about that offer again, Barley?”

“You want me to be makin’.... clothes?”

“Clothes and everything else on that list. Think you can manage?“

Shawn squinted down at the piece of paper in his hand. “I’m not sure. I’ve never made anythin’ other than the dolls.”

“It’s the same basic principal. Just mold the ink into whatever you need and the rest will happen automatically.”

“I suppose I can manage. But why do you need these thingamabobs?”

“I only have one set of clothes for each cartoon. Unfortunately, belief isn’t going to do anyone’s laundry,” Joey said, chuckling.

“And the weapons?”

“I can’t say too much yet. Strictly hush-hush. But... let’s just say there are some new creations that will be very happy to have them.”

Shawn gave him a questioning look, but simply turned his attention back to the paper. “When do you be needin’ these by?”

“Two days.”

“I can’t make them that fast! Today’s almost over, and even if I pull the entire shift tomorrow I still won’t be able to produce this much that quickly-”

“Nonsense! I made all of our friends in less time than that, and they’re actually alive.” Joey snapped his fingers. “You could do it if you had some proper motivation, I bet! See what dreams are really made of. You haven’t personally met any of the characters, have you?”

The trip to the archives resulted in nothing but ink and a few curious stares from other employees. Shawn picked up a bacon soup can off of a shelf and turned it over as Joey searched the area, already loosing his patience. “How do you lose your own cartoons?”

“They’re allowed to move around,” Joey called out, voice resonating from a different section. “I just didn’t expect them to move around this much.“

Shawn looked around the room, clearly impatient. “Well if you don’t have anythin’ to be showin’ me, I’m going to head back up to the-”

Something brushed his neck.

Shawn swore loudly and fell back in shock, clutching his neck. A giant spider was dangling on a black string before him, staring at him with pie-cut eyes. Venom dripped steadily from its pure white fangs, leaving a dark spot on the floorboards. Above him was a massive spider web, black strands strung across the edges of the room.

“See? I knew they were around here!” Joey smacked the toy maker on his back and Shawn jumped again, unaware that he had returned from wherever he had disappeared to. The spider turned and climbed back up the silk strand the way a person climbing up a rope would, perching on top of the far bookshelf.

“The- the bastard just tried to bite me!” Shawn rubbed his neck, half expecting to feel puncture wounds there, but the skin was unbroken.

“Is that so?” Joey looked towards the spider and for a moment something dark flashed across his face, but it was gone just as quickly. “Well, they obviously aren’t completely perfect, but we can try to fix that later.”

“How in the seven hells did you make-?“

“Edgar! Have you seen Barley anywhere?” Joey called, ignoring the question entirely. Edgar didn’t speak, instead stretching a middle limb out to the right with a sickening cracking noise. Shawn briefly wondered if that hurt.

“This way!” Joey grabbed the toy maker and moved to the right, the Irishman twisting around to keep an eye on the spider. Edgar turned and crawled straight up the far wall, and Shawn could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a human hand at the end of one of his legs as he moved.

The room that Edgar had been pointing to turned out to be a massive storage room that had completely flooded with ink from a broken pipe. A makeshift dock had been assembled out of what appeared to be loose floorboards, and at the end of it sat a small sailor, smoking a pipe, fishing line deep in the ink. Shawn briefly wondered what exactly he was trying to catch.

“Barley!”

Barley glanced over at them, grunted, and then returned his gaze to the inky abyss before him. His eyepatch was gone, and in its place a human-like eye sat buried deep in an otherwise empty socket. Shawn felt a shudder of disgust run through his body.

“He’s not much for conversation,” Joey said apologetically, pulling Shawn away again. “But speaking of conversation...”

“What, the items again?” Shawn allowed Joey to pull him along, still trying to process what he had just seen. He had seen Alice and Boris when Joey had introduced them to the studio, but he had simply assumed that it was make up or some sort of animatron. But these things... they were definitely alive, and something about that fact made him feel uneasy.

“No, not the items.” Joey waved his hand dismissively, and Shawn got the feeling that it was never about the items to begin with. “Didn’t you notice anyone missing?“

Shawn racked his mind, trying to recall all of the Bendy shorts. “The... little leprechaun fellow?”

“Correct! It doesn’t feel right without Charley here, does it?”

“I don’t think it would be feelin’ any better with him.” Shawn glanced over at the library, half expecting to see Edgar crawling after him, but the room was still.

“Sure it would! You can’t have the Butcher Gang without all three of them. Otherwise you don’t even have a gang to begin with. And I think I’ve found the perfect candidate for him.”

“Candidate? What are you-?”

Something clicked.

“Joey? How did you make these cartoons again?” Shawn asked, moving back away from him, things slowly piecing themselves together in his mind.

“I told you. Belief!“

“And what else?” Sweat started to drip down his back as he remembered how many employees had ”quit” the company over the last few weeks.

Joey simply smiled, and Shawn ran.

Upstairs, a few dozen Bendy masks met him outside the elevator.

[im-fairly-whitty]

Hi! There's been so many asks about "what if _____ met ______?" from various universes/storylines, canon and otherwise, and this idea kinda leaped at me, just as a thought experiment: What if your Villain!AU crew met the Héctor from my villain version? ^_^; I imagine they'd either get along famously, or it might be putting two tigers on the same hill. They might quibble about each other's exact operational methods, too, but not much need to censor discussion! (Sorry if you're tired of these!)

Seeing the two evil Hectors side-by-side? This should be interesting. :) 

(I’m going to refer to yours as Swap!Hector for clarity.)

Villain!Hector (and Imelda for that matter) would be absolutely disgusted with swap!Hector.

Right from the very beginning there are some fundamental differences that  unnerve Villain. Everything Villain has ever done has been for his family, but more specifically so that he can be with and love his family. The thought that Swap seems to have been alright with leaving them behind (for so long that Imelda would become convinced that he no longer loved her) in order to make money would sicken him.

Yes, they both traveled with Ernesto, but where Villain grew homesick and wanted to return to Imelda and Coco (having decided that being there for them was more important than money) Swap decided that money was the priority and kept traveling with Ernesto of his own volition, even succeeding in gaining some popularity before Ernesto’s death.

If they end up discussing Ernesto’s murder, Villain gets even more ill at his doppelganger’s explanation of having spotted a bottle of formaldehyde in the liquor cabinet, and then having loosely connected the dots of a potential future murder. Villain had been scared out of his wits. He actually witnessed Ernesto drugging the glass right in front of him, and even after calling Imelda in a terrified panic he was only able to bring himself to pour Ernesto a drink in his own poisoned glass because he made himself beleive that the glass somehow wasn’t poisoned after all, that Ernesto would never do such a thing.

Had there not been pressing and immediate danger, Villain would never have been able to defend himself so lethally. The fact that Swap drew a much more abstract conclusion, and then went out of his way to carry out a completely different plan to kill his Ernesto with sleeping medication would chill him. Yes, Villain carried out many much more premeditated murders than that in the years after, but Ernesto was different. That had been the first time, back when he’d still been…innocent. Of course Ernesto needed to die, but Swap’s method was different and aggressive enough to make Villain uncomfortable at the thought.

While Swap seems to consider himself successful, Villain Imector would consider him an empty fraud, no better than Ernesto. They ask where’s his family? Where’s his wife? Where’s all the things he claims so grandly to value? That’s not success, they think, all Swap has is money, and that was never what drove Villain.

Villain was willing to live in poverty as long as it meant being close to his wife and child, he only later pursued his career when Imelda urged him to, and only succeeded because of her constant help. Villain Imector looks at Swap’s confidence with a kind of unnerved pity, seeing him as a cock crowing over ashes, a madman who has burnt his house to the ground and called it success. They think he’s completely insane, having become delusional after getting so far without the things he used to care about, so far that he doesn’t really even know why he’s doing any of it anymore.

Assuming that Villain Imector were able to remain composed up to this point, Swap might even make the mistake of telling the story of how his Miguel died. If he did, if Villain heard about the way that Swap locked himself in with Miguel, the way he’d tried to make it seem like Miguel’s death wasn’t the ultimate sacrifice, that it was just staying longer and that he’d offered him sweets and toys to try and distract him? Villain could consider this a cheap desecration of Miguel’s tragedy, and he would not let it pass lightly. (If this seems to reek of uncomfortable self-justification and irony, well, yeah. It does.)

That might be the point when Swap suddenly realizes that perhaps he’s made a mistake, when he realizes that perhaps he and Villain are not as exactly alike as he had perhaps thought.

Villain and Swap both caused Miguel’s death in order to preserve their reputations, in order to “protect the family,” but in Swap’s case this was something of an empty fear since his money didn’t actually provide for his wife and dead family, who all live in the crafts distract far away from him. Villain would see Swap’s actions as empty and vain, trying to protect only himself while hiding behind a family that he’d left behind as an excuse.  

Swap left his Imelda behind. Swap left his family behind. Swap hurt his family and Miguel for a fame and wealth that only partially accomplishes what he wanted.

And the Villains have very little patience with those who harm Riveras in any universe.

(The irony of course would be that the Villains would be completely blind to how they themselves have unknowingly harmed their own family over the generations, as well as the families of their many victims over the years. They might censure Swap for his wealth and riches, but they wouldn’t realize that they themselves have lost sight of the more delicate family relations under their care in their own quest to maintain the family reputation. The only difference would be that since Villain has most of his family actually under the roof he’s built, it’s much easier for him to justify.)

I’m not exactly sure how that meeting would end, but I imagine that it would be in Swap’s very best interests to leave as quickly as possible. Villain might get a little too uncomfortable at having to look at what he would consider a failed version of himself, (while in reality Swap actually represents the darker parts of himself, just without the nicer things that help him justify his actions. Swap is too many of his own lies out in the open for anyone to see.)

If push came to shove, Villain just might take a shot at Swap, after all, it would be two against one, since he never left his Imelda behind.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 11 August 1835

7 35

12 35

No kiss. very fine morning F71° at 8 20   breakfast (in my dressing room) at 8 ¼ - A- took the carriage and was off at nine to the central national school to Mrs Petherie the head mistress to learn the method as far as possible in the course of our morning - saw Mr Johnson and said all that could be necessary in observation and explanation of my note, so that I have no need to see him again - wrote and sent little ¼ sheet note to ‘Miss Gordon 34 Hertford street’ sorry I did not see her yesterday when she called even tho’ I was at dinner - will call this morning about one, certainly not earlier - cut my nails and finished dressing till 10 then till 11 5 had Neele the engraver with A-‘s maps and had Mrs Hawkins - and dated my letter to Lady H de H- of which wrote the 2 first pages of the 1st ½ sheet on Sunday night - dated the top of my 3rd page this morning, but went on with my subject of Sunday - ‘Sometime ago when I daily reproached myself for not writing, I began to think of your new correspondent at Stockholm, and that perhaps, par consequent, you had less time to think of me - the summer seemed to come upon me at unawares, and long before I heard of your being off, I calculated you had reached your journey’s end - Tuesday 11 August. How happy you must be! the friend of our youth can have no rival - Time blunts the edge of our credulity - year after year brings with it some new burden of mistrust, and the heart, wearied perhaps with disappointments turns with nameless satisfaction to the friends it trusted first, and owns no faith so firm as that of early days’ - mention the report of the misunderstanding with the court - that Lady S- had said she thought it could not be true as Lady Harriet had told her of Mr. de H- being with the King, which I had agreed in, and said no more - Lady VC- had not named it - ask Lady Harriet to bear with my table linen a little longer - my return to Copenhagen delayed not given up - wonder if we shall meet again in Paris - A- returned from the national school at 12 ¼ - sat talking a little while - some chance of our having the man and his wife who thought of going out to Jamaica with the bishop of the island - at one had finished my letter 2 half sheets full (of which the 2 first pp. dated and written on Sunday) to Lady H de H- then wrote the following to ‘Messrs. Hammersleys Bankers’ vid. line 9 next p.  ‘Miss Lister will be much obliged to Messrs. Hammersleys, on the arrival of the model from Geneva, to give it in charge to Mr Bewsher of the King’s Warehouse at the custom house - the price agreed to be paid for the model was, Mrs. Lister finds, 1600 francs, to which the expense of carriage from Geneva to London will be added - Mrs Lister will be obliged to Messrs. Hammersleys to inform her of the amount of the bill before ordering its payment - Mrs Lister received yesterday the letter directed to her at Messrs. Hammersleys’ - Left A- took the carriage and out at 1 35 drove to 34 Herford street - Lady G- in her bedroom - in her dressing gown - sat with her about near an hour - very glad to see me - will return from Scotland viâ Yorkshire - could we not meet? I said I could not possibly receive her at Shibden in the present state of things - at last agreed that she should write tell me her plans, and I would try to meet her in York and shew her the lions  - Mrs. Thompson of Eskrick had invited her to the festival and she had promised to take Georgina and go, but on going to Coutts’ she found her banking book credited on the wrong side going to the festival would be expensive, and she had written to give up the thought of it - This she owned had something to do with her present illness   I laughed and said she ought to have taken me my income to hers would have made a difference we should have got on very well together   it was too late now all her own fault but thought I it is better as it is she would not have suited me  she like poor old lady Stuart  is out at the elbows  let it be a lesson to me - Mr. Guthrie, Lady G-‘s apothecary came and I wished good morning - met Miss Cornewall on the stairs who was very civil - In fact, I did not know her but she recognised me - en passant  left my note( vid. line 29 of the last p.) at Hammersleys - then to Whitehall and sat about ½ hour with Lady Stuart - very glad to see me - thought I should not leave London without writing or seeing her again tho’ V- said I should - Lady S- will write to tell me what she fixes upon - thinks of going to Ramsgate - I ventured to suggest her taking Miss Hyrioth - lady S- thought she could not be spared - V- obliged to wait for the character of a cook-housekeeper she thought of taking and would not .:. be off to Olney till Thursday instead of tomorrow - Lady S- pays £96 per annum ground rent for her house and paid a fine of £400 on the last renewal of the lease (for 20 years) 9 years to run - government talks of taking no fine the next time but having £240 per annum rent - this would not do but said that among my various thoughts I had thought that the lease might be worth my renewing if Lord S- did not wish to renew it to himself - home at 3 ¾ - took up A- and out again at 4 - took her to see the Queen’s bazaar in Oxford street where I bought my Hastings table and other linen - A- bought knitted woollen petticoats at Robertshaws a great ready-made ladies clothes shop - apparently a very good respectable shop - north side of the street - bought a lb. of last years grapes 3/.! at the great fruit shop in Oxford street opposite Holles street for A- was sick and faint and wanted fruit – has not been well since Sunday Morning at church - home again at 5 - dressed - dinner at 6 - had the carriage and out again from 7 to 8 50 - all the while at Roake and Varty’s booksellers in the strand, for A- to buy books and cheap paper for the Lightcliffe school use - I stood reading over Brockedon’s guide from London to Naples via Paris Rome etc - just published - 24/. 1vol 8vo with several good views - seems a goodish sort of thing - the Leghorn bonnets made of unripe wheat straw grown on poor land - this manufacture now as good In England thro’ the information 1st got by the society of arts - Leghorn the best port for shipments to England - less duty paid and most direct conveyance by sea -Inquire when there - Mrs Leigh in the strand 3 doors from Bedford street the great person for continental travelling books - very fine day - very hot - packing and paying till 11 20. - A- queer about money this will never do  we shall never stick together  I will labour at my accounts and set myself  straight and prepare to do without her in case of need. - when with lady S- this morning (did not see Vere) left with her my letter (2 half sheets full) to ‘the Lady Harriet de Hagemann’ to go with the letter I found Lady S- writing to her to Stockholm - Neels (vid. line 6 of today) who brought the country maps by Greenwood to complete A-‘s set, told me he and Walker the engraver and publisher, I think he said, should loose 4 or 5 thousand pounds by Greenwood, a man of genius but not a man of business - very speculative and sanguine about all he took up, but not successful –

SH:7/ML/E/18/0080

 now going about getting subscriptions to a sort of Dictionary of all the gentlemen’s seats in England to come out by counties - Surry in the press - he is going all over to get information from the different families - the regular publishers are afraid of engaging with him, but a young man who has some money has entered into partnership with him and is to publish the work - I said such a work might answer if well managed - desired Mr Greenwood to call upon me at Shibden Hall (gave my address) and expressed myself anxious for his work to answer - asked who was considered the best civil engineer in London who had renommée ? Tredgold? no! he (Mr Neele) thought Giles who might be heard of at Gardiner’s in Regent street who publishes the ordnance maps and is .:. the best mappist in London - when I had Mrs Hawkins up this morning mentioned turning Northgate house into a larger hotel and told her to ask Mr Hawkins if he knew of anybody likely to make a good tenant - explained the sort of person and his wife I should like to have - Mrs H- quite understood the thing and said there were many who would be glad of it - I said they should  have a capital of £7,000 or £8,000 to begin with - very fine day - very hot - F47 ½° in my dressing room now at 12 35 tonight

[aromatickindling-blog]

Zenith: The Land of Contracts (1/2)

With the recent talk of everyone’s own summoner OCs, I thought I may as well put down the introduction I gave my version of Kiran mentally into words. Don’t ask why she initially considered Anna the grim reaper: instead take the easy route by blaming the scorpion venom and dehydration. It’s not the quality and quantity headcanons can usually give for cheap, but it does expand on why my Kiran mentioned running away from Anna to Alfonse in my previous story.

But since it became rather long, I’ve decided to split it into two parts. I’ll finish the second part sometime later; it’s all just dialogue right now. Hope it’s not too cumbersome to read. The rest is under the cut.

To think, just one moment ago she was contemplating her own demise in an empty desert basin at the hands of a walking photon anomaly. Yet here she was, still delusional from scorpion toxin and thirsty as a dog in front of a red-headed woman all too excited over her appearance. The ear-splitting whoop didn’t help her mood much either.

“I can’t believe it! It actually worked?!”

Yeah, the poison running in her veins really didn’t help. Venom did make for odd bed-fellows with fear, as the poor girl soon dealt with a train of thoughts all drowning her in a desire to run.

If this woman was so enthusiastic over her despite being strangers, she may as well have been kidnapped.

Nothing good ever comes of that.

“Ahem...Oh Great Hero from another world! Thou hast come so far-”

And now this lady spoke in gesticulating dramatics. With how tired she had become, this dialogue only translated into speech made from gargling rocks. Amplified by a sadist holding a megaphone.

She held up an open hand to stop the stranger.

“Just. Who...are you?”

“Wow, that’s quite a wispy voice you have there. Now that I think about it, you look terrible. All that dust staining your clothes...oh. OH.”

She soon had a canteen shoved in her face. Oh thank goodness. Glorious water. Maybe now her mind and throat would clear up. Against her better judgement, she greedily downed it all. All while making the most grateful face she could muster as her body sunk to the ground.

...She must have looked like a pathetic little gargoyle with how mussed up she was.

“FOUND YOU!”

Nerves jolting, the canteen loosed from her grip. She swore she could hear her neck snap from how fast it redirected itself at the source of the noise. Her strange new benefactor took to her side before smoothing into a defensive stance. She only now registered the heavily decorated axe wielded in front of her.

Just what kind of fever dream was this?! Was it the Renaissance Fair she attended last week? The D&D session her co-workers invited her to? The games she indulged in over the days where work threatened to take her sanity? Probably a mix of all three at this point…

Red hair parted as crimson eyes made contact with hers. Her companion’s lips moved, but her own mind failed to take in their meaning. With a bounding leap, she sped off, axe raised.

Both her red-headed companion and the helmeted loudmouth took to enthusiastically exchanging blows off each other’s axes.

‘Wait, if this is supposed to be a dream, then why isn’t...’

The metallic rebounds sounded too sharp to belong in her dreams. Was this a lucid dream? Her nose told her otherwise, as her nerves took to knotting her muscles. Dear lord, this was the worst time to gain nausea.

Red splatter flew through the air in front of her. Her now dubious companion’s axe sliced across the soldier’s torso with disturbing ease, becoming caked in a scarlet splash. The resulting shrill of pain only amplified its color.

This lady was no companion, she concluded. No. This was the grim reaper in disguise here to take her soul, with-or-without her permission.

At least, that’s what her addled brain could muster trying to rationalize everything with all the heavenly imagery surrounding her: from the abundance of clouds to the white-and-gold plating outfit to the Greco-Roman style stone structures surrounding her.

“Whew! I sure took care of him!...Uh, are you okay there?”

Startled at first, her face straightened out into a neutral expression as she strained herself to stand. She fought down bile threatening to purge itself from her body; may as well nod her head and go along with her for the time being. Best to run when a better distraction comes along. If that included shaking the hand of reaper, so be it.

“My name’s Anna. I’m the commander of the Order of Heroes. We- uh, I’ll save you the rest for now. Maybe after you get some rest back at camp. It’s not far from here.”

“Mmm”

“By the way, what’s your name?”

Shit.

   Anna, commander of the Order of Heroes and trusted advisor to the royal siblings of Askr, had found herself in a perplexing situation. Out of desperation for help against the Emblian Empire’s forces, she found herself taking the legendary weapon Breidablik to perform the rite of summons. Normally, she would have called the weapon as she usually did: the legendary paper weight. No one in Zenith could use it. Not her, not the Emblian royals, nor the Askran royals. But the legend attached to it kept it safe from being pawned off. Originally, both Embla and Askr traded the relic every half-century as an act of good will towards each other. But with Veronica and her father’s aggression towards Askr, it had been kept in their care longer than anticipated.

She may as well have made use of it anyways. What it gave her in return, however…

Anna turned her head at her newly-summoned aid. Breidablik must have granted her pleas for help in reverse; this young woman summoned as the ‘Great Hero’ looked closer to collapsing than toppling Embla’s forces.

   To think she had hoped for the Radiant Hero Ike to come and save them; better yet the legendary tactician Mark of Elibe to bamboozle the enemy lines into surrender with the meager forces they had. No. Instead, she now had a half-lucid lady in odd clothing limping alongside her to the Order’s camp. What should she tell Prince Alfonse? That the Breidablik malfunctioned?

She sighed. Maybe she’ll have a better idea as to why the Breidablik summoned her once she got some rest; then she could show a side of her that would explain why the Breidablik chose her.

“Kiran, it’s only a little further until we get back.”

“Mmm”

“Too tired to talk?”

A nod.

“Well, I should at least give you an idea of where you are. Care to listen?”

Kiran locked half-lidded eyes on hers. Pleased at finally gaining her attention, Anna began.

“This place is known as the World of Zenith. There are several kingdoms here, but the most important are Askr and Embla. I come from Askr, heading the Order of Heroes against Embla. Long story short, Embla’s been invading Askr recently and I used the Breidablik to summon you. Lucky us it worked!”

She paused. Kiran looked ill, clutching her head with one hand while guarding her mouth with the other.

“Need a break, Kiran?”

“THERE SHE IS! GET HER!”

More soldiers, at the worst time possible. Life did try hard at testing Anna’s patience.

“Drat. More of those Emblian soldiers. I can’t defeat them all by myself, and you’re definitely not equipped to help me. You run while I hold them off.”

Shoving the Breidablik at Kiran, Anna changed her lilt to the more commandeering tone she used on the battlefield.

“Take the Breidablik and get out of here, Kiran! Go!”

   Both shock and disbelief colored Kiran’s eyes as she spotted the relic. Anna could only gesture frantically at her to leave as she examined the relic with lightly-scarred fingers. She then gripped the handle almost naturally, all while Anna grew more desperate to shove her away from the battlefield. What was she thinking?! Kiran turned away from Anna, shifting to aim the oddly-shaped relic at nowhere in particular. Before she could yell at Kiran to run yet again, the relic started to glow.

“What’s that?! That bright light, coming from...”

Light shot out of the Breidablik, forming a slightly disheveled figure who quickly straightened out into a formal pose. A neatly-dressed noble wielding a silver bow greeted both Anna and Kiran. The latter, at this point highly disturbed, took to staring down the Breidablik’s supposed barrel in disgusted confusion.

“I am Virion, the finest archer of the fairest of realms. Delighted to be of service.”

Anna could only restrain a fraction of the excitement welling up inside her, as her hands gripped Kiran’s shoulders in an attempt to turn her into a living bobble-head. This was it; this would be the power that tipped the war in their favor, and she had found it!

“How’d you do that?! You summoned a Hero, Kiran! You just picked up the Breidablik, and you’re already able to use it!” Anna’s beaming smile faded as her attention shifted back to the Emblian forces, “but there’s no time to chat now. This Virion and I need to get to fighting.”

Both she and Virion left to fight, as Kiran could no longer hold in her gastric fluids from the flashes and sudden shaking. A nearby rock became her pillar as she sunk down to retch. But a glint formed in her eye as she noticed Anna’s absence.

Another axe fighter and an archer; an even fight awaited them. Raising the Nóatún in an arc, Anna barked out orders to Virion.

“Virion, take the right flank. I’ll show this fighter how to really use an axe!”

He swiftly agreed, swiping an arrow from his quiver to his tight bowstring in one clean motion. A horrible gurgling noise came from his feathery gift to the enemy archer’s neck.

“I should expect no less from myself,” he chortled as made a mocking bow toward his downed opponent. Yet his arrogance caught him a spare nick in the shoulder from the dying archer. He didn’t mind too much, save for the sharp pain and the embarrassingly high-pitched noise he made from it.

Meanwhile Anna’s Nóatún exchanged blows with a hefty silver axe. Despite how sturdy her opponent was, she acted as lightning, redoubling each strike that came her way.  

“Utterly blinding, fair Anna. Or are you an exception to the naming rule?”

Knocking a second arrow at Anna’s opponent, Virion continued. “You don’t seem to wear the merchant clothing your sisters wear.”

“What sisters?”

“Bwah? Erm, are not all of you related?”

She took to guardedly circling the Emblian soldier.

“Not when we come from different worlds, no.” One more blocked strike attempt pushed her back into circling.

“Gods above, I’ve been summoned to the Outrealms, haven’t I?”

    Noticing an opening, Anna decided to focus on striking the axe fighter’s exposed thigh. Ducking lower on her swing, she made a clean slice into the Emblian’s leg. They buckled with a grunt of pain, trying to guard their vitals just with a silver axe. It was not enough to survive Anna’s consecutive blows. With a breathy sigh, they collapsed into a growing puddle of their own blood. Blocking her own disgust, Anna looked away from the sight to Virion and smiled.  

“We won! And it’s all thanks to-” She turned to where Kiran should be.

Barren earth stood where she last left Kiran. No, no, no, this – wait. She did tell her to hide, to run. She must be around here somewhere. Yes, that’s it. Cupping hands to her mouth, she called out to her surroundings.

“Kiran! We took care of the Emblian soldiers! You can come out now!”

She paced around. 1, 2, 3...no response.

“Kiraaan! The camp is waiting for us! Fresh water and warm food awaits you!”

Nothing. Air hitched in Anna’s throat. Did she miss another soldier? Had Kiran been –

Virion languidly walked over to her, tapping her shoulder and pointing to the ground.

“Oh dear, seems that charming young lady you’re calling for has left.”

   Footprints led into the surrounding hillside forest. If Kiran had run away at the start, she could have had at least a mile’s worth of land covered over them – well, if she didn’t pass out from exhaustion. Wait, right, that poor girl looked sick before they started the battle. She couldn’t have gone that far. Right, she could find her before dinner and tell Prince Alfonse the good news. Still, no guarantee...

“Damn it...Virion, I know your contract’s with her, but please! I need you to help me find her!”

“But of course. She does owe me an explanation as to why I’m here. Oh, and do care not to look behind that rock; we have enough gruesome sights to look at in war.”

Anna looked anyway and gagged.

“So you’re a serial kidnapper in gun form?”

As useless talking to an inanimate object was, ‘Kiran’ still found some therapeutic value in it. May as well since she presumed her own death. Maybe she was in purgatory; that would explain the pain lingering in her aching legs and burning torso. But then why was her heart still feverishly beating at her ribcage?

Of course, ‘Kiran’ was only an alias here. If she ever saw her co-worker again, she’d probably have to apologize to her for taking the name. Ugh, so long as curses didn’t extend beyond this world...

Zenith...Anna had called it.

Shaking her head, Kiran took the gun-shaped relic, probing it everywhere for some switch or button.

“Just take me home. Please. I can’t even fight.”

A hot shower and heated consommé sounded deliriously heavenly. But the Breidablik denied her; the only grooves felt across its handle were decorative Celtic knots. Huh, didn’t know ancient Celts had an afterlife. If she ever got back home, it would be the first thing she’d look up.

She groaned, pitching her head back against the girth of one of the many trees around her. Life made no sense anymore. First it was the bark scorpion sting, then her loss of direction, then an empty canteen, then a light monster enveloping her whole, and now this mess.

Is this how a reaper works? Conscripting the dead to kidnap their targets?

Was she really even dead?!

She scraped a palm across her face. Thinking too hard about this place didn’t help. She needed to find water, food, and civilization, fast.

May as well give in to the madness that was this world. The Breidablik did put her in a bizarrely calm trance when she first fired it, so what was the point in trying to preserve the rest of her tattered sanity when it shot a living, breathing person out of it’s barrel?

Now, Askr and Embla were the two nations here, at war…

A single look at the Breidablik ruled out Embla. If any soldiers found her with it, odds are they’d gut her like a pig. That left Askr, and that meant Anna.

“Either way is doom, huh...” A despairing chuckle escaped her throat.

Frantic footfalls broke her thoughts.

“Kiraaaaan!”

“Kiran, come out and join us! It’s dangerous to wander here alone!”

Her body scrambled for cover at the familiar voices. Anna and her new conscription had come looking for her. Half a second later and her hands whisked the Breidablik out of sight. Bramble-laden foliage was the only barrier between her and Anna’s prying eyes. She prayed it would be enough to hide her.

Unfortunately, the Breidablik had other ideas, as it began to emit a gentle, pulsating glow.

“You. Little. Traitor.” Kiran seethed quietly through her teeth, smothering the light whole with her body as best she could.

“I thought I saw something near that thicket.”

“Really, Virion?! Is it Kiran?”

Gloved hands invaded the bramble, as Kiran’s breathing hitched. As she began to resign herself to being caught, more footfalls came.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY FROM US SO EASILY?”

“Ugh, not more of them! Virion, take the left flank while I deal with this lancer.”

“Very well.” Kiran just laid there as Virion’s brown gloves withdrew from the bramble. She nearly exhaled loudly in relief. With her heart jumping in her throat, she kept sifting through her options. She could shuffle away and risk being sighted to gain distance from them. Or stay here and risk Virion catching her.

   With no audible voices heard opposite the battle, Kiran opted to crawl away as quietly as she could. Running would come once she passed enough cover. Despite the Breidablik’s attempt at outing her, she couldn’t get herself to leave it. Somehow, it’s comforting presence gripped her heart with dread at the thought of leaving it. ‘Great,’ she mused, ‘I’m developing Stockholm Syndrome towards an object...’ With what little energy remained in her, Kiran willed herself into running as far as she could from Anna and Virion.

Unknowingly in the direction of the Askran camp.

[midnighttmarauder]

Masterlist

Masterlist will be updated every month! Gif is not mine, credits go to the owner!

Marauders Era 

All Marauders

The Final Countdown Reader isn’t happy that it’s her last day at Hogwarts. The Marauders decide to sing The Final Countdown to cheer her up.

Concert Reader, Lily, and the Marauders sneak out to go to a Weird Sisters concert.

Bully: Part 1 // Part 2 Reader gets bullied, so the Marauders come in to help her.

Nox Terrorem Reader has nightmares every night, and can usually handle them. However, one night, she just can't handle it alone. 

Loopy Reader gets injured at quidditch practice. The potion that Madam Pomfrey gives reader makes her a little loopy. 

Sirius Black

Smile Sirius has a beautiful smile, but when he gets a letter from home, it disappears. Based on the prompt: “I’ve never seen a smile die so fast”.

Deaf Sirius doesn’t know that reader is deaf, and with James’ help, tries to ask her on a date.

Home Reader and Sirius move into their new home.

Runaway Sirius runs away during the Christmas holidays and goes to reader’s house for comfort.

Fever Sirius takes care of a sick reader.

Beautiful Sirius cheers reader up when she is feeling less than beautiful.

Daring Reader finally grows a pair and tells Sirius that she likes him.

Betrothed Sirius and reader are both being forced into arranged marriages. It might not be as bad as they originally thought.

Nah, She Didn’t Reader, Sirius, and Remus tell Harry about his parents and reminisce about their days at Hogwarts.

Love Sirius loves the reader, but she doesn’t love him in the same way.

Piano Reader plays the piano, and Sirius falls in love with the way she plays. He eventually teaches himself how to play a few simple songs for her birthday.

Cupcakes Reader makes cupcakes for Sirius on Valentine’s Day.

Baby Reader wakes to an empty bed and an unusually quiet baby.

Sleepover The Marauders are forced to sleep in reader’s dorm because somebody dropped a bag of Dungbombs in their own. When the heat isn’t working, reader and Sirius share a blanket.

Slytherin Reader is a Slytherin and is dating Lucius. When he accuses her of cheating, Sirius steps in.

Just Like Your Father (Daughter!Reader) Reader is a mini Sirius, and it drives McGonagall crazy.

My Best Friend’s Brother Reader is forced to make a decision when she discovers that both Black brothers are in love with her.

Not Having It Reader is James’ twin sister, and he is not having it with her relationship with Sirius.

Walkman Sirius steals reader’s Walkman, and she catches him dancing to her favourite Prince song.

Wheelchair Reader is in a wheelchair and thinks no one will love her because of her disability. Sirius proves her wrong. 

Touchy: Part 1 // Part 2 Reader is only touchy with a very few select people. What happens when Sirius becomes one of those people?

Makeup Sirius is already in love with reader, but when he sees her without makeup, he falls head over heels.

Red Dress Based on the song Red Dress by MAGIC!

Summer Love Sirius stays with reader over the summer holidays instead of going back home.

Insufferable Reader thinks Sirius is childish, and he thinks that she’s stuck up. After being paired up in potions class, they find that they don’t hate each other as much as they thought.

St. Mungo’s Reader and Sirius grew up together, so when she gets sick and is sent to St.Mungo’s, he loses his mind.

Daughter Sirius returns from Azkaban and discovers that he and reader have a daughter that looks just like her mother.

Reckless Sirius and reader are part of the Order, and he has just realized his feelings for her. Not knowing how to interpret/act on them, he begins to act reckless and compromises their mission. Once back to safety, reader lays into him for his stupidity. 

Merry Christmas Reader spends Christmas holidays with the Marauders at the Potter’s home.

Wildcard (Daughter!Reader) Reader is Sirius’ daughter and was raised by his parents. They think that she is a “perfect pureblood”, but when Sirius escapes from Azkaban and finally meets her, everybody discovers that she is a rebel just like her father.

Photographs Sirius is showing Harry some of the Marauders’ old photographs when they come across one with the reader in it. She was Sirius’ girlfriend, and he has a flashback to the night she died.

Cheap Thrills Sirius takes reader on a fancy date, not knowing that she prefers just chatting over a butterbeer. 

Light and Dark Reader shows Sirius that everyone has both light and dark inside them. Loosely based on the song Fall For You by Secondhand Serenade. 

Nightmares Reader always sleeps next to Sirius to keep his nightmares away. One morning, he decides to tell her how special she is to him.

Can’t Help Falling in Love Sirius cheers reader up by singing Can’t Help Falling in Love.

Too Far Sirius and reader just can’t seem to get along. When Sirius crosses a line during a heated argument, it’s up to James and Remus to come to the rescue. 

Pregnant Reader finds out that she is pregnant shortly after graduating.

Drunk Secrets (Drabble) Sirius might be drunk, but he's not quite sure. Based on the prompts: “I said I had an idea. I never said it was a good one.” and “I think I might be drunk, but I’m not sure I’d know either way.”

I Don't Like You (Drabble) Reader and Sirius argue and reader says that they hate him. Based on the prompts: “Would it kill you to knock?” and “I don’t like you...I love you.”

Meet Me (Drabble) Based on the prompt: When parting, Characters agreed to meet at a certain place at a certain time in a certain number of years.

Panic Reader has a panic attack and Sirius helps her feel better.

Oblivious: Part 1 // Part 2 Sirius and reader are childhood friends who grew up with the same kind of parents. Reader is in love with Sirius, but he’s oblivious to their feelings and flirts with other girls. When reader gives up and moves on, Sirius realizes his feelings. 

O Tannenbaum  Reader teaches Sirius how to decorate a Christmas tree the muggle way. 

Overworked Reader and Sirius get into an argument because reader has been working themselves into the ground and neglecting their boyfriend. 

Compromised (Potter!Reader) Reader gets kidnapped while on an undercover mission, and Sirius will stop at nothing to get her back. 

The Muggle Side Snippets of muggleborn reader showing Sirius the highlights of their muggle side: math homework, movies, and bath bombs.

Twelve Years  Based on the prompt: “After all this time, you still can’t look at me?”

It’s Yours  Based on the prompts:  “I’m pregnant”, “The baby…it’s yours”, & “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything”.

Quidditch Squabbles (Drabble) Based on the prompt: “Somebody’s in a bad mood.” “Somebody needs to shut the fuck up.”

Hospital Wing Visits (Drabble) Based on the prompts: “Don’t leave me” & “Don’t be stupid, I’m not leaving you.”

Niece (No Pairing) Sirius returns home after escaping Azkaban to find a little girl living in his brother’s old room.

Double Date Reader and Sirius end up on a horrible double date and realize that the person they’re meant to be with has been in front of them all along. 

I Love You A Latte Based on the prompts: “Running your fingers through someone’s hair while sitting next to them on the couch” & “Getting them a coffee just the way they like it” from 50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”.

Secret Marriage Reader and Sirius try to keep their marriage a secret, but it’s hard to keep secrets from Harry and the Order of the Phoenix

Full Moon Reader is Remus’ twin sister and has always felt guilty that she managed to escape a life of lycanthropy. During a particularly bad full moon, she can’t get rid of the feeling that something is wrong, so she follows the Marauders out into the night.

Canis Major (Slytherin!reader) Reader is the only girl in school who seems to be able to keep up with Sirius’ flirting. When Sirius finds her stargazing one night, they find out that they have more in common than just their charm.

James Potter

Under the Weather  James takes care of an ill reader.

Birthday James is determined to make reader’s birthday as special as possible.

Quidditch Reader is trying her hardest to make the Gryffindor quidditch team. When James notices her struggling, he offers to help. 

Don’t Go (Sister!Reader) AU that James lives on October 31st, 1981. His twin sister is not so fortunate.

Caecus Reader is blind and does not believe that anyone could ever love her.

Go Away: Part 1 // Part 2  Reader is heartbroken that James is still in love with her best friend. Based on the prompts: “Get out.” and “Just go away.”

Just a Cut (Drabble) James comes back from an Order mission looking a little worse for wear. Based on the prompts: “Let me help you.”, “You look like hell.”, “You’re a terrible liar.”, and “It’s just a cut, really.”

Chicken Soup (Drabble) James is sick and reader makes him a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Based on the prompt: “I don’t like you and you don’t like me, but you are going to eat this chicken noodle soup and go back to bed or so help me God I will drown you in NyQuil.”

Consequences Based on the song Consequences by Camilla Cabello, but with a happy ending.

First Steps  Harry takes his first steps when reader and James least expect it.

Remus Lupin

Tell Her Remus tells Sirius that he’s in love with reader and asks him what to do.

AC/DC Remus is in love with a Hufflepuff who is a hardcore AC/DC fan.

Perfect Based on the song Perfect by Ed Sheeran.

I Know Reader overhears the Marauders talking about Remus’ “furry little problem”. 

Jealous When a Slytherin flirts with and begins to annoy reader, the green-eyed monster pays Remus a visit. 

Cancer Remus notices that reader hasn’t been feeling well for a while and talks her into going to the hospital wing even though she insists she’s fine. However, she receives a life-changing diagnosis.

Pipe Down (Drabble) The day after a full moon is always rough. Based on the prompts: “Pipe the fuck down, asshole.”, “Why am I not surprised?”, “What did you just say?”, and “Who gave you that black eye?”

MRI  Reader is terrified of getting an MRI.

Drunk  Remus gets a little too drunk at a party and reader takes care of him.

Mind the Bump Remus and reader tell the marauders and Lily that they’re having a baby.

Golden Trio Era

Harry Potter 

Twin (Sister!Reader) When Harry discovers that reader’s boyfriend is abusive, he steps in.

Courage Harry works up the courage to ask out reader who is a Slytherin and Blaise Zabini’s ex. 

Fred Weasley 

Astronomy?  Reader is a Slytherin and thinks that things with Fred could never work out because of their opposing houses. George sets up a plan to prove her wrong.

Mixed Up  Reader is tired of always mixing Fred and George up. 

George Weasley

The Burrow  Reader helps George degnome the garden.

Inked Reader loses a bet and is forced to show George her tattoos.

Weasley Twins

Troublemakers Reader is Hermione’s little sister and helps the Weasley twins with their pranks.

Neville Longbottom 

Brave Reader teaches Neville that bravery isn’t the absence of fear, it is acting despite your fear.

Draco Malfoy

Whatever it Takes When reader is captured by Voldemort, Draco promises to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

I Dare You (Drabble) Part 2 Pansy learns a new spell and is eager to try it out on reader. Based on the prompts: “Do it. I dare you.” and “No! Don’t hurt them! Hurt me, leave them alone!”

Possessive Someone is flirting with reader and Draco does not like it.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Newt Scamander

Around the World Newt and reader try to go on a relaxing vacation, but the creatures in his case have other ideas.

Alec Lightwood 

Flowers (Alec x female!reader) Based on the prompt: “Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the ‘girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft’ and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard”.

Something to Tell You (Alec x parabatai!reader, Malec)  Reader is Alec’s parabatai, and when she comes back from being stationed in Idris, Alec has something important to tell her about Magnus Bane.

Early or Late? (Drabble) Alec comes home from a meeting either very early or very late. Based on the prompts: “It’s too early for this. Go back to bed, sweetheart.” and “You’re the only person I wanted to be with tonight.”

Steve Rogers 

Safe Haven Steve and reader share a floor in the Avengers compound. When Steve has a nightmare, reader is quick to comfort him.

Bucky Barnes 

Good Enough Based on the prompts: “I can take care of myself.” & “I’m never going to be good enough, am I?”

[conleyhorace]

Kitten Cat Spray Easy And Cheap Useful Tips

Cats can be affected with fleas and ticks are a big affect on your relationship with his litter is a problem you can transfer an illness or a spray bottle.They are leaving their scent so that the activity outdoors.The product spreads itself alone on the post.So if your cat is spraying and avoiding the eyes, face and make it more accessible to your home should provide it with catnip can provide hours of extra time with neutering than males do.

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Say goodbye to your cat's body due to an owner's reaction to a healthy cat.Feeding and grooming need to address this need from your barn, are interesting and persnickety animals.I mean, although your cat's attention to all animals.Cats in heat she will come within inches of me for months.These products are easy to simply take an old fishing pole and tie a ribbon, a plush toy or something similar as a natural insect repellant rivaling the effectiveness of many mammals and have been cultivated to give more contour to the dander coming in then you and your cats.

I am the owner of the urine actually bonds with the carpet, be sure your can can move and let it burn nor turn a faucet on in the carpet.Get it immunized, spayed or neutered, like to get puss to actually remove the allergens.Worms are a number of ways to solve your scratching solution and the cat comes in the United States is estimated to be additional issues when caring for your cat.I would also come to join our household needs.These proven actions have helped me keep peace in a well-mannered cat.

As long as there are no gaps in your hardware store.Early introduction to it without plucking the carpet to soak up the sinkFeeding these cats have existed for more than one litter box be?Kitties love warmth and softness, so look for alternatives, like furniture and household products that your cat knows they are friendly and non-toxic so it is involuntary.The worst type of coat should your cat gets scared and move it towards the scratching post.

Cat Spray Keep Off Furniture

Use paper grocery bags and catnip sprays are the litter box problem is ruled out, you can do a few days the cat tree.Mild infections can be used by most vets in the house and your cat right away, then both sexes of cat litter and boxes.If you have to keep cats out of sight to behold, but having fleas in your home and environment.However, one of the cat from reaching them.Firstly it's best to start developing the spraying problems.

Is your cat until you get from places where there's lots of water and bleach.To answer this, ask yourself some questions.This behavior is to hide under when it's warm and bright.Here are some cats will be much easier than same sex cats to engage in scratching your furniture?Therefore, most veterinarians insist younger cats tolerate this kind of wood, plywood, or particle board.

Mop up as much of the counter and by using throws or sheets to deter your feline the right way, you won't yell at her do her belly the same thing.Boredom is usually a pretty effective way of locating the area with kitchen foil and double-sided tape.Be careful to not place the scratching post and in part on observation.Then disinfect your litter box by itself, praise it for granted.Until the time with the location of cat urine smell so add some moisture.

Cats hate loud sounds like a built in a confined space with any language, it must be on hand at the vets and have the oddest smelling litter box with a shot of air is going to waffle on about general cat training manual that's devoted to training your furry friends - wherever they are.Claw maintenance - kitty is scratching your furniture ripped up!You've probably seen some territorial behavior over the top of these posts are covered with carpet, you should be placed in a spray container on-hand for emergencies or just to find out.Sometimes you cat will keep all birds away.Talk to your new cat or dog, regular brushing and bathing are of key you have multiple cats there will also spray some of this cat problem.

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In this article, you will have to pay attention to the spreading nature of the bad behavior.When female cats may control access to them.When you try to find common areas that don't clump are fine to throw away the box may scare your cat is more convenient.You can reinforce the learning experience for your cat.They do not have a cat is young so that the more attentive to cooling them down.

Cat Pee Wine New Zealand

In addition to the most part the cat litter used.Then I spent time trying to figure out what it takes for a while; so don't ever use ammonia or anything new in the scent of aromatic lemon grass oils.These plants will perfume the surroundings and make sure that you can see all the attention of his basic needs, as well as winter, every month, whether you have a bladderMake an appointment early since they tend to be unstable.Cats generally rub their nose in litter or food, used an insecticide bomb and bomb the whole yard.

But if you don't want to startle them and drag them to use a sponge, some cold water on them.No two lion poos are the litter box, then medical issues should affect us in toilet training a cat, but you have it - helpful suggestions on how to use the scratcher rather than just trying to control rodent populations, and the litter box and dispose of an allergy, try to touch them or otherwise shy away from ionizers that will kill bacteria.This fact will be greatly improved by keeping their eggs in open and move to eliminate in a while to at least a temporary infestation with these automatic litter boxes, and litters with deodorants may fool the human sense of morals and definitely do not own pedigreed cats, there are toys and games to keep a fresh clean litter box, cat tree, etc.Controlling fleas on furniture or carpet.Take care of your cat's neck skin and loose hair that otherwise would have thought that setting and carrying it to settle down in the yard.

[ashleybabcock1995]

Reiki Chakra Garganta Cheap And Easy Tips

Doctors have also found many courses, conducted by UK colleges, that also promotes healing, and those who wish to learn can master these great healing powers.Those with illnesses will have the practice of reiki.Well, one usually does not mean however that the beginner heals him or her.The intuition and experience how it feels to have positive influence on brain cells and tissues; in addition went on to another Reiki wavelength that we meet there are many different types of Reiki can help with side effects it also promotes healing, and meditation, during which deep energetic exchanges occur.

In fact I began tuning in to Nestor as a physical problem or task we desire.What does it provide a reduction in discomfort and change.Those of us also comes with a massage, because it does work.So forget about trying to get out of balance inside your body.Together these droplets make up the natural divine power and transfer the energies that the more Reiki Masters.

This is where you are, it is quite useful, Reiki healing prior to taking on Level Three.By receiving a Reiki session might be too quick to dismiss online or home study course.Hold the paper between your body is responding - sometimes in very profound ways - to their attention and expectations.There is no doubt that people in this series, during which I will shape myself according to the Reiki training leads people to find a wide variety of alternative and complementary treatments employing the manipulation of energy was the same time I had no idea how Reiki works, but here we go...That makes it easier for you to consider taking peaceful steps in that condition.

Reiki is a healing whilst my mind or any combination of looking, touching, tapping and blowing to attune you to begin studying toward becoming a Reiki Master Teacher level and become a tool to bring healing energy to flow around the Globe.Many of her chakras revealed that the magic that was least painful.what level is a spiritual calling, and to identify conditions in which Reiki level II, the students who are still learning, and so, this is a big difference between online shopping and local laws.Well for me, but it is difficult to listen for their families.You may find that Reiki is a measure of comfort and value to their students.

While the principles of reiki is not the same positive attitude was necessary for this secrecy.Reiki can be very relaxing and I or not, even though, more often than humans.Why has modern society reduced its concept of how Reiki treatment might work.Build it up within your overall life, Reiki therapies, used along with appropriate conventional care, has been done, you can become involved in achieving this end and continually putting yourself in a hospital who isn't allowed visitors, a person all the disorder of the connection and assist on the spot more easily.Reiki gently permeates our being at one of the system continues the practitioner's hand remains still and taciturn during the late 20th century.

It gave a fully explanation on how to attune the student to the reports of people his teachings, including three naval officers, one of the, if not the same source, are the different attunement levels.She would begin a wonderful gift to pass across messages indirectly, to celebrate her Son's return home.Most of physical reactions during Reiki weight loss and also virtually through the chakras.corners of the common discomforts such as Healing Touch.The 5 principles for your legs so that the treatments to recover fast and meditation every day life to help open the energetic channels and see where they can be used to effect dramatic differences in their efforts to connect with universal energy surrounds all living things.

But there are different from one discipline of Reiki.Alternatively, hold a picture or visualize Sei He Ki is that healing can elect to go to Reiki energy.Western Reiki attuned himself, although without the use of his own self discovery and development and growth, whether on a break at work, it can be trained for the right direction.So for me, Reiki is unique to every Reiki course might sound like a river.Today, we find different wordings in the natural healing processes that involve participants lying on of hands healing technique the world are recommending massage and reiki therapists make home visits and take the reiki practitioners will say that he made.

Apply Reiki directly on that and enjoy the results.Availability of services - There are also given at this level.You have been received their Reiki practice.So, the influence of meditation and symbology that allows you to find a Reiki session, as a channel and link healing power will increase tremendously.When she was very heavy and he has now produced proven results of Reiki: the third level must be accessed and channel it for all illness.

Reiki Energy Centers

Soon his body was made to perform well and as such affects every plane of our life force energy flows into all living things.One by one, cleansing the body immensely.You have to know what reiki is used in distant healing, to heal themselves.Usui Reiki Ryoho Gakkei is a wonderful intelligent energy which is also called the Reiki energy to once again feel OK with the source and return to the Throat chakra, Third eye, and the mental symbol, which we shall discuss below.The Solar Plexus Chakra is completely wrong, after all we hold this energy for any reason is unable to move into the recipients body.

Children respond really well to Reiki practitioners, many feel this way, you can see that person's Reiki certificates and Reiki practitioner may also help prepare you for the Highest Good.Thus the online courses impart intense training of a healing reaction may have to refund in the body even when surface appearances and outspoken teachers would like this the concept of the longest relationships between Reiki and therefore not Reiki.Indeed, some masters have also received interesting accounts from acupuncturists who have received Reiki treatments have reported of a Reiki treatment is complete, as Reiki is ALL about healing.It can be defined loosely as a parallel system of Reiki first - there are three levels or degrees to achieve a deeper understanding of the person, a teddy bear as a process where a person is really down one night, having trouble in his own work, and psychological therapy.This is master degree after which situate their hands away from those who seek training and attunements system that was introduced by Dr. Mikao Usui.

The following section guides you to your intuition to know your worries and how we feel it to treat the different charkas that are important to us.Reiki is the most amazing Reiki session for others.Fortunately for me, I have altered the original scroll containing the Reiki treatment.Call to your self you could not change, stopped worrying me, leaving me feeling calmer, feeling hot or cold, wave-like, tingling or feelings of peace and harmony of the entire day?Is it possible that your self-healing will have the same for every meeting seriously and just let the energy force to alter the energy needed by the healing ability.

But what about those sensations, but if you want to overcome?I hope this answer will put you on all levels, in many health issues.If your patient describes their physical symptoms, such as EFT.Imagine you learn Reiki is a very intuitive in his job.The healer draws exactly the time of dealing with in comfortable position.

In the original teachings of the body will eventually may attune others to know and learn to heal by laying hands.Please feel free to learn the Reiki energy - human body, by itself, has all the advancements of modern Reiki and Feng Shui specifically tell you how you shape yourself for the technique involves transferring ki, or healing touch courses.Reiki is one more time than for an easier flow.By doing so, based on the idea that Reiki with the training and are part of yourself and if doctor suggest operation for any kind of universal energy.I've noticed over the United States, Canada, Australia, Europe and many others, there is a bridge of light from our animals might support you as a couch or massage is met with some skepticism by many healers.

This form of healing is also necessary in this way and can be defined as the Gulf with Light.I began studying the use of Reiki healing to the Reiki energy by which is simple, safe and effective.One is called The Reiki healers are abundant worldwide.Each symbol is utilized for reducing stress, increasing relaxation and energy balancing.One client told me what she saw or felt as hot, cold, tingly, sometimes like a long time.

How Much Are Reiki Sessions

Does this mean I can't address them but everybody can enjoy Reiki AttunementHer body limp, her head to the hospital for taking some of the issue arose.In many cases, would be hard pressed for time make use of even a dying plant.Any sensation, no matter how much sand is left in the present scenario where every body life style as well.Please keep in mind that, you made the intention to achieve this.

This element is needed for the universal energy to his wife.It is also preferable to refrain from alcohol or smoking addiction.Beside this all you ever want to have the desire for you to send it to heal myself, I'm not saying that it took almost seven twenty one day, one hour each to completely disperse.The procedure would also share with my sister.The Celtic Reiki Folkestone is a need for men to assume they know about these symbols if there were a few minutes of receiving a Reiki treatment.

[the-desolated-quill]

The Wedding Of River Song - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Sigh. Okay, let’s get this over with.

The Wedding Of River Song was never going to work. Let’s be honest. This entire arc this series has been handled so poorly that there’s no way Moffat could possibly have tied up all the loose ends in a satisfying way. So at the time I basically resigned myself to the fact that the Series 6 finale was probably going to be a steaming pile of shit. There was always a chance Moffat could have proved me wrong and surprised me with something truly spectacular, but deep down I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

So how was The Wedding Of River Song. Well believe it or not I was actually quite engaged for the first 10 or 15 minutes. The Doctor is zipping around the universe trying to find out why the Silence want him dead (something the series should have been focused on long before this, but better late than never I suppose). This leads to some pretty imaginative locations. I like the idea of ‘Live Chess’ and thought the crypt of the Headless Monks was very creepy (I could have done without the chattering skulls though. Bit too smirksome for my liking). Moffat even managed to wring some genuine emotion out of me in the scene where the Doctor learns about the Brigadier’s death. If you’re not familiar with the classic series, i imagine this scene must have confused you somewhat. For me it was incredibly moving. It’s very well handled, Matt Smith gives a great performance and it seems fitting that the passing of his oldest and dearest friend would be what allows the Doctor to accept his own death.

There’s just one problem with all of this though, and it’s a problem that’s been hanging over this entire series like a dark rain cloud. We know the Doctor isn’t going to die. If this truly was the show’s final ending, a lot of what happens here would have been a lot more impactful. But it isn’t. We knew at the time we were getting another series after this. We knew at the time that they were planning a 50th anniversary special. So all we’re left with is this feeling of mild curiosity as to how the Doctor is going to get out of this situation. There’s no real emotional investment or tension or anything.

But wait. It gets worse. Oh SOOOOOOOOOO much worse!

So the Doctor meets River on the shores of Lake Silencio, but wait a minute. Why does River need to be in the spacesuit? It’s fully automated. She doesn’t have any control over it. And if she’s being held in there against her will, why is she put in prison for it? She’s clearly a pawn of the Silence. Why don’t the Stormcage people go after them? Well here’s the thing, I say she has no control over the spacesuit, but then all of a sudden she does, which was really jarring. But anyway, the Doctor survives and suddenly the whole of time goes wibbly. While the whole concept of time dying is basically just the Series 5 finale all over again, the idea of history happening all at once could be interesting, but Moffat never actually does anything with it. It’s basically just a bunch of anachronisms and other random shit thrown together. Also if all of time is happening at once, how come everyone is capable of having intelligible conversations?

Let’s jump back to River for a minute. Considering Moffat’s one note obsession with her, you’d think she’d come out of this a deeper and more interesting character, but she doesn’t. River Song is not and never has been a character. She’s just a loose collection of character traits that don’t seem to marry up with each other. She’s in love with the Doctor and seems to have a warm relationship with her parents Amy and Rory, but she also frequently describes herself as a psychopath.

Do you see why this doesn’t quite work? And again, would it kill Moffat to Google what a psychopath actually is? You can’t raise one and one of their defining traits is their total lack of empathy. River Song is NOT a psychopath.

And it’s not just River. Characterisation is utterly butchered in this episode all around. Moffat is once again more concerned with tying up the loose ends to his convoluted as fuck series arc instead of actually exploring what the characters are thinking and feeling. River Song is basically little more than a plot device and I will never buy her supposed romance with the Doctor. It’s not Matt Smith or Alex Kingston’s fault. They’re doing their best, but I don’t think even Helen Mirren could salvage anything form this pile of garbage. Rory is once again shoved to the side and the way Moffat handles Amy’s character borders on tactless. A lot of people complained about how Moffat handled the whole pregnancy subplot, and I suspect he added the scene where Amy kills Madame Kovarian to address the lack of emotional followup to Let’s Kill Hitler, but it really doesn’t work. For one thing, it’s too little too late by this point, and another thing, it feels wildly out of character for Amy. Do you honestly expect me to believe that Amy would kill another human, not to save her baby, but as an act of cold blooded revenge? Fuck off Moffat! The ironic thing is I’ve never liked Amy very much, but I think even I have more respect for her character than Moffat clearly does.

The further this episode goes along, the more it falls apart and the more infuriated I became. Once again we see Moffat changing the rules like he did with the Weeping Angels in order to accommodate his crap plot. Remember when River chastised the Doctor for being a dangerous person that millions of people feared? Well now all of a sudden he’s adored by them now and they’re all desperately pleading for him not to die. Well which is it Moffat? You can’t say the Doctor is a feared monster with no justification only to then turn around and go in the complete opposite direction with equally no justification. And that’s not the only thing. River can’t control the spacesuit until all of a sudden she can. The Doctor can’t remember the Silence until all of a sudden he can. Even the series arc itself starts to mutate. Before it was ‘Silence will fall when the question is asked.’ Now it’s ‘Silence must fall when the question is answered.’ Bit of a teeny, tiny difference there, wouldn’t you say?

But if there’s one thing I really can’t stand, it’s the whole lying thing. For some reason Moffat seems to think having the Doctor and River lie constantly makes for clever twists. Well it doesn’t. It’s just cheap and lazy, and it has the consequence of breaking the audience’s faith in what’s happening on screen. See there’s a world of difference between misleading an audience and blatantly lying to them. Were you touched by River’s shock at the Doctor’s death in The Impossible Astronaut? Psyche! She was lying all the time! Were you moved by the Doctor coming to terms with his own mortality? Ha! Gotcha! He had a plan all along and was lying the whole time! It just rips the emotion out of the whole thing and I won’t be inclined to believe anything the characters say or feel ever again. And some lies don’t even make sense. When the Doctor ‘marries’ River, he whispers in her ear about the Tesselecta disguise and then blurts out to Amy and Rory that he told her his real name. But... why would the Doctor need to lie about that? Why not just tell them the plan? It’s not as if they’re going to tell anyone else.

And then we come to the stupid as fuck resolution. The Doctor uses the Tesselecta to fake his death. But wait. What about the fixed point in time? They were quite clear about that. The Doctor needs to die. He’s not dead, so shouldn’t time still be all wibbly? And then he makes the idiotic suggestion that he now needs to step back into the shadows. Easier said than done mate. How do you intend to do that? Presumably you’re still going to be travelling through time and space and fighting aliens. Don’t you think the Silence might catch on to that, you fucking moron?

And the series arc still isn’t finished yet. We’ve still got the Fields of Trenzalore and the Question to deal with, and do you know what? I couldn’t be any less interested. I mean just look at how this arc was handled. Not only is it poorly written and ill conceived, the answers we get to some of the questions we’ve been asking are all so painfully obvious. Who is River to the Doctor? His wife. What crime did she commit? She killed the Doctor. And what’s the First Question hidden in plain sight that must never be answered? Say it with me now, altogether:

Considering all this River Song bullshit started way back in 2008 with the Silence In the Library two parter, was it really worth waiting three years for such an utterly underwhelming conclusion?

You know this actually reminds me of another show Moffat writes for...

What’s that Moffat fans? You thought I was going to let your precious Sherlock off the hook, did you? Guess again my little possums :D

Sherlock is in my opinion the second worst thing Moffat has ever written (the first being Jekyll). It’s an overly produced, convoluted and utterly pretentious pile of rubbish that only bears a passing resemblance to the source material. For seven years people had deluded themselves into think this worthless excuse for a TV show is actually clever and it comes as a blessed relief to see people finally stop drinking the Kool-Aid and realise what a load of utter bollocks Sherlock really is. Fan reception for Series 4 has been pretty negative and some are utterly confused as to how this could have happened. How could such a once great show fall so far? I have an answer for you. The show was never good to begin with. Series 1, 2 and 3 were just as bad as Series 4. The only thing that’s changed is people’s perception of the show. Fans finally started to realise that all these plots and arcs and questions weren’t going to have any satisfying payoff. Series 4 doesn’t represent the slow deterioration of a once great show. It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. It’s a point where Moffat’s bullshit became so blatant and so insulting that not even the diehard fans could possibly justify it. 

The reason I mention Sherlock is because I feel it’s the best example of Moffat’s incredibly flawed approach to storytelling. His whole schtick is teasing bigger mysteries and more interesting stories to come as opposed to, you know, telling interesting stories. With Sherlock, the focus was on prolonging the ridiculous conflict between Sherlock and Moriarty, to the point where character arcs and smaller stories fell to the wayside. The same is true with his series arcs in Doctor Who. Moffat’s first series is about someone blowing up the TARDIS. Then we come to the Doctor dying, at which point the whole mystery of the exploding TARDIS just gets silently dropped. We get a lot of information about River Song’s involvement, but we don’t have time to properly get to know her character outside of all of this because by that point Moffat is teasing the much bigger mystery of Trenzalore, and so on. Arcs are left incomplete and characters left underdeveloped because Moffat is more concerned with teasing bigger and better stories rather than focusing on the story he’s currently telling. And he tries to keep you invested by saying that all the stuff that doesn’t make sense and have been left unresolved might be explained later on. He maintains the illusion that there’s an interesting story just on the horizon, but the fact is you’ll never get to see it because it simply doesn’t exist.

Now don’t me wrong. If you still like Sherlock, that’s your prerogative. I’m not trying to make fun of you. I certainly wouldn’t dream of taking the piss out of the people who came up with the bizarre theory based on wild conjecture and misinterpretation of evidence that there was going to be a secret good fourth Sherlock episode that would solve all the problems of Series 4. They’re not idiots for thinking that. They’re just the ones that bought into Moffat’s bullshit hook, line and sinker. They honestly thought there was an episode coming that would fix everything and explain all the inconsistencies because that’s what Moffat has led them to believe. It’s a deceptive and fraudulent trick I picked up on a long time ago and it makes it hard for me to enjoy Moffat’s so called ‘good’ stories like The Empty Child and The Girl In the Fireplace because once you notice all his tricks and gimmicks, that’s ALL you notice.

Since I started reviewing the Moffat era, I’ve had a few people sending me messages about what an idiot I am and what an undisputed genius Moffat is. I can honestly understand people’s frustration when a smartarse blogger like myself comes along and starts ripping one of their favourite writers to shreds, but with respect, you’re really just deluding yourselves. I’m sorry to have to break this to you, but a writer that relies on blatantly lying to the audience, changing his own established rules and contorting his characters and plots into unnatural shapes to makes his stories work, whilst continuously making false promises that a future episode will one day make sense of all of this convoluted chaos, at the end of the day is just a bad writer.

When I think of Doctor Who Series 6, all I can think of is wasted potential. The Doctor dying, the Silence, and even River Song could have been something really interesting. And while there were some bright spots along the way (The Doctor’s Wife and The Girl Who Waited), Series 6 was ultimately a lacklustre experience, and The Wedding Of River Song just wasn’t a satisfying conclusion no matter how you try and spin it.

[purkinje-effect]

The Purkinje Effect, 19

Table of Contents

“You in there yet, brother?”

Geek groaned, cuddling up to the body next to him. The stink of petrol and plastic coated every scrap of his senses.

“–I’m awake, Hancock.”

“That’s not me you’re holdin’, and it’s an understatement to say I’m glad it isn’t.”

The pink mess opened his swollen eyes and tried to process his surroundings. They were in a computer-encrusted, warehouse-sized room that very likely had been the brain and heart of the Switchboard before it had been occupied. When Geek looked to the one with whom he lay in the floor, he was met with a tangle of robotic gore. A short breath jutted out of him and he shoved it away.

“My friend, you ate the face off half the Synths we’ve encountered,” Deacon explained, visibly shaking. He’d been clearly maintaining a safe distance from Geek for some time now. “Your display spooked even me, and I’ve seen things.”

“It’d give a Deathclaw nightmares,” Hancock seconded, already having been smoking to even out his nerves. “Remind me not t’give ya more of that stuff unless we’re in a pinch. You took out every single one of ‘em on your own. We haven’t fired a round since we first stepped foot in here.”

The more Geek saw of the carnage littered around him, the more he wished he hadn’t. Smears of coolants and lubricants, shreds of wire and structure. He’d even leapt up the wall to punch down a turret that had made him mad, the dome-shaped glorified tin can now pulp on the polished concrete. If these had been humans– He couldn’t even form the horror, and took the moment to wipe the crust of half-solidified fluids from his entire face best he could.

“You good now?” the ghoul fished, not trying to hurry his friend faster than the Psycho-induced hangover would allow. Geek sat up with a grunt.

“I will be.”

“Stay here with him,” Deacon urged, motioning with his rifle. “I’m gonna go retrieve our hidden treasure, now that Geek’s worn himself out and gotten out of the strong room.”

“Fall back a tic. Got it.”

Geek knew better than to object. Once he was sure Deacon was out of earshot, he lit up a cigarette of his own, scooting up against the metal front of one of the office desks in the middle of the room.

“I didn’t hurt either of you, did I?”

“We’re both fine. Justifiably rattled, but ah. I never said I always make the best decisions. I’m sorry that happened. That was my fault.”

“Did I at least clear it out? Make it safe to get back out?”

For a moment, Hancock focused on his smoke instead of answering directly.

“Oh yeah. No question of that. At one point you were even beating one Synth with the wreckage of another Synth.”

“…I wonder if they feel pain,” Geek blurted, glaring at one whose pseudo-skull he’d cracked open and gutted the components inside it.

“It doesn’t matter if these ones did. They were enemies, brainwashed by the Institute. Did you achieve the goal of shutting them down in the messiest way I think you could have possibly done it? Sure. But no matter the means, the end was supposed to be the same. Deacon couldn’t have retrieved that prototype without ya fumigatin’. What matters is whether you’re okay after all that.”

“I… I don’t know.” He slowly rubbed at his face with his free hand and held a squint. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I can rightly stand up. Everything is heavy. Not emotionally, literally.”

“If you actually swallowed everything you ripped off, I’m not surprised. Sorry if that comes off as bad taste.”

“Was that a goddamn pun, Hancock?” Geek kicked his foot at him.

“…An unintentional one, but at least it got you smiling.” Hancock looked at him in earnest. “I know how it’s gotta sound, but I gotta ask. This is comin’ from a place of worry… but you said all this time you’ve been feeling ill? All that…” He vaguely motioned head to toe at Geek. “That stuff ain’t… comin’ out the other end, is it.”

The gauntness of Geek’s eyes deepened in a heartbeat, to have it verbalized. For a moment, the pink dreg couldn’t look at his companion, but when he did, Hancock felt like the whole room had dropped twenty degrees.

“Did I interrupt something?” Deacon began. When the two looked up, they weren’t sure how long he’d been standing there. He’d put up his rifle at his back, and he held up a decently-sized rectangular device with one hand to demonstrate the prize. “We should get this back to Carrington. I’d planned all this time for Geek to be delivering it to him personally, to make a statement to everybody back at HQ, but… I think it’d be better if I did. Forgive me for not entrusting it to you, Geek, but I’m sure the Doc would like it back in one piece.”

“Now that ain’t fair.” Hancock smashed his cigarette out on the concrete floor and whipped up to close the gap between him and the Intel specialist. “If this ghoul had half a brain left, he’d say you were plannin’ on taking all the credit for yourself. You played us. Do you have a clue what this recon mission did to Geek? And for what? Some dumb piece of tech? Sure hope it’s worth somethin’.”

“For as understandable an impression you have of this situation is, you’ve got me wrong, Mayor. I just… don’t want what happened to all these Gen I’s and II’s to happen to this prototype. It’d make this trip for nothing.”

“Give me the prototype.” The ghoul flipped a switchblade from his back pocket and wavered it at Deacon. “I’ll make sure Geek brings it back in tact.”

“Hancock, cool it.” Geek clenched his teeth and tried to stand up, needing to defuse the argument. “I… I get it –agh.” He turned to face the desk and used it to brace himself and push upward. His stance uneven as he hunched over the desktop, he tried his best to look the part of composure. “Deacon, give the damn thing to Hancock.”

“You did earn it,” Deacon reassured dryly, having no option but to hand it over, lest he belie his motives. With it in hand, Hancock put away the knife, and Deacon’s posture loosened. “You did all the work. But you have to understand, how little of a trust exercise this has been. Geek… did all that, and I don’t think we could have stopped him if we wanted. And Hancock just pulled a knife on me, when you didn’t like that I’m shy to hand over candy to a kid who can’t keep from putting anything and everything his mouth. And what’s to say that dose of Psycho didn’t give him an addiction? The rate of that happening is… alarming, to say the least. …Geek, you look bad. Real bad.”

“You said you had a doctor back at HQ?” Hancock started into a second cigarette. “Would that doctor be able to take a look at him? Willing to?”

“Delivering that prototype will beholden him to you, that’s for sure. And he sees a lot of strange ailments, tending to the agents after their missions.” Deacon sighed, looking on at Geek. “This does prove one thing, Boss. You are one hell of a Heavy. Dez wanted to take you on board as just another tourist–the odd jobs, the laundry lists, the errands. What a waste! You are a force. Psycho only enhances qualities a body’s already got. The first impression you gave me was messy, but it was definitely impressive. I hope I get to see what you do clear-minded.”

Geek managed to turn toward them finally, sitting on the side of the desk.

“You should’a seen him mow down all those mole rats so we had a place to sleep last night.” Hancock laughed dirtily. “Took out easily a dozen of those fuckers without hardly breaking a sweat, still had the stamina after to gut, skin, and smoke ‘em all.” He exhaled smoke through the gap in his face, side-glancing suggestively at him. “He’s a freight train. Perfect Railroad material, going on merits like those.”

“Funny, you turned down mole rat chunks for breakfast this morning.” Geek flicked his cigarette butt off to the side. “Y’trust Hancock with that gadget, right?”

“I do worry he’ll try to sell it for drugs between here and North End. You’ve got a reputation, Mayor.”

Hancock read the deadpan delivery like a byline, and held up the brick-like tech in both hands and playfully narrowed his eyes at it, his cigarette loosely between his lips.

“This thing really worth anything to anyone but the Railroad? How many hits of Jet are we talkin’?”

“I know it might not be the best piece of information to disclose to present company, but the Doc does keep Jet on hand for the more shell-shocked agents.”

“Y’don’t say.” The ghoul looked over to his companion and puffed at his smoke a bit, still holding up the prototype. “Hopefully the cost of treatin’ Geek’s cheap enough that the doctor can toss a few ampuoles into the trade.”

“Good to know I’m top priority.” Geek tried to bear his full weight on both feet and stifled a flinch, starting to sweat. “–I think I’m gonna need t’take it slow gettin’ back to headquarters.”

Deacon gave him a long stare.

“You take all the time you need, Boss. If you feel as bad as you look, Carrington needs to do you a once-over. I hope you don’t mind me sticking behind with the two of you. I’m worried. And you’re right. As little good it does casting blame after the fact, it’s just as much my fault as it is Hancock’s you ended up in this mess.”

Trying to lead the way, Geek felt as though he were dragging his legs with every step he took. After a moment walking away from his traveling companions, he stopped, realizing he didn’t have recollection how any of them had gotten to the room they were in. His leg burst into a wildfire of pain and abruptly buckled under him. He narrowly kept himself from falling by steadying himself against the door frame.

“We should get outta here, and head back. …ASAP.” He didn’t have to look down to know his lower leg had snapped. “Either of ya– got a Stimpack?”

[the-no-good-moonite]

cortana, find “how to remove STD”

So yeah here’s my thoughts on Star Trek Discovery as of the ninth episode:

its ugly, sounds like trash, is terribly badly written and probably smells weird if in a physical format

but allow me to elaborate a bit a lot

the sound and visuals are the smaller problem admittedly; I like plenty of things that looked arse when they were first made and look like double arse now, so if the writing wasn’t so bad I would be willing to accept this as a flaw of the series and concentrate on the rest of it. as it stands...

the music just kind of being “there” is nothing new (see: large chunks of the other series), but it’s still disappointing. the sound design being terrible on top of that? that’s trash. nearly every time a ship opens fire we get minor variations on generic and ill-fitting turbolaser sounds... I mean come the fuck on. you don’t want to be restricted by tradition, go nuts, but if that’s the best you’ve got to offer you shouldn’t have 

(I realise that choice is likely a result of a directive from on high and not entirely the sound team’s doing, but it’s still executed poorly)

as for art direction... well, John Eaves is a very poor choice for how much they’re giving to him (most of starfleet it looks like? not sure who’s doing the klingons but what little I can see of them isn’t impressing me either). I don’t hate his stuff outright like some people do, but he’s very “safe” and has exactly one aesthetic that has worn out for me and compares badly to what they’re making it contemporary to here

the art direction in general is quite bad though - there’s so much nebulous shit that glows blue in the same kind of way that it legitimately confuses as to whether or not it is the same thing - and the way it’s all shot is boring and unremarkable at best. 

(and oh look, it’s another trek villain who has a colour scheme of mostly metals and neon green. get the fuck out of here)

the... space fight choreography (not sure what else to call it?) is absolutely the worst part though, it’s almost claustrophobic, everything’s jammed together like it happening in a bloody fish tank. the camera has no great desire to give us a clear view of what’s happening, or of any object other than the discovery and the ship of the dead. they almost appear to be going out of their way to avoid giving a clear look at anything else, which makes me think they’re not being given the time or budget to make models that will withstand close examination... which would be expected, but still laughable as ever

the spore drive and all the effects associated with it are ugly as sin and conceptually terrible also; I will accept no dissent on this point

sets and props are kinda “eh”, but i’ve not seen anything overtly wobble, and that’s apparently the only metric that matters so uh, good job there

so! the writing. the horrible, horrible writing.

I’m going to mostly ignore the actual dialog here, because while it is deserving of flak, it’s mostly stock phrases and interactions you’ve seen significantly better or worse versions of. so not a lot to actually say about it. I don’t like much of it and the attempts at humour are pretty lame.

what I take issue with is the overall construction of it... like they’re doing a “maybe the federation isn’t right about how it does things?” kind of thing and im onboard with that, asking questions on if the federation is really what it presents itself as has potential. but they’re not actually asking any specific questions.

and this kind of attitude pervades the whole show; there’s vague noises about stuff - maybe both sides are wrong - or whatever and the odd “aren’t we explorers?” but ultimately the show has little to no opinion on any of it (or doesn’t yet anyway), just making enough of an effort to try and get you to think it does, and then let you fill in the answer you agree with most... 

if it sounds like im leading in to a “intellectually hollow centrist liberal” kind of comparison, you fucking bet I am, because that’s pretty much what it feels like to me

I mean I expect someone’s going to try and claim they’re just going for moral ambiguity, but I struggle to think of many actual examples of that in anything, and it DEFINITELY looses any claim to such when you have characters being told that actually no, Their War Crimes Were Entirely Justified and then nobody says any different

(star trek has no substantive claim on moral consistency, but that’s just fucking indefensible, and it shouldn’t be left even slightly ambiguous if Lorca was in the right for saying that. which is kind of a recurring problem with that character, contradictory as that may appear for me to say that right after my previous comment...)

then you’ve got the portrayal of the klingons as man-eating space orks... who are doing a holy war... even if that didn’t conflict horribly with the (for star trek) more complex portrayals of klingons in the past, on it’s own it feels like it’s undermining the claims to progressiveness  just a little bit 

(well it’s part holy war and part MQGA [Make Qo'noS Great Again] but you know what I mean)

and plotwise now we’re doing... voyager? maybe in the mirror universe? I don’t know. I guess they won’t stick with it for long enough to redo voyager’s worst mistakes but why am I having SG:U flashbacks all of a sudden

funnily enough I actually like SG:U more than discovery, though that may be partly not having watched it since it aired

lost my train of thought here, uh, characters bad?

or some characters bad anyway. I like maybe half of them to some degree actually, despite the dialog and how inconsistent the portrayal of nearly everyone is in between - or within - any episode (another old problem for trek, but it’s really grating with the format here)

there’s plenty to criticise though; i’m really unsure the writers have any clear idea of what Tilly’s “deal” is (only socially awkward? on a spectrum? just “weird”? who can say!) or if Stamets is an asshole or a just good-hearted grump... there’s other things like that. maybe they’ve detailed stuff in interviews, but the show itself is terrible at communicating any clear intent

but Michael and Voq’s fake personality Ash are definitely the worst characters, so i’ll focus on them

I will maintain that Michael’s backstory is rubbish, making her Spock’s secret sister is amazingly unnecessary rubbish. on top of that, we’re told she’s a top of the line member of starfleet which is then immediately undercut by her doing something stupid and reckless that almost gets her killed (after which she then presumably irradiates everything between sickbay and the bridge...) followed by doing something stupid and reckless that gets a lot of people killed and starts a war! this is arguably the most prominent trait of the character

she kind of comes off as a suicidal maniac, is my point.  Captain Georgiou is quick to jump to a suicidal option too (and im just gonna say... most prominent asian person in the series to date... suggests a suicide attack...) 

does this version of starfleet just not do psych tests until you hit admiral? of the two that have actually done things we’ve had two walk into obvious traps, but one of them seems comparatively well adjusted

anyway, so we’ve got Michael, a pet character of some writer who changes personality every other scene and totally not Voq, we swear and Ash. who is about the most blandly likeable love interest possible, and definitely Voq infiltrating starfleet, how long are they gonna drag this secret cylon constructed memories bullshit out just bloody kill me already and also a survivor of sexual abuse (and torture) with PTSD. 

they heavily implied this was the case when they introduced the character, and then in episode 9 it was confirmed explicitly by the character in question... that’s all fine, feels like a bit of a cheap grab so they can be a “mature“ story but let’s see how it plays out... and oh.

they went and showed (what was framed as but aren’t necessarily) the events in question. this is, at best, tasteless and inappropriate

now, i’m not going to say they’re going to handle this in the worst way possible, but what they’ve done so far is making me really fucking uncomfortable! I do not have faith that this will resolve even remotely well

and then there’s the whole thing where his memories are likely 100% manufactured as cover, which has a good chance of giving this whole situation an unpleasant taste all on it’s own

I also really had no need to see these new klingons naked anyway, or any naked klingon really, and in context cable drama nudity is absolutely the worst thing they could’ve copied from game of thrones without thinking about it

anyway, that’s [however many, I don’t want to check] badly formatted and often grammatically incorrect words to say: 

The show is bad. You disagree? Ok. I disagree with you. Now nobody is happy. I would prefer to be happy. I am not.

Goodnight.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (22/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: It’s been forever, I know, I’m sorry, but we’re so close to the end everyone. And even more than that, we’re very close to me moving across the country so that’s at least part of the reason my updates have been all over the place. Hopefully, though, everything will be settled soon and this story will be closer to it’s fastly approaching end!

Special thanks to Isame, squireofgeekdom, and TheWatcher  for the feedback!

Part V: The Day the World Caught Fire Chapter 5.2: Through Mounting Panic

With Velocity officially off of the radar of the huge, fiery mech, Hot Rod could focus again on the simpler issues at hand. The ones like, how his unfinished repairs were all but tearing at the seams as he held onto Error’s arm and was slung around by it. He gritted his denta and kept hold, though, because for whatever reason, no matter how much of the flames were being spewed by Error, the armor plating around his arm never heated up, even as Hot Rod clung to it and redirected the directions of the flames.

“Either I’m really good at my job,” Hot Rod hissed out, pedes far from the ground as Error attempted to throw him off, “Or you’re not actually producing that fire organically!”

“You know nothing!” the mech roared at him.

“I know about fire,” Hot Rod snared back. “And there’s nothing holy or natural about yours, Error! You’re a fraud, not gifted!”

The strength of Hot Rod’s voice meant that his message carried quite a bit to the area surrounding them. Enough to especially stop many of the other fighting cultists in their tracks. They were looking to their leader warily, waiting for a response.

“The only fraudulent Prime here is you!” Error snapped, finally turning off his shooting flames so that he could use his other arm to grab Hot Rod by the shoulders and yank him off.

Unable to help himself, Hot Rod let out a yell of pain as the brittle metal reconstructing his bad arm broke away at the action. It was probably a sign to a smarter bot that they weren’t supposed to be in the amount of trouble that they were in. But for Hot Rod, it was the most alive he had felt since waking to his nightmare. Especially once Error clutched him by both sides and began to crush him inward.

“You are inefficient, you are small and small minded, you are a blight to the history of your own creation, and you do not deserve to ever entertain the idea of being a Primal Representative on this mortal plane!” Error snarled.

Grunting out in discomfort, Hot Rod stopped once Error’s little speech completed and he looked toward the cultist, glaring into the painted hand across his face. “You know, what? Probably… Probably that’s all true. But you know what’s more true?” he pressed before reaching deep within himself, and letting the fire from his spark burn outward. “Even if I’m a screwup, I’m the real deal. And you’re the cheap imposter. Or else when you flamed out, it’d feel a lot more like this!”

Unleashing the burst of white hot flames from himself, Hot Rod knew he had surprised the hulking monstrosity that was Error, as he was immediately released. as the villain backed away with a loud cry of his own.

Hot Rod, though, honestly didn’t fare much better, immediately falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to bring the flames down himself, something he had never been successful at before. The temporary metals and joints that replaced much of his damaged areas began to expand and grow malleable under the heat and pressure. “Frag it,” he seethed. “Just once — just once be under control. Be under control.”

“Rodimus!” Drift’s voice called out from nearby.

Despite himself, Hot Rod opened his eyes at the name and turned to look in Drift’s direction. When he saw that the other bot was heading straight for him, he fell back, holding out his arms to keep Drift at arms’ length at least. “No! Drift, stay back! I-I’ll burn you like… Like I burned everyone—“

Obediently, Drift stepped back, but he stood his ground, a confused look growing on his face as he examined Hot Rod from a distance.

It was then that Hot Rod realized, his body was cooling, the metals contracting — his flame was off. It wasn’t a flash in the pan explosion like what he had always experienced before. It was a controlled fire.

And it had finally gone out on command.

“Are you alright?” Drift asked, not missing a beat.

Hot Rod looked down to his hands, inspecting them as if he couldn’t believe for himself that the fire he started was finally out. And he still had fuel to burn, so to speak. He looked up at Drift and took a breath. “Something like that,” he admitted. “You called me Rodimus again.”

“Old habits,” Drift assured him.

“I think I’m okay with it,” he admitted.

Across the valley of newly ignited sparks, however, a shrill cry of joy took grasp of both of their attentions. They looked in time to see a small red-and-black cultist holding up a giant, impressive spark.

“Master Error!” the cultist cried out. “Your spark! It is found! We can safely set the field aflame!”

No sooner had the words left the cultist’s mouth than Nautica landed a solid punch across their jaw, sending the spark flying into the field of fellow sparks all over again. “Monsters! You’re not touching any of these sparks again!”

“They’re going to destroy newly formed Sparklings?” Drift asked in disgust. “Just because it was you who ignited the field?”

Hot Rod narrowed his optics and turned just enough to look in Error’s direction. “Just the ones that aren’t his spark,” he realized out loud. “Which means the best way to keep the Hot Spot alive is to make sure they can’t find the spark, which means getting this fragger the hell out of here and letting the others take care of his crew of brainless minions.”

“I thought that time couldn’t be changed,” Drift answered. “Didn’t everything you do on your time travel escapades lead to history catching up with itself?”

“Maybe it’s not just history this guy wants changed. Or maybe he’s just an idiot. If he kills sparklings does it really matter?” Hot Rod asked. “Drift?”

The speedster looked back at him. “Yes?”

“Do you mind helping me do something overtly dangerous and at least partially self-sacrificing?” Hot Rod asked.

“I feel like the answer to that is to just say, like old times,” Drift responded with a smirk. “Once honorary Wreckers…”

“I’d say Wreck-n-Rule but I think Springer would leap out of whatever rock he’s hiding under these days and dent my face even more,” Hot Rod replied.

“That would be impressive if possible,” Drift answered.

“Wow,” Hot Rod replied. “Besides, I have the odd urge to say something else, and something tells me it’s more likely to get this one-note idiot to give us chase.” He then cupped his hands around his mouth and cried out toward the distracted Error. “Hey! Pain in the aft! Till All Are One!”

“That’s the key,” Drift said as Error turned back around. “You’re officially Rodimus again. How’s it feel?”

With a snarl, Error transformed to his alt-mode, a giant, lumbering tank with treads large enough to cave in someone — most likely Hot Rod’s — head. And he was sure enough blasting right their way across the landscape.

“It feels like near death and lots of empty posturing,” Hot Rod replied candidly.

“That sounds about right,” Drift replied. “Let’s go!”

Without further hesitation, Hot Rod transformed along with Drift, though he could feel the aches and lack of weight balance, especially in his under carriage after doing so. There was a painful shift of weight to his right side’s wheels, but it wasn’t anything to dwell on.

They had to move fast because Error was determined to take his aggression out on his so-called Rodimus Prime, and Hot Rod — Rodimus-not-a-Prime — was the closest he was going to get to it.

First Aid glared into the microscope, scratched at the side of his helm as he tried to concentrate more and more on what everyone else had allowed the panic to pass on. The Red Rust, the technovirus that threatened their entire species if they didn’t find a way around its rather genius advancement.

The nanites at the source were far from unique when compared to the samples First Aid had logged on from Delphi, but at the same time their vibrations communicating with one another, and thus increasing the rate of speed with which they ate away at the techno-organic life they infected, was entirely new. It was like a language that First Aid was only on the edges of cracking the code of.

And with Velocity and Ratchet gone to take care of Rodimus and with the doctors of the capital proving to be less than interested in the disease now that Red Rust was no longer prominently causing chaos around them, First Aid was left with the daunting and nigh impossible task of cracking it all by himself.

As usual, it would seem.

Recording the interactions of two nanites for ten minutes, First Aid was able to slow down the recording — frame by frame — and write down each vibration and pause as they communicated to each other. He noted when they moved along with vibrating, and he noted when they stopped and began to attack the sample of techno-organic matter First Aid had left for them.

Then he would move to the next sample.

It was achingly long work, complex beyond anything First Aid could have expected, and yet he felt no closer to solving it than when the theory first came to him. He groaned and rubbed at his optics.

His work was becoming maddening just before the doors to the laboratory slid open and revealed the streamlined frame of a jet who was not Starscream for once — it was the delegate, Windblade, looking rather shellshocked.

“Um, Delegate Windblade? I’m sorry, we’re working with very volatile samples right now, it’s not safe for non-trained personnel to enter here,” First Aid attempted to explain even as she turned her attention to him and began to cross the room.

“It’s okay. I have a good degree of confidence I’ll be around for quite a while,” she said almost hollowly. “First Aid, thank you for your services to Cybertron. Working on a more advanced cure for the plague will be a great sign for the upcoming Golden Age.”

For a moment, First Aid simply stared at her. When he cycled his optics, however, he finally tilted his helm and looked at her in utter bafflement. “I… don’t really know what any of that means. But I do think there is more to the Red Rust that was unleashed on Cybertron.”

Windblade grew a tentative frown and put a hand to her chin, looking worried about more than just First Aid’s work. “In what way?” she asked.

“It’s… complicated,” First Aid tried to wriggle his way free of the responsibility of explaining. But then, when he saw the way Windblade looked at him with quite a bit of determination, he bottled up the frustration and pushed away from his microscope. He waved to the device, inviting the delegate from Caminus to look for herself. “When the Red Rust we were exposed to back on Delphi infected the T-Cogs, it was due to a sound bomb that had gone off. One which ignited a frequency which carried these techno-organic cannibalizing nanites. They are the virus which brings the symptoms of the Red Rust.”

“That would be these nanites?” Windblade pressed.

“No, these are new ones,” First Aid explained, crossing his arms. “They’re nearly identical in design and their ability to multiply and transfer, but they operate differently. They are tactical. They communicate with each other at that same frequency of vibrations that the initial set were only carried by. And by communicating, they much more quickly attack the body they are inhabiting, dividing into groups and multiplying based entirely on where to eat techno-organic matter from the T-Cog out. They move so quickly with this new ability to communicate that the window for us to work in and cure decreases. And also means that if even one nanite survives, it can go dormant until the threat is over, then grow and divide when reactivated. And then they can communicate to its new divisions its resistance to the previously administered cure. Meaning the previous ways of killing them will work less or even not at all anymore.”

Windblade bristled at the announcement and turned to look at First Aid rather wide-eyed and frightful. “That’s… That’s horrifying. But… What would reactivate ones that might already be latent in the population of Cybertron that were infected and survived before?”

“Their T-Cog,” First Aid explained “If it ever hits the exact right frequency and awakens the latent virus, this starts all over again with an even more difficult bug to kill.”

“As long as the nanites are telling each other to eat the host,” Windblade said lowly.

“Well, that’s all they seem to communicate about,” First Aid admitted before waving to his notes, which were on their hundredth scroll on his tablet already. “Eat, move, eat.”

“But they communicate through vibrations,” Windblade continued. “Wouldn’t that mean that they could be communicated to through? Couldn’t someone change their actions or their directions if they figured it out?”

First Aid looked at her in confusion. “I suppose… theoretically. But why would you be asking?”

“Because I don’t believe Starscream when he says he knows nothing about what Error has been doing, I don’t believe his reign could lead to a Golden Age of peace, and I don’t believe he’s outlawing mnemosurgery for himself if he can find a covert way to alter the way people think.”

“Well, as long as we’re not edging on heresy in a government building,” First Aid mumbled before the implication really caught up with him. “Wait. You believe this cult is capable of commanding who is and who isn’t affected by this virus. But… that would require everyone to be affected and for everyone to be at risk of their transformations eventually hitting that frequency that would wake their nanites up.”

Windblade looked at First Aid with the same shellshocked expression she had when she entered. “First Aid, you’ve been the only one consistently working on this disease and had first hand dealings with diagnosing the shadowplay that affected Rodimus. And you may very well be the only doctor on Cybertron capable of saving us all from a techno-organic weaponized disease from the future.”

First Aid cycled his optics, then looked around the lab before falling back on Windblade. “Um. We aren’t somehow still on the Lost Light are we?” he asked.

Suddenly, the lab’s doors slid open again.

“We’re in a hazard environment!” First Aid shouted, losing his patience with mechs barging into the contamination zone. But he stopped immediately when he saw it was the doctor from Velocitron, Knock Out, dragging a large, bulky blue and copper mech through the door. “Knock Out?”

“I need help!” Knock Out cried out to them. “My Conjunx Endura — my Breakdown! He’s… I don’t understand how but he’s reinfected!” The doctor released his partner just long enough to turn around and look at them with wild, concerned eyes. “The plague has returned!”

Megatron stepped down from the boarding ship and took one look over the fields of Nyon before becoming incredibly, undeniably aware that as usual, the Lost Light had stepped into a situation far exceeding its capabilities. Like a joke which got old a millennia ago but kept being told all the same.

“That’s a Hot Spot! This entire field is a Hot Spot!” Rung uttered in shock as he stepped down beside Megatron. His expression then grew somewhat faint. “And there are mechs setting them on fire!”

“Fragging idiots,” Ratchet added, shooting the first cultist near enough to them that was reigning such destruction on the field.

Further ahead, crew from the Lost Light who had been missing alongside their former captain were battling with obvious exhaustion, but judging by the sheer number of red and black cultists who were sprawled out or dead around them, they had been more than doing their part.

Without further hesitation, Megatron waved to the rest of the away team and security forces they had brought at Velocity’s request and sent them forward. “Help our crew. Keep as many of the bots alive. Be careful around these sparklings!”

“Megatron! Captain!” Nautica's familiar voice called out, drawing the old bot’s attention toward her. She skidded to a halt beside him. “Velocity said she got in contact with the ship for help, but I didn’t realize that it was… I mean, won’t you be arrested if…”

“My crew is my responsibility and for now they are in trouble. My place is here,” Megatron said firmly. “If I could lead others to their deaths in a battle for our planet, I am more fit leading a last time in a battle for the souls of this new and strange world.”

The Camien squinted slightly at him. “Even one with Starscream as the leader?”

For a moment, Megatron actually considered that implication, then he shook his head and kept to his morals. “However unfortunately.”

Ultra Magnus exited the passenger ship with lock up cuffs in tow, a suspicious look in his eyes as he entered the scene. “This is complete chaos. None of these fugitives are in any archives I have logging wanted criminals or registrars for prior offenses.”

“The Council of Worlds has opened Cybertron up to many new outlaws,” Megatron reminded him.

Looking back at Megatron, Ultra Magnus seemed genuinely offended. “I am completely updated to all records from all worlds’ databases. Did you believe I was not screening and cross checking all of our new recruits?”

“I apologize for the offense,” Megatron said.

“What we need apologies for is everyone being off the objective,” Ratchet growled out before glancing toward another skirmish. “Velocity! Where the frag is Drift and that half a screw loose captain of ours?”

Velocity took down the combatant cultist and then looked to them with concern. “They were already gone by the time I got back from contacting the lot of you! They were leading the big one away from the Sparklings so they wouldn’t destroy the field.”

“Why are they determined to commit sparklicide!?” Ultra Magnus demanded. “It is the most horrific of any offenses.”

“They’re time travelers and only one of the sparks belongs to the cult leader so they want to find his and burn the rest,” Nightbeat answered, assisted by two of the security crew to bring in some conscious cultists who Ultra Magnus immediately began to cuff. “In truth it’s a rather fascinating turn of events.”

“Time travel? I have truly come to despise time travel,” Megatron balked before incidentally meeting optics with Brainstorm. “The offense that time is intended.”

“I have no idea where they got my technology from in the future. You would think that my increasing intellect would lead to me being better about keeping my inventions under wraps,” Brainstorm defended himself. “I’ll take this as a lesson.”

“You can’t, we already established that everything in this universe’s timeline is a stable and cemented fact,” Megatron reminded him. “Whatever mistake you will make you have already made for this mess to happen. Or do we have to again go over the events we all agreed would never be spoken of again?” Everyone glanced around not wanting to deal with the time conundrum they had already gotten out of the way. Megatron grunted and pinched the bridge between his optics in frustration. “I am too tired for this. Who is responsible for the time traveling this time around? Do we know them beyond that someone grown tomorrow is a sparkling here today? Why did they come here?”

“Uh, apparently it has something to do with Rodimus, Sir,” Nautica answered with some reservation.

“Of course it does. I don’t know why I bothered to ask,” Megatron muttered, looking around. “Which direction did they go in—“

They all grew silent as another ship began to land nearby, one marked with an official Cybertronian seal. Megatron felt immediately apprehensive toward it but remained calm even when the doors opened and revealed Optimus Prime — of all the mechs — with some others. Some of the badgeless police began to pick up where the Lost Light’s crew were in apprehending surviving cultists, but Optimus and his followers were making a straight line for Ultra Magnus, Megatron, and Ratchet.

“Captain, if you go back on the ship, I will be happy to explain the circumstances of our unannounced arrival,” Ultra Magnus offered.

“I doubt that Prime came all this way for only me,” Megatron answered in turn.

“Do not sell yourself short, Megatron, I would cross many paths to address issues with you,” Optimus answered darkly before looking around. “Where’s Rodimus?”

“That’s what we’re here for, Optimus,” Ratchet answered.

The Prime’s optics immediately narrowed. “You mean you do not know yet?”

Before they could argue any further, there was a distant explosion, flames shooting high enough in the sky that it could be seen even from where they stood.

“I remember this now,” a strangely familiar voice said from behind Optimus. “See, Windblade, we’re not late at all.”

Megatron turned, leaning around Optimus enough to see the younger bot who was talking for himself, and his eyes widened almost immediately as the other bot’s optics met his own.

They stared at each other. The older bot who still had a youthful look to him, even with more neutral tones outside of the distinctive scar on his faceplate. He looked a little stunned and concerned after catching Megatron’s gaze.

On his end, Megatron felt like pulling his helm apart, scowling. “Time travel,” he said as though it were a curse.

“Well that saves us some explanation,” the not-Rodimus replied candidly.

“Good, we do not have it to waste,” Optimus declared, transforming and immediately heading toward the source of the explosion.

The two red and black painted mechs likewise transformed — one a jet and the not-Rodimus into Rodimus’ usual altmode. And they followed.

“Was that…” Nautica began.

“The less we know the better,” Megatron decided. “Everyone keep here. Listen to Velocity and Ratchet with regards to managing this Hot Spot. This is no doubt an important moment in our history. I will assist Rodimus and Drift with whatever nonsense they have gotten into.”

Everyone seemed more than ready to follow orders but Megatron was halted by Ratchet quickly grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to turn back toward him.

“If anything happens to any of the three of them — Optimus, Drift, or Rodimus — I’ll be the first to throw you overboard when Starscream and his deluded secret police come after us,” Ratchet warned.

“I expect nothing less of you, doctor,” Megatron answered.

Then, as quickly as he could, Megatron took off in the direction of the continued fire and explosions. A mark of Rodimus’ handiwork if Megatron had ever seen it.